CAFE PARADISE (Book 1) - PROLOGUE AND EXTRACTS
Even before she opened her eyes, Jackie knew that something was wrong. She lay still in bed trying to work it out. What was it? Her semi-conscious mind was registering that something was different. What? Jackie opened her eyes and shut them again immediately. Full daylight filtered through her closed eyelids, making patterns dance before her eyes.
Daylight! Jackie opened her eyes again and sat up, staring at the window. It was only January; it should be pitch dark out there. What time was it? She turned to look at the clock on her bedside table. Hells bells! 9.00a.m. She peered at the settings. She hadn't set the alarm the night before.
Jackie jumped quickly out of bed and began to throw on the clothes she had carelessly strewn on the chair the night before. She grumbled away to herself as she wrestled, bleary-eyed, with bra straps, tights and the too-tight zip on her trousers.
'I don't know Mother. If you're not the most awkward, cantankerous woman in the whole of North Yorkshire, I don't know who is. You knew I had to be up early today, so why couldn't you have given me a nudge? I know damned fine you'll be downstairs feeding yourself and that mangy moggy of yours and I'll have to go out hungry.'
Jackie hurriedly dragged a comb through her short fair hair, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. She knew she would look a sight in crumpled clothes, with her wavy hair sticking out at all angles.
Picking up her handbag and car keys she ran downstairs. She raced through the lounge and on into the dining room where her mother sat at the table.
To Jackie's disgust, Samson, Marilyn's adored cat, was sitting on the table contentedly lapping at a plate of porridge clearly meant for Marilyn. Barely checking her stride, Jackie swept the cat off the table. He somersaulted elegantly and landed on all fours, spitting and growling at her.
'Oh Mother!' she exclaimed, 'do you have to share your breakfast with the cat. From what I can see he spends most of his time licking his backside, but if that's who you like to share with...'
Jackie headed into the kitchen and began rummaging around for something to put in a sandwich. She opened the fridge door and peered in. A packet of sliced ham caught her eye. That would do, quick and easy. She could sneak into the Ladies and scoff it once she had shown her face at the supermarket. Quickly she buttered some bread and slapped the ham inside.
As she was doing this Samson sauntered into the kitchen. He sat down and curled his long black tail around him, staring up at her, mee-owing plaintively.
'Bugger off you ugly, over-fed, smelly mog,' Jackie snapped. She called out to her mother, 'He might have had your breakfast, but he's not having mine.
'Marilyn made no answer. She of the acid tongue and mistress of the put-down was silent. This was so unusual it made Jackie pause. She glanced back into the dining room. Marilyn sat very still and silent at the head of the table.
Uneasiness stirred. Why didn't Marilyn snap back at her as usual? She turned and walked back to her mother. Marilyn sat very still, staring straight ahead. Bending down, Jackie looked more closely at her. Marilyn did not move. Jackie peered into her face. She saw all the colour had drained from Marilyn's usually pink cheeks and no warm breath came from her lips. Her skin had taken on a waxy tinge; her eyes were unseeing.
Jackie gasped and jumped back. No, she couldn't be ..., not Marilyn, her feisty, domineering mother. She was invincible; always had been. She was the one who dealt with any trouble: had seen off Jackie's more dubious boyfriends in her younger days; dealt with the teenage crises and generally kept the show on the road. She was only sixty-four, she couldn't possibly be...
'Come on now.' Jackie shook Marilyn by the arm. Her mother fell forward, her head landing straight into the bowl of porridge. It splattered over Jackie and she backed away, tripping over Samson in her rush for the door. He dug his claws hard into her leg and dragged them slowly down, ripping the skin beneath her trousers. Jackie felt pain flare through her leg as she stood dumbly in the doorway, staring in horror at her mother lying lifeless across the table, plastered with lumps of cold, grey porridge.
Icy sweat beaded her forehead and trickled into her eyes, mingling with the tears that began to roll down her cheeks. Somewhere inside her head a voice was telling Jackie that her mother had just died and she should pull her out of that plate of porridge. She had never touched a dead body before. She shuddered. Mother would be cold. Jackie backed towards the kitchen.
In the same instant a thought occurred to her. Who would run the cafe today? With Mother... Jackie shied away from the word. She would have to go herself and see to things. Cafe Paradise wouldn't run itself and Mother had never missed a day.
She turned and ran, slamming the door behind her and racing down the path to her car she wrenched the door open and flung herself into the driver's seat and drove away at speed from No. 2 Mayfield Grove.
Inside all remained quiet. Pleased with his revenge on Jackie, Samson jumped back on the table and delicately licked at the porridge splattered on the cloth.
SHORT EXTRACTS FROM CAFE PARADISE - BOOK 1
Stan followed suit and spooned some rice and small portion of the hot Bangalore Phall sauce on to his plate. Kate watched as he ate a spoonful. It was like lighting the touch papers on a thousand fireworks all at once. He felt as if his mouth and head were exploding. He erupted from his seat as if propelled by sticks of dynamite. His face was bright red and even his ears glowed as he danced up and down wild-eyed holding his quivering mouth.
'Are you trying to bloody kill me?' he spluttered. He was an ugly sight as slivers of sauce dripped off his paralysed tongue. He leaned over the table and grabbed his pint glass of beer, guzzling it down in one. Then he reached for Kate's beer and poured it over his head.
**********
'Well what do you want when you're dead Walter? A tub of marmite flavoured ice-cream, seat at the Test Match, box at the opera? I don't think so. It's too late then.'
**********
'George, is this why we’ve come out tonight, so you can soften me up to tell me… Is this your….?’ All the colour had drained from Penny’s face.
Oh blimey, if there’s a wrong end of the stick to get hold of, Penny will get it, thought George in exasperation. 'No, no, nothing like that, Penny love. I'm not gay, he's not gay.' He looked at Terry. 'You're not, are you, lad?'
'No, I'm like you, George, I just like dressing up. I'm still a man underneath, but lovely dresses and fancy make-up, they just turn me on. Harmless enough. George is the same. We could be a lot worse, think of that, Penny. If we were drunks, gamblers, or serial adulterers, now that would be something to worry about, but a few frocks, that's nothing.'
George could see Penny trying to frame words. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, but none would come. He put the Tequila Sunrise in front of her. 'There you are, love, work your way through that. It will all seem a lot clearer then.'
Stan followed suit and spooned some rice and small portion of the hot Bangalore Phall sauce on to his plate. Kate watched as he ate a spoonful. It was like lighting the touch papers on a thousand fireworks all at once. He felt as if his mouth and head were exploding. He erupted from his seat as if propelled by sticks of dynamite. His face was bright red and even his ears glowed as he danced up and down wild-eyed holding his quivering mouth.
'Are you trying to bloody kill me?' he spluttered. He was an ugly sight as slivers of sauce dripped off his paralysed tongue. He leaned over the table and grabbed his pint glass of beer, guzzling it down in one. Then he reached for Kate's beer and poured it over his head.
**********
'Well what do you want when you're dead Walter? A tub of marmite flavoured ice-cream, seat at the Test Match, box at the opera? I don't think so. It's too late then.'
**********
'George, is this why we’ve come out tonight, so you can soften me up to tell me… Is this your….?’ All the colour had drained from Penny’s face.
Oh blimey, if there’s a wrong end of the stick to get hold of, Penny will get it, thought George in exasperation. 'No, no, nothing like that, Penny love. I'm not gay, he's not gay.' He looked at Terry. 'You're not, are you, lad?'
'No, I'm like you, George, I just like dressing up. I'm still a man underneath, but lovely dresses and fancy make-up, they just turn me on. Harmless enough. George is the same. We could be a lot worse, think of that, Penny. If we were drunks, gamblers, or serial adulterers, now that would be something to worry about, but a few frocks, that's nothing.'
George could see Penny trying to frame words. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, but none would come. He put the Tequila Sunrise in front of her. 'There you are, love, work your way through that. It will all seem a lot clearer then.'