Keeping Mum. Kate Lawson
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‘There are some really interesting little shops around here.’
‘It’s kind of grown over the last few years. It used to be quite rundown when we first moved here, but quaint, and so the property was a reasonable price. Being close to the river is quite a draw—gradually lots of old hippies and craftsmen have moved in. Summer it’s really busy. People come down at the weekends to walk along the river, walk with their kids, paddle. That’s how we first found it—on Sunday the place is full of visitors trying to force-feed a dozen of the fattest ducks you’ve ever seen; they waddle up from the river en masse, and there’s a swan who is way too fat to break a sweat, let alone anyone’s arm.’
Mike laughed.
‘Oh, and then we have this guy who shows up on a tricycle, wearing a boater. He parks up under the trees over there and sells old-fashioned ice cream from a cold box on the front.’
‘Great place for weekend mooching.’
‘Fortunately for me. I get a lot of passing trade.’
‘So how did you end up selling furniture?’
‘Long story. I’ve always had an eye for a bargain and been a bit arty. I used to have a market stall when the boys were little, buying things in, restoring them, painting them up…’
They fell into step. High Lane had quickly become a little community in its own right. On the corner closest to town was Lucy, who designed and made silver jewellery, while in the shop alongside her a guy called Shaun made shoes and could mend anything made of leather known to man, and then further along Nick and Susie ran the wholefood cafe and shop, that by some fluke of geography had a river view and a wide front garden that they had transformed with climbers and geraniums and bright umbrellas into a little oasis of calm. There was a gallery at the far end of the green in the old granary that fronted the river, and next door to that was a clothes shop and a flower shop. Tucked in between them all were little cottages that had been snapped up by people looking for homes that had more to them than housing estate chic. Cass loved it all.
The cafe was half full when they arrived and Cass, having said her hellos, was shown to a table overlooking the garden.
‘What made you move here?’ Mike asked as he glanced down the menu.
‘It’s a lovely place to live and I really wanted a business I could run from home—when the boys were little it was important.’ She paused. ‘Did Rocco tell you about Neil?’
He nodded, then said, ‘They didn’t say much.’
‘Well, after we lost Neil I felt we needed to have a home and job that held us all together and this place seemed like it. The kids were almost nine and ten when we moved in. Lost always strikes me as such an odd euphemism for someone dying. It makes me sound as if I was careless and a bit feckless—anyway, it was a difficult time for everyone. He was only thirty-eight.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Cass smiled. ‘Thank you. It’s a long time ago now but I still miss him and it’s odd because it’s one of those things a lot of people can’t handle. They can manage divorce, single parents, being abandoned, leaving—all sorts of things—but they can’t handle dying…’ Cass laughed and took a handful of roasted seeds from the little pot in the middle of the table, waving the words away.
‘If you could give us another minute or two,’ said Mike as the waitress made her way to their table, notepad in hand.
Cass glanced down at the menu. What she didn’t tell Mike was that even now she loved Neil more than she knew how to say and missed him every day, and that—without meaning to—she compared every man she had met since against him; and there had been no one who even came close. She understood that memory played tricks with your mind and that, by dying, Neil often appeared as she wanted him to be rather than how he was—but she still missed his voice and the smell of him and the way he made her feel better, and his laugh and…
And although Cass hadn’t planned it that way, and despite several boyfriends, it was hard for someone to walk in the shadow of the dead, someone who never grew old, who never got fat, never farted, whose life was sealed in the vaults of memory and as a result could never go on to shag her best friend or leave her stranded in the rain or ring up to argue about child support or who should have the house.
‘See anything you fancy?’ Cass asked. When she looked up to see how Mike was doing with the menu, she caught him staring at her, which made her redden at the unintentional play on words.
‘I’d like the cauliflower, mushroom and aubergine satay with wild rice,’ said Mike to the waitress.
‘And I’ll have the roast autumn vegetables with cashew couscous. And a glass of apple juice,’ Cass said.
The girl scribbled the order down and Mike handed the menus back. ‘And just a glass of tap water,’ he said. ‘So,’ he continued as the waitress retreated. ‘Maybe I should tell you all about me and my life.’ He made it sound like a treat.
Maybe lunch hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
‘Didn’t we do this at Rocco’s?’ asked Cass, lightly.
‘Not without your mum and Rocco filling in the blanks, remember?’
Cass decided not to say anything, but it was all right because Mike was way ahead of her. Where she’d taken two minutes to give him a précis of her life, from his body language he had obviously got lunch booked for a full-scale rundown of life on planet Mike. Although at least it meant she didn’t have to say anything, Cass thought as she shook out her napkin.
‘Okay well, I’m divorced, I’ve got a son and daughter, Robert and Charlotte, they’re eighteen and sixteen and they live with their mother in Carlisle. I moved down here about three years ago to set up in business with Charles, a friend of mine.’
The way Mike emphasised the names as he talked made Cass wonder if there was going to be a test afterwards.
‘I do some private work—Rocco’s roof, for example, and bigger corporate things with Charles.’
‘Your partner,’ Cass chipped in.
‘Yes, although that’s purely in the business sense, you understand,’ Mike said. And then he smiled to make sure he still had her full attention.
Obviously this was a speech Mike had prepared earlier. Cass settled down to listen. While they ate, Mike talked about his divorce and doing up the derelict chapel and plans he had for the garden, where he’d been on holiday and where he’d like to go, how he liked to work out and play golf and play squash and then, while Cass ordered coffee, Mike talked about good food and girlfriends and by that time it was almost two o’clock and Cass had barely said a word and Mike was still in full flow. Another ten minutes and she suspected her ears would start to bleed.
Cass glanced up at the clock. ‘Much as I’m enjoying your company Mike,’ Cass said, wondering if he did irony, ‘I really need to be getting back to work.’
‘Me too.’ Mike nodded. ‘Oh, is that the time, gosh it’s gone so quickly. Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself. Well, it’s been lovely.’ And then he added, ‘I was wondering if maybe I could see you again some time? I mean, we seem to be getting along nicely.’
Cass smiled noncommittally. How did you say to someone politely that you would rather push needles in your eyes?
‘Maybe we could have dinner after the concert?’
Maybe Mike was just nervous—maybe he would be all right once she got to know him. Cass picked up her bag. And maybe Elvis would bring the bill. Who was she trying to kid? Mike was good looking and nicely dressed but he was also boring and totally self-obsessed.
Meanwhile the girl, who bore no resemblance to the King, set the bill down on the table between them.
Mike picked it up and before Cass could speak, cast his eye over it,