Page 9 of A Miracle on Hope Street
At least the wine numbed the pain, even if it only did so temporarily. She knew it wasn’t good for her and that it certainly wasn’t a solution, but when you’ve no one else to talk to or turn to, Molly couldn’t think of what else she could do to get her through the day.
Chapter Six
Ruth
Nora is already sitting in my favourite snug at Gloria’s Café, the one with the deep-purple, crushed velvet sofa by the window with its street view, and waiting on me is a steaming mug of hot chocolate and marshmallows, just perfect for this cold, miserable weather. I take off my gloves and rub my hands together to try and defrost.
‘Hey, Ruth,’ says Michael, the new head waiter and I raise my hand in a hello to him, where he stands behind a puff of steam at the counter. I can just about make out a shy smile from beneath his navy baseball cap. Michael may not say much, but I know that Gloria trusts him deeply as she rents out the apartment above the café to him and when she talks about him she positively glows. Gloria adores all her staff, come to think of it, and she loves to give people a chance. There’s Suzi, the law student from New York who is wiping down tables and who also shouts her greeting as does Gloria’s husband, Richard, as he kisses her cheek before racing out the door, back to his office now that he’s fed and watered.
Old Archie, the former postman, stares out the window over what might be his fourth cup of tea of the morning, Bertie the barrister and his charming wife Majella are discussing what to order in the far corner and a few other familiar faces sit around in bunches, discussing the news of the day or barely speaking at all and just scrolling through smartphones or typing on their laptops.
The mood of the café is as homely as ever, but even cosier than usual with the hundreds of twinkling fairy lights around the ceiling and bushy Christmas trees, decorated in pinks and purples, that glow in every possible spare space. A few men and women sit scattered around one of the larger tables, chatting across to each other, and a young mum with a baby on her hip joins in on a conversation which I overhear is based on whether Gloria’s famous hotpot is better than her new, freshly baked gingerbread men. There’s a sense of warmth about this place that is almost tangible, and everyone who comes here, no matter from what corner of the city – or further beyond – will always feel like they belong.
One of the revellers catches me looking and they do a double-take and then whisper to each other.
‘That’s her from the newspaper,’ one says to the other. ‘You know, the girl who solves the problems.’
‘Is it? Are you sure?’
‘It looks like her. Ask her.’
‘It’s definitely her. Dare you to ask for a selfie!’ says another.
They indulge in their playful banter and I bow my head, feeling totally undeserving of their attention, and then snuggle into the familiarity of the velvet-cushioned booth by the window, across from Nora who looks a bit like death warmed up in her fingerless gloves and beanie hat.
‘When will I ever learn, Ruth?’ she whispers to me. Her pale face and dark eyes look pathetic even in the warm glow of the café and I shake my head. ‘I got home at 2.00 a.m. and my Phil went bananas. Oh, and I wasn’t sure what to order for you to drink so I just got some hot chocolate, is that okay? I don’t even know if you like hot chocolate. I don’t know anything today.’
‘It’s perfect, thank you,’ I tell her. ‘I love hot chocolate, especially when it’s snowing. Who doesn’t?’
Nora rubs her forehead. The stress of her marriage problems is starting to take its toll but I don’t want to push her to say any more about it than she wants to.
‘I’m so sorry for being such a wuss last night and avoiding the night out that we’d planned,’ I tell her, trying to divert her from her own misery. ‘We should have just gone to the restaurant and I’d have pulled myself together eventually, because let’s face it, home measures and a wailing mourner like me are not good company ever, so you can blame me if it helps. It was my fault you were out so late.’
Now it’s Nora’s turn to look a million miles away and I know she has the weight of the world on her shoulders but I would never dare to pry unless she wanted to open up and tell me her problems. Every dog on the street knows that she is going through hell in what should still be the honeymoon period of her marriage, but one thing I have learned in my years of serving as the city’s most well-known agony aunt is to listen first. Nora is a closed book and if that’s how she wants to keep it for now, that’s fine by me . . .
‘Well, if it isn’t two of my favourite customers in here at the same time!’
I look up to see Gloria, a festive red tea towel strewn across her shoulder and a beaming smile on her welcoming face, automatically shifting our mood and bringing a much-needed glow into the doom and gloom. Gloria, with her Caribbean roots, is a larger-than-life figure with universal maternal instincts and a charitable nature. She just looks like one big personified hug and I adore her to bits.
‘You don’t have to pretend I’m your favourite, Gloria,’ says Nora, trying her best to appear normal and not a shivering hungover shell of a human she currently is inside. ‘We all know Ruth is everyone’s favouriteeverywhereshe goes. She just has to flash her pearly whites and the nation swoons.’
Nora says this with a smile, but there’s a slight bitterness in her tone that makes Gloria cast me a wondering glance. My face goes pink at the reminder of my reputation of ‘she who can do no wrong’, a reputation that has been carefully managed and nourished by those who hire me on the newspaper, but one that I definitely do not feel worthy of today. I should be working up to my image by replying to some of the more poignant emails in my Inbox, but instead I’m nursing my sorrow in the only place where I feel like I can escape from it all. I can’t deal with other people’s problems today, especially when I think of some of the desperate, lonely cases who have messaged me in dread of Christmas and all the pressures it can sometimes bring. I shudder at the thought, glad of Nora and this distraction of our meeting, even if it seems like venom drips off her tongue when she speaks of my popularity.
‘Ah, I just know Ruth a very, very long time,’ says Gloria, placing her hand on my shoulder. ‘We go back a long way, don’t we, darlin’? We go way, way back, when this beauty was just a little girl in here with her dear papa and her little sister. My, how time flies. Are you holding up okay, my love? It’s a hard time for you, I know it is.’
I bite my lip and hug the mug of hot chocolate. I try to speak. I can’t.
I shake my head.
‘She’s fine,’ says Nora. ‘She’s used to solving problems so I’m sure she can solve her own, can’t you, Ruth?’
I go to reply but Nora doesn’t give me a chance to.
‘Plus, she had to watch all of us getting hammered last night, so everything seems a little bit worse this morning and we need to be treated like fragile little eggs.Hungry, fragile little eggs.’
‘Well, you’re in the right place for that,’ says Gloria. ‘Now, what can I get you? You two look like you could eat a hearty breakfast.’
Nora takes over as she usually does in company and, although in most circumstances it gets on my nerves, for now I am glad of her decisiveness as I can’t seem to think straight lately.
