‘See you later, mate,’ he says, but Ben doesn’t reply. He just shrugs on his coat and walks out of the pub. He doesn’t say anything as we walk down the High Street. He is a little ahead of me with his hands in his pockets and his head down. He looks like he knows where he’s going so I catch him up and grab his arm. I don’t want him going back to the hotel just yet – not because of what Geoff said but because I need to make sure he’s all right. It was my café he was in when he got upset and it was my customers he snapped at. There has to be a reason.
‘Shall we go to the café?’ I ask. ‘I’ll even make you some coffee.’
‘Tea,’ he says, surprising me. ‘That night-time tea. I like that.’
‘Night-time tea it is,’ I reply.
I unlock the café and reset the burglar alarm. Ben follows me in and sits at one of the tables at the back of the café near the Christmas tree.
I turn the hot water on and wait for it to heat up so I can warm the pot. Three spoons of night-time tea – lavender, camomile, valerian – and a scoop of dried rose petals for any anxiety Ben might be feeling. Well actually those rose petals might be for me. This whole situation is making me feel less than comfortable I’ll admit, but I had one of the best afternoons I’ve had in ages when I was decorating the tree with Ben earlier and something is clearly bothering him. If he needs someone to talk to, I’ll be that person even though my usual inclination is to run away.
When the water is warm enough I pour it over the herbs and rose petals and I put the pot and two cups – glass teacups bought on holiday in Morocco and carefully wrapped up in a sarong to transport home – on a tray and take it out to Ben but when I get there he’s already fallen asleep, his chin on his chest.
I put the tray down and nudge him gently. ‘Come on,’ I say as he opens his eyes. ‘I don’t think you need night-time tea tonight. Let’s get you upstairs – you can sleep on my sofa tonight.’
11
I check on Ben three times during the night, making sure he’s hasn’t rolled onto his back or choked on his own vomit or some other nightmare scenario that my overly anxious, and very awake, brain has conjured up. I wake up from a troubled sleep at 5am, which is early even for me.
When I come out of the shower, I can hear Ben moving about in the living room and I feel my shoulders drop away from my ears in relief that he has survived the night. Which is ridiculous because people get drunk all the time and survive the night and also I’m not sure he was that drunk at all – just completely exhausted. He had told me he hadn’t been sleeping well.
‘It’s not that easy,’ I hear him say and realise that he’s on the phone to somebody. It seems very early on a Sunday morning to be on the phone to anybody. ‘I’ll be there this evening,’ he goes on after a pause and I walk into my own bedroom. I don’t want to be the person who eavesdrops on other people’s conversations.
Once I’m dressed, I get some clean towels out of the airing cupboard and place them on the floor outside the living room before knocking on the door.
‘I’ve left you a towel,’ I say. ‘Feel free to use the bathroom. I’ll put some coffee on for you downstairs.’
The living room door swings open and Ben is standing in front of me wearing last night’s clothes and generally looking dishevelled. Dishevelled but still very good-looking. My heart skips a beat.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ he says. ‘I’ll get out of your hair.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Stay. If you want to anyway. I’m sorry it’s so early but I have to open the café in an hour or so. At least have a shower – I’ve left a new toothbrush in the bathroom for you too.’ I stop. I’m babbling again. ‘Come downstairs when you’re ready,’ I say as I walk away.
There is a kitchen in the flat of course but I feel the need to put some distance between me and Ben, at least for a few minutes. Last night, before he fell asleep, he had been trying to tell me something and I’m hoping that if I give him some space this morning he’ll be able to tell me whatever it was that upset him yesterday when the couple with the boat came into the café – other than them interrupting a moment that I wish hadn’t been interrupted.
I put the café oven on to heat up some croissants and then put on a pot of coffee for Ben and heat up the water for my tea. I need something strong this morning and almost wish that I drank coffee. I make myself a strong black English breakfast tea in one of the Hornsea pottery mugs and wait for the croissants to heat through.
Ben comes down about fifteen minutes later, his hair still damp from the shower and his eyes slightly bloodshot.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask as I pour him a coffee into a blue and white striped mug.
‘I’ve felt better,’ he says taking the coffee from me. ‘Thank you for this, and for putting up with me last night. I owe you a massive apology.’
‘Go and sit down,’ I say, pointing him in the direction of the tables. ‘I’ll just go and get the croissants out of the oven.’
When I come back he’s put the Christmas tree lights on and is leaning against a nearby table admiring the tree.
‘It doesn’t look too bad does it?’ he says.
‘Better than I expected,’ I admit as I sit down.
He joins me and wolfs down his croissant in two bites.
‘Hungry?’ I smile.
‘I skipped dinner last night,’ he replies. ‘Or rather I took my dinner in liquid form.’
I want to ask him why, I want to ask him what has brought him to the Bay and what unsettled him so much yesterday that he felt he had to turn to whisky. But I don’t, because I know how much I hate it when people meddle in my life, however well intentioned that meddling is.
‘Want another?’ I ask instead, pointing at his empty plate.
‘No,’ he says. ‘You’ve done more than enough for me. Thank you for looking after me last night. I’d got myself in a bit of a state. I’m so sorry – for that and for the way I treated those customers yesterday.’ He blushes and looks away from me. ‘My behaviour was—’
‘You’ve apologised about fifteen times already,’ I interrupt. ‘It’s fine, I promise. The customers were a bit shocked but I gave them some freebies and I think it placated them. I’m more concerned about you. Are you all right?’
He drinks his coffee and looks at me.
‘It’s just the time of year and being back here…’ He pauses, shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.
‘I do have to get going,’ he says before I can ask him anything else. ‘I need to get back to the hotel and check out.’ He picks his coat up from the back of the chair where he left it last night and steps towards me. ‘Thank you again,’ he says softly. ‘You’ve no idea how sorry I am.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say as he takes another step towards me. My heart is beating so hard in my chest I’m surprised he can’t hear it.
‘It does matter,’ he says. ‘It matters to me. I’ve loved getting to know you over the last few days, Ellie.’