Cinnamon

"It's... I'm... ok," I said. I massaged my temples. "It... brings a lot of stuff to the surface about dad. But... it's her I'm worried about now. Natalie. She sounds destroyed. I should be there with her."

"You said the L word," he said, as he slid into the seat opposite me.

"Yeah... I did."

"Would it be unbelievably inappropriate to congratulate you?"

I snorted, and glanced up at him. "Tonight, yeah, it's wildly inappropriate. But then, you are my most wildly inappropriate friend."

"That I am," he agreed. He leaned back. "Well, then. Wine?"

"Is the Pope Catholic?"

"Indeed."

.:.

The days passed in slow, grey tedium. I came in to the cafe with barely-adequate enthusiasm but I did my duty, talked quietly with Marco, and spent what free time I had worrying about her.

Natalie's communiques were brief - 'Signed legal documents today', 'Begrafenis and koekjes today' followed an all-too-brief phone call when she'd just needed someone to listen to her as she cried like a lost little girl.

I cursed the cafe; cursed London, cursed the need to be here. My heart was over the sea with her. But Pete was ill and couldn't cover for me, and anyway, the last thing Nat needed was me in what I knew was a personal hell she had to get through somehow. So I kept my head down and did what I had to, hating every second that she was gone.

Thursday dawned, grey and grim. I slouched into work, made an espresso, made Marco an espresso when he grouched in, and started serving breakfast to our dawn chorus.

The morning murk slowly dissipated, and as the day brightened we grew busier. I ran to and fro, seating tables, serving the assembly line of baps that Marco conjured up, taking cash, making change.

I took a break during a mid-morning lull, and went out to get some air. I leaned against the wall by the door, eyes closed, enjoying the relief of the chill breeze after the heat of the cafe. I took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. I took another, sighed it out. I rolled my neck and shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension out of them. Then I opened my eyes again, squinting against the reflected glare of the office block to the north.

Natalie stood, hunched in a grey woollen coat, on the other side of the road, looking at me. I blinked, pushed off the wall, crossed the road in five large strides, and before she could even say a word I pulled her to me. I held her, heedless of the curious eyes of strangers as I stood there, gently stroking her back until her bitter tears had eased, until her trembling had stilled, until she could breathe.

Then I took her arm, steadied her, helped her across and back into the sanctuary of our cafe. I pulled up a chair behind the counter and gently set her into it.

"Do you need anything, Nat?" I said.

"Just to be here with you," she whispered hoarsely. "Just to be safe, to not have to think, just for a little while."

I made her her cinnamon caffe latte and set it down next to her. I spoke to her softly about the inconsequential trivialities of the day. Every time I was near her I'd touch her - her cheek, her shoulder - the gentlest of reminders that I was there. But I didn't ask, didn't pry, didn't demand any response from her. She would speak when she could.

And later, after we'd finished for the day, we sat in a booth, holding hands, a small candle our only light in the gathering dusk.

She told me how she'd been sending what little money she had spare back to the Netherlands to pay for her mother's end-of-life care; how Anna, a friend's sister, had taken her in when she could no longer make ends meet by herself.

And she told me her most personal stories, about the shit of a father who ran away when she was born, about growing up in almost-poverty; and about how despite everything her mother had still always had love and songs and time for her - until the descent into her final illness had erased every speck of the amazing woman she'd been.

I had no words of comfort to offer her, just my proximity and a shoulder to cry on.

And Natalie had had a lot of unshed tears that she needed to set free.

.:.

"Here. Let me hang your coat up for you."

"Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you for bringing me home with you. I didn't want to go back to my flat just yet. Anna's not in London today and I can't be alone."

"Well, I think it's just us here. Jack may be around, but he's a good egg and he'll leave us be. He... he knows you've suffered a loss and he won't pry or impose."

"Sorry for turning your life upside down too."

"You have become central to my life, Natalie. Don't diminish your place in my thoughts."

She leaned against me. "I don't know how I would have come through this without you." She let out an exhausted sigh. "At least mama's at peace now."

I led her through to the kitchen and sat her down at our table. "It's going to be starvation rations I'm afraid," I said softly as I dug through the cupboard. "I haven't have much energy to shop. So it's pasta and pommodoro of some sort. Nothing like our usual standards."

"I'm not really hungry anyway."

"I know, but you still need to eat something. It helps. Trust me on this. I know."

She swallowed and looked away, and barely spoke as I cooked some spaghetti and warmed a tomato and chilli sauce to go with it. I poured her half a glass of red, then winced as she knocked it back in one shot. I topped her up; it was not my place to tell her how to deal with her grief.

"It's not fair," she whispered into her wine. "It's not fair that I had to go through this twice. First when she lost her memories and now this."

"It's not fair," I agreed, as I put a bowl down for her. "But you got to see her one last time at least."

She looked up at me, then reached out to take my hand. "Because of you."

"Eat, Nat," I responded gently, giving her hand a squeeze.

She picked listlessly at her food, but did at least eat something in the end, chasing it down with another half-glass of wine. I put our plates aside to deal with in the morning and then helped her stand. I killed the kitchen light and led her down the hall to my room. "Sorry in advance for the cave," I muttered as I kicked some clothes out of the way. "It's not normally this bad, but it's been a ... rough... week."

Natalie said nothing; she merely slipped off her shoes and stripped off her jersey and jeans. She climbed into my bed and rolled onto her side, facing the far wall. I closed the door, turned off the lights, kicked off my own shoes and pants and slipped in behind her.

I pulled my blankets over us and wormed my arm gently under her. She lay still for a moment, then spun over, wrapped her right arm around me, and held herself to me. She said nothing, and I didn't intrude.

Slowly we warmed; slowly she relaxed, and eventually sleep took her, and then, finally, me.

.:.

The lightest of kisses woke me. I opened one groggy eye.

"Hey, you," she breathed.

"Hello, you."

"I need to get home and get dressed and try to salvage what I can of my business."

I yawned and stretched. "Ok. Let me wake up, get decent and I'll walk you to the station."

"Eddie?"

"Mm?"

"Thank you. For everything."

"I love you, Natalie. You don't need to thank me."

She touched her cheek to mine, and held me for a breath, for two.

"I promise I'll be ok in time," she whispered. She tucked her face into my neck. "Can you wait for me? To be ok?"

I hugged her so hard that she squeaked out her breath.

"I will wait until the sun burns out and the moon falls into the sea," I whispered. "And until you're ready, I am still here for you, however you may need me."

"Promises, promises," she answered, with the faintest ghost of her smile.

I helped her dress, fed her a small espresso to 'help her boot up', and walked her to the station. She kissed me, we hugged, and then I stood watching as she walked off. She turned once to make sure I was watching her, then disappeared into the station.

It would take time, but she would heal.

And I would be with her every step of the way.