A Street Café Named Desire Read online

  ‘It’s only £69.99 at Argos, Dad.’

  This pause for his dad to consider the proposition was the opportunity David needed.

  ‘Sam, listen, something terrible has happened. It’s your mother.’

  ‘She’s not had an accident, has she?’ asked Sam with an expression suggesting surprisingly little concern.

  ‘No, not an accident,’ replied David, for an instant wishing she had.

  ‘Good, that’s alright then. Dad, what about an advance Christmas present? If I had to wait until then I wouldn’t be able to use it for ages, with the mud and snow and stuff. But it would be brilliant for now. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Maybe, but listen. Your mother.’

  ‘Yes?’ Sam enquired impatiently.

  ‘She’s leaving us. Well, me, to be more precise, although I suppose also you because she doesn’t intend to live here. She’s going to live with Jim.’

  ‘Uncle Jim?’

  ‘Yes, Uncle Jim.’ As he spoke there was a sudden gust of wind and a medley of early falling leaves swirled down from the cherry tree.

  ‘They’re just friends, Dad. Mum’s always going on about how helpless he is since his wife died. She goes round loads to check he’s OK, but they’re only visits.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Sam.’

  ‘Dad, you must have misheard.’

  There was a pause as David weighed up the value of convincing Sam that he was indeed right.

  ‘Who’s going to cook dinner then?’ said the boy, whose calm, practical outlook on life had always been in such sharp contrast to his sister’s frequent emotional outbursts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘If Mum leaves, who’s going to cook dinner?’

  ‘Well tonight’s my turn, it’s Saturday,’ David mumbled, disturbed by the way the conversation was progressing.

  ‘But what about other days?’

  ‘Sam, I haven’t given it a lot of thought. Me again, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh. It’s just that Mum’s a better cook than you. It’s OK to say that, isn’t it, Dad?’

  ‘Yes, it’s fine to say that,’ said David reassuringly, wondering whether this was Sam’s way of dealing with the traumatic news.

  ‘What are we eating tonight?’ Sam persevered.

  ‘We’ve got lamb.’

  ‘I like the taste, but when you see lambs jumping about outside in the fresh air it does make you think.’

  ‘We live in the middle of London. When did you last see a frolicking lamb?’

  ‘Last week. Not live, on TV.’ Sam returned to the big issue. ‘I’m sure everything will turn out OK, about Mum, I mean. She’ll stay with us, just you see.’

  David was not so sure, it had seemed pretty final to him.

  ‘Dad, will you have a good think about the car?’

  ‘Yes, I will,’ David replied. Although he was pleased the news hadn’t made Sam distraught, there was a degree of despondency that his son was indifferent to his feelings. Perhaps it was too much to expect a thirteen-year-old boy to have overt sympathy for an adult.

  ‘See you later,’ Sam said as he turned and headed indoors. His once white trainers were caked in mud though the luminous green Nike tick was as prominent as ever. He was wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt with an appropriate skeleton cartoon over his painfully thin frame. A good boy, David reflected.

  ‘Take your trainers off before you go upstairs,’ he called after Sam.

  David went into the kitchen, opened the wine, and poured himself a generous glass. He rarely drank before dinner but this was no ordinary day. During his conversation with Sam his distress, mixed with anger, had waned. Sitting down at the kitchen table the shock resurfaced, but there was little time to think things through.

  ‘Hello, I’m back.’ It was Rachel.

  ‘In the kitchen,’ David called out.

  There was the sound of the light brisk walk that he loved.

  ‘Hello, Dad.’ Rachel kissed him on the cheek and he could smell the stale tobacco on her clothes. He’d confronted her about the danger of smoking several times over the past few months, but to no avail. Jane hadn’t helped. ‘She’s sixteen, David, she needs to experiment. You can’t expect her to listen to an old fart like you,’ she had said. David hadn’t taken the ‘old fart’ description as a fact, but it was probably what she believed.

  ‘You OK, Dad? Lost in thought?’

  ‘It’s your mother.’ Rachel stepped back with a look of concern. At least this was a better start than the conversation with Sam. ‘She visited this afternoon.’

  She gave him an impatient teenager look implying a questioning of sanity. ‘Dad, what do you mean ‘visited’?’ She has such an expressive face, David reflected as she continued. ‘She lives here.’

  ‘Jim was with her.’

  ‘I love Uncle Jim. It’s like we’re friends, he’s so easy to talk to.’

  That statement made David contemplate the danger of continuing. Maybe she would be pleased her mother was moving on from an old fart to such a nice man. But there was no option other than to persevere. ‘She, well actually they … look, straight to the point because you’re old enough to understand,’ he blurted out. ‘They’re having a relationship and now Mum is leaving me and going to live with him.’

  Rachel was stunned into silence, an unusual event. Her face reddened with anger.

  David pressed on. ‘They came round this afternoon together, hand in hand, and told me.’

  ‘God, I’m an idiot. That explains things.’

  ‘What do you mean, Rachel?’

  ‘Lately whenever you call to tell us you’ll be late home from work she’s off as quick as a flash to see him. Says he needs support since his wife died. I bet she gives him support all right.’

  ‘Obviously things were going on that I had no idea about. Maybe there’ll be an explanation when she’s back tomorrow morning to talk to both of you.’

  ‘Great. She’s pissing off and didn’t even have the guts to tell us herself. She’s left you to do her dirty work.’

  Rachel went to the fridge, took out the orange juice, and drank straight from the carton.

  ‘I’m sure it’s not easy for her. Anyway, she’s written you a letter,’ David said as he handed her the envelope Jane had left on the table.

  ‘Not easy! How can you defend her, are you mad? What about us?’ She was right, it was a daft thing to say and David was all set to agree.

  ‘Fucking bitch!’ Rachel continued as she ripped the unopened letter and let the resulting little squares drop to the floor. ‘Well I won’t be seeing her.’ She was holding back tears. ‘I’m going round to Hannah’s.’

  She turned and strode out the kitchen then turned back. ‘Are you OK, Dad?’

  ‘Yes, don’t worry about me. You go.’

  A few seconds later there was the slam of the front door.

  David finished his first glass of wine and poured a second. He switched on the oven and began to prepare the lamb, potatoes, and carrots for the dinner for either two or three – depending on when Rachel decided to return.

  Chapter Three

  David’s conversation with Bridget was interrupted by an ex-classmate.

  ‘Eating time,’ she announced with a piercing screech. The woman was insecurely balanced on a chair, dressed in adult school uniform – short skirt, fishnet stockings, tight white shirt, and a kipper tie. Like everyone else at the reunion she was in her mid-forties and she looked ridiculous.

  She appeared unable to speak like a normal grown up. ‘It’s bad bad news, you’ll need to leave the bar. Sorreee. I know that’s gonna be hard, but it is yummy yum yum buffet food. Just take the first door on the right.’ Like an air hostess demonstrating emergency procedures she waved her arm in the appropriate direction, the clumsy motion sending her tumbling into the arms of the man standing by her side. They both ended up sprawled across the floor but the brave man had at least cushioned her fall, preventing injury to anything beyond pride.

&nb
sp; ‘I’m glad I’m a grown-up,’ Bridget said. ‘Let’s eat.’

  ‘Yes, good idea,’ David agreed.

  They entered a grand room with dark wood panelling, rich golden velvet drapes, and ornate chandeliers. There was a glass vase with a single white rose on each of the round tables. The tablecloths were the maroon of their old school blazer with matching serviettes neatly folded into the wine glasses. They made their way towards the food, laid out on trestle tables at the far end.

  ‘I love roast lamb, don’t you?’ David exclaimed as he looked at what was on offer. ‘What a wonderful smell.’

  ‘Actually I’m a vegetarian.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  They joined the short queue and Helen and Sharon stood behind them.

  ‘Hello again, David. Recovered?’ It was Helen.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘And who are you?’ Helen asked, looking at his companion.

  ‘Bridget.’

  ‘Were you in our year?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Bridget who?’

  ‘Bridget Wilkinson.’

  ‘Well I don’t remember you. Sharon, do you remember Bridget?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ With that, Helen and Sharon lost interest and turned away to chat with the man behind them in the queue.

  David handed Bridget a plate. She walked past the large silver platter of meat garnished with strong smelling rosemary, past the roast potatoes and the broccoli too, stopping at a small bowl. There was an untidily written note on a folded piece of grey-brown cardboard behind it. For vegetarians only . She took a spoonful of the pasta dish, added salad, and then turned to wait for David, who had paused by the lamb.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll have this,’ he said as much to himself as to Bridget.

  ‘No need to do that for me,’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘It’s not that. I haven’t had lamb since the night Jane left and it’s brought back a flood of unpleasant memories.’ He moved on to the pasta and was about to put some on his plate when he saw the notice banning consumption by meat eaters. He placed the serving spoon back in the bowl.

  ‘Don’t be silly, David. Take some. I’ve hardly had any so you’d be sharing my portion.’

  He dropped a small pile of the sticky, cheese-saturated offering onto his plate. ‘Mm, looks lovely,’ he said unconvincingly. He lifted it up towards his nose. ‘Smells good too.’

  They sat at a table in the far corner of the room, Bridget eating while David stirred his food with a fork. Other tables filled with their groups of six, but no one joined them until the queue had almost disappeared. Then a man and woman approached, each holding a plate of food piled high.

  ‘Aren’t you David Willoughby?’ asked the man, smartly dressed in suit and tie. ‘I’m George, George Pickford.’ He extended his arm and David shook his hand. ‘And this is my wife, Patricia. Patricia Thwaites she was then, weren’t you darling? We married soon after leaving school.’

  ‘Hello, David. Nice to see you after all this time. You’re looking well.’

  Patricia, dressed in a long emerald green gown, bent down and pecked him on the cheek. ‘Is this your wife?’ she asked, looking across to Bridget.

  ‘No, this is Bridget. She was in our year. Bridget Wilkinson.’

  Patricia looked down at her with curiosity. ‘That’s odd, I don’t remember that name and I’m known for my memory. Do you recall her, George?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ George peered down and examined her face intently. ‘Are you sure you were in our year?’

  ‘Well, I think I was,’ Bridget replied, the sarcasm missed by the questioners.

  ‘Anyway,’ George continued, ‘do you mind if we take a couple of chairs and some cutlery? We want to join Samantha’s table, rather a lot of catching up to do.’

  The move was already commencing as he spoke, George and Patricia edging backwards, each with chair in one hand and plate with cutlery in the other.

  ‘Go ahead, you won’t find any interesting conversation here,’ Bridget muttered.

  She smiled at David. ‘I made a lasting impression, didn’t I? Actually I’m glad we aren’t being bothered, I’m dying to find out more about what happened. Only if you don’t mind telling, of course. In fact, I’m being absurdly nosy, aren’t I?’

  ‘No, you’re not. I don’t mind at all. I think I was up to when Rachel stormed out. I was all set to tell her off for swearing, but then I thought considering the circumstances it was best not to. Anyway, when she left I carried on cooking, and drinking rather too much wine. After a while Sam came downstairs.’

  ‘Dad, Adrian’s invited me round. He’s got the new Wii football game, you can be any team you want and pick your own players. Can I go? He said I could stay over.’

  ‘Well, I suppose so. Have your dinner then I’ll drive you there. No, actually, it’s best I don’t drive. I’ll call a taxi.’

  ‘No need, he said I can eat there and his dad can pick me up. He’s on his way back from something and has to pass this way.’ As if on cue there was a ring at the doorbell. ‘That’ll be him now. Bye Dad, see you in the morning.’

  And Sam was gone. As the front door closed the phone rang and David lifted the receiver.

  ‘Dad, I’m staying at Hannah’s tonight. Will you call me tomorrow? But only when Mum’s gone. I don’t want to see her.’ There was a pause. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I am. Thanks.’

  ‘Good, see you tomorrow then. Must go, bye.’

  David served up and sat in uncomfortable silence in the kitchen, picking at the lamb, potatoes, and carrots.

  On the fridge there was a photo of the four of them – mother, father, and two children – smiling during their summer holiday in Brittany. It had rained for much of the two weeks, but that day the sun had burst through. They’d rushed down to the beach and the kids had splashed around in the sea. David had enjoyed watching them play, for once without the inhibiting need to be seen as cool that teenagehood usually brought. Jane had sat reading a novel. She looked happy enough those few months earlier, but now he knew that wasn’t the case. Why hadn’t she tried to talk things through rather than deceive him? A young English couple staying at their hotel had walked by just as David was about to take a photo of the two dripping children, one each side of their mother. All smiles.

  ‘Join the others,’ the man had said, so David handed over the camera and there was the result on the fridge. Four beaming faces. The backdrop of the sea and to the left, the edge of a craggy low cliff. A bright blue sky. Others running around on the sand behind them. A multi-coloured ball on its way down into a bikini clad woman’s outstretched hands. And a seagull, top corner right. Funny what you can see when you look closely. Until that lonely dinner he had only been aware of the four of them. Smiling.

  David poured out the last dregs from the wine bottle and lifted the glass to his lips. Dizzily, he tilted his head back to drink. Now the wine tasted rough and acidic. He stumbled upstairs and still clothed, dropped down onto his double bed for one.

  He slept intermittently, dreaming of being in a hurry and having to do something with great urgency. He was unclear what that something was. He knew action was required but he couldn’t engage in it. He struggled to get the unknown task accomplished as the ringing and knocking persisted and grew louder. Now awake he sat up unsteadily to the sound of continued banging coming from below. He stood, made his way downstairs, and opened the front door.

  It was Jane. ‘I’ve been standing here for more than five minutes ringing the sodding bell. I left the bloody house keys at Jim’s.’

  ‘Come in. Fancy a coffee?’

  ‘No, not now thank you. To be truthful I’m nervous about talking to the kids, but I appreciate I have to do it. Are they upstairs?’

  ‘No, they’re out.’

  ‘What do you mean “out”?’

  ‘Rachel’s at Hannah’s and Sam’s with Adrian.’

  ‘But you
knew I was coming over to speak to them this morning. How could you do this, David?’

  ‘They decided last night and just went. I was …’

  ‘You were what? Spiteful? Vindictive? I suppose you’re going to tell me you tried to stop them but they pushed past you.’

  ‘I was. I was a little drunk, I wasn’t thinking properly.’

  ‘I can’t believe how selfish you are, getting drunk when this is so important. When are they due back?’

  ‘No idea. Actually, Rachel said she didn’t want to see you.’

  ‘And I suppose you let her get away with it. Your attitude’s appalling.’ Jane strode into the kitchen. ‘Maybe I will have a coffee.’

  As she walked she disturbed the uneven squares of paper scattered across the floor. She stopped abruptly and peered down. ‘My letter. How dare you! You tore up my letter!’

  ‘It wasn’t me, it …’ David began as Jane swivelled round to face him. But then he had second thoughts. Why should he betray Rachel? A rare surge of anger sent his heart racing as he shouted, ‘Perhaps if you’d waited yesterday and had a conversation with them there and then, it would have been more sensible than a letter!’

  ‘I’m not going to listen to this.’ Jane headed into the hall and opened the front door. She turned, exuding hate from her eyes, in her voice, and via the index finger pointing at him. ‘How dare you tell me what I should be doing! You can’t imagine what I’m going through, you inconsiderate bastard.’

  David had known her for over twenty years. It struck him now for the first time that she had never been able to admit she was the one in the wrong. And it was happening again. According to Jane he was the one who was selfish, inconsiderate, and spiteful, when it was she who was walking out on him.

  ‘And now you’re smiling!’ she shrieked.

  ‘You have their mobile numbers, I suggest you phone them. Oh, and Jane …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I hope things don’t work out for you.’

  He sensed surprise and perhaps even a little fear in her eyes before she turned and slammed the door.