‘She wasn’t my friend. She was my-nearly- mother. But not quite. ’ Cora lifted her elbows off the table so the waitress could clean it. The clock in the shape of a green and gold lizard registered that it was 2 pm.
Grabbing bags and lighting Marlborough cigarettes, the café emptied of students heading for their final lectures. All the free mince pies departed with them in a giggling fug of icing sugar smoke and Merry Christmas wishes.
‘Yo ho ho. There they go. Thank God for that. ’ The waitress tapped the Formica table and winked. ‘I do see by the way. Crystal clear. Now lower your arms. please, and let me concoct you a Turkish coffee. It’s my new toy- my Santa came early. ’
Cora replaced her elbows on the table. ‘She went by the name of Irene O ‘Hara in those days. ‘ She coughed theatrically with a hand over her mouth. ‘ Once upon a time I even stole her favourite novel. Wicked eh?’ ’
The chrome machine behind the counter hissed at the admission and the scent of rich coffee beans filled the café. The waitress selected a cup. ‘I still see. And I’m not shocked at all. ‘
The cup was on a saucer accompanied by something sweet looking, vaguely pink. ‘Turkish delight- my treat. ‘ The Waitress put one hand on her hip.’ I take it that you’re reformed nowadays or should I warn the Head Librarian?’
Cora laughed, pretending to play chess with the salt and pepper pots. ‘The book was covered in notes in green ink and I wanted to know why. A child’s curiosity. ’
‘Better than red I suppose,’ said the waitress whose Christmas tree name badge proclaimed her as a VAL. She brandished her cleaning cloth. ‘Can I say I see again or would that jeopardise our Christmas connection?’ Without waiting for an answer, she started cleaning another table, now with something citrusy that created a mist that hung in the air.
And for once, Cora felt that someone did see and there was no need to get angry or hide or do any of the things that sat on her chest and drowned out her soul. Leaning back in her chair, Cora followed the cleaning cloth’s movements across and up and then down again. Up and then down. It was a magical trail. A ritual she felt safe with. Up and then down. The citrus spray made her feel drowsy yet awake, as if she was on a rock somewhere remote, somewhere maybe glimpsed on a lost photograph, with an empty sea to gaze at and nothing whatsoever to take her attention away from whoever or wherever she was.
Whoever or wherever she was. Exactly that.
But it wasn’t like being herself. That was the most liberating thing. She was trying on someone else like a glove. Like a silk cocoon. Cora’s new version of her body relaxed with the luxuriance of this slipping from one version of herself to another.
From the outside, if she was to look in through the window of this precinct café, this café dedicated to a university where her favourite book would be chewed up into unrecognisable pieces, then she was still Cora with practically violet eyes and defiant curls. But this Cora was also away from her Cornish home and her grandmother’s career in intuition and all those missing photographs from her childhood.
For what sort of home denied a child a photo of her mother for her own good? What sort of father gifted his only child to his mother and was more comfortable with oily restaurant managers than his daughter?
Cora submerged a pale biscuit in her treacle black coffee. Val had changed the radio station and Dean Martin was singing about endless snow.
‘I love the old songs’ said Cora .’
‘That’s because you have an ancient soul ‘ said Val who had now topped cleaning and was rearranging the remaining quiche in the display cabinet. ‘Needs must. Philosophy students have small appetites anyhow. Minds on higher things
‘They wear coats like funeral directors don’t they? said Cora. ‘And shout a lot.’
‘You’re learning fast for a book thief. ’
Cora sighed. She liked being a visitor to her new friend’s home and to this frosty northern city. After all, this Cora had rescued a German Shepherd dog from a wicked yard man( and still had the bruises) and had resisted falling in love with Jack Cavendish ( Julia’s needs were stronger) and now with her chin on her hands, and her borrowed cloche hat pulled low over her ears, she was prepared to take on the world.
Very well written and enjoyable- managed to make cleaning a sensory delight! Intriguing characters and suggested scenarios – would like to read more of this, as was a very involving extract. Thanks