The Lady's Man - Our heroine, Catriona McCaffery, staying with her aunt after the break-up.

Chapter 3 - Forgotten Friends - Catriona McCaffery

            My suitcase landed on the pavement with a heavy thud. The bus moved off, leaving me staring at the village church across the street from me. I had been in there a couple of times with my mother many years ago. The minister had been ancient. I doubt if he would still be there. I'm going to call my aunt in a minute and ask her for directions, but before I do, I think a cup of coffee might be in order. I wheeled my suitcase down the steep hill to a building opposite Carnock Primary School. Ye Coffee Shoppe, the sign above the large glass window boasted.

            With my head down, I dragged my suitcase over to one of the booths and collapsed into a seat, resting my head on my arms, crossed in front of me on the table. I was barely aware of the bell that had announced my arrival finally stop ringing.

            "I'll be there in a minute!" I heard a woman’s voice call out. The voice seemed familiar somehow, but I was too tired to think any more about it. I only wanted to rest right now. My head was empty of thought, perfect. Not for long though. The sound of two girls talking in the next booth invaded my peace and quiet. Their voices were very animated and the object of their ire was somebody called Caleb. I tried my best to tune them out, but it was nigh on impossible.

            "I honestly thought he was serious about me," one girl said.

            " I had marriage on my mind the whole time," came the reply.

            "He has it all," the first girl went on, "looks, physique, sense of humour, nice dad. Not rich but not poor either. His mother left Caleb and his dad when Caleb was only eight. He told me about it once, but when I tried to find out more, he got all bent out of shape."

            "Really?"

            "He was more than just angry, if you had seen the look on his face... I really believe he hates his mother for leaving them."

Are there any women who don't have men problems. My life has just been turned upside down and now I can't block out the problems of these two.

            "Even after all this time?” continued the second girl, "It must be close to sixteen or seventeen years ago."

            "From that point on, our relationship went steeply downhill,” said the first. “I think that's why he dumped me. Just because I asked about his mother."

            "When his mother left, his conscience disappeared with her," came the reply. "It's as if he is scared to get too close to anyone.”

            “How many girls has he dated… that you know of, Irene?"

            "Dated or bedded?"

            "Has he ever done one without the other?" the first girl asked.

            Men cheating on women, I thought. Same problem the world over. Why couldn't I be the focal point of a man's love. How wonderful it would be to experience naught but devotion from the man of my dreams. To know that he desired no other woman, but me. I sighed, a sudden feeling of heaviness spreading through my body. My number one fantasy, no closer to realization.

            "I still love him," admitted the girl called Irene.

            "Handsomest man I've ever seen," said the other. "Almost made me feel ugly standing beside him,"

            "There was no almost about it," the girl called Irene shot back.

I admit it, I almost giggled at this last comment. I barely managed to control myself. Good job they couldn't see the grin spread across my face. It turned out that the comment made them burst out laughing anyway, so I allowed myself a quick chuckle. It was wrong of me to feel better, but what is that saying? How can feeling so wrong feel so right. Something like that.

            "Is everything okay?" came the same voice that sounded familiar a short while ago.

            "Everything’s fine, Mrs. Robson, thanks for asking," coughed the first girl.

I recognized the symptoms of a person caught laughing whilst trying to swallow a mouthful of liquid. Been there, done that. I raised my head up from the table. My spirits rose immediately. Emily Robson, my Aunt. She hadn't noticed me.

            "Aunt Em!" I said, standing up and holding my arms out. Emily Robson spun around and let her gaze fall upon me. She pitched forward and grabbed me in what could best be described as a bear-hug.

            "Catriona, my wee darlin' how you've grown, you were about seven years old when last I set eyes on you. I live upstairs," she said, "that is we live upstairs. Yours will be the first door on the right once you’ve reached the landing. When you're ready I'll take you there. I'm afraid it looks out over the street to the bus stop, but there is another window which has a view out over a small park and beyond that, our village minister's manse."

My aunt was looking me up and down, her smile increasing with every pass.

            “My but you look wonderful,” she said.

One of the girls with severe love problems eased her way out of the booth and stepped into view.

            "What! You don't recognize me? Catriona McCaffery, am I right? We used to play together as kids."

            "Etta, is that really you?"

            “Ta-da!" Etta laughed, stepped forward and hugged me. "What brings you back here after so many years?"

            "I guess you don't recognize me then," interrupted the other girl, "now that I no longer wear braces on my teeth and sport contacts rather than glasses. Now that I am awesomely gorgeous, with big boobs."

            "And a butt to match," Etta whispered, a comment that Irene totally ignored.

            "Irene, of course. I heard you being called by name, but it never clicked." We hugged each other.

            "I am so sorry you two," I said, taking each of their hands in mine.

            "I'll bring some coffee," said my aunt, "while you three get re-acquainted."

I watched as she disappeared into what must be the kitchen.

            "Your aunt moved here years ago and has been running this coffee shop ever since," said Etta, anticipating my question correctly. "She's a wonderful cook, but I expect you already know that."

I nodded. We sat down at the table, Irene and Etta opposite me.

            "Men trouble, right?" inquired Etta.

            "Just one," I replied, glancing down at my naked ring finger. "The one I was going to marry."

            "Was," acknowledged Irene with an understanding nod. "No more needs to be said, I guess."

            "Nope," I replied.

            "Cheated on you?" Irene asked, her eyes narrowing.

            "Yup," I said, my eyes refusing to meet hers.

Irene just shook her head.

            "I can't see a man cheating on you," stated Etta, "I mean look at you. You look fabulous. There has to be a catch. Own up, what prompted this madman to cheat on the beautiful girl sitting in front of us?"

            "My desire to be a virgin bride," I said simply, but felt a little stupid at my admittance to such an old fashioned concept.

            "Too late for us," said Etta, looking directly at Irene, "but not as daft a desire as it might seem, I don't think."

            "Good for you," added Irene.

Aunt Em returned with three cups of coffee and an assortment of biscuits splashed onto a large plate.

            "Tuck in girls, it's on the house. Let me just go and check on my niece's room."

            "Thanks, aunt Em," I called out after her retreating body.

            "Apparently I'm not the only one with a mess of a love life," I said. "I apologize, but I couldn't help but hear your conversation. I overheard the name Caleb, am I right?"

            "You are," said Irene with a sigh. Etta gaze fell to the plateful of biscuits as she nodded in agreement.

            "So, which one of you dated this Caleb?" I asked.

            "I did," they replied in unison.

            "And he’s a movie star," I prompted.

            "He has movie star looks," corrected Etta, her gaze still fixed on the plate.

A bus passing the shop temporarily drowned out our conversation. Irene glanced at her watch.

            "Right on time," she said. "Exactly half an hour after the bus that you must have been on."

Less than a minute later, the bell sounded, announcing another patron. My back was to the door, but the look on the faces of my two childhood friends was a sight to behold. Neither said anything, but simply stared over my shoulder, their faces devoid of expression. To all intents and purposes, in a state of trance. I fought the urge to look. I felt it might be rude of me to do so. A man's rich, deep voice cut through the air.

            "Have you baked any of those wonderful raspberry tarts, Mrs Robson? You have? Excellent. I'll take two please. This should cover it. Thanks again."

I won't deny, I was more than a little curious to see the man to whom this richly erotic voice belonged, when it suddenly dawned on me. Who could possibly manifest such an effect on my two friends other than the man they called Caleb. I almost broke my neck turning around to check. Too late, he had already left the shop and disappeared from view. Good manners had prevented me from seeing the beast that had caused my two friends such grief. I turned back to face them again. Etta had her head down and her eyes shut, but Irene was still staring past me to where this Caleb had been standing.

            "I honestly thought he was serious about me, but all he wanted was to screw me senseless,” Etta said, her voice wobbling. “It's been four months, and I’m still pining away.”

            “We were both misled,” Irene piped in. “I had marriage on my mind the whole time. His mind was obviously full of hot torrid depraved sex. Oh, the things he made me do, the positions I was forced into. I blush now at the thought.”

Her words said one thing, but her face exuded a radiant glow as she spoke of this man and his heinous activities. Then she buried her face in her hands.

            "I hear he is chasing Shona Mathews," said Etta.

            "The widow? I thought he was after Adele what’s-her-name," said Irene from behind her hands.

            "Gillespie," Etta said providing the last name, "Adele Gillespie."

            "Not really his type I wouldn't have thought," said Irene.

I looked across the table at the two girls before fixing my gaze upon Etta.

            "Would you date this Caleb if he ever asked you out again?"

            "Never, no way, not a chance," she replied.

            "I would too," Irene admitted, staring into her almost empty cup. "As if that is ever going to happen again," she added wistfully. "It's a pity that he will never know the feeling of having his heart ground under the heel of his lover's boot."

            “Now that would be justice of the highest order," Etta agreed. "That, I would pay to see."

            "As daydreams go, it's the best," admitted Irene, "I can see the title of the movie now, 'Revenge of the Jilted Village Beauties.’"

            "You call that a movie title?” replied Etta, unimpressed. “I prefer a major magazine headline. Something like… 'Callous Golf Pro Steals Heart of Village Beauty Before Tossing the Woman's Major Organ Into the Garbage'."

            "Why would a golf pro remove a perfectly good twat and throw it away?" returned Irene, trying her best to look confused.

            "So that it could keep company with your unused brain," Etta chided. “We need to come up with a plan to avenge our shattered hearts.”

            "Caleb needs to be brought to heel, to grovel before both of us and beg our forgiveness," said Irene, warming to the idea.

            Apparently, this notion was to be savoured at every opportunity. Revenge was in order, my two friends both agreed, but how and when, were the questions still to be answered. I had nothing to add to the conversation, but let them vent without interruption.

            "Here's to revenge," said Etta.

            "Revenge!" Irene echoed, tapping her cup gently against Etta’s.

            “That takes care of the who and the what,” said Etta. “Now we need to work on the other details. Any ideas?”

            “I’ve an idea you will be leaving the tip for the tea and biscuits,” Irene said. “My purse is missing in action. I hope I left it at home and didn’t lose it.”

            “Really? What is that beside your left elbow. It sure as heck looks like your purse to me,” replied Etta.

            “My goodness! How could I have missed that?” a perplexed frown appeared on Irene‘s face.

            “Well, it clears up one issue,” said Etta.

            “And what might that be?”

            “Caleb wasn’t after you for your looks. He simply has a soft spot for the blind.

            “Evens?” Irene asked.

Etta grinned. “Okay, now we’re even.”

Satisfied, they both surrendered their full attention to finishing their beverage.

            "I don't know what to say girls," was my only comment after their latest banter.

            "There's nothing to be said, other than, I will have my revenge, either in this life or the next," said Etta.

            "Gladiator… the movie… Russell Crowe," I stated.

            "Great movie," said Irene.

            "The bad guy gets his in the end." This from Etta.

            "The good guy dies too, don't forget," I said.

            "How romantic." Irene sighed.

The three of us lowered our eyes to the plate, devoid of all biscuits bar one. Our heads raised simultaneously, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

            "You have it, Catriona," said Etta. It's your first day here, it's your aunt's coffee shop and it's our way of saying welcome back."

            "Well, thank you Etta," I said, as I reached for the biscuit in question.

Like a snakes tongue, Etta's arm shot out and snatched the biscuit from the plate and deposited it into her mouth in one smooth motion. Irene and I watched as she chewed for a brief second then swallowed.

            "Oh!" said Etta raising her eyebrows, “did you want it?"

            "Not at all," I replied. "Everybody knows that the last biscuit is the one which puts on the most weight."

            "Irene must have had a lot of last biscuits," suggested Etta, exactly one second before the sound of a hand smacking an arm disturbed the conversation.

My aunt reappeared at the foot of the stairs.

            "Feeling a little peckish after your long journey, Catriona?" she asked.

            "The poor girl was starving," said Etta. "Watching her eat was embarrassing, Mrs Robson."

            "Would you like some more, dear?" Aunt Em asked me.

            "Would I like some more, girls?"

            "I think she has room for a couple more," suggested Etta.

            "More coffee?" asked my aunt.

            "That would be lovely Mrs. Robson. Thanks," said Irene.

            "You two haven't changed," I said.

            "And yet it took you forever to recognize us," replied Etta in a miffed tone.

The three of us exchanged grins.

            "Nice to meet up with you again, Cat," said Irene. "You don't mind me calling you Cat, do you?"

            "Knock yourself out," I replied.

            "Cat it is, then."

            Half an hour later we had all caught up with each other’s news, and I was forced to bid them adieu. I felt drained. The only thing I wanted to do was lay down and sleep. They were still tucking into the biscuits when I went upstairs.

            "Going to rest for a bit aunt Em," I said climbing the stairs slowly. “I'll pick up my suitcase later if you don't mind."

            "Let me show you to your room then," she replied.

I don't remember much after that conversation. I was drifting quietly off to sleep, when a handsome man’s face outside a bus window drifted through my mind. A gentle fluttering in my stomach brought a warm glow deep inside of me. After that, nothing.