The Peridale Cafe Cozy Box Set 4 Page 55

  With £2.40 clutched in her fist and her handbag slung over her shoulder, she ran across the estate to a phone box, one of the few that seemed to have survived the national cull. It stank of urine and was graffitied to within an inch of its life, but the soothing hum of a dial tone greeted her when she picked up the heavy receiver.

  Staring at the ‘60p minimum’ sign on the telephone, she reached for her phone to calculate how many calls she would be able to make. It took her searching both pockets to remember where her phone was. Clenching her eyes, she worked out the sum in her head.

  “Four,” she whispered to herself. “Four calls.”

  The first number she dialled was her own cottage. Eyes closed, she pressed the phone against her face and waited for Barker’s comforting voice to fill her ears. Instead, she was greeted by a dead hum. Wondering if she’d dialled the number wrong, Julia hung up and waited for her 60p to be returned to her; the machine clinked and swallowed her money.

  “Seriously?” Julia slapped the side of the machine. “I didn’t get through!”

  Julia slotted in more coins and almost dialled the number again until she realised that Barker had changed their number after their first attempt at a wedding had gone horribly wrong and people wouldn’t stop calling them to offer their sympathies. Her fingers hovered over the numbers, but she had no idea what the new six digits were.

  “Three … Two … Something,” she said aloud. “Three … Two … Six?”

  Julia suddenly flashed back to Barker handing her a scrap of paper and telling her to memorise their new landline number. She had said she would, but instead, she had added it to her mobile phone’s contact list and left it at that. She never liked to admit she was one of those people who relied on technology, but being without her phone for the past ten minutes had left her feeling utterly useless.

  After taking a second to peek outside to make sure the gang weren’t already returning, Julia looked at the keypad again and tried to recall any other numbers she had committed to memory. She could only recall three, and none of them mobile numbers. The local doctor’s, a number that hadn’t changed since she was a little girl; her café’s; and Dot’s. Considering the local doctor’s surgery and her café would be closed, Julia dialled her only option.

  Much to her relief, the phone rang this time. She clenched the phone with both hands and mentally pleaded for Dot to pick up. The seconds dragged out like hours, and when the dial tone finally ended, and Dot’s answering machine kicked in, Julia felt like she had been waiting all night. She considered leaving a message, but she knew there wasn’t much Dot could do to help her if she did; her gran barely knew how to listen to her messages in the first place.

  With only £1.20 left in twenty pence pieces, Julia had hit a wall. With Dot not answering, she had two options; risk calling Dot again in hopes she picked up this time, or risk calling the café on the off-chance Jessie was still cleaning after the long day.

  “C’mon, Jessie,” Julia whispered as she slotted in more coins. “I need you right now.”

  She dialled and waited, but like Dot’s, the phone rang and rang and rang until it couldn’t ring anymore. She imagined her dark café, all locked up, the rattling phone on the kitchen wall disturbing the peace. She looked down at her last bits of change. Back when she was a kid, it would have been enough to jump on the next bus heading to Peridale, but she doubted it would get her to the end of the street.

  Feeling defeated, Julia threw her last coins into the machine and punched in Dot’s number again; no one answered. She listened to Dot’s answer machine message with her forehead resting against the grimy telephone.

  “Gran, it’s Julia,” she started, unsure of what to say to help her in this situation. “If by some miracle you figure out that you have a message, I need your help. I’m guessing it’s around a quarter to six on Thursday night, in case you’re listening to this next Tuesday. I’m in Fern Moore. I—I was mugged. They took my phone, and I have no money. Except for walking home, I’m pretty stranded. Can you believe it? I—I don’t even know why I’m saying any of this. You’re never going to hear it. If you are listening, try to get in touch with—” The line died, and the machine swallowed her last coins. “—Barker.”

  Leaving the phone box behind, Julia ventured into the heavier-falling sleet; some of it was sticking. She thought about walking to the next bus stop in hopes a driver would take pity on her, but after her last encounter, she doubted that would happen. Resigning herself to the long and wet walk home, Julia stuffed her hands into her pockets and set off. She only took two steps before she heard the familiar deep laughter of teenage boys. Without taking a second to think, Julia dived behind the phone box and glued herself to it. She stopped breathing and listened as they walked right by.

  “I can’t believe she lied to you, Mark,” one said. “Stupid Peridale Princess!”

  “If I see her again, I’ll finish her off,” the one she presumed was Mark said. “I should have done it there and then.”

  Julia looked right ahead at the stairwell, and for the first time since stepping off the bus, she saw a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel when she read the flat numbers spray painted on the wall.

  “Flats 68-88,” she whispered aloud. “Flat 88!”

  The mugging had left her so shaken, she’d forgotten all about the text message she’d received from Johnny right before they took her phone. Not wanting to linger too long to find out what would happen if Mark and his pocket knife found Julia hiding behind a phone box, she followed the spray-painted arrow up the stairs to the third floor.

  Her heart fluttered so much at the thought of finding the sweet and sensitive Oliver behind one of the doors, she didn’t pause to consider what would happen if Johnny had given her the wrong number, or, even worse, if she had remembered incorrectly.

  Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind, Julia stopped when she reached the flat. It stood out from the other flats in more than one way. Whereas the others were stark and messy, 88 radiated a level of pride that was nowhere else to be seen along the exposed corridor. The door, which was behind a decorative metal gate, was painted baby pink. The window frame matched, and a flower box hung under crisp, white net curtains. The flower box was empty thanks to the weather, but she could tell bulbs had been planted and that something was in the early stages of sprouting.

  It looked like a nice flat, but it didn’t look like the flat that belonged to a quiet young man. Julia stole a glance over the edge of the walkway. The gang had taken root in the abandoned play park in the middle of the courtyard. Either way, her chances of sneaking away unseen had just halved. Even in the sleet, her pink coat and yellow jumper would stand out.

  Now that she was truly out of choices, Julia wriggled her fist through the metal gate and knocked on the pink door. If Oliver lived there, she had a reason to be there, and if he didn’t, she hoped whoever had taken the time to plant bulbs in such a bleak place would be kind enough to help a stranger who was wearing a coat the same colour as their woodwork.

  “H-Hello?” a meek voice called through the door when it opened on the chain. “Who is it?”

  “Hello there,” Julia said, smiling when she realised she was speaking to an old lady who wouldn’t look out of place on the streets of Peridale. “My name is Julia South-Brown. I think I may have the wrong flat, but I was wondering if you could help me. I appear to have found myself in a spot of trouble.”

  The door closed, and Julia’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. She was about to knock again, but the chain rattled, and the door opened. In full view, the lady was exactly the type Julia would have imagined painting her door pink and planting bulbs regardless of where she lived. She wore a white nightie that hit the floor thanks to her barely clearing five feet in height. She seemed nervous about the stranger knocking on her door, but her nerves seemed to ease when her pale eyes gave Julia the once over.

  “Just a moment, please.”

  To Julia’s surprise,
the woman shut the door again. The only hope Julia had to cling onto was that she didn’t hear the chain rattle back into place. When the door opened again, the lady wore a thin green cardigan over her nightie.

  “Just had to pop my teeth in,” she said with a toothy smile. “You’ll understand when you get to my age. Now, who did you say you were looking for, dear, and what’s this spot of trouble you’ve found yourself in?”

  “I was mugged,” Julia explained. “They took my phone, my cards, and my rings.”

  The woman nodded with a sympathetic smile, although she didn’t seem surprised or shocked by what she’d just heard. Julia wondered how many years one had to live in Fern Moore before growing numb to its ways.

  “What are you doing here dressed like that at this time of night?” She huffed and pulled her cardigan closed as she leaned forward to glance through her gate, which she had yet to unlock. “You look like a Peridale lass.”

  “I got on the wrong bus,” Julia explained, which wasn’t technically a lie. “End of the line.”

  The woman rolled her eyes and tutted. That was all she needed to produce a key to unlock the gate. She swung it open and motioned for Julia to hurry inside.

  “Busses weren’t like that in my day,” she said with a shake of her mousy, frizzy curls. “They’d take you right to your door if you really needed it, but now they’d drop you off in the middle of nowhere and charge you an arm and a leg for it.”

  “£4.90.”

  “Gordon Bennett!” she cried as she locked the gate and door behind them. “Thank heavens I’m a pensioner with a free bus pass! I’m Addie. I know you told me your name, but the old memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “Julia,” she repeated. “Julia South-Brown.”

  “Then take a seat, Julia, and make yourself comfortable.” Addie steered Julia into a floral armchair by an electric fire. “I’ll make you a nice pot of tea with lots of sugar. You’re probably in shock.”

  Julia settled into the warmth of Addie’s flat, and, for a moment, she almost forgot why she was there. The walls were pale pink, the carpet was dark pink, and the sofa and armchair were patterned with shades of pink flowers. Porcelain ornaments and framed photographs balanced on a narrow fireplace above the electric fire. It was as snug and homey as a flat in Fern Moore could get.

  “J-Julia?” a male voice broke the silence. “What are you doing here?”

  Julia allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief when Oliver shuffled out of one of the bedrooms in pyjamas and a long dressing gown. She said a silent thank you to Johnny for not leading her astray.

  “Ah, Oliver!” Addie shuffled out of the kitchen with a tray containing a large teapot with two china cups and half a Battenberg cake. “This is Julia. She’s in a spot of trouble. Fern Moore thugs.”

  “Are you all right?” Oliver asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

  Julia’s naked left hand rested on her chest where the locket usually sat. “I’ll be fine. It’s good to see you again, Oliver.”

  “Oh, you know each other?” Addie asked as she placed the tray on the low coffee table. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

  Julia decided against repeating that she had mentioned she had knocked on the door looking for someone. Addie’s kindness was too great to have Julia insult her declining memory.

  Oliver perched on the sofa opposite to Julia in the armchair. He looked uneasy but no more anxious than he’d looked at the bake-off.

  “Let me grab another cup,” Addie said. “Help yourselves to the cake.”

  Oliver and Julia eyed up the cake before their eyes met. Julia offered a smile, but Oliver’s eyes darted away to the television, which was silently playing Emmerdale with the subtitles on.

  “Johnny told me I could find you here,” Julia said. “I wasn’t planning on turning up like this, but—well, I didn’t have much choice. How are you holding up? I’ve been worried about you.”

  “You have?”

  “Of course,” Julia assured him. “What happened on Sunday was a lot for anyone to deal with.”

  “Life’s not fair.” Oliver shrugged. “I learned that young.”

  Addie hurried back in and added another cup and saucer to the tray. She filled the cups, leaving room for milk. Without asking Julia if she wanted sugar, she added three generous scoops.

  “Now, I won’t have you not having a slice of cake,” Addie said as she cut a thick piece. “It’s only shop-bought, but who’s judging?”

  Julia and Oliver’s eyes met, and for whatever reason, they both started laughing at the same moment.

  “What’s so funny?” Addie asked, joining in the laughter as she handed Julia the cake.

  “Julia was the other judge at the bake-off,” Oliver said.

  “And that’s funny?”

  “You said no one would be judging your cake, but Julia was there to judge cakes.” Oliver waved his hand. “She runs a café. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Oh!” Addie snatched the plate from Julia. “In that case, I won’t have you eating this muck! Let me see what else I have. I think I have some of my Christmas cake left over from December.”

  “You really don’t have—”

  “I’ll have none of that!” Addie put Julia’s plate back on the tray, took off the teapot and the teacups, and picked it up. “Only the best for a judge. I won’t embarrass myself with a Battenberg from the corner shop!”

  Leaving them alone again, Addie whizzed off to the kitchen.

  “So, this is what other people’s grandmothers are like?” Julia asked. “Mine is somewhat of a special case.”

  “Addie isn’t my grandmother,” Oliver corrected her. “I just rent her spare bedroom. She put an advert for a lodger in the post office window in Riverswick. I saw it when I was buying Mr Bridges’ lunch. I couldn’t have ended up with a nicer landlady. She’s as close to family as I have right now.”

  “What about Johnny?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s your cousin.”

  “My mum is his mum’s half-sister,” Oliver said, as though they weren’t the same thing. “That’s as far as the family connection stretches. Johnny’s mum hates my mum and vice versa. I’ve barely had more than a couple of conversations with Johnny or his sister in my whole life.”

  “Where’s your mother now?”

  Oliver shrugged. “Travelling, I think. Haven’t heard from her in a couple of years. She never stays in one place for too long.”

  “Are you talking about that mother of yours?” Addie called as she brought in three thick slices of Christmas cake. “Waste of space! Women like her don’t deserve the miracle of children. Can you imagine having a child and then palming him off on strangers so you can gallop around the place doing heaven knows what?”

  “What about your dad?” Julia asked.

  Oliver shrugged, and this time didn’t follow it up with a comment. She wondered if that shrug meant he didn’t know where he was either, or if he didn’t know who he was at all. The sadness in Oliver’s eyes made a lot more sense to Julia. Tony might have been treating him like rubbish, but that wasn’t where his pain started and ended.

  “Now, you have to tell me what you think.” Addie perched on the chair’s arm and stared at the cake in Julia’s lap. “I fed it brandy for a whole year!”

  Julia forked off a chunk of the heavy Christmas cake. It was moist with an even distribution of fruit, and appeared to be perfect, even if the brandy scent was more pungent than Julia would have expected. She placed it in her mouth and had to use all her strength not to cough when the alcohol hit the back of her throat.

  “It’s got a kick!” Julia mumbled as she chewed. “You can really taste the brandy.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you like it.” Addie finally sat down on the sofa next to Oliver. “It’s an old family recipe passed down from my great-grandparents, although I suppose it will die with me as I have no one to pass it to.” Addie stared at the television for a moment bef
ore snapping her fingers and scurrying off once again.

  “You get used to it,” Oliver said with a sweet smile. “She’s all over the place, but her heart is in everything she does. Believe it or not, this is Addie on a good day. It’s going to be hard to leave.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know.” Oliver huffed and collapsed fully into the floral sofa. “I have enough money to cover next month’s rent, but if I don’t have another job by then, I’m back to sofa surfing. I know Addie would let me stay here for nothing if I was desperate, but I wouldn’t do that to her. She’s on a pension, and she doesn’t need me hiking up her bills.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

  “Without a reference?” Oliver took a big bite of the strong cake. “Unless I can contact Mr Bridges via a Ouija board, my time with him is as good as useless. I only got that job down to luck.”

  Addie hurried back in brandishing a yellowed piece of paper with faded pencil markings.

  “My old family recipe for the Christmas cake,” she announced as she wrapped Julia’s hand around the sheet. “I want you to have it.”

  “Me?”

  “There’s no better custodian than a baking judge!” Addie said with a satisfied nod as she sat down again. “Just make sure to follow the steps exactly and promise you’ll make it every year.”

  “I don’t think I can—”

  “I just wrote down a copy, dear.” Addie waved her hand before scooping up the remote control and clicking through the channels. “Now, hush up. Eastenders is on.”

  Oliver gave Julia a smile to let her know this was the usual evening routine. They sat in complete silence while the East London soap played silently on the small television, with only the subtitles to help them follow the story. Julia sipped her sweet tea, and as the sugar washed over her, she struggled to remember any life outside Addie’s pink flat.

  “What’s that racket outside?” Addie sighed, rolling her eyes at the window. “There’s always someone screaming and shouting around here!”