November
His son was at the counter piling pieces of gingerbread onto a flowery plate when Chris pushed open the glass cafe door. For a split second, he thought he was looking at Gail. It was something in the way that Tom moved and how carefully he was stacking the cake in a perfect swirl of gingerbread loveliness. He remembered Gail always saying that you eat food with your eyes. Chris, however, had thought it was all about the taste.
‘Morning, son.’
Tom jumped and a few slices of gingerbread wobbled, but because he’d placed them at just the right angle, nothing fell off.
‘Hey, Dad! You’re late. I’ve just had my break. You okay?’ Tom started to sort out Chris’s usual coffee and then waved the tongs about while he waited for his usual dithering over which cake to have, or whether to just go for a scone. ‘Here, try this for a change.’ He made his dad’s choice for him, handing him an extra large slice of gingerbread that didn’t quite fit on his spiral.
‘I’ve been taking photos,’ said Chris, coming back to the counter after having put his helmet and gloves down at a table in the corner. It was his favourite table inside, because from here he could watch people as they walked in. It was easier to sit alone in a cafe if he knew who was around him, he’d found. It gave him a chance to look busy if he didn’t want someone to talk to him, to look as if he were saving a seat for a friend, or just sprawl about and generally look so uninviting and grumpy that no one would want to sit next to him anyway. Stupid, he knew, but it worked for him.
‘Good work, Dad. On your old camera?’
‘No, no. I wish I knew where that was though. I quite fancy taking photography up again. No, I’ve been helping out some ladies down at the lake.’
Chris picked up the tray laden with coffee and cake and started to walk over to the table. His son followed him and cleared away the single cup, saucer, and plate that were on it. He came back and sat down, half an eye on the door. Chris was the only customer in the cafe, but given that it was getting closer to lunchtime, it was more likely people would begin to appear, either before heading off round the lake or on their way back.
‘What ladies?’
‘Doing some kind of swimming thing and they needed some photos.’ Chris bit into the gingerbread and rolled his eyes with pleasure. Now that was good cake.
‘Right, well that sounds interesting. Were they hot?’
‘Tom, please. Give your old man a break. Actually, I didn’t notice,’ he lied and took a big mouthful of coffee to avoid having to say anything more.
‘You’re blushing, Dad. Go on, tell.’ Tom jabbed him in the ribs.
‘Nothing to tell.’ Chris kept his cool, praying his face would calm down in a minute. For goodness sake, man, he told himself, get a grip. It wasn’t as if they were that gorgeous, just attractive, and it had been a bit of a surprise. Especially before they’d put their swimsuits back on. ‘They’re entering some winter swimming competition and apparently it has to be mixed, so they’re looking for a man to swim with them.’
‘I hope you offered?’
‘You must be joking! They’re swimming in February in Scotland. No bloody chance!’
‘You’ve got a wetsuit, Dad.’
‘Something tells me no wetsuits are allowed, son. Have you seen those YouTube videos from frozen lakes in Russia and Sweden? I may be carrying a little extra round the middle, but I’m not built like those guys!’ He took a slurp from his cup and then demolished more cake. Tom was tapping something into his phone and then waiting impatiently for the rural Internet connection to respond.
‘What’re you doing?’ asked Chris, wiping some crumbs from the corner of his mouth.
‘There!’ Tom turned his phone round to show Chris the screen.
‘Uh? It’s no good, you’ll have to read it.’ Chris pointed at his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. ‘No glasses.’
‘International Ice Swimming Association rules state no Neoprene, just an ordinary swimsuit and swim cap to be worn—’
‘There you go,’ said Chris, almost triumphantly. But Tom wasn’t going to give up that easily.
‘I think you should do it, Dad.’ He put his phone face down on the table and leant forward while reaching both hands out across the varnished wood. Palms face up, he motioned to his dad to place his own larger ones on top. Chris did so, puzzled, but welcomed the physical contact. And that was the trigger he needed.
The two men gripped each other’s hands for longer than they’d ever done before: ‘I know something like that could be fun as well as a challenge, but I need to have a think about it.’ The simple words made Tom flinch, but he held on tighter to the older man’s hands. White flesh interlaced with pink, with every tiny muscle, ligament, and blood vessel tensed up.
‘Don’t think too long, Dad.’
They let go of each other’s hands and Chris cuffed his son round the head playfully. ‘Hah! Seriously, they must be bonkers if those are the rules. Anyway, I’ll consider it.’
‘It’d give you something to focus on.’ Tom cleared away his dad’s coffee things and went back to the counter. He turned to an elderly couple who were kitted out in brand new waterproofs and were eyeing up the scones. ‘How can I help you?’
He was in work mode again and Chris waved at him as he went past.
‘See you, Tom,’ he called and grabbed the door handle just as another customer pushed it open. He held it open for the man and then went out to his bike.
Cycling back along the lake until he reached his van, which was now surrounded by cars and a couple of other vans, he looked down to where he had been taking the photographs. The women had long gone. Mad, he thought. They must be mad. It was cold enough now, but, in February, in Scotland? There could even be snow. The lie he’d told Stevie about not being a swimmer played on his mind though. Yes, he was primarily far more interested in cycling than swimming, but he did swim, pretty well actually, but mostly in the indoor pool. As a kid he’d swum in the lakes and when his kids were little, he’d taken them into the lake and done a bit of ghyll scrambling, hence the wetsuit.
Those dark blue eyes had been so soulful; he just couldn’t get them out of his mind. There was something about her – or was it just that he found her attractive and intriguing? He half wished he had agreed then and there to be ‘her man’, but the thought of freezing his balls off in ice water for her? He laughed out loud. Even his laugh sounded fake for some reason.
Maybe Tom was right. Perhaps he did need something other than cycling to focus on; perhaps it was time to take the first steps towards whatever now awaited him.