We just about manage horrendous small talk on the blessedly brief journey back to the village. It feels so odd, all of this – so different to the way I usually feel when I’m with Van. He hasn’t said it, not out loud, but I recognise when somebody has put their defences up. I should do – I’m a world expert at hiding behind my own.
He pulls up outside the pharmacy, and I turn to him before he gets out to retrieve the bike.
‘Are we all right, Van?’ I ask, quietly. ‘Are we still … friends?’
He stares out of the windscreen for a moment, then turns to face me with a smile.
‘Of course we are, Katie. That won’t change, I promise. If you need me, let me know – I’ll be there.’
‘And what about you? What about if you need me? You know it applies in reverse, don’t you?’
He nods, and swipes his hands over his hair, as though brushing off dust.
‘I do. I promise, I do. I’m not trying to be an arsehole here – I’m just tired. Didn’t get much sleep, and my brain feels like some kind of black hole, sucking all logical thought out of my head. Look, don’t worry about it. It’s all good. Come on, I need to get back to Briarwood before Yoda makes it to the great sewer in the sky …’
He gets out of the truck, and I watch as he lugs the evil bike out of the bed. He hands it over to me, and I stand holding it steady as he gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, climbs back into the driver’s seat, and toots his horn as he starts the engine.
I watch the truck pull away onto the road, knowing he’ll do a U-turn at the car park by the café and come back up again. Part of me wants to stay there, rooted to the spot, so I can wave at him again as he drives past for the second time.
Luckily I realise this would be an insane and counter-productive thing to do. He’s exhausted, and needs a bit of space, and it’s probably a sensible choice to ditch the crazy lady and her complications and lose himself in some mindless plumbing tasks. It might just keep his head from exploding.
I wheel the bike down the entryway and through the gate into the back yard at the pharmacy. I half expect to see Auburn there, smoking, but she’s inside. Only the big pink shell she uses as an ashtray remains.
I lean the bike against the wall, and resist the urge to kick it. I’d probably get my ankle trapped – that bike is definitely the boss of me.
I make my way inside, shedding my coat and scarf, and wonder if I should make some tea. Because, you know, I haven’t had enough of that recently.
I glance through to the shop floor and see that there is, by Budbury standards, a rush going on. Two people are sitting on the lipstick sofa, presumably waiting for the prescriptions I can see Auburn working on, and there’s a man standing at the till holding a packet of corn plasters and a roll of wrapping paper. I hope the two aren’t connected, or someone’s in for a big disappointment on Christmas morning.
I dash right through and serve him, then go and help Auburn with the prescriptions. I hand them out to the waiting ladies, checking their addresses first, while she carries on getting together some asthma medication that needs delivering later in the day.
We’re busy for a solid hour, with customers and preparing scripts and taking a delivery that needs to go straight into the fridge, and by the time the coast is finally clear, it’s nearing the end of my shift. I have to go and collect Saul, and then go home to see my dad, and then possibly referee a meeting between him and my mum. Even without the bedrock of anxiety about Van, it wouldn’t be a vintage day.
‘Cor blimey,’ says Auburn, her eyes wide and slightly manic. ‘That was intense! I think we should get more Christmas stuff in … we’re almost out of the scented candles and snowman mugs, did you notice?’
‘I did. I’ll order some. Plus maybe some more gift wrap and tags. Might as well make hay while the sun shines.’
She nods, and glances out of the window.
‘Or while the snow falls …’ she says, as I follow her gaze. It is snowing, she’s right – but not heavily, just a gentle dusting that probably won’t settle. At least I hope not, or the buses might not be running.
She leans back against the counter, and I see her reach for a whistle pop, then think better of it and shove her hand into her pocket instead. Must be that health kick she’s on. She’ll probably have a fag instead, replacing sugar with nicotine – her whole life seems to be one big juggle between potentially harmful substances.
‘So, did you find him?’ she asks, staring at me, as though daring me to try and avoid the subject. ‘And are you coming to the big bash at the café on Christmas Day?’
There are two questions there, but delivered in one rush of words. This is often the way with Auburn – her mind moves so fast that her lips can barely keep up.
‘I did find him,’ I reply, chewing my lip and wondering how much to tell her. I decide on ‘not very much’, as she is, after all, his sister.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Yeah. Fine. All sorted. Thanks for the loan of the bike. And as for the café … when was this decided?’
‘I got a text from Cherie a bit ago. You might have done as well, have you checked your phone?’
I haven’t, not since I did my last ‘making-sure-Saul-is-okay’ surveillance for missed calls from his pre-school. I look now, and see a couple of messages. One from my dad, saying he’s okay to go and pick up Saul if I let him know the address of the nursery, and one from Cherie.
First I answer my dad, telling him I’ll be home in five and will drive there with him. It takes a lot of pressure off, knowing our journey will be so much quicker. I really must learn to drive; I’m sick of relying on favours to get through the basics of my day. And if I learn to drive, I’ll never have to cycle again.
Cherie’s text is simple and to the point: ‘Your presence is requested at the Comfort Food Café for a Christmas feast, in thanks and celebration for all we have. Fancy dress optional, from noon onwards. Bring nothing but your Christmas spirit xxx’
I slide my phone back into my pocket, and try not to feel stressed. It’s an invitation to a party – one that will undoubtedly be splendid, which Saul will love, and which will surely do away with the need for me to overcook a turkey and peel parsnips.
But as I chat to Auburn, and gather my coat and belongings, I can’t quite shake off the feeling that maybe a party at the café might be a step too far for me right now. That maybe I’d prefer to be at home, on my own with Saul, the same way I have the last couple of years.
That maybe I’d even prefer to be somewhere else entirely, like on a last-minute flight to the Caribbean. Or, being realistic, somewhere cheap and cheerful in Spain.
I had a brief spell, I realise, where everything was settled. A brief spell where I happily sat with the café ladies and gossiped; where I started to relish my place in their lives, and feel safe and secure in the home I’d built for Saul and me in this community. A brief spell where I even began to open up to the idea that Van could be something more to me than the friend I flirt with.
Now, it feels like that brief spell is over. Like things have changed up again, just when I least wanted them to.
There’s been drama, and hospitals, and illness, and exes coming back on the scene. There’s been the reappearance of my parents, inserting themselves into my life with their usual carelessness. There’s been Van, basically rejecting me when I feel like I offered myself to him. Not that simple, I know – but that’s how it feels right now.
No matter how much I understand what he’s saying, and even partly agree with it, the rejection still feels raw. It still stings. I’d almost forgotten how bad it does sting, as I’ve not been rejected for so long – keeping my emotions under bubble wrap has its advantages.
Now, I feel like the walls are closing in, and I might get crushed. I might suffocate. I’m trapped in a web of other people, and suddenly need to get out. It’s irrational, I know, and I’m going to try and ride out the storm. Take things one step at a time, and not overreact. Not go into shut-down mode at the first sign of trouble – or, to be fair, approximately the first ten signs of trouble.
It’s a party. At the café. It will be splendid.
Auburn is looking at me with some concern, as I faff around getting ready to leave.
‘You might want to take a few deep breaths,’ she says, placing a hand on my arm. ‘You’ve gone super-pale, and you look like you’re about to fall over. Do you want a whistle pop? Is your blood sugar messed up? Is anything messed up?’
Pretty much everything feels in some way or another a bit messed up right now – but Auburn has enough to deal with without adding my pathetic personal crises to the list.
‘Nope, I’m fine, honest – just having a moment. It’s probably a delayed reaction to the shock of riding your bike! Anyway, I’m off – let me know if you get any more news about Lynnie, all right?’
‘Aye aye, captain,’ she says, saluting me as I leave.