Mum’s face finds me again. I stare at her photo. She’d want me to help Frankie and Rose and she’d also want me to make sure Dad’s finances are put right.
‘Alice, don’t do this. There are other jobs.’
Taking his hands in mine, I shake my head. ‘Dad, do you think I can lie here knowing you took out a loan to pay for my wedding reception which never happened and now you’re having to work extra hours to make ends meet? I also have a son who needs supporting and a best mate who is desperate to go be with his sick mum. I have work to do.’
I grab my coat.
‘Where the hell are you going?’ Dad’s voice is exasperated.
‘To tell Frankie I will manage his café.’ My legs feel like they are made of heavy stone once I am out of the door, but I manage to rotate them. If I’m quick, Frankie will still be open.
Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that the café will not be empty like it was the other morning when I consoled Frankie. Pulling open the doors of The Little Love Café I gasp and stand with a heaving chest. It takes only a few seconds for me to realise Dad was right. My eyes are met by couples holding hands across the table, couples giggling and couples whispering sweet nothings to each other.
At one booth, I notice the butcher’s son, Vince, with a woman I recognise from school, but I’m struggling to remember her name. Vince used to sit next to me in history. His dinner plate sized hands are tenderly cupping the woman’s face and she’s wetting her lips in anticipation of a kiss.
Noah used to do that with me. Hot tears build up in my eyes. Before they have a chance to fall down my cheeks, Sandra, who used to work in one of the clothes shops on the high street in town, taps me on the shoulder. ‘Alice, here, take a photo of us?’
‘Huh?’ I glance at her sitting on the lap of a man with a huge grin plastered over his face.
‘Alice – meet my new Tinder date. He’s called Chris,’ she gushes. She turns back to the man and they both erupt into a fit of giggles.
I feel sick. Handing Sandra her phone, I catch sight of Frankie at the baby pink counter, talking to a man with his back to me. My best mate is wearing a bright pink apron with the wordsLittle Love Caféemblazoned across the front. He’s running a hand through his short blond hair whilst deep in conversation. Frankie lifts his head and catches sight of me. His mouth falls ajar with what looks like shock.
Ignoring his expression, I race over. If I delay volunteering to manage this place any longer, I won’t do it. ‘Frankie,’ I gasp, ‘I’ll manage this place.’
Frankie stares at me. ‘Eh? What did you say…Alice?’
The man’s head flicks towards me, but I keep my attention on Frankie. ‘Let me look after this place for you while you go to Australia. I’ve been thinking about it and…’
Frankie points at the man. ‘Funny you should say that as…Noah…has offered to manage it as well.’
His words ping around my head as I turn and find myself face to face with Noah Coombes. It’s him. Noah Coombes. The boy who once asked me to marry him and organised a makeshift wedding on the beach, with cheap silver rings from the gift shop, a dress, flowers in my long hair, and a suit from the charity shop, all our school friends stood around us holding bottles of cider as gifts. The boy who asked Frankie to marry us and crafted our own vows.
The boy who promised me on the day he left for Ireland that we would one day ‘meet again down by our rock in Blue Cove Bay’.
CHAPTERFIVE
It was a scorching hot day when I first met Noah all those years ago. I was thirteen and already bored. I was only two days into the school summer holidays, which didn’t bode well. I’d been sat on the rock down on the beach in Blue Cove Bay for most of the day. Dad was busy in his bakery and Frankie had gone to Scotland to see his father.
I didn’t know Noah up until this point. He’d always gone to a different school. There was another reason why Noah and I had never met; the nasty rift between our two fathers which had started at a wedding reception a few months after Mum had died. I can remember Dad swinging a punch at Dave Coombes by the bar. Women screamed as Dad and Dave wrestled on the floor. I was led away by Rose and taken back to her house. When I asked Dad the next morning about his puffy purple eye and bloodied lip, he said we were never to mention the name of Dave Coombes ever again.
So, there I was, on that sunny day, sucking on my cola ice pop, swinging my legs over the side, and watching tourists wade out into the azure blue sea. Above my head seagulls were playing a noisy game of chase and below me tiny children were squealing with delight as they toddled over the sand. I didn’t notice the yellow haired boy shimmy up my rock and plonk himself down beside me.
When he tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Hello, my name is Noah,’all I could think about was my swimsuit. Up until the age of thirteen I’d not given two hoots about my body or my choice in swimwear. On the day I met Noah, I’d squeezed myself into my old pink frilly swimsuit from BHS which Rose had bought me. It was my clothing item of choice back then in the summer holidays. Rose had bought it for me when I was a beanpole. The summer I met Noah puberty had given me some unexpected wobbly bits. Let’s just say the costume was alittletight. But I didn’t care.
The moment I saw Noah everything changed. It was as though someone had flicked an invisible self-conscious switch inside my head. He stared at me with his summer sky blue eyes and then reached up to scratch his mass of golden hair, which reminded me of Rapunzel’s hair from the fairy books I used to read as a child. His caramel tanned face and his cheeky boyish grin which swept across his mouth gave me a strange sensation in my tummy. My hands went into a frantic search for my towel. I didn’t want him to see me in my costume. To my dismay my Barbie towel had slipped off the edge. It was a nightmare. Tucking my legs up to my chin I inched towards the edge in the hope I could climb down and run away.
A few days later Noah told me he was Dave’s son and that his father had forbidden him to go near any of the Hiddleston family. It was then I admitted to being Brian Hiddleston’s daughter. Neither of us knew why there was so much hatred between our two families. Seeing each other became a thrill. It was exciting and my heart used to break into a wild gallop whenever I saw Noah coming across the beach towards my rock. We both knew one day our friendship would lead to trouble, but we didn’t care.
Those familiar summer blue eyes are now studying my face. His once golden hair is now heavily flecked with brown, and his smooth caramel tanned skin is host to a few crinkles. ‘Alice?’ He gasps. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’
History is repeating itself. All I can think about is my outfit, my old grey jogging bottoms, my faded Levi’s T-shirt, and my tatty Converse. Lifting my hand, I touch my hair. I can’t remember the last time I brushed it or washed it for that matter. God knows what’s he’s thinking about my dishevelled state.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ I say, flicking my eyes to the floor. This is embarrassing. Here I am talking to Noah Coombes: the person I have been thinking about for twenty years.
‘How are you?’ His eyes are studying the bruise on my head.
‘Good,’ I lie, wiping my clammy hands on the top of my jogging bottoms. ‘I’m back living with Dad.’ I stop myself. Noah Coombes will not be interested in my life story.
