Page 81 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
‘The sky’s so pretty,’ I said, stopping dead suddenly and staring up into the midnight-blue darkness, scattered with sparkling points of light.
‘Yes, lovely. Can you see your lucky star, Alice?’ he asked, and when I looked heavenward again, quickly kissed me … or I think that was his intention until I kissed him back. I was not entirely in control of my lips.
By the time he released me, the stars had developed a tendency to spin round, but I was sure that was just the champagne.
‘Sorry – but that was irresistible,’ he said. ‘Youwere irresistible!’
‘I – don’t think that was a good idea,’ I told him with as much firmness as I could muster.
‘Perhaps not,’ he agreed, looking down at me gravely. ‘Put it down to an unwise impulse.’ Then he added inconsequentially, ‘There’s an Arlo Guthrie song called “Alice’s Restaurant”. Apparently you can get anything there you want – except Alice.’
‘I’m not opening a restaurant, just a tearoom,’ I said, but I didn’t shake off his arm when he put it round me again and walked me over to the car. I’d definitely overdone the bubbly, because the ground shifted underfoot and the stars were now not so much spinning as whirling about as if they’d escaped from a Van Gogh painting.
‘A tea emporium,’ he agreed, opening the car door and helping me in, where I’m afraid I fell into a light, befuddled doze, so he had to wake me when we got home.
Still, by the time I got out of the car again the cold night air woke me up a bit and as I unlocked the back door I remembered my manners – and that he had insisted on paying the rather large bill – and turned to say politely: ‘I had a great evening, thank you so much.’
‘You know, so did I, embarrassing interlude with Chloe excepted,’ he replied, then casually flicked my cheek with one finger, turned and walked off up the passageway to his shop without another word, though he seemed to be humming something … maybe it was that song he’d been on about earlier.
I didn’t even change when I got upstairs, just threw my coat over achair, made a pot of strong coffee, then went to my desk and wrote and wrote into the night.
I was vaguely aware of Nile’s window opposite, glowing with light and then, when I looked up later, dark again.
Towards dawn, just before I finally went to bed, I searched for that Arlo Guthrie song on YouTube …
Once I’d had time to reflect on things, I felt no more than mildly irritated by this young woman’s appearance on the scene, for even were she to stir things up in a search for her birth mother, it would be unavailing.
Of course, I hoped she would not – this emotional and irrational urge to find and forge a connection with someone who clearly didn’t want you in the first place is beyond my understanding.
Certainly, considering our relationship, I’d felt no warmer emotion than surprise at seeing her. How horrified my colleagues would be if they knew the true story – and how cold they would think my attitude!
30
Stand and Deliver
I woke up horribly early, with the scenes of the book I’d written late last night clear as crystal in my head, but the events at the restaurant after my third glass of champagne rather fuzzy.
I could remember the way Nile had looked at me across the table, while a violin played … and then a blonde in a bunny-girl outfit and a bridal veil making a scene. After that, it got even hazier: stars came into it … and a song about another Alice and a restaurant. And a kiss or two … unless I’d dreamed those up, which was entirely possible.
I pulled myself together with an effort: I was expecting the overdue delivery of the new double catering-sized oven, in another of those wonderful time slots, this one being between half past seven and twelve noon. So I carried my mug of coffee down with me to the kitchen, arriving just in time to spot through the window the tall and unmistakable figure of Nile, heading for his car.
Another early riser – and I was positive he hadn’t mentioned that he was going anywhere – but then, why should he? My hazy recollections of last night were that we’d kissed, come home and then parted perfectly casually after a nice evening. Nothing to give me the right to bounce out of the back door and demand to know when he’d be back.
I had plenty of time to file the latest business receipts and update the accounts book before the inevitable phone call from the delivery driver. He was in some giant pantechnicon and the nearest he could get to the teashop in that was the cobbled main street at the end of the passage.His satnav had told him to turn down Doorknocker’s Row, but fortunately he’d had enough sense not to try it.
I went through and opened the front door to the café and a few moments later there was a rumbling noise and a disgruntled-looking man appeared, wheeling the oven on a trolley.
He said he couldn’t leave his van where it was, so he’d have to drop the oven off at the door.
‘No you won’t,’ I told him pleasantly. ‘I’ve paid for delivery and connection, and that means you have to bring it right through to the kitchen: come along – you’re in luck, because I’ve had a wheelchair ramp fitted so you don’t have to get it down the step.’
I was so glad I’d laid a walkway of flattened cardboard boxes over my beautifully sanded new floor, too, to protect it from workmen’s feet, because those trolley wheels wouldn’t have done it any good at all.
Once he’d got it through the front door, he tried again to make his escape, but I stood my ground, blocking his exit, and told him that if he just got on with it instead of arguing, he’d be away the quicker. Eventually he gave in.
In sulky silence, but with the speed of practice, he ripped open the box and installed my beautiful double oven, which was merely a matter of connecting it to the newly wired socket and pushing it into place. Then he tossed all the packaging back into the box, put it on the trolley and went off, muttering darkly. I suspected he had misogynistic tendencies.
Tilda arrived to clean while I was still reading the instruction manual before switching it on and heating the ovens through. She went up to do the flat first, which took her no time at all, and then she did the best she could with the teashop, complaining all the while that as usual the workmen had left dust everywhere.
