This Is How Part 6

The walls of the cafe are covered in faded striped wallpaper and the net curtains are stained yellow and smell of burnt toast.

'It's a bit grim,' says my mother.

The only other customers sit in a booth near the back, a man and his girl. Both have pimply skin and dirty hair.

'It'll do,' I say.

The waitress comes and she's nicely dressed, a white s.h.i.+rt with pink flowers on the collar and a straight black skirt. She belongs to a cleaner, brighter place.

'Good morning,' she says. 'Are you having something to eat?'

She's lovely and tall, with long dark hair and she's tanned. She's old enough to be married, but I can tell without looking at her wedding finger that she's not. It's the way she looks at me, more curious than the usual.

'I've a craving for burnt chops,' says my mother. 'Do you have any? Or is it too early for chops? And I'd love a good cup of tea.'

'That's easy,' says the waitress. 'I can make you some chops.'

'Burnt?'

'Consider it done.'

My mother rubs her hands together as though she's cold.

The waitress looks at me.

'I'll have sausages and chips,' I say. 'Not burnt.'

She smiles.

I watch her walk to the kitchen.

'It's a small town,' says my mother. 'I thought there'd be more to it.'

'It's just what I want,' I say. 'It suits me fine.'

She thinks a while.

'I've always thought,' she says, 'that a small seaside town would be just the right kind of place to start a family.'

Like starting a fire, starting a car, starting a fight. 'Leave it,' I say.

'Leave it.'

She folds the corner of a napkin. I've stopped her dead in her tracks. She won't be talking about Sarah now, and if she starts up again in that direction she'll be wasting her time.

When I came home from university, my father told me he didn't understand me, told me that my brother had a knack for happiness and he asked me why I didn't.

I took a two-year motor mechanics course and, by the time I was ready to start an apprentices.h.i.+p, Russell's wife, Julie, was expecting twins. The talk at Sunday dinners was of babies and n.o.body wanted to talk about what had happened to me at university. This suited me fine. Instead of talking so much, my mother touched me a lot more than she used to. When we sat at the table to eat, she'd put her hand on my hand, or her hand on my arm. My father talked less too, but smiled more. It was as though both of them had decided I didn't care about words.

Even when I started working for a local mechanic, n.o.body was much interested in talking about it. The talk that Sunday was of the fact that Russell had decided to go to night school to do a course in management and that same night, after we'd been watching TV and eating liquorice allsorts, I walked my brother to his house and he said, 'At least one of us is going to use his brains.'

I didn't care. I wanted to leave home, buy a car, save a deposit for a house. I was getting on well with my boss, I'd already been given a raise and I had two customers who drove more than fifty miles to have their sports cars worked on by me.

And then, one Friday afternoon in April, Sarah came to the garage in her father's car. I remembered her from the grammar school and she remembered me. She looked even lovelier now, with her long blonde hair tied in pigtails, and she wore a red corduroy skirt and flat red shoes to match. She had such long legs she didn't need heels. And she always stood so straight, too. I liked that. 'h.e.l.lo,' I said.

'You look well.'

'I suppose I am,' she said. 'I mean, I'm not sick or anything.'

'I meant you look good.'

'So do you,' she said.

And just like that, in two sentences, we'd got far and my mood soared.

Sarah was shy at school, but she was in the drama club and it impressed the h.e.l.l out of me that somebody shy could walk on stage the way she did. She once played the part of a Martian in a musical written by four other students and she had to sing, dressed head-to-toe in a gold body suit. It would've killed me.

I stopped working on the car's engine and offered her a milk crate to sit on.

'I'm happy standing,' she said.

'I'll wipe it clean for you.'

'No bother.'

I did it anyway.

We chatted for a while and I found out she was single. I didn't tell her I'd never had a girlfriend or about the Irish girl at the local pub I'd been chatting to lately. It wasn't important.

'You don't stare at my birthmark,' she said.

She was talking about the leaf-shaped mark covering half of the left side of her face.

'I like it,' I said.

She laughed.

The sound of her laughter and the way she put both hands over her face to hide...well, this and a lot of other things made a big impression on me and I was very glad she was in the garage on that sunny day in April, twirling one of her blonde pigtails and liking me, and I was glad that n.o.body else had got a hold of her.

I asked her to come to the pictures with me and after two dates we were straight away very easy and relaxed in each other's company and we went out with each other as often as we could.

One night I picked her up at the bank where she was training to be a manager and as we walked to the pub she stopped dead on the footpath, took hold of the sleeve of my s.h.i.+rt, and she said, 'I like you a lot. You make me feel calm.'

I wanted to say, 'Is that all? You only like me because I make you feel calm?'

But I didn't say this or anything like this and I was too stupid to see what was coming.

When we had s.e.x, it was the first time for both of us and, after a few awkward tries, the s.e.x was easy and good and when we'd finish we'd stay wrapped up together in the bed, her in front and me behind. I liked it. I liked everything about it. After just one month together, I proposed marriage, and I think now that she said yes because she didn't know how to say no, because I took her by surprise.

We were engaged for two months and I thought we were very happy. I was on top of the world. I quit smoking, took up running, drank a whole lot less and stopped spending Sat.u.r.days and Sundays sprawled on the settee watching snooker or football on the TV.

I didn't want to tell my family that Sarah had ditched me until the day before I left home, not because they'd be sorry for me, but because they'd be ashamed. The girl with the birthmark had broken it off, the girl they all said was so brave and strong, 'a perfect angel' according to my father, and the wedding plans were down the toilet.

I got to thinking that Sarah had only been practising on me, getting her confidence in s.e.x and romance and gathering up some extra nerve so she could move to another man. I got to thinking that I'd filled her full of hot pride, that she'd saved it up to use against me.

She said she was breaking up with me because I didn't know how to express my emotions. The thing is, I didn't have that many. As far as I was concerned, it was pretty simple. I was in love with her and I liked our life and we laughed a lot and it felt so good to be in bed with her and have her touching me. I liked what we had.

The waitress brings a pot of tea and, when she's gone, my mother says, 'So you think you'll be happy then?'

'I don't know yet,' I say. 'How could I know?'

'But you think so?'

''Course I do. n.o.body thinks he won't be happy. n.o.body plans that.'

'You'll not miss home?' she goes on. 'I mean, won't you miss Daniel and Geoff and-?'

'No.'

She draws her chair further in under the table.

'I'm just a bit concerned that with all the money that boarding house costs.'

One interfering idiot. Two interfering idiot. Three interfering idiot.

'I have it sorted.'

'But the board must be at least three-quarters of your wage.'

'That's my business,' I say.

'It's my business, too. I'm your mother.'

'I won't stay on at the house forever,' I say.

'You have a plan then?'

'Yes.'

She's silent a moment.

'You don't seem happy that I've come to see you,' she says. 'Did you not want me to come?'

If you'd told me, I'd have said not to come. If you'd asked, I'd have said no.

'No, Mum,' I say. 'I'm glad you've come.'

She smiles and reaches for my hand.

'That's good,' she says. 'I care about you very much.'

'Same here.'

The waitress brings our food and some water and, when she puts my plate down, she looks at me, smiles.

'Are you just pa.s.sing through?' she says. She's caught me by surprise.

'No,' I say.

'It's just I haven't seen you before.'

'I've just got here,' I say. 'But I'm going to be living here. I start work on Monday at North Star Mechanics.'

She's looking at me and the warmth floods my chest.

'I knew I hadn't seen you before,' she says.

'I bet lots of people tell you this,' says my mother, 'but you look a bit like that actress on the telly. What's her name?'

'Do I? Which one?'

I don't want my mum to be getting into any chat. I look at my watch.

'Thanks for the water,' I say.

The waitress laughs. 'Water's free.'

She's got the hint and leaves us alone. She isn't stupid. Far from it. She's understood that I don't want my mother breathing down our necks.

When we leave the cafe, the sun's s.h.i.+ning strong and my mother's not trying to walk so close. There's a bigger s.p.a.ce between us and my mood's better for it. Just another hour and she'll leave me be.

'Will we go back to the house now?' she says.

She goes right ahead and wrecks the mood by linking her arm through mine. It's too public what she's doing.

I look at my watch.

'I can't,' I say.

'Why not?'

'I have to go into work soon.'

She takes a hold of my wrist, looks at my watch.

'It's only Sat.u.r.day. You're not starting work till Monday.'

'I've got to meet my new boss.'