Lou pulled into the car park and looked at the grotty exterior of
Ma’s Café
and she smiled because she could feel her dream stepping out of her imagination and becoming flesh. She felt a surge of excitement, visualizing the large black and white sign with the name of their café on it, whatever that would be, supplanting the yellow and brown one with the missing letters, and a throng of people coming especially for their cakes and coffee. This was so long overdue. She had never allowed herself to picture what would have happened if she and Deb had not abandoned their plans because to do that she would also need to imagine that her marriage had ended. She couldn’t have had both the café and Phil then.
He had seemed normal enough the previous day, though he was still hiding away his phone and smiling too much for Lou’s liking, which was actually starting to annoy her more than it upset her. How long had he been this pathetic, she found herself asking at one point, when he seemed to be humming a tune that fitted the lyrics: ‘I know something you don’t know.’ When did he become someone who had to torture, to control, to hurt? Or had
he always been like that, and she was just wising up to it?
So far though, Lou was coping, holding it all together. Thinking about
Ma’s
concentrated her mind on things she wanted to think about, rather than those she didn’t, and the obvious timing of Phil’s behaviour, coming just after she announced she was going ahead with her café plans, only galvanized her sheer bloody-mindedness. She would show him that this time, he wasn’t going to manipulate her into dumping her dream.
She was, however, worried that the time for ultimatums was looming and she wasn’t sure what she would do if he tried to pin her down to ‘
Debra Devine or me
.’ One thing was for sure: whatever happened, she would not let Deb down again. So, didn’t that indirectly answer it for her?
Deb was taking that week off work and her Mini was already parked up when Lou got there. In the car, Lou checked her face in the flip-down mirror for lipstick on her teeth, just in case she should bump into any interesting males with smiley faces and big dogs. The mirror threw a drawn and tired reflection back at her. She pinched some colour into her cheeks and pasted on a smile. The last thing she wanted was for Deb to think that everything in the garden wasn’t rosy, for it was more or less at this stage last time when their plans collapsed.
They were going to have a look at the flat above the business. Lou went into the café and May, wearing a
Gordon Ramsay My F***ing Arse
apron, waved her upstairs with a half-buttered bap.
Deb was waiting at the top of the stairs for her, smiling broadly.
‘Welcome to our empire HQ,’ she said with a flourish as she led Lou into a small dingy room with a few bits of furniture dotted around.
‘Crikey, you couldn’t swing a blind bat in here,’ said Lou, looking around. Deb smiled but didn’t correct her; she was used to Lou’s mangling of the English language. It was one of those daft things about Lou that she had missed in the past three years. At that moment Deb so wanted to give Lou a big hug, but she feared if she did, she would start crying and pour everything out about what that bald-headed husband of hers was doing again.
The flat was clean, give or take a layer of dust and a neglected musty smell. However, the lime-green walls and purple ceilings were a bit violent on the eye. Especially when complemented by a burgundy alcove where the carcass of a double bed stood snugly between wall and window. A tiny little bathroom leading off had a seventies chocolate suite and the same burgundy walls, while the galley kitchen with its ancient appliances was the black side of navy blue.
‘Where the hell did this paint come from?’ said Lou. She wouldn’t have thought it possible to fit so much bad taste into such a small space.
‘It’ll probably be in vogue in a couple of years when everyone gets sick of the neutral look,’ laughed Deb.
‘Don’t put your life savings on it, love. I thought May used this place for storage. I was expecting to see boxes everywhere.’
‘Apparently her nephew had it for a while at Easter so she emptied it for him. I think painting it was his way of paying rent.’
‘Dear God, I hope he’s not at art school,’ said Lou,
shielding her eyes from the sunshine reflecting off the lime-green gloss. ‘It would make a smashing little office, though,’ she added.
There were two chairs and a small dining-table already covered with Deb’s homework. She had brought a basket with tea and coffee and cups, as had Lou.
‘Great minds,’ said Lou, and even though she smiled, Deb thought she looked weary. She wondered if she knew about Phil already. Perversely, she both hoped she did and hoped she didn’t, for obvious reasons.
‘You all right today?’ asked Lou. ‘You look a little tired.’
Deb wanted to laugh: Lou asking if
she
was all right. ‘Start of a headache, that’s all,’ she said. ‘Must be down to all this excitement. Exclusive premises
and
a penthouse flat thrown in–who wouldn’t be overwrought?’
‘I have tablets,’ said Lou, fishing in her handbag.
‘Thanks,’ said Deb, who doubted that three tons of Semtex, never mind a couple of Ibuprofen, would shift what was making her brain throb.
A cup of coffee and a shared Twix later, Deb was showing off the list of builders she had rung for quotes and some who had contacted her, having heard about the venture on some mysterious builders’ grapevine.
‘I’m seeing three lots this afternoon and taking them around the café,’ Deb went on. ‘I told them it’s urgent and that I want the figures back as soon as. I reckon we’d need to shut up the café for maybe four to six weeks. But what do you think about this…’ She leaned forward. ‘We offer a free belt-buster breakfast to the regulars when we re-open.’
Lou nodded enthusiastically.
‘I was thinking the same myself. Look…’ She foraged in her bag and brought out her notepad, then presented a page to Deb on which she had scribbled her idea for a voucher to be given out to the regulars before the café closed, to be redeemed when they opened again as
Working Title Casa Nostra
.
‘They’re numbered as well, so we can keep a tally and guard against anyone just going out and photocopying them.’
Deb nodded. In work matters they were so much in tune. Shame they didn’t think alike where other stuff was concerned. Phil and his over-active penis, for instance.
‘Anyway, want to hang around and see some big hunky builders with me?’ asked Deb. ‘I’ve got this man coming around at one,’ she said, handing Lou a letter of introduction from a builder. ‘They were keen, I’ll give them that. I rang them back and they seemed very hungry for the big stuff. And they guarantee to deliver on time.’
Lou studied the letter.
‘I was going to check out the kitchen equipment,’ she mused. She and Deb had been organized and written out a who-does-what list. ‘However, I’d love to be around to meet this guy with you. Deb, I just need to nip home and change. Would you do me a very great favour when I come back?’
And as Lou told her what that favour was, Deb’s first genuine smile in the last forty-eight hours spread over her pretty face.
Deb led the builder around the café, which was busy with drivers and noisy with the sizzle of fried food and Abba songs blaring from the radio.
‘As you can see,’ Deb said with increased volume to make herself heard, ‘we picked this place because of its tremendously popular location. You are familiar with our chain of coffee-houses in America, of course?’
The builder nodded and mumbled, ‘Oh yes, certainly.’
‘It’s quite a phenomenon, how quickly it’s grown,’ said Deb, trying to rein in the giggle and keep it strictly within the parameters of a professional smile. The builder had taken all his notes and measurements and now she was leading him upstairs to the flat. She gestured, inviting him to sit at the table.
‘I apologize for the surroundings. It’s a little bit different to our base in New York.’ She gave a tinkly laugh. ‘Five million square metres of office space and its own helipad.’
The builder raised a bushy set of eyebrows. Well, one continuous caterpillary one that seemed to do a Mexican wave across his forehead.
‘In the eighteen months since our chain has been
established in the States, the number of outlets has increased twenty-seven per cent more than McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, Wendy’s and KFC did in their first five years. That’s quite some growth, I’m sure you’ll agree.’
Deb stood proudly back waiting for the builder to absorb this and be amazed. He hadn’t a clue how huge that was but made a series of impressed wheezes, accordion-like grunts and whistley intakes of breath. For a moment there he became a sort of South Yorkshire beat-box.
‘This is why we have decided to come to England. It may seem like an odd place to base our first UK opening, but our Chairman has ancestral connections with this part of the country. Plus, as you may or may not know, an American conglomerate, which has integral business dealings with our chain back home, is buying up the land around here. Phase one involves two hundred new refurbs planned for this year alone, and we are looking for a team of builders who we can
one thousand per cent
rely on–possibly even to go on and cover our European phase which we intend to start within six months of
Casa Nostra
GB-One opening, i.e. this one.’
The builder’s eyes were dilating. They were almost imitating cartoon eyeballs where pupils clicked up as jackpot pound signs. Deb could hear his heart palpitations from across the table.
‘We have very good reputation for hour work,’ said the builder, with a misplaced couple of aitches. ‘No job too big hor too small for us, but reliability and satisfaction always guaranteed.’
‘Perfect!’ said Deb, clapping her hands together and giving the air of someone who has been totally sold. ‘Of
course our newly appointed Head of Ops is the one who will ultimately decide, which is why I am going to introduce you to her now. She has absolute authority in this matter. I asked her if she would mind meeting us here at quarter-to.’ Deb checked her watch. It was quarter to on the dot.
Right on cue, Lou teetered into the room in her beautiful black suit, hair swept up into an elegant French pleat, seamed stockings and her tallest going-out heels.
Deb came forward with a reverent smile.
‘Ah, Mrs Winter, I think we’ve found our man. Mrs Winter, meet Mr Keith Featherstone, Mr Featherstone, meet Mrs Elouise Winter, National Head of Global Operations for Casa Nostra International PLC.’
Fifteen minutes later, down in
Ma’s Café
, Lou wiped away her tears with a serviette. Deb’s head was in her hands and she was sobbing. That was the scene that met Tom as he pushed open the door.
He slid on the vinyl seat next to Deb and looked across the table at Lou, who was quite aware that, despite the beautiful clothes and coiffure, she must look an absolute sight.
Tom looked from one to the other.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked softly. ‘Are you both OK? Are you laughing or crying, the pair of you? Come on, what have you been up to?’
Deb tried to tell him but dissolved into hysteria. Lou tried to take over and did the same thing.
‘I’ll get a round in,’ said Tom with a big sloppy grin.
By the time he had returned with a tray, Lou and Deb had calmed down just enough to relate the story to him.
Neither of them could remember laughing like that since…well, not since they were together three years ago.
‘I have never seen the colour drain out of a man’s face so quickly!’ said Deb. ‘It was absolutely priceless.’
‘What did he do when he saw you, Lou?’ said Tom, caressing the cup with his thumb and making Lou shiver slightly. She could feel the heat of his leg very close to hers under the table.
‘He did this,’ and Deb made a strange gurgling sound. ‘I thought he was going to choke!’
‘I’ve never heard as much bull in my life,’ said Lou. ‘How many square metres of office space do we have in New York again?’ She pressed at her cheek muscles which ached from a use they hadn’t had in a long time.
‘God knows, I was making it all up as I went along. Oh, you should have seen my friend here, Tom,’ said Deb. ‘She glared at him with her big green eyes and said, “I know Mr Featherstone’s work
very
well, Miss Devine. We’ll be in touch with our decision.” Then she said, “Thank you,” which sounded like “You are dismissed”, and he scuttled out like a crab with his rear end on fire. I swear there were icicles on the window when she opened her mouth. Ice Maiden or what!’
The girls crumbled into laughter again, both glad for it. Both with so much on their minds where laughter had no place.
Tom smiled gently. ‘But you’re happy the way things are going so far?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes,’ said Deb. She checked her watch. ‘Anyway, in fifteen minutes I’ve got another builder coming in, so I’d better sort out my face.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Tom. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Don’t mind you asking at all. Vernon Knowczynski and sons, apparently.’
Tom obviously recognized the name from the nod of approval he gave. ‘He’s a good, hardworking bloke, is Vernon Knowczynski. If you want my opinion, you would go a long way to beat him. He’s fast, he’s reliable and he’ll cut you a good deal. Especially for cash.’
At this he secretly winked over the table to Lou, whose heart did an Olga Korbut-type leap and kicked itself out of sync for a couple of beats. ‘The whole family are builders, lots of Polish cousins. Even his granny mixes the cement,’ he went on.
‘Wow!’ said Lou, amazed.
‘Lou! He’s having you on,’ said Deb, nudging him.
‘I’d kick you under the table but my legs aren’t long enough,’ said Lou, shaking her head in despair at herself. She of all people should know what he was like by now, but she had long since dispensed with the idea that he was trying to make a fool out of her. He was teasing her. She liked the words ‘Tom’ and ‘tease’ bracketed together. She kept dabbing under her eye with her fingertip. She’d put so much power-eyeliner on, it was bound to have smudged to the max after laughing at Keith Featherstone and his smacked-backside face.
They all stood to go. Oh hell, now Tom would see her walking on those impossible heels, which were like stilts. She’d had to take them off to go up and down the stairs or she’d have broken her neck. She couldn’t bear falling over again in front of him. This time she had a skirt on and would probably ladder her hold-ups as well as show him what she had had for dinner. Were her
seams straight? They were probably helter-skeltered around her legs. She deliberately hung back and let Tom and Deb walks out in front of her.
‘Want a lift to your car?’ grinned Deb, nodding towards her shoes.
‘I can give you a piggyback?’ said Tom.
‘No, get lost the pair of you,’ said Lou, shooing them away.
‘We won’t watch you walk across the car park–promise,’ chuckled Deb, and waved before she followed Tom into the ironmongery.
When Lou reached the Townend roundabout, she realized she had left her notebook in the psychedelic flat. Doing did a full circle, she came back into the car park, braking in a spot just opposite Tom’s shop. The door was ajar, and through the aperture she could see Tom standing, concentrating on something, staring in front of him as if into thin air. Unseen, she allowed herself the luxury of watching him, his big powerful profile, his large gentle face, his wild, wavy black hair through which her fingers itched to weave themselves. Then Lou saw Deb move into his arms and she froze.
Her heart was thumping in panic as she watched Deb bury her head into Tom’s shoulder. She could, at her height, whereas Lou could only have buried her head into his navel. They looked so good together–
so right
. Deb was leaning on him and he was cuddling her, stroking his hand down her back. Now he was holding her at arm’s length and talking softly to her, about what Lou didn’t know–she obviously couldn’t hear and her limbs were too numb to drop the window down. Then
Tom cupped Deb’s face in his hands and said something else. Tenderly, lovingly. Or was he kissing her? She couldn’t tell.
Lou ripped her eyes away and started up the car. Her sight was blurred. She blinked it clear. Her whole body seemed to be one big heartbeat. There was a pulse in her temple that would pump out a migraine if she didn’t get away.
She should be happy for them, she liked Tom and Deb so much, but it still hurt–in just the same way that it did when she saw Liam Barlow snogging Donna Platts at the school disco. He’d looked like a young Oliver Reed and his name was written all over her jotter in her I-Spy secret pen that only showed up in the dark. Donna was her best friend at fifteen. They weren’t doing anything wrong–Donna didn’t know how much Lou fancied Liam because she had always shrugged away any suggestion that she did. Just like Deb didn’t know how much she fancied Tom because she couldn’t admit it to her.
Not even Lou knew how deeply those feelings for Tom had taken root until she saw him holding her best friend the way she wanted to be held by him.
Lou Casserly hadn’t crumbled at the school disco, despite that pain in her chest. She had taken a deep breath, stoked up her smile and got on with being happy for Donna. Lou Winter would just have to try and do the same for Debra.
When Lou got home there was a message on the answering machine. It was Bloody Keith Featherstone in his poshest voice.
‘
Erm, Mrs Winter, this is Keith Featherstone. Would it be
convenient for us to call tomorrow morning at eight o’clock to start work hon your bathroom? I really must hapologize for the hinconvenience to you and the delay. Hobviously there will be a significant reduction in the price due to the hinconvenience, which I will refund to you. Could you ring me back when it’s convenient, please? I know you have my number but I’ll leave it hanyway
…’
Lou started to key the digits into the phone, then she put it down again before it could connect. This time she had the upper hand with Keith Featherstone and she was going to savour it for a little longer. This time there would be no Deb or fancy title or power suit or ‘killer heels’ to hide behind. This time it was just Keith Featherstone and Lou Winter.
High Noon
. She dialled again.
‘Oh, Mrs Winter, hI’m so glad you returned my call.’
‘I got your message, Mr Featherstone. Yes, it would be convenient for you to call tomorrow at eight. At last,’ she added pointedly.
‘Like I say, I do hapologize for all this delay,’ said Keith Featherstone with a nervous laugh, ‘HI’ve been so busy…’
‘I’ve been very busy myself and I just want this work done, Mr Featherstone, if you don’t mind,’ said Lou with icy politeness. ‘And done quickly after all this “inconvenience”.’ He seemed to like that word, so maybe it would strike the happropriate chord. ‘Is that understood?’
Bloody hell, that was
me
talking, thought Lou.
‘Yes, certainly, Mrs Winter. My lads will be there at eight prompt.’
‘Thank you and goodbye, Mr Featherstone.’
Lou put the phone down first. Those with the power always made the break first. Result. Lou was shaking–but smiling too. She was really proud of herself for that. She clasped her hands together and passed a quick Thank You to the Great Man upstairs for giving her the opportunity to have that moment. She felt absolutely empowered, so much so that she could have tackled Victorianna. She looked at the clock–her sister would be at work, pandering to the rich and famous with spray tans and fake toenails.
Damn–
because, with all this adrenaline flooding her system, Lou was ready to burn it off in her transatlantic direction.