‘So it won’t make a mess all over my café floor?’
‘Exactly.’
‘How do you know all this?’ I ask but before Ben can answer a woman comes out of the portacabin that we’re standing near clutching a mug of tea.
‘Ben Lawson?’ she asks as she walks towards us. ‘Is that you?’
The woman is about the same age as my aunt and wrapped up in a huge puffy coat, hat, scarf and mittens.
‘Hi, Jennifer,’ Ben replies.
‘What are you doing here?’ the woman asks.
‘Just visiting,’ he replies. His previous good mood seems to have disappeared and the reluctant smile is back, as though he wants to be anywhere but here.
‘It’s been a long time,’ Jennifer says wistfully.
‘This is Ellie,’ Ben says, clearly not wanting to be drawn into nostalgia. ‘She’s buying her first Conways Christmas Tree.’
‘Well in that case, we’ll have to do you a special deal,’ the woman says as I show her the tree I’ve chosen. I’m not sure it spoke to me exactly but it will look nice in the spot I’ve designated for it in the café. ‘I’m Jennifer Conway,’ she goes on. ‘My husband and I own the farm.’
‘I think you probably know my aunt and uncle,’ I reply. ‘James and Miranda Cunningham?’
She stops and turns around to look at me more closely and I step back awkwardly wishing I hadn’t said anything.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘You’re James and Miranda’s Ellie, so this Christmas tree must be for the old café.’ I can’t tell from her voice if she knows about the changes I’ve made or, if she does, whether she approves. ‘In that case I’ll definitely do you a deal. Is it just this one, my love?’
For a moment I wonder if I should have a tree in the flat too, like my aunt and uncle used to when they lived there. But what would be the point? It’s only me and I won’t be there for Christmas Day.
‘Just that one,’ I confirm. ‘Although…’
Ben and Jennifer look at me expectantly.
‘I don’t have anything to decorate it with.’
‘And you called me a Grinch,’ Ben says, catching my eye and winking at me. My stomach goes wild and I look away quickly.
‘Lucky for you we do a good line in Christmas decorations too,’ Jennifer says as she hands Ben her mug and picks up the Christmas tree as though it were made of feathers.
‘I used to work here when I was a teenager,’ Ben says to me as we follow Jennifer back towards the portacabin. ‘Christmas trees in winter, fruit picking in summer.’
‘This really is a nostalgia trip for you, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘I hope it’s not… well…’ I hesitate. I don’t want to sound like I’m prying.
‘What?’
‘Oh just what you said earlier, that Christmas isn’t your happiest time and I hope this isn’t bringing back bad memories.’
‘Far from it,’ he says. ‘And it’s nice to spend some time with you.’
I feel his hand lightly brush the small of my back as he guides me up the steps into Jennifer’s portacabin shop ahead of him and, for the first time, I don’t think the fizzing in my stomach is a bad thing.
9
‘Thank you for bringing me,’ I say as we drive back to Sanderson Bay, the Christmas tree tied to the roof of Ben’s car and a back seat full of other decorations, garlands and greenery. ‘It’s been fun.’
‘I’m glad,’ he replies. ‘I thought maybe you were just humouring me and Sascha to be honest – that you didn’t really want to decorate the café. I hope I haven’t pushed you into buying something you don’t really want.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I say turning to look at his profile, taking in the strong nose and brow, the dark stubble across his jaw, the way his hair curls at the back on his scarf. ‘Seeing all the different Christmas trees helped put me in the Christmas spirit a bit. This time of year is tough but Sascha’s right, I do have to make new traditions.’
‘It helps,’ he says, quietly. I wait a moment to see if he’ll say anything else but he doesn’t.
‘I hope I haven’t put you out by driving out here,’ I say. ‘You hardly know me.’
He turns to look at me, taking his eyes off the road for just a second. ‘I think we’re starting to know each other now though,’ he says softly.
My heart is in my throat and I don’t know how to reply to that but luckily my phone rings before I say something stupid. It’s Sascha.
‘How’s it going?’ she says in a stage whisper. ‘You’ve been gone a long time.’
‘It’s Sascha checking up on us,’ I tell Ben and he grins. ‘We’re on our way back now,’ I say into the phone. ‘I’ll close up for a couple of hours and get the place decorated and you can come and inspect it when it’s done.’
‘Is Ben going to help?’ Sascha asks.
‘I’ll let you know when it’s done,’ I reply ending the call.
‘I’m not going to ask why she’s checking up on us,’ Ben says as I put the phone back in my pocket.
‘She thinks I’ve been single for too long,’ I say, regretting the words immediately they tumble out of my mouth. I can feel myself blush.
‘Well that answers one question I was going to ask,’ Ben says as he indicates for the turn-off to Sanderson Bay. ‘You’re not seeing anyone.’
‘Are you?’ I ask.
‘No and I’m free this afternoon if you want some help decorating the café.’
It’s almost as though Sascha’s stage whisper was so loud he heard what she was saying.
*
A year isn’t too long to be single in my opinion, especially when you’ve had your heart broken. I loved Marcus so much, even though I know James and Miranda weren’t too keen, and I’d allowed myself to picture a future with him – two academics researching art together. For the three years that we were together I’d convinced myself that I was cut out for the academic life, that with him by my side I could get through my PhD and even a post-doctorate. Even my father, on our rare catch-up phone calls noticed a difference in me and my attitude to work.
But then a year ago Marcus left in the most unexpected way and everything I’d convinced myself was true unravelled and I came back to Sanderson Bay, to get away from the memories of Marcus and, it turned out, to buy a café. One of the reasons it felt like the right thing to do, aside from the café, was that Marcus never liked Sanderson Bay and it’s the last place he’ll come. If he ever sets foot in the UK again of course.
Spending time with Ben today has shifted something inside me. That closed-off part of me that has spent twelve months refusing to go on any of the dates Sascha and Miranda suggested, refusing to respond to flirtatious holidaymakers over the summer, refusing to even consider that there should be anything in my life other than the café and my friends, has opened up. Just a little, just enough to let the light in. Knowing that he finds Christmas difficult as well, even though he didn’t tell me why, feels as though we have a connection. Coming back to the place you grew up when you’ve been away a long time takes guts. I know because I haven’t been back to Paris since Maman died – and trust me being an art historian and avoiding Paris is quite an achievement; there’s a reason I concentrated on Spanish painters. But recently I’ve begun to wonder if going back would help me get some closure or some sort of understanding.