I always fall for the picture she paints…
A few days later I sit staring morosely out of the window of the cafe. I have a cold cup of coffee on the table in front of me and the closed sign is hung on the door. It is a Sunday morning, the weather is turning warm and the sunshine has encouraged crowds down from London for the day. They walk past the window staring in at me, hoping for breakfast or nourishment and I stare forlornly back at them.
My life has spiralled chaotically since last Thursday’s red wine incident. She stayed at Sophie’s that night and when she came to pack a bag the following morning I didn’t try and stop her from leaving.
‘You’ll survive Molly. It’s only a cafe,’she had replied.
‘It’s only a cafe,’I repeat.
There is a knock on the window and a girl’s face mouths at me, ‘Are you open?’
I shake my head. ‘No.’
And so she turns in disgust and herds her family down the road in the direction of the beach.
I stand up, take stock of the cafe and head with my dirty cup to the kitchen. I haven’t seen Karl with a K since last Thursday either. He disappeared along with the key and I know I will have to get the locks changed.
I lock the door behind me and venture into the warm spring air not sure where to go I head toward the beach and the sea where I know I can find solitude. I find a quiet space between the wave breaks and sit on the pebbles watching the sea flow in and out deciding on my options and my choices, tossing pebbles into the ebbing tide.
I can put this place on the market and return to London, buy somewhere in Canary Wharf again and pretend this incident never happened or I can continue to to live here and put a manager in the cafe.
Dip Dip dip my blue ship…
It is late when I return to home. I look around at the boxes. Cassie has already texted to say there’s a man with a van coming next week. It hasn’t occurred to her that I will be working and not here to let anyone inside.
I walk around the flat. I spent money on the cafe, hiring a painter and an electrician but our living quarters; two bedrooms, a bathroom and an open kitchen and lounge remain untouched. Rose patterned wallpaper is peeling off the bedroom and black mildew in the bathroom smells rank.
They were all jobs that Cassie said she would enjoy tackling, creating us a home beside the sea, and I had fallen for the picture she painted, buying into her illusion just as sure as I had bought into the property.
I had sunk my entire savings into these two floors against the advice of my family and friends. I sigh and throw myself onto the couch and stare at the stained ceiling and spider’s nest suspended in the corner of the room.
I yawn. Exhausted and unable to sleep for the past few nights I close my eyes blotting out reality and hoping sleep will finally claim me as its victim and when I wake up I will realise it has all been a bad dream and Cassie is downstairs working in a busy cafe.