Barely anything for a vegetarian.
Apart from an elderly couple in the corner, Ben and I were the only customers.
‘Sorry about this. I didn’t realise it was quite so grim,’ he whispered as we waited to be served by a spotty teenager engaged in a conversation of apparently international importance on his mobile phone. ‘Must have been revamped since I was here last. Shall we go somewhere else?’
‘It’s fine.’ I gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile. But it wasn’t really all that fine. This place was exactly why I’d been so determined to escape from Eastchester and never wanted to return: the dreary resignation of it all, the low expectations, the small-town pretentiousness. It just capped my low mood: Pearl’s stories of Helena Hall had saddened me, especially the thought that my granny might have had to endure such treatment, even for a short while. And I was no closer to discovering anything which might lead me to Maria. There was an uncomfortable silence as we sat down with our drinks.
‘I’m sorry Pearl wasn’t a lot of help,’ Ben said. ‘Have you got any other leads?’
‘Only Mum’s memories and the photograph.’
‘What was that you mentioned about a royal visit?’
I skirted round the question. ‘Pearl is a lovely lady, and her stories were fascinating, but I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time. It’s only an old piece of patchwork, after all.’
‘That’s not what you suggested in the café, earlier.’ He smiled sweetly enough, but there was a catch of irritation in his voice. ‘You said it was a precious heirloom.’
‘It is,’ I stuttered, wrong footed. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m really grateful for your time, Ben, but I don’t think I’m going to find out any more through the hospital connection.’
‘Sorry, too many questions. It’s a bad habit of mine.’
‘Let me ask you some then,’ I said, trying to fill the awkward silence. ‘Tell me about your family. What does your wife do?’
He mumbled something about ‘not a lot to tell’ and ‘it’s a bit complicated’, then fell quiet again. After that, we struggled to make desultory conversation about the closure of the mental hospital, Victorian architecture and his passionate support for the failing local football club, until, finally, our food arrived.
The cheese in my toasted sandwich was bright orange and smelled like rubber, a pathetic few leaves on the side of the plate looked wilted and vinegary. His fish pie had clearly been microwaved, burned at the edges and glutinous-looking in the centre. I watched him poking it suspiciously with a fork and then, as I picked up my sandwich, the cheese slithered out from between the slices of soggy white toast into gloopy mess down the front of my jumper.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I cursed my clumsiness, pushing the plate away in disgust and trying to scoop the cheese out of my lap. I grabbed a bunch of paper napkins and managed to clear up most of the mess, then took myself off to the ladies’ loo to clean up.
Ben looked up with a grin as I returned to the table. ‘Not really your day?’
‘Too right. I give up,’ I laughed, finally managing to see the humour of it all.
‘Me too,’ he said, grimacing. ‘This is possibly the worst fish pie I’ve ever tried to eat. I’m so sorry this has been such a disaster. Shall we try somewhere else?’
‘Thank you, but I’ve got a long journey,’ I said. ‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll hit the road.’
In the doorway we wavered, struggling to find the appropriate parting gesture: handshake, hug and/or cheek kiss? My face only came up to his chest, so a hug would have been embarrassing unless he stooped, and a handshake felt too formal. Eventually he resolved the dilemma by leaning forward as I stood on tiptoe and we managed an awkward single cheek kiss.
‘Keep in touch,’ he said. ‘Let me know how you get on with your quilt search.’
Chapter Seven
Cassette 2, side 2
Another cassette,
Apart from an elderly couple in the corner, Ben and I were the only customers.
‘Sorry about this. I didn’t realise it was quite so grim,’ he whispered as we waited to be served by a spotty teenager engaged in a conversation of apparently international importance on his mobile phone. ‘Must have been revamped since I was here last. Shall we go somewhere else?’
‘It’s fine.’ I gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile. But it wasn’t really all that fine. This place was exactly why I’d been so determined to escape from Eastchester and never wanted to return: the dreary resignation of it all, the low expectations, the small-town pretentiousness. It just capped my low mood: Pearl’s stories of Helena Hall had saddened me, especially the thought that my granny might have had to endure such treatment, even for a short while. And I was no closer to discovering anything which might lead me to Maria. There was an uncomfortable silence as we sat down with our drinks.
‘I’m sorry Pearl wasn’t a lot of help,’ Ben said. ‘Have you got any other leads?’
‘Only Mum’s memories and the photograph.’
‘What was that you mentioned about a royal visit?’
I skirted round the question. ‘Pearl is a lovely lady, and her stories were fascinating, but I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time. It’s only an old piece of patchwork, after all.’
‘That’s not what you suggested in the café, earlier.’ He smiled sweetly enough, but there was a catch of irritation in his voice. ‘You said it was a precious heirloom.’
‘It is,’ I stuttered, wrong footed. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m really grateful for your time, Ben, but I don’t think I’m going to find out any more through the hospital connection.’
‘Sorry, too many questions. It’s a bad habit of mine.’
‘Let me ask you some then,’ I said, trying to fill the awkward silence. ‘Tell me about your family. What does your wife do?’
He mumbled something about ‘not a lot to tell’ and ‘it’s a bit complicated’, then fell quiet again. After that, we struggled to make desultory conversation about the closure of the mental hospital, Victorian architecture and his passionate support for the failing local football club, until, finally, our food arrived.
The cheese in my toasted sandwich was bright orange and smelled like rubber, a pathetic few leaves on the side of the plate looked wilted and vinegary. His fish pie had clearly been microwaved, burned at the edges and glutinous-looking in the centre. I watched him poking it suspiciously with a fork and then, as I picked up my sandwich, the cheese slithered out from between the slices of soggy white toast into gloopy mess down the front of my jumper.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I cursed my clumsiness, pushing the plate away in disgust and trying to scoop the cheese out of my lap. I grabbed a bunch of paper napkins and managed to clear up most of the mess, then took myself off to the ladies’ loo to clean up.
Ben looked up with a grin as I returned to the table. ‘Not really your day?’
‘Too right. I give up,’ I laughed, finally managing to see the humour of it all.
‘Me too,’ he said, grimacing. ‘This is possibly the worst fish pie I’ve ever tried to eat. I’m so sorry this has been such a disaster. Shall we try somewhere else?’
‘Thank you, but I’ve got a long journey,’ I said. ‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll hit the road.’
In the doorway we wavered, struggling to find the appropriate parting gesture: handshake, hug and/or cheek kiss? My face only came up to his chest, so a hug would have been embarrassing unless he stooped, and a handshake felt too formal. Eventually he resolved the dilemma by leaning forward as I stood on tiptoe and we managed an awkward single cheek kiss.
‘Keep in touch,’ he said. ‘Let me know how you get on with your quilt search.’
Chapter Seven
Cassette 2, side 2
Another cassette,
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