Blackberry Crumble
Blackberry Crumble
Cecilia Peartree
All rights reserved
Contents:
About this story
Blackberry Crumble
About the author
About this story
Blackberry Crumble is a stand-alone story of approximately 9,600 words. It was first published in the anthology ‘Off the KUF Volume 1’. It started life as a musical play but you’ll have to imagine the song and dance numbers as you read!
Blackberry Crumble
Darkness.
A mobile phone ringtone.
“I can’t talk now.”
Ben stirred in his sleep. Telephone? His eyes blinked open. What? Where? He reached towards his bedside table, flapping his hand about aimlessly like a seal’s flipper. There was a thud.
“I told you – I can’t talk – I’m driving.”
Ben groaned. At the edge of his consciousness there was a woman’s voice, sounding increasingly agitated.
“I’m driving – there’s a truck!”
A horrible scream made him bury his head in the pillow, but as suddenly as it had started, it was cut off. Silence.
He came out from the pillow and peered over the edge of the bed. The phone had landed on the floor. He reached down for it and drew back his hand at the last minute, reluctant to set it off again. He rolled over and went back to sleep instead.
Later that morning, downstairs in his mother Linda’s café, the usual crowd had come in for tea and scones. Linda’s scones, she liked to think, were famous for their consistency, flavour and sheer exuberant size. She knew the fact that the café was the only one in this part of town and was close to the bus station might have something to do with its popularity, but she would never take that for granted. She baked first thing every morning and provided the basic cheese scones and fruit scones every day, plus a ‘scone of the week’ with some exotic variation such as rosemary or chocolate.
Ben gave her a hand at weekends and during school holidays, and sometimes after school if it was busy, which it usually wasn’t. Today he was clearing tables as she did the waitressing.
“All right, all right, let me through,” she called, pushing through the chairs with a heavy tray. “Who ordered a fruit scone with blueberry jam? Earl Grey tea with the bag left in? Very weak coffee? Cheese scone with olive spread?”
Ben knew most of the customers by sight. They were set in their ways and Linda knew most of their requirements by heart, but sometimes they teased her with an order for extra-strong coffee or a cheese scone with marmalade.
“For goodness’ sake, Linda, just get on with it! You’re not trying out for your own TV show!”
Linda sighed, but didn’t turn round. She knew who was talking.
“Mine’s a tea – good strong Glasgow blend – and a plain scone and jam. And mind, it’s got to have real butter with it, not this tasteless modern stuff that’s just for show-offs.”
“I’ll be with you in a minute.” Still with her back turned, Linda carried on serving customers and collecting empty cups and plates as Ben wiped a table nearby, spinning out the task so that he could hear what was going on.
“With me in a minute? Your own family?”
“You’re no family of mine, Senga McTavish.”
“Oh really? Last time I looked, mothers-in-law counted as family.”
Linda smiled as she picked up the last empty cup and saucer, and turned to look at her tormentor.
“Not ex-mothers-in-law, though,” she said quietly.
Senga raised her voice to an even more irritating screech, and addressed the man sitting opposite her. “You hear that, Logan? Are you going to sit there and listen to her insulting me?”
Logan shrugged his shoulders and turned his newspaper over. “Whatever.”
Senga fidgeted crossly in her chair. Once Linda had finished serving everyone else and the other customers were starting to drift away, she went over to Senga’s table. “What can I get you, then?”
“I’ve already told you,” said Senga shortly. “My usual. And whatever he wants.”
“Eye of newt and toe of frog for my mother-in-law,” muttered Linda to herself. “And the rest of the newt for Logan – the spineless bit.”
“What was that?” said Logan, glancing up from his paper.
As Linda went out to the kitchen, chuckling to herself, she noticed Ben, who was still wiping the same table and still listening.
“You’d better go and say hello to your Gran,” Linda told him.
“Oh, Mum,” Ben whined. “Do I have to? I’ve got stuff to do.”
She gave him a little push. “Go on – get it over with.”
She vanished through the swing doors as Ben headed for Senga’s table.
“There he is! Come here, you gorgeous little pudding! Come and give your granny a big kiss!”
When he was close enough Senga sprang up and hugged him.
“Put him down, Senga,” said Logan without looking up from the paper.
“But he’s my itsy bitsy teeny weeny favourite grandson!” cried Senga. She finished kissing Ben, then held him at arm’s length and stared at him critically. Ben tried to wriggle free.
“You been out partying all night or what?” she asked.
“No.”
“Well, it’s time you learned how to do it. Here – I’ll show you.”
Senga got out of her chair and started dancing; at first she took Ben’s hands and tried to get him to join in, but he pulled away and she dragged Logan out of his chair and made him dance. Ben groaned silently and slumped against the nearest table as Linda brought over the tray of tea things. The remaining handful of elderly customers looked askance at this display, paid their bills and left, making disapproving noises.
As Logan and Senga sank back into their chairs, wheezing dangerously, the door opened and a girl came into the café. She was carrying an umbrella and wore a bright scarf with a pattern of poppies, which she loosened as she walked towards the scone and cake display cabinet.
Ben watched her, fascinated. Then Linda came back from the kitchen again and helped the girl fold up her umbrella and find a table. The scarf with the poppy pattern fluttered to the floor, and he decided to retrieve it and hand it back. But his mother was in the way just now. He heard her making pointless conversation.
“Where did that rain come from all of a sudden? It was fine a minute ago.”
“I’m glad I had my umbrella,” said the girl. He stared at her. He had seen her before.
“What would you like, dear?” said Linda.
Ben saw the girl gaze round as if noticing the decor for the first time. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any fruit scones, have you?”
“There’s always plenty of fruit scones here, don’t you worry. Would you like jam? Tea or coffee?”
“A skinny latte?” said the girl. Now he recognised her. It was Erin, the new girl in his class at school.
“Hmm,” said Linda. “Would Nescafé do?”
“That’s fine, thanks. Have you got any blackcurrant jam?”
At last the order was complete. Linda went into the kitchen, and Ben followed her.
“Can I help with anything, Mum?”
Linda seemed taken aback.
“I think I can manage, thanks. Why don’t you go and talk to your Gran again?”
“Hmph,” said Ben, but he returned to the café anyway.
“Hey,” called Senga, “what do you have to do to get a cup of tea around here?”
Linda came out through the swing doors just behind Ben with a tray. “Here,” she said, putting the tray in his hands. “Maybe this’ll keep her quiet.”
He approached Senga and Logan’s table with extreme caution, put the tray down as quick
ly as he could and was about to escape when Senga spoke to him.
“You’re meant to unload the tray, you know, darling. Here, let me help.”
They unloaded the tray together. Senga poured tea for herself and Logan, and started to butter the scones.
She glanced up at Ben, who was hovering uncomfortably, and said “I don’t see you using that new phone I gave you. You haven’t lost it, have you?”
“It’s up in the flat.”
“What if you get a call on it while you’re down here? I thought you young people kept your phones on all the time, what do you think Logan?”
Logan grunted and turned the page in his paper. Senga continued “A good phone like that – a Blackberry - you’d want to show it off, wouldn’t you? Not keep it hidden away upstairs. You’d want to show everybody what your granny had given you.”
“Yes, yes, of course I do,” said Ben with deep unease. “I just forgot.”
Senga ruffled his hair. “Forgot! My wee treasure! Of course you forgot. So much other stuff in your head, what with all those Highers and Advanced Highers and Inter – Inter – things they make you sit. In my day it was a bit simpler, just the School Leaving Certificate, and that was only if you were lucky and didn’t have to leave early and go and work in the shipyards.”
“I’d better go now,” said Ben. “Got to get on with – things and stuff.”
“Things and stuff. Of course you have to get on with all that, my wee Easter bunny.”
Ben turned to leave, with one frustrated glance at Erin.
He hadn’t quite escaped from his grandmother yet. “Just you make sure you’ve got that phone on you the next time I see you – or I might think you’ve lost it, and I wouldn’t be very pleased.”
As he ran towards the door