CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘I’m fine. Stop fussing. I’m fine.’
Smiling, I shake my head at Sylvia. I’ve heard about five different varieties of this same sentence in the half hour I’ve been sitting by her bed.
‘I know, Sylvia. You’re fine.’
‘Well, I am! I wish people would stop treating me like I’m a piece of Clarice Clift pottery!’
I laugh. ‘You and your antiques.’
‘Speaking of antiques, have you seen Mick? He said he’d be in this afternoon and he hasn’t appeared yet.’ She glances fretfully at her watch.
‘Give the poor man a chance, Sylvia. Visiting time only started thirty-five minutes ago! And I’m going to tell him you called him an antique!’
She smiles and reddens. ‘He won’t mind. He’s used to me taking the mickey out of him.’
I grin, delighted for Mick that Sylvia has finally come to her senses and realised she’d be daft to continue avoiding his company.
Ever since her ‘little heart episode’, as she insists on referring to it, it’s as if she’s started looking at life afresh. Last time I visited, she solemnly told me she’d been thinking she probably only had a couple of decades left and she didn’t want to live them surrounded by clutter. So she was going to sort through her belongings, sell some at auction, and use the proceeds for a big family holiday in a Spanish villa.
‘What about Mick?’ I asked slyly. ‘Does he get an invitation?’
‘Oh, I’m taking him to Venice. Can you believe he’s never been?’
‘Ooh, just the two of you? Very romantic.’
‘Yes, well, you can stop all that. We’re just friends, you know.’
I winked at her. ‘For now.’
She silenced me with a glare but I could tell she wasn’t averse to the idea.
Now, she sits upright in bed and announces she has a plan.
‘Another one?’ I laugh. ‘Come on, then.’
She nods. ‘They’re forcing me to convalesce in Bournemouth with my sister, so while I’m away, I want you to clear out the café, get the decorators in and start running the place yourself.’
She sits back, linking her hands together and looking very pleased with herself.
I sneak a look towards the chart at the bottom of her bed. How strong is her medication?
‘Well, don’t look like that,’ she snaps. ‘What do you think? I’d pay you, obviously. It would be better than working for Monster Madge, wouldn’t it?’
‘Well, yes,’ I say slowly. ‘Anything would be better than her.’
‘Well, thank you, Ellie! What a massive compliment.’
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just – well, are you sure? You really want me to clear out the café? Box up all your precious things?’
‘I do.’ She nods enthusiastically. ‘You can’t live in the past, can you? You’ve got to keep moving forward. Take on fresh challenges. Even at my ripe old age.’
I laugh. ‘Crikey, you’ll be publishing a self-help book next!’
‘That’s not a bad idea.’ She considers. ‘I could call it Life After A Heart Attack.’
‘Yes.’ I grin. ‘I suppose Life After A Little Heart Episode wouldn’t have quite the same ring to it.’
*****
The following day, Sylvia heads off to Bournemouth with her sister.
After my shift at the bakery, I wander around the flat, unable to settle to anything. The emptiness of the place just seems to underline the aching emptiness I’m feeling now that Zak has gone. He’s only round the corner at Sylvia’s, but he might as well be in Australia. He made it perfectly clear he wasn’t interested in a future with me – so now, having struggled to get over the break-up with Richard, I’m going to have to do the same with Zak!
The only thing that raises a smile is thinking of poor Sylvia, being driven to Bournemouth by her sister, Agatha, doing a steady thirty miles an hour the whole way.
‘Never mind driving me to Bournemouth,’ Sylvia grumbled to me yesterday when I went to say goodbye. ‘Agatha’ll be driving me round the bend! What’s the point of having a fast car, if you’re going to drive like a snail?’
‘Hey, you need to take it easy,’ I pointed out. ‘No excitement, remember? So maybe Agatha’s pace is perfect for a while.’
I keep thinking of Sylvia’s suggestion that I clear out the café and give it a make-over. But I can’t get excited about it, the way I’m feeling right now.
It’s become abundantly clear to me that it’s time to leave Sunnybrook.
If I want to get over Zak, far better to be thirty miles away from him, in Farley’s Edge, than right here, practically on Sylvia’s doorstep. Also, Mum phoned me an hour ago, just as I arrived back from the bakery, to tell me that Mrs Rogers, who lives in her street, is selling her house and had apparently just called round to tell Mum all about it in case I was interested in buying it! Mum couldn’t remember the details of the conversation but the way she was talking to me on the phone about it, you’d think I was moving into Mrs Rogers’ house the next day!
Normally, I’d be delighted to hear Mum so lucid and talkative. But after the nightmare of the previous evening with Zak, I just felt really down.
Later, driving back to the village after visiting Mum, a heavy weight settles inside me. I don’t want to leave Sunnybrook. I’ve made a life here in such a short time, and some good friends . . .
A painful lump rises in my throat and I’m a complete soggy mess by the time I arrive back in Sunnybrook. Parking up outside the café, I glance at the door to the flat, but something makes me decide not to go up there yet.
Instead, I fish out the key to the café and slide it into the lock. Flicking on the lights, I stand in the middle of the space, breathing in the familiar smells of fresh coffee and home baking that still linger, even though the café has been closed for almost a week.
An idea takes hold.
What if I freshen up the café as a leaving present for Sylvia? Then she can return to a new start in a brand new place. I owe it to her, considering how amazingly supportive she’s been to me.
Also in my mind is the thought that if I start now, packing Sylvia’s ornaments into the empty cardboard boxes I found upstairs, it will give me something to do - fill the empty hours - so I won’t end up wandering restlessly round the flat trying not to think about Zak . . .
It’s nearly ten but I get started with gusto, tearing up the old newspapers and magazines in the rack, then wiping each ornament carefully before wrapping it up and laying it in a box. Pretty soon, motes of dust are flying everywhere and I’ve sneezed at least five times, but it feels good.
I’m packing away Sylvia’s old life into boxes, ready for her to start afresh when she returns! I have a feeling her Snowy would definitely have approved . . .
I’ve been there almost an hour when I hear footsteps outside, the door opens and in walks Zak.
‘Oh, it’s you. I saw the light on and wondered.’ He grins. ‘You’ve been busy.’
I give him a tight little smile. ‘Yes, well, I thought there’s no time like the present.’
‘Do you want some help?’
I shake my head. ‘No, no. I’ll manage myself. Thank you.’ I turn back to my packing.
He pauses for a moment. Then I hear him turn. ‘Right, well, I’ll be off, then.’ Once he’s gone, the tension flows out of me.
It’s only when I glance at the shelves on the other side of the café that I realise I really did need Zak’s help. The top shelf is too high for me to reach, even with a chair.
I sit back on my heels with a sigh.
So much for managing myself . . .