Free One Step Closer to You by Alice Peterson Page B

complimented me and my head swims with pride.
    ‘Perhaps you’ll be a chef one day,’ Vivienne says, before telling me my cake tastes like heaven. ‘Maybe you’ll live in Paris and run a patisserie.’
    *
    Over tea Vivienne talks to Hugo and me, asking us questions about school and what we enjoy. I notice how graceful her hands are, placed gently around her teacup. She smiles and laughs generously, but there is also a sadness that haunts her face. Part of me wants to shout at Mum, tell her to make Vivienne feel more welcome, forgive her; but I have to keep on reminding myself why Mum is reserved. I answer questions politely. It is as if Vivienne has cast a spell on me to behave. Never before have I been so careful about my grammar. Mum keeps on hopping up and down, refilling mugs and cutting more cake, even though none of us are really all that hungry.
    I am disappointed when Vivienne’s taxi arrives. Shesays goodbye, hugging Hugo and me as if we are long-lost friends. Mum and Dad walk her to the car.
    ‘She was awesome,’ says Hugo with surprise. ‘I really liked her.’
    ‘Shush!’ I watch them from the window. It looks as if Vivienne is upset. Mum is shaking her head. Dad opens the passenger door, but Vivienne stays put. She is saying something to Mum. Oh I wish I could hear! I think they are arguing. Maybe Mum is saying she can’t visit us again. Vivienne glances towards the window, as if she senses I am watching. She waves goodbye. Tentatively I wave back.
    When she’s gone I’m left confused. I feel sorry for Mum: her visit was clearly painful, but Vivienne also brought a ray of sunshine into the house, just as Granddad Arthur used to.
    *
    That night Hugo sits at the end of my bed. ‘What did she look like, Polly?’
    I wish with all my heart I could wave a magic wand and let him see. I’d do anything for my brother, but I can’t help with this. ‘Oh Hugo, she had this amazing wild hair.’ I picture it; chocolate-brown, just like mine, tumbling down her back like a waterfall. ‘And brown eyes, like Mum’s. She wore these sparkly sandals and lovely jewellery.’
    ‘Do you think Mum will let us see her again?’
    ‘Hope so.’
    ‘Me too.’
    When Hugo goes to bed, I shut my eyes. I see her tears, hear the warmth in her voice, taking such an interest in my life that I almost believed I could have an exciting future. A patisserie in Paris! Tired, I fall straight to sleep, only to stir when I hear footsteps across the landing. My bedroom door creaks open and I see the shadow of my mother standing at the end of my room, until quietly she slips away.

11
    @GateauAuChocolat It’s chickpea soup & Indonesian marinated chicken with roasted sweet potatoes & as if that isn’t enough, apple caramel cake.
    The first regular to arrive at the café is our local famous author, in her eighties, who hobbled here two years ago, after breaking her wrist and cracking both ribs falling down her stairs. ‘It’s a curse getting old,’ she’d said, before explaining she couldn’t cook for herself. Her elderly friend often accompanies her; they call us ‘Care in the Community’. Without asking I serve them both some soup and a glass of red wine, ‘Medicinal,’ as they call it.
    Next comes our local serial flirt, an illustrator who works from home. I haven’t seen him since Christmas. He scans the menu board and orders the chicken, ‘And maybe, pretty Polly, if I have room, a slice of your apple caramel cake.’
    ‘You always have room.’
    He smiles. ‘How are you, Mary-Jane? Been on any hot dates?’
    Mary-Jane bristles. ‘You’re lucky I don’t pour this over you,’ she tuts as she places the jug on the table.
    Soon there’s a real buzz, everyone talking across the tables and Mary-Jane and I are rushing around serving soup, camomile and mint teas or Jean’s red wine to go with their chicken. I slow down when I see Ben opening the front door, and notice at once that he’s shaved his beard. It makes him