Take A Look At Me Now

by Miranda Dickinson

  ‘Our pleasure, sweetheart. Bon voyage and don’t let the Froggies get you down!’

  It was so good to see the identical grins of my parents when I finally landed at Heathrow two hours later. When I had almost reached them, Mum dashed forward, scooping me into an enormous, enthusiastic hug, as Dad strolled over laughing at her public display of affection.

  ‘It’s wonderful to have you home, Nellie! Let me look at you – look at the colour of you! You’re a genuine little Californian now! And you’ve lost weight – hasn’t she lost weight, Doug?’

  ‘She didn’t need to lose any weight,’ Dad retorted, hugging me. ‘But you look marvellous, Nelliegirl.’

  ‘Now, how about a proper cup of tea before we tackle the M25, eh? I expect you’ve been bereft without decent tea for two months.’

  I didn’t bother trying to explain about Lizzie’s secret stash of English breakfast tea, happy just to be back with my family again. The last forty-eight hours had been emotional enough and I was exhausted, so I let myself be carried along by their enthusiasm. More than anything, it was good to be home.

  I slept for fourteen hours straight, waking the next day feeling woolly-headed but brighter than when I’d arrived at Heathrow. After lunch with Mum (who was convinced I hadn’t eaten anything while I’d been away), I caught the Overground train at Richmond Station to Harlesden, walking the ten minutes from the station to Vicky’s terraced house. It was strange to be travelling on British trains and walking very English streets again and I was surprised at how out of place I felt – exactly as I’d done during my first few days in San Francisco.

  Vicky flung open the front door and launched herself at me, almost knocking me backwards off the doorstep. ‘It’s so good to see you! Come in, you sickeningly tanned thing!’

  I stepped carefully over the toys strewn across the hallway into Vicky’s kitchen-diner as she collected Ruby from her playpen. I noticed how much she had changed in the two months I’d been away as she leaned towards me from her mother’s arms for a sticky hug. ‘Well hello, big girl! She’s gorgeous as ever, Vicky.’

  Ruby chuckled and offered me the sucked remains of a breadstick.

  ‘Oh charming – there you go, Nell, I bet when you stepped off the plane yesterday you were desperate for a half-liquidised bread product.’

  ‘Ruby knows me too well.’

  Vicky made coffee and I gave her the gifts I’d brought back from San Francisco. Then, with Ruby snoozing beside us on the sofa, we settled down to discuss my trip. Inevitably, the subject of Max reared itself.

  Vicky was shocked at the turn of events. ‘I can’t believe he didn’t tell you about Eva. What kind of father doesn’t talk about his kid?’

  ‘We’d only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks. In a way I suppose I can’t blame him for protecting his family. What hurt was that I assumed if he was pursuing me he must be free. But now I know he’s in love with Eva’s mother it makes all the things I’d been thinking about him – about us – completely pointless.’

  ‘I think you had a lucky escape,’ Vicky said. ‘Imagine if you hadn’t found out before you came home. You’d be here thinking you had a relationship while he was out there with his family. It doesn’t even bear thinking about.’

  ‘I know. At least when I was with Aidan I never worried he had a secret family stashed somewhere.’

  Vicky grimaced a little and I wondered if she still blamed Aidan for us losing our jobs. ‘Talking of which,’ she lowered her voice, even though there was no likelihood of snoozing Ruby broadcasting whatever it was her mother was about to tell me, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard the latest?’

  ‘I’ve successfully avoided reading most of the emails he sent me, if that’s what you’re referring to.’

  ‘No, I mean about him being given the old heave-ho as well.’

  This was a surprise. I’d assumed that in return for letting us go, Aidan had negotiated a safe position for himself. ‘Seriously? When?’

  ‘Three weeks ago. They made him sack all of us and then they got rid of him. Bastards. Getting him to do their dirty work and then disposing of their messenger.’

  ‘That’s horrible. How did you find this out?’

  Vicky cleared her throat, fiddling with the hem of a sofa cushion. ‘I – might have seen him last week.’

  This was news to me. In one way I was glad that Vicky didn’t consider him Satan’s henchman any more but a part of me wondered why she hadn’t mentioned it in her emails. ‘And how did that go?’

  ‘It was good, actually. I felt better for it. Not that he’d lost his job, obviously, even if it did have a ring of justice to it. But the guy was mortified and very apologetic about what happened with all of us. He asked about you, of course.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘That you were having a great time. That you were happy.’

  I folded my arms. ‘That I was seeing someone?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Vicky grinned guiltily. ‘Anyway, he asked me to say hi to you from him. I think he said he’s working with his dad now. What? You didn’t want me to stay angry with him forever, did you?’

  ‘Of course not. So, how’s the job-hunting with you?’

  Her expression brightened. ‘Actually, I have an interview on Wednesday.’

  It was so good to hear positive news. ‘Where?’

  ‘Architect firm in Islington. They’re looking for a policy advisor on planning law.’

  ‘Awesome! Congratulations, Vix!’

  ‘Get you with your West Coast Americanisms,’ she laughed, clearly touched by my congratulations. ‘I’m not getting my hopes up. But, you know, it feels like a step forward.’

  Travelling home on the train the news that my friend was seeing progress in her search for employment was a great tonic. The news about Aidan, on the other hand, intrigued me more than it should have. When the train ground to a halt and the driver informed us of a slight signal delay, I took the opportunity to open his most recent email to me, sent a few days before I left San Francisco:

  From: a.matthews@me-mail.com

  To: nell.sullygirl@gmail.com

  Subject: (no subject)

  Hi Nell

  I’ve stopped wondering whether you’re reading my emails, but it’s been quite cathartic writing regularly to the cyber void, so I’m going to continue.

  I met with Vicky today, did she tell you? There’s been too much crap between us since the day you lost your jobs and I thought it was time to clear the air. It was good, actually. Better than I expected. I haven’t seen anyone since that meeting and I felt a bit out of it. Not that I blame them, I’d have done the same. She said you’re having a good time and volunteering in a diner? I’m trying to picture you waiting tables and I hope they haven’t given you one of those cheesy diner waitress outfits to wear. I bet it’s fun, though. More fun than being here, anyway.

  I know you’ll be home soon and I just wanted to say that it would be nice to see you if you wanted to meet. No pressure, just a chat. I feel awful about how things ended with us and now I suppose you know about my situation, maybe it won’t be so difficult. Anyway, you have my number. Use it if you want to – it would be great to see you.

  Take care

  A x

  The train jolted and I looked up to see that we were moving again. It was good to know that Aidan had made amends with Vicky, but was I ready to let him do the same with me?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Time for action

  Now that I was home, I set about arranging interviews with temping agencies. My first priority had to be replenishing the severely depleted funds in my bank account so that I could start to build a foundation for the future. I hated the idea of office temping but given the current state of the economy and my deep desire not to be living with my parents forever, it seemed the obvious choice.

  But two weeks later, after signing up with four agencies, I had only received three days of work and my plan to secure regular wor
k seemed doomed to failure. When I called one of the agencies they finally admitted that I was ‘vastly overqualified’ for any of their assignments and that employers were wary of employing me because they assumed I would leave the moment something better came along.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Nelliegirl,’ Dad said when I explained the situation to him. ‘It’s tough out there. Tell you what, I’ll ask some of my friends if they have odd bits of office stuff they need doing – paperwork and correspondence, that sort of thing. Not exactly riveting but every little helps, eh?’

  Around the few bits of work I managed to get, I turned my attention to my diner dream, taking the opportunity of my increased free time to research the possibility of setting up my own business. Even if the reality might be years away, it felt good to be thinking about it now.

  I arranged an appointment with a business advisor at the local Chamber of Commerce. Dusting off my former work suit and collecting together my research and plans, I arrived early for my appointment, nerves jangling as I waited in the reception area beside a sad selection of plastic pot plants.

  ‘Nell Sullivan?’ A portly man was looking around reception, clipboard in hand, as if addressing a large crowd, when in reality I was the only one waiting.

  ‘Hi, that’s me.’

  The man chuckled. ‘I like to do that, pretend we’ve a full house. Makes the person waiting feel important.’ He offered his pillowy palm and I shook it. ‘Bill Jones, Chief Business Advisor. Step into my office.’ He pulled back one of the blue padded room dividers at the edge of the waiting area to reveal two chairs and a desk, with more pot plants on a shelf behind. ‘Like to do that too. Makes me feel important. Take a seat, Miss Sullivan.’

  Instantly liking Bill, despite his questionable stand-up comedy skills, I sat down as he dragged the divider back into place.

  ‘There we go. Door shut, sitting comfortably. I’d offer you a cuppa but my flask only holds one cup.’ His face broke into another huge smile. ‘Joking again. If you wanted a beverage we have a Maxpax machine in the corridor, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Not unless “dusty plastic” tea is your favourite blend. That wasn’t a joke, by the way. Tea really is that bad here. So –’ he rubbed his hands together, ‘what can we do for you this fine day?’

  ‘I want to start my own business and I don’t really know if my idea is good, or how to go about making it happen.’

  ‘Oo, now wait – let me guess – mobile hairdresser’s?’

  ‘Er, no.’

  ‘Oh.’ Bill frowned. ‘Gas fitter? Architect? Childminder?’

  ‘None of those. I’d like to—’

  ‘Wait! Don’t tell me yet. I quite like the fun of guessing. Leave it with me. It’ll come to me as I’m talking to you. Basically, you’ve come to the right place. We offer all sorts of help, advice and training …’ He screwed his eyes up. ‘Tattooist?’

  I had to laugh at that guess. ‘No. I’m not a massive fan of needles.’

  ‘Good point. Point! Sorry. But there you go, good advice before you start out in business can help you avoid costly mistakes.’ He appeared highly amused by his own joke. ‘Moving on. So when were you thinking of commencing trading?’

  ‘Oh. I don’t have a date.’

  ‘Not a problem. I think you’re going to have to tell me what your business will be because I’m trying my psychic powers and nothing’s coming through.’

  I smiled at him, my initial nerves dispersed by his strange but effective approach to customer care. ‘I want to open my own restaurant. An authentic, American-style diner.’

  Bill’s eyes lit up. ‘I’m hungry already. Do you have any experience with this kind of food?’

  ‘I’ve just returned from a long holiday in San Francisco and I volunteered for five weeks’ work experience at a diner there. I learned a great deal and I’m convinced it’s something I can do.’

  Bill leaned back in his chair, hands folded contentedly over his round belly. ‘Impressive. So, do you have a business plan, any funding secured, idea of premises?’

  I stared blankly at him. ‘No – none of those.’

  ‘Not to worry, pet. That’s what we’re here for. And also for impromptu taste testing when it comes to planning your menu,’ he winked. ‘Now, there’s a four-week business start-up course we run in conjunction with a couple of the local colleges. The next one starts a week on Thursday. It’s forty pounds for the whole course and there are two sessions a week. I can sign you up now, if you’d like that?’

  I signed up there and then, encouraged by Bill’s reaction to my plans and relieved to find the training I wanted at such a reasonable price.

  Bill also gave me some contact numbers for grant-awarding trusts I might approach about funding. At no point did he suggest my dream of running a diner was ridiculous, which I took to be a good sign.

  The grant-awarding bodies turned out to be a dead-end road. I was too old for a Prince’s Trust Award and several other organisations required evidence of a hefty chunk of investment before they would even consider me. The trainers on the business course were very helpful and suggested other things I could do while trying to secure funding. In the twice-weekly sessions I put together a business plan and gathered a thick file of contacts and suppliers.

  In the tiny box-room bedroom at Mum and Dad’s two weeks later, I spread out all of my plans across the bed and enjoyed the thrill of possibility as the pieces slowly came together. Could I really do this? My eyes drifted to the postcard of Haight-Ashbury pinned to the cork notice board on the wall. I wondered which customers might be in Annie’s now. It would be just after the main breakfast rush, so Laverne would be taking her break, probably batting her eyelashes at Dom to make her a huge omelette with blueberries and maple syrup that she called her ‘guilty pleasure’. The Alfaros might have arrived for their morning Danish and coffee, bickering as always. And would Max be there? Pushing the thought away, I wondered who might come into my diner – what kind of people would become my regular customers? Annie had built a strong community by serving excellent food and coffee. Maybe I could, too?

  The following week, I took my notebook from Annie to a coffee shop in Richmond High Street. I had developed a need for decent coffee first thing in the morning, San Francisco still exerting its influence over me. The house coffee wasn’t as smoky or as strong, but it was pleasant and gave me an excuse to be out of my parents’ house at least. Settled in a comfortable armchair, I began to go through my notes from Annie’s.

  A good supplier is worth more than you know. Get the ingredients right and the food will sell itself. Speak to people. You only find out what they do if you speak to them. Pay attention to your customers – it’ll pay dividends. I have a little word with new people and more often than not we keep chatting, they keep coming back and we find something they have that might benefit the diner …

  I smiled as I read Annie Legado’s pearls of wisdom, each scribbled note reminding me of the particular conversation and where it had occurred. Even today, sitting in the coffee shop, the smell of roasted coffee sent me right back to performing the refill round at Annie’s. It would be a long time until I got over my San Francisco experience …

  ‘Um, hi.’

  I raised my head. To my surprise, I came face to face with Aidan standing by my table, a nervous half-smile playing on his lips. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Hello.’

  He was holding a takeaway coffee cup, fiddling with the lid. ‘I was just visiting one of Dad’s properties up the road. I didn’t know you came here.’

  ‘I don’t. I just decided to come in today.’ There was a long pause as both of us thought of what to say. Finally, I broke the ice. ‘Do you want to join me?’

  He hesitated for a moment, before sitting on the armchair beside me. ‘It’s good to see you. I mean, it’s a shock, but it’s good.’

  ‘Thanks … I think.’

  He laughed and I noticed his shoulders relax. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me – you know, aft
er the emails and everything.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure I wanted to see you either. But I’m glad we met.’ I smiled at him. ‘So, how’s things?’

  ‘Getting better. I don’t know if you’ve spoken to Vicky yet?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘So you know about my job?’

  I nodded. ‘I’m sorry you had to go through that. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’

  ‘No, well you know how it feels.’ His eyes were earnest in their survey of me.

  There were so many things I thought I would say when I saw Aidan and yet none of them seemed appropriate now. I had been so angry with him for the way things had happened when I lost my job and while I had been in San Francisco it had been easy to paint him as the bad guy. Now he was sitting with me I found that I was inexplicably pleased to see him.

  ‘Vicky said you’re working for your dad now?’

  ‘Yep. Me and the old man, who’d have thought it?’ He took the lid off his coffee cup and emptied two packets of sugar into it. ‘I’m helping him manage his property portfolio. Working with tenants, dealing with leaseholds, that kind of thing. Dad’s been banging on about me joining the business for years, so he’s happy. At least it’s a job.’ He looked down at my notes spread across the table. ‘So, what’s this?’

  ‘Plans.’

  ‘Plans for what?’

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to share this with him, especially as on paper my diner was still a very long way from becoming reality. But he was here, he was interested and I was tired of avoiding him. ‘I’m thinking of starting my own business,’ I said, stopping as I remembered the words of Clare, the business trainer who led my course. ‘Sorry. I am starting my own business. Eventually. This is part of the planning. I’m taking a business course and I did five weeks of unpaid work experience at a diner when I was in San Francisco.’

  ‘Blimey. That’s quite a change, Nell.’

  ‘Well, it’s time I did something I really wanted to do. I’ve been working in Planning for too long.’

  He stared at me as if seeing someone he didn’t quite recognise. ‘You’d be great doing that. I still remember the cakes you used to make for me on Sunday mornings …’ Checking himself, he looked down at his coffee cup. ‘So have you found premises yet?’