Page 3 of Autumn at the Oak Leaf Café
‘You remember that time he broke his ankle on a submerged shopping trolley? He was convinced it was you who put it in there.’
Dad opened the side door. ‘Not guilty. Wish I was.’
They got out of the car. Evening was coming on, and a gentle breeze was shaking the trees and shrubs in the front gardens along Lock Keepers Lane. Madeline glanced up at the sky, already streaked with purples and oranges as the sun slowly sank towards the west. She’d get a couple of nice weeks, for sure, to wander around Brentwell, perhaps take a stroll through Sycamore Park like she used to, maybe see if the Oak Leaf Café was still there and get a maple latte, just for old time’s sake. Then the evenings would draw in, the leaves would fall, and it would be cold and gloomy for the next six months.
She had never liked autumn. It was thRoryguard for winter, a little teaser for the horrid days to come. Summer was good for a visit, but Madeline was usually back on a plane and safely stowed away overseas somewhere by now. It was strange to be coming back at the exact time she normally went away.
‘I’m taking your silence as an “I don’t want to talk about it slash yes. I mean, I know your mother didn’t like him, so by default I should have thought he was the best thing since the four-slice toaster, but it was hard not to agree.’
Madeline sighed. ‘I’m not planning to contact him,’ she said. ‘Is he even still around? We don’t exactly keep in touch. When I turned down the thrilling opportunity to live in a caravan with him on his parents’ front lawn in order to go and work overseas, it didn’t go down well.’
In fact, Rory had thrown a tantrum, quite literally throwing his toys out of his pram—although in this case it was his cups and bowls out of his caravan—and then gone up to the Tavern to get drunk, before heading down to the canal for another attempt to jump across the width of its green, murky waters.
She was yet to know whether he had made it or not, but during the last eight years, through the course of which she had—among other things—worked as a private English teacher for an Indonesian diplomat, washed dishes in a Japanese ski resort, spent some time as an English-speaking tour guide at Anchor Wat, picked durian on a farm in Vietnam, and most recently worked as an au pair, nannying two delightful infant daughters of an Australian politician—Rory and his issues had been a long way from her mind.
‘That’s good,’ Jonas said. ‘I mean, he might have changed his spots, but a leopard can’t change its internal organs, can it?’
‘Huh? What on earth are you talking about?’
Jonas just gave an uncomfortable shrug. ‘You’ll see. Well, hopefully you won’t. Anyway, let’s get you inside. Are you hungry? Because I can order a pizza or something if you are.’
‘We only had dinner half an hour ago.’
Jonas shrugged. ‘Well, got to keep your strength up, haven’t you? Who knows what surprises might be waiting for you now you’re home.’
‘Not too many, I hope.’
Jonas just gave her another pained look, but this time he said nothing.
3
Family Reunion
Dad wantedto come with her up to the churchyard, but having missed out on the funeral, Madeline preferred to say a private goodbye to her mother.
All that was left of Elizabeth Claire Tremaine—known for most of her life as Beth Fellow—was a granite plaque embedded into a concrete wall at the back of Redfield church, in the shadows beneath a towering sycamore tree. Jonas and Eric had chosen a nice spot for the woman who had brought Madeline into the world and then spent the next thirty-two years hassling her through it. Childhood had never been easy, but neither had it been an unmitigated disaster. While her brother Eric, younger by four years, had always been her mother’s favourite, and the perennial baby of the family, a situation which had led him to grow up into a slimy wannabe heartbreaker whose greatest asset was the ability to drive flies away whenever he came too close, her father had always been more measured about his love for his children. Madeline suspected, although Jonas would never admit it, that due to the virtue of her mother’s obvious slant towards Eric’s side that she might just edge ahead on his. Mum had never missed an occasion to shower Eric with affection, but if Madeline came home with a good school report or won a trophy in cross-country running, Mum had been quick enough to get in the cakes or insist they went out to celebrate. Madeline didn’t miss her like she would miss her father when he died, but she did still miss her. And that was enough.
‘Nice flowers, Mum,’ she said, pushing a bunch of foxgloves aside to slide in the carnations she had bought from the Tesco Metro up on the high street. She suspected the foxgloves were her brother’s work; they looked sponged from a park flowerbed. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for your funeral. But, you know, that was technically your fault for insisting that no one tell me. I would have come back, you know. You weren’t that much of a dragon, and I did always feel guilty that I left Eric to care for you all these years.’
She felt guilty, yes, but Eric had volunteered and been happy about it. Dad had done his bit to help, too, even though they had been divorced five years before her health started to fail. Eric had consumed himself with caring for Mum, moving her into his little two-bed semi a mile north of Brentwell Primary School where he worked. In truth, while it pained her to admit it, at twenty-eight and about to get married he was probably doing far better financially than she was: after all, the kind of short-term overseas jobs she lived for didn’t pay particularly well, and what money she did manage to save generally got burned up the next time she had a couple of weeks off for free travelling. Having found herself back in England in September, she was in the unenviable position of actually needing to get a job and earn some money before she could afford to go back overseas. There were always teaching jobs, but nowhere paid well these days, and there were startup costs everywhere. She had her eye on South America this time, planning to leave late autumn or early winter, to get out there before Christmas. She had already invited Dad to visit wherever she was, although Eric and his soon-to-be-wife had also invited him, meaning an inevitable tug-of-war would soon start. Of course, none of that would be a factor if she didn’t start earning some money.
Tesco was hiring, and she’d seen a sign up in the window of the local fish’n’chips shop. Evans Carpets up on Fore Street was looking for a delivery driver, but she needed to update her license details. She’d planned to do a bit of English teaching, but it seemed that Brexit had caused the only local community classes to shut down.
What to do? She wandered up to the Job Centre, but even here in Brentwell there were a handful of scary benefits types hanging around outside, so even though they dressed a lot nicer than they did in other cities and there wasn’t a can of Special Brew to be seen, she was too nervous to go inside. Instead, she wandered up the high street for a while, stopping for coffee in a boutique café where the owner stared at her for so long Madeline began to wonder if she had a spot on her forehead, then doing some window shopping, picking up a couple of interesting bits and bobs in one of the charity shops, and an Eagles CD for Dad.
By the time she got back to Dad’s it was half past five. To her surprise, a posh BMW was parked in the driveway.
Voices drifted out from the living room as she came in the front door. She took off her shoes and hung her jacket on a hook. She recognised Dad’s voice, and when a second male voice rose, she felt an urge to put her shoes back on and make a run for the nearest pub.
Just get it over with.
‘Hello,’ she said, pushing open the living room door. ‘I’m back.’
Her brother, Eric—who had insisted on Rick since secondary school as though that would somehow make him less of a dweeb—stood by the sideboard behind the sofa, holding a bottle of Dad’s whisky in his hands. To the best of Madeline’s knowledge, he had only drunk it once, when he was seventeen, and had been sick all over the kitchen table.
Dad was sitting at the dinner table by the wall, holding a cup of coffee. And on the sofa in front of Rick was a young woman. She was shorter and rounder than Madeline had expected, but a bob of hair and spectacles made her look sweet. She was tugging at the nearest armrest cover as though trying to realign it.
‘Ah, look, the wanderer returns,’ Rick said. ‘Nice to see you again, Madster.’
