The Perfect Moment

by Alix Kelso

  One day, he hoped, he’d have that again.

  With this thought now at the forefront of his mind, he finished clearing up in the bar and sat down with his laptop to look at some pub market opportunities he might have too readily dismissed.

  When Keith appeared downstairs a short time later, smartly dressed and wearing a grin that stretched from ear to ear, Bruce could hardly keep his own smile off his face.

  “Looks like you had a good night, Uncle Keith.”

  Keith slid his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Natalie is quite a woman, Bruce. She takes my breath away.”

  Bruce stared, thinking this through. “Um, is she ...”

  “Is she what?”

  “Well, is Natalie still ...” He sighed. “Should I put the kettle on and take her a cuppa?”

  Keith looked at him in confusion and then towards Valentino’s across the road. As understanding dawned, his eyes bugged. “We didn’t spend the night together! What’s the matter with you?”

  “When people like one another, spending the night together seems like a natural step to me. I just assumed you had, judging by the look on your face.”

  “For God’s sake, we’ve only been out together twice.” Keith looked thoughtful. “But I do like her, Bruce.”

  “You haven’t forgotten she’s selling up and leaving, have you?”

  “Of course not, I’m not addled.”

  “I’d hate to be responsible for pairing you up with the next woman who’s destined to break your heart.”

  “I’m a grown man, and my heart’s my own business.”

  “Hmm.”

  Keith smiled and waved a hand. “Don’t worry yourself son, I can look after myself. Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast over at the restaurant, there’s plenty time before we open.”

  Immediately, Bruce thought of Laura. He’d successfully avoided her all week. But appearing as a customer in her place of work would almost certainly bring that policy of cowardice to an end.

  “Actually, I’ve got a few things I need to do before—”

  “Nonsense, you’ve got time to sit down and eat some breakfast,” Keith said, already heading for the door. “Let’s go, my treat.”

  There was no easy way out that wouldn’t look strange and require explanation, so Bruce found himself reluctantly tagging along. When they arrived at Valentino’s and settled into a booth, the place was far busier than he’d expected.

  And with relief, he saw no sign of Laura.

  In fact, he noticed that there were only a couple of servers working – Paul and a young woman he didn’t recognise, and both were struggling to keep up with the pace.

  “It’s hectic in here today,” Keith said, gesturing to the messy tables and the plates of food piling up at the kitchen order station and the obviously annoyed customers still waiting to be served.

  Just then, Natalie rushed from her office, stabbing furiously at her phone before hustling to the order station and carrying a backlog of breakfasts to waiting customers. Only once the plates of food had been delivered did she notice Keith and Bruce.

  Briskly walking over, she brought their coffee order with her. “Good morning, Keith. Good morning, Bruce. How are you both today?”

  “We’re good,” Keith said. “And you?”

  “Oh, I’m just fine,” she said, absently waving a hand. “I’d still be basking in my enjoyment of Rigoletto last night, but for the fact we’re short-staffed this morning.”

  “Can we help?” Keith said.

  “I wouldn’t hear of it.” She looked down at her phone when it pinged and sighed. “I hoped that might be Laura. I’ve been trying to reach her all morning. She was supposed to start her shift at ten but hasn’t turned up. It’s not like her to be late and even less like her to be late and not call ahead to let us know.”

  A tremendous crash erupted by the counter. Bruce turned to see the lone waitress staring in dismay at the tray of coffees she’d upended, while Paul gaped at the mess and then let out a yelp as the milk steamer on the coffee machine went into overdrive and sprayed hot foam all over his shirt.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Natalie said. “We’re officially in meltdown. I better go and restore order.”

  Keith rose. “We’ll help you, Natalie.”

  “No, please—”

  “Don’t be daft, we’re not going to sit here watching you sink.” He rolled up his sleeves. “Bruce, you start clearing the dirty dishes off these tables. I’ll see to these new customers waiting to be seated.”

  “You’re very kind,” Natalie said, making her way to the spilled coffee and retrieving the mop from the store cupboard.

  Within fifteen minutes, the extra hands had helped smooth over the chaos. Food was leaving the kitchen promptly, drinks orders were being filled, tables cleared, new customers seated, and no more accidents had taken place. All in all, not a bad result, Bruce thought as he stood by the counter, lifting a forkful of the omelette he’d ordered and watching Keith dig into his bacon and eggs.

  “You two saved my life,” Natalie said, preparing pots of tea and glasses of orange juice for an order. “You’re a fast worker, Bruce. Your uncle says you’re looking for a pub to buy, but maybe you ought to think about putting an offer in for this place instead.”

  Bruce laughed. “If I were in the restaurant business, I’d be mad not to buy this place, Natalie. But I’ve got my heart set on finding a pub.”

  “Fair enough.” She pulled out her phone and jabbed at the screen, then sighed and disconnected. “I still can’t get hold of Laura. This is very unusual.” Glancing up, she looked beyond the restaurant windows in the general direction of Laura’s flat. “Maybe I should go over and knock on her door and see if everything is alright.”

  Another ear-splitting crash reverberated around the restaurant as the waitress knocked a stack of dirty glasses from a table. Bruce saw tears swim in the young woman’s eyes as every customer in the place turned to look at her.

  “Dear God,” Natalie said. “Clearly there is no way I can leave this place for even a second, given the mess we’re in.”

  She strode off to help clear up the broken glass, and Bruce felt his uncle’s gaze upon him.

  “You should do it,” Keith said, biting into a slice of toast.

  “Do what?”

  “Go and knock on Laura’s door.”

  “Me?”

  “You two know each other, don’t you?”

  “Not really.”

  “The two of you were thick as thieves, setting me and Natalie up together.”

  “You’ve known her longer than I have.”

  “And wouldn’t that look strange, some old man knocking on her door at eleven o’clock in the morning?”

  “It would look just as strange if it was me knocking.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. Look, Natalie’s worried about her. All you have to do is go over there and see if she’s in. What’s so hard about that?”

  There was nothing hard about it, Bruce knew. And he couldn’t deny he was concerned about why Laura wasn’t at work and wasn’t answering her phone. What if she’d gone out last night and something had happened to her, and no one knew about it yet? He couldn’t go about the rest of his day with an idea like that stuck in his head when the solution was right in front of him.

  “Okay, I’ll go.”

  “Good lad. I’ll help Natalie hold the fort.”

  As Bruce headed for the restaurant door, his heart knocked wildly in his chest, and he desperately wished he hadn’t behaved like a fool all week by avoiding Laura – and that he hadn’t run out of her flat in the first place.

  Because if he hadn’t done those things, going into her building and knocking on her door wouldn’t feel as horribly awkward as it did.

  Chapter 10

  Laura rarely had the nightmares any more, but she was having one now, in which she stood on the side of the road and watched her parents’ car crash head-on into the van that had veered suddenly
and treacherously on to the wrong side of the road.

  She hadn’t been there when the accident happened, but she was always there during the nightmare that re-enacted it, watching the look of horror cross her father’s face, then her mother’s, as they realised what was now inevitable. In slow motion, Laura saw her father turn the steering wheel with all his might. But it was always too late. And so she stood helpless on the dark verge, the rain falling in sheets from a thick night sky, watching the collision and hearing the terrible sounds of the impact.

  She cried, screamed, and tried to run, but found herself rooted to the spot as always, as the crash ended and an awful silence filled the quiet country road.

  A banging sound began. That was new. There had never been banging in the nightmare before. After the crash, there was only ever deadly silence. Why was there banging now? Were her parents still alive somehow in that car? Could she reach them? Save them?

  Laura forced her feet to move from the roadside verge and tried to run through the thick treacle of the dream-world.

  Suddenly, the banging sound was gone, replaced with a ringing noise. Then the banging resumed once more.

  She ran, ran and ran, but got no closer to the car wreck. With a frustrated sob in her throat, she realised that the banging and the ringing was getting louder and closer.

  Bang, bang, bang. Ring, ring, ring.

  BANG, BANG, BANG.

  She opened her eyes. The nightmare clung to her, tearing fresh grief from her heart. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d dreamt the nightmare that had plagued her for long months after her parents’ deaths. Lying in bed as sleep departed, she realised that the nightmare had left her clammy all over.

  No, not just clammy. She was absolutely drenched in sweat. Her palms were slick and a hot sweat coated her forehead. The nightmare had made up for its years of absence.

  BANG, BANG, BANG.

  “What the ...?” She sat up and immediately regretted it. Every muscle ached and groaned and she was sore to the marrow of her bones.

  BANG, BANG, BANG. RING, RING, RING.

  What was that noise? Where was it coming from? It seemed so close, but also so far away.

  And now the room was spinning.

  BANG, BANG, BANG.

  “Laura? Are you in there?”

  Someone was at the door, banging on it and ringing the doorbell. Why had it taken her so long to figure it out?

  She would have to get to the door, would somehow have to move herself from her bed to the hallway to the door. Surely that was impossible.

  What on earth was wrong with her?

  Whimpering with each tiny movement, she pushed up on to her feet. The room spun harder, like she was on board an out-of-control fairground ride.

  There were probably only eight steps from her bed to the front door, but climbing Mount Everest could scarcely have been more difficult. Clutching at the door knob, more for balance than anything else, she peered through the etched glass panel to see who was there.

  But there was only darkness. With a sinking feeling, she realised that the outer storm doors of the flat were closed too. Of course they were closed. She always closed them at night.

  When she opened the inside door, the chill that snaked in from the tiny porch was enough to leave her gasping.

  “Who’s there?” she said, the words like rough sandpaper against her throat.

  “It’s Bruce.”

  She frowned. She didn’t know anyone called Bruce, did she? Although the name did sound familiar. “Who?”

  “It’s Bruce. From The Crooked Thistle.”

  Cogs whirred and laboured inside her head. Finally she remembered – yes, of course, Bruce from the pub – and she shook her head against the fuzziness.

  As she unbolted the storm door, she realised the nightmare must’ve really sunk its claws in to leave her so confused. And as for the terrible achiness, well, she must’ve fallen into a strange position while sleeping, no doubt thanks to the nightmare, and was now paying the price with numbed limbs.

  She hauled open the storm door and saw Bruce. “Hi Bruce, what do you want?” she said, hugging herself against the chill of the tenement stairwell.

  “I came to see if you’re okay.” He looked her up and down with an expression that seemed half-surprised, half-alarmed. “Natalie’s worried about you.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  His gaze moved to her face. “Because you’re supposed to be at work, but clearly—”

  Realisation seized her. “Oh my God! What time is it?”

  “Nearly eleven thirty. But it looks to me like—”

  But she was no longer listening as she rushed into the stairwell.

  “Hey, for goodness sake!” he said, hooking an arm around her when her legs buckled and she almost fell. “Don’t go tearing off, you’re not even dressed.”

  Glancing down, she saw her pyjamas. Of course she was still in her pyjamas. She’d known that.

  “I need to get changed.” Disentangling herself, she stepped unsteadily into the flat. “I must’ve overslept. Wait, hang on, why exactly are you here looking for me?”

  “I was having breakfast at Valentino’s with Uncle Keith. Natalie’s short-staffed and it’s pandemonium. She’s been phoning and when you didn’t answer, I came over.”

  “Oh God!”

  She never overslept. Most mornings she woke before the alarm even began bleeping. Pulling a fresh uniform from the wardrobe, she felt the room begin to spin again and felt the fogginess creep into her head. Fiddling with the buttons on the shirt, she told herself to get her act together. She’d let Natalie down, and now she had to get to the restaurant and put things right.

  She was about to haul her pyjama top over her head when she realised that Bruce was standing out in the hallway, staring.

  “Do you mind?”

  “What?”

  When she gestured with the fresh shirt in her hand, his cheeks coloured.

  “Oh. Um, I’ll, um ...” He cleared his throat, and turned his back. “Listen, do you really think this is such a good idea?”

  “Do I really think what is such a good idea?” Struggling with her pyjama top, she tried not to wince as she awkwardly raised her arms to get it over her head.

  “Do you really think going into work is such a good idea?”

  “I’m supposed to be working right now. Why wouldn’t I think it’s a good idea to get over there, before I’m any later than I already am?”

  “Laura, you don’t look well.” He turned his head slightly in the direction of her bedroom. “In fact, you look awful.”

  “Thanks very much.”

  “I mean you look ill, really ill, like you might have the flu or something.”

  Having finally managed to yank her pyjama top over her head, she now contemplated the shirt she’d have to get into. “I’m fine. I had a bad dream last night and must’ve slept funny. Once I’m up and moving, I’ll be fine.”

  With her arms in the fresh shirt, she looked at the buttons and decided they’d have to wait until her fingers were up to the challenge of such a dexterous task. Instead, she focused on getting into her trousers, and began sliding her pyjama bottoms down. Realising that the vertical movement would leave her dangerously off-balance, she shifted to sit on the edge of her bed.

  And let out a shriek as she missed the bed altogether and landed in a heap on the floor.

  “Jesus! Are you okay?” Bruce said, racing into the bedroom.

  She might have been woolly-headed, but she couldn’t let Bruce see her sprawled on the floor with her shirt unbuttoned, her pyjama bottoms pulled down to her knees and her underwear in plain sight. As he rushed towards her, she imagined how she must look, and the sheer embarrassment was enough to propel her up on to her feet like a jack jumping out of his box.

  “I’m okay! Don’t look at me!” she shouted, yanking her pyjama bottoms up with one hand and hauling her shirt closed around her with the other.

  “Laura, d
id you hurt yourself—”

  “I said, don’t look at me!”

  “Fine, fine.” Hands out in surrender, Bruce turned his back once more. “But just tell me one thing. Do you really feel up to going into Valentino’s?”

  “I’ll be okay once I get there.”

  “That’s not what I asked. Do you really feel up to going into Valentino’s?”

  “Well, maybe not, but I don’t have a choice, and—”

  “Do you really feel like running around after customers, and serving their food, and clearing their dirty plates, and wiping up the messy tables they leave behind?”

  She pulled the shirt tighter to ward off the shivering. “Well when you put it like that, not really, but—”

  “And do you feel achy and sore and hot?”

  Now she sagged. “Yes.”

  “And do you want the customers at Valentino’s to end up feeling that way too, because you insisted on going into work and infecting them?”

  She sat down on the bed, this time successfully. “No.”

  “That settles it.” He risked a glance over his shoulder. “Can I turn around?”

  “Okay.”

  Turning, he smiled kindly. “How does this sound? I’ll call Natalie and explain that you’re ill and can’t come in to work.”

  She paused before nodding. “Tell her I’m sorry, and I didn’t hear my phone ringing, and—”

  Bruce held up a hand. “She’ll understand. We’ll get you into some fresh pyjamas. We’ll get you settled on the sofa while I change your sheets, because I can see that these ones are in a bit of a muddle.”

  She closed her eyes. “This is too embarrassing.”

  “No, it’s not. I’ll make you a hot drink, get you loaded up with paracetamol. Make you something to eat, if you want?”

  She curled a lip, shook her head.

  “Nothing to eat, understood. We’ll get you back into a nice clean bed and get you some rest. How does that sound?”