‘So what did he have to say for himself?’ Connie spat.
‘I can’t ...’ She grabbed her apron and notepad and was about to go through to the back tables when Connie grabbed her arm.
‘Oh, Taw ...’ This time her voice was full of love, brimming with kindness.
‘I’m okay,’ she managed. ‘We can talk later. I just can’t go into detail; I don’t want to cry any more.’ She kept her voice small.
‘All right, honey. But I’m here. You know that. And what you need is time with Sonny, he’ll cheer you up – he’s collecting football cards and needs help putting them into this book thing.’
‘How would that help me?’ She was confused.
‘It definitely would. Plus I need a babysitter tonight.’ She beamed.
‘Sure, not like I’ve got anything else on. Where are you going?’
‘Nowhere.’ Her cousin looked away and she guessed it was a date, as if the subject was too touchy to share.
‘I’ll look after Sonny, happily. Course I will.’ She breathed in through her nose and went to work.
‘Tawrie!’
The temptation was to keep on walking, to make out she hadn’t heard her name called from the door. The voice, however, was one that had replayed in her mind all night, as torturous thoughts interrupted her much-needed sleep.
With as upright a posture as she could manage, in spite of wanting to sink to the floor, she turned slowly to face the future Mrs Edgar Stratton.
‘It’s me, Petra! We met yesterday, Bear’s fiancée!’
Petra stood in the doorway with an open smile, bright-eyed and with her skin aglow. It seemed Ed was right, she was a nice girl, a great girl, and Tawrie wanted nothing more than to disappear through the floor, and yet it wasn’t Petra’s fault. Civility felt like the best option. It was that or give the woman the full facts that would,she was certain, leave his fiancée feeling even more wretched than Tawrie did, and she couldn’t do that to this sweet stranger.
‘Yes, of course I remember you. How can I help?’ She looked through the open door and into the street, praying that Ed wasn’t accompanying her. The very thought left her feeling cold. Thankfully he was nowhere to be seen.
Gaynor, tactful as ever, tried to help, creeping up behind her, her voice soft, kind. ‘Want me to deal with the young lady, Taw, so you can take your orders out back?’
‘’S’alright, Gay. But thank you.’
‘Thing is, Tawrie,’ Petra continued in her breathless, energised way that was as guileless as it was endearing. ‘Bear’s gone for a hike and I wanted to grab some breakfast and whatnot to take back to the house. We only live up on the corner.’ She pointed over her shoulder, as if this might help her locate where ‘we’ lived.
Yes, I know it. Walls painted in a warm white with pale-blue linen accent pillows on a blue-and-cream striped sofa, a patchwork rug and ornate shells dotted here and there.
‘Anyway, I’m rubbish at cooking, shopping and all that, so I thought I’d pop down and stock up!’
‘Right.’ She moved through the café to behind the counter, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. Petra followed her.
‘I’m a real stickler, actually. He can’t eat dairy, oh, and we try and be meat-free, nothing with sugar in, not too much salt or anything overly processed. So as long as it fits with all that, I’ll take whatever you have!’
Tawrie felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth and words were not immediately forthcoming. She pictured the evening spent gorging on crisps and wine and recalled his shared sentiment of the merits of a good pasty, the coffee they’d drunk with milk and, forhim, sugar ... more lies, even his eating habits a sham. Who was this man? Grabbing a menu, she held it out.
‘May I draw your attention to the vegan breakfast options right here.’ She used her pen to point to the wild mushroom ragout on sourdough toast drizzled in parsley and garlic oil with roasted vine tomatoes on the side and all sprinkled with seed mix.
‘Oh, that looks delish! I’ll take two large helpings to go! Fab! Thank you.’
‘No worries. Did you get that, Con? Two large vegan breakfast specials to go?’
‘Got it.’ Connie nodded and kept her head down.
Tawrie kept her eyes fixed on the woman as she fished in her pocket for a credit card. It wasn’t like she had a choice. There was something exquisitely painful in studying her competition. Not that it was any such thing. Petra was the marvellous woman he would marry, whereas she was merely ...What are you, Taw, or more accurately, what were you? A blip? Someone to waste the day with while he idled away the summer weeks. Yes, and yes. In a way it was a good thing, because had it been a contest, Tawrie could see that she’d lose. Comparison left her wanting in every way. Not only was Petra perfectly narrow about the shoulders, but her skin was unweathered, eyes bright, her laugh a tinkle, like glass, and not the throaty braying that Tawrie had been chastised for on more than one occasion. If this girl were fine china, Tawrie was cement. If she were a flower, Tawrie was a sturdy oak. And on it went, until it felt easier to look at the card machine and wait for her to pay, anything other than look into the pretty face and know that whatever came next, she could never be like Petra, who seemed to have it all.
It was a relief when, gratefully jostling her vegan breakfasts in her dainty hands, the woman left the café.
