Another Glass of Champagne

by Jenny Kane

  And yet, the more he thought about it, the more he was sure it was the right thing to do.

  Heading into the first coffee shop he came to in the station’s sizable shopping corridor, Jack ordered a gigantic latte and much-needed Danish, and forced himself to think sensibly.

  He had known that his days as assistant chef at Kennedy’s Bistro were numbered, but over the last few days the tension between him and Gareth, the head chef and owner-manager, had moved far beyond the usual levels of simmering dislike and bad language found in any professional kitchen, and had become unpleasantly personal.

  They should never have spent the night together. Angrily, Jack cut his Danish into four pieces, taking his annoyance at his own stupidity out on the soft, sticky pastry.

  He hadn’t seen it coming, though. One evening, three weeks ago, after a particularly tough shift in the kitchen when everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong, the angry banter between and Jack and his boss had taken a step into physical contact, with Gareth slapping him around the face.

  They’d been the only two people left in the kitchen, and Jack’s retaliation, grabbing Gareth by the collar of his shirt to tell him in no uncertain terms exactly what he thought of him, had led to them tripping. Before he’d known what was happening, Gareth had been knocked backwards, Jack had fallen on top of him, and they were exchanging hard, angry kisses.

  Still shocked by his actions, and astounded that Gareth hadn’t sacked him on the spot but had joined in with the heady episode – which had ended up with them spending a very ill-advised night together – Jack sighed into his glass mug.

  The next morning, Gareth had suggested they make their partnership more of a permanent thing. Horrified, Jack had rejected Gareth’s offer of a relationship with no tact whatsoever, and his boss had reverted to his normal state of barely controlled hatred, further fuelled by his hurt pride. Jack had recognised there and then he’d have to leave, and the sooner the better.

  Knowing that Gareth would never give him a good reference, Jack had realised he’d have to buy his own place if he wanted to stay working as a chef. As soon as the idea of buying a restaurant had come into his head, he’d known it was precisely the right thing for him to do. He’d loved owning and running the Reading Nature bookshop in Kew. Well, he had until Toby had come along, made Jack fall in love with him, and then screwed him over ... Shaking his head to dispel the image of his ex, who’d run off with another, far richer, man after they’d been together for nearly three years, Jack swallowed hard. At least he knew his old shop was in good hands: his friend Rob, and Kit’s husband Phil, who now owned Reading Nature between them, were making a real go of it.

  Jack missed his old friends far more than he’d imagined he would. Over the past few days, he’d regretted cutting himself off from them so completely, even though it had felt like the only thing to do at the time. So, after two days of researching restaurants for sale in London, Jack had made another impulsive decision – but he was determined that this one would last. This was something he would stick with for the rest of his life.

  When he’d arrived at work yesterday to tell Gareth that he was giving in his month’s notice, Jack had walked in to the kitchen to overhear the chef bad-mouthing him to one of the waiting staff about something he hadn’t actually done. With one look at Gareth, Jack quit there and then. He turned on his heel, returned to his rented bungalow, and phoned the estate agent responsible for the restaurant he was interested in.

  Taking a gulp of his latte, Jack watched the throng of afternoon travellers. He couldn’t help but speculate about where they were all going, and if any of them had managed to mess up their lives as often as he had.

  This time though, this time, he was going to get it right.

  Knocking back the rest of his coffee and pastry, Jack got up and started talking to himself under his breath. ‘First things first. I will head to the estate agent’s office, then I’ll grab the Tube to Hounslow and book into my hotel, and then tomorrow I’ll go to Richmond and face reality. Tomorrow I will decide which friend to say sorry to first.’

  Hope and relief vied for top billing in Megan’s head as she cut a path through her fellow Underground travellers to meet her boyfriend, Nick.

  Megan and Nick had been an item ever since they’d met at a charity auction held at Pickwicks. Scott and Peggy had been raising money for the Royal Free Hospital, as the hospital’s Spinal Ward had done so much for Scott after his accident that he and Peggy had wanted to thank them. Megan had been in charge of liaising with the ward administrator – Nick.

  For a while now, Megan had secretly been hoping he’d ask her to live with him. Now he had, though, the fact London was a ridiculously expensive place to live had stolen some of their joy. The need for Megan to earn a higher wage was becoming increasingly urgent if they were ever going to afford the rent on a decent-sized place for two, rather than continuing to live in different communal houses.

  Although the thought of moving in with Nick was wonderful, Megan had been plagued by thoughts of disloyalty to Peggy and Scott – how could she leave Pickwicks? She loved the work, the customers, and the friends she worked with. Now, perhaps, she could have the best of both worlds: working for Peggy and Scott, but with more responsibility and higher wages. She hadn’t accepted their offer yet, saying she’d need to talk to Nick first, but she couldn’t imagine saying no. She felt as if a weight was being lifted from her shoulders.

  ‘Hey, you!’ Nick kissed Megan on the top of her head as she flew into his arms the second he walked out of the hospital reception. ‘You look happy.’

  ‘I am! You will never guess what Peggy and Scott are planning.’

  Brimming with excitement, Megan told Nick all about their offer to make her manager of ‘Pickwicks 2’.

  ‘I honestly can’t believe that they want me to run the new café! I’ve always fancied having a go at working on something for myself.’

  ‘Really? You never said. You’re a great artist, why don’t you try and make a go of that on your own?’

  ‘Thanks, babe, but it isn’t easy to start up a business in London finance-wise. That’s why I didn’t mention it before – I’d far rather we used our money to move in together. Anyway, this new café idea could be the perfect solution all round. Maybe Peggy would even let me put a few of my pictures on the café walls to sell?’

  Keeping his girlfriend close as they weaved their way through the crowds thronging the city streets, Nick gave her one of his huge grins. ‘That’s brilliant! It’ll certainly help us save up for a deposit. Would the wages be higher than you’re currently on?’

  ‘That was the impression I got, although I didn’t like to ask. I mean, I haven’t said I’ll do it yet. I wanted to tell you first.’

  ‘How long until this goes ahead? I don’t want to rain on your parade or anything, but it could be a while before this all happens. Do they have any premises in mind?’

  Megan felt herself deflate a little. ‘Um, not yet. But surely they wouldn’t have told me if they weren’t definitely going to do it?’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to put a downer on things. I just want us to move in together sooner rather than later.’

  Reaching up on her tiptoes, Megan kissed her boyfriend on the lips. ‘I know; it’s OK. I do too. How about I explain our situation to Peggy properly? I haven’t told anyone we’re house-hunting, I didn’t want to jinx it. I’ll tell Peggy and Scott I’ll take the job if they have somewhere in mind to open in the next three months, but if they can’t find an appropriate place for new premises soon, I will have to look for work elsewhere.’

  Even as she said it, Megan felt bad. ‘You don’t think that sounds too pushy and ungrateful, do you?’

  Chapter Three

  Saturday 4th June

  Desperate to make up for the time she’d wasted at Pickwicks, Kit went straight to her study when she got home, determined to write at least five hundred words before Phil came back from work.

&n
bsp; Getting comfortable in her leather desk chair and booting her computer into life, she watched the document, with the words Chapter Five written on the next new page, open. Kit placed her fingers on the keyboard.

  And nothing happened.

  She’d heard many authors talk about writer’s block, but had been rather dismissive of it, believing it was merely a mood that could be walked off, or a blip that could be solved by taking a quick break. Now she knew different. And although the syndrome certainly manifested itself in different ways for different people, Kit now appreciated precisely how frustrating and debilitating it could be. She could visualise the words in her brain – she could almost touch them – but for some reason they resolutely refused to come out of her fingers, through the keyboard, and onto the screen.

  Her fourth novel was due to her publisher in only three months’ time, and although it was completely plotted out in her head, and she knew exactly what was going to happen, she just couldn’t write it down.

  ‘Damn!’ Kit swore at the screen, which was still empty but for the chapter heading, and flicked back to chapter four to re-read the end in the hope it would kick start her brain. She had gone over that paragraph so many times in the past week that she could recite it blindfold.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’

  Leaning back in her seat, Kit closed her eyes and spoke sternly to herself. ‘Come on, what is the matter?’ Employing some of the breathing exercises she’d picked up at the one and only yoga class Peggy had managed to drag her to, she tried to slow her pulse. It seemed to be permanently racing these days, as though she was always anxious – which of course she was – but she wasn’t really sure why. Something had to be behind her word block.

  Continuing to talk to the room in general, she tried to rationalise her thoughts. ‘OK, is it Phil spending so much time at the shop that’s getting you down?’

  Although Phil had worked long hours at Home Hunters, since he’d taken over the Reading Nature bookshop with Rob it had ruled his life during the weeks and most weekends since. But he was so happy and passionate about what he was doing. Kit knew that she didn’t begrudge Phil a minute of his time at work.

  ‘No, he’s happy, so I’m happy.’ She mentally crossed marital disharmony off her list. ‘So, is it Jack’s absence?’

  Although Kit had missed her best friend like mad when he’d first disappeared to go and travel the world, she knew she hadn’t missed all his drama. Anyway, she’d have had less time to disappear off for random coffee stops with him these days – and when there was time, she had more friends than ever to have coffee with. Now she considered it she realised, with some surprise, that it had been a while before she’d even noticed Jack’s calls and emails had stopped.

  ‘Not Jack, then. Not this time!’ She rolled her eyes at her past irrational behaviour concerning her long-ago ex. ‘So what is it? Come on, Kit. Concentrate!’

  She addressed a notion that she knew had passed through her head on more than one occasion. ‘Am I worried that this novel won’t sell as many copies as the last one?’

  Even as she asked herself the question, she started to laugh. ‘Of course I’m worried about that! I always am. I was worried about the last one, and the one before, and definitely the first one. That sort of worry is normal and healthy. It’s a trademark of being a writer!’

  Crossing another issue off her list, Kit murmured to herself, ‘So, is it the children?’

  She felt her pulse accelerate slightly, and a flickering of unease crept up her spine. She opened her eyes with a sigh. She’d been fine about the twins leaving home – hadn’t she? Kit had enjoyed going through the UCAS forms with Helena and Thomas, had shared in their excitements and their panics as they’d battled their way through their A levels.

  They’d worked hard, and she was optimistic they’d get the grades they needed to go to their chosen universities. It had been great fun exploring Bath with Helena and Exeter with Thomas while on their respective open days. Kit was bursting with pride for both of them, and had no trouble accepting that they were more than ready to get on with making their own way in the world now they were eighteen.

  The tears welled up at the corner of Kit’s eyes. She hadn’t noticed them coming, but now they were washing down her cheeks in a sudden torrent of salty water. ‘Is it as simple as that? Am I sad about the twins leaving?’

  She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, and yelled at her laptop, ‘Well of course I am, it’s normal! But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy for them. Why the hell would that stop me writing?’

  Lowering her voice, Kit angrily grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on her desk, and tried to rationalise her thoughts further. ‘This situation will allow me to write more. I’ll have so much extra time when I’m not cooking for them, or washing and ironing their clothes and...’

  Dissolving into a new bucket of tears, and without being able to help it, Kit pulled her feet onto the chair seat, cradling herself against the grief she had no idea she’d been carrying, for the loss of something that hadn’t actually gone yet.

  Phil found his wife sat on the sofa watching repeats of Friends on the television, a mountain of screwed-up tissues littering the carpet, and a half-drunk bottle of white wine by her side.

  ‘Kit?’ You OK, love?’

  ‘Oh, hello. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Good day at the shop?’

  ‘Busy. The tourists are starting to arrive in droves now, which can only be good.’ Phil’s gaze fell on the large empty packet of chocolate buttons. ‘You obviously haven’t had such a satisfying day.’

  Sitting next to his wife, he eased her up against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around her. ‘Come on, Kit, what’s up? I can’t remember the last time I saw you in front of the television before seven o’clock at night, and certainly not with wine rather than coffee.’

  ‘It’s the twins.’

  ‘What about them? Where is Helena, anyway?’

  ‘She’s at one of her friends’ houses, I’m not sure. And God knows where Thomas has reached on his travels. And that’s just it, you see.’

  ‘That’s just what?’ Not for the first time, Kit’s inability to explain herself out loud, when she could express herself so clearly in writing, baffled her husband.

  ‘I’m never going to know where they are ever again!’ As Kit disappeared into the comfort of Phil’s shoulder, fresh tears soaked through the cotton of his shirt.

  ‘So what’s brought this on then? You’ve known the twins were going to leave home ever since they decided on their A level choices.’

  ‘I know – and I don’t know – if that makes sense. The thing is, until a couple of hours ago I didn’t have a clue what was bothering me, I just knew that something wasn’t right. Honestly, I’ve been so excited for the kids. I am excited for them.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But ... it’s going to be so strange without them here, Phil. You’ll miss them too, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will!. But what’s brought this on today? You were fine this morning. Anyway, you’ll have much more time to do things like that Scottish literary festival you did just before Christmas. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?’

  ‘I thought it was.’ Kit took a sustaining gulp of wine, which joined the liquid already sloshing around inside her; the packet of chocolate buttons was an inadequate buffer. ‘But ... I haven’t been able to write. Not for ages now.’

  ‘What?’ Phil frowned, ‘How d’you mean? You’re always tucked away with that computer! What have you been doing, then?’

  ‘Staring blankly into space, mostly.’ Kit hauled herself off the sofa and fetched a glass for Phil before passing him the bottle of wine. ‘I am so behind with my latest book, yet I kept convincing myself it was only a temporary glitch – but the days kept adding up, and now I’m weeks, if not months, behind. Today,’ she blew her nose again, ‘I finally got fed up with being so feeble, so I made myself face up to things. I made a lis
t of possible worries, trying to discover what was blocking me. It hadn’t occurred to me it was premature empty nest syndrome.’

  Phil couldn’t help but smile. ‘Typical Kit! Always in a hurry for everything.’

  ‘Oi!’ Kit poked him playfully. ‘That’s what Jack says about Amy!’ Already feeling a bit better for simply sharing her problem, she added ‘I’ve been looking forward to having some time for just the two of us. That’s what makes this so odd.’

  ‘Me too. And of course it’ll be strange here for a while, but with Thomas already off backpacking around Europe and Helena more or less living at her friends’, they’ve hardly been here since their exams finished anyway.’

  ‘I know.’ Kit’s stomach made a weird gurgle. ‘Oh, I’d better have something to eat before I fall over! I’ve not drunk that much wine on an empty stomach for a very long time.’

  Phil wrapped his wife in his arms. ‘Come on, Mrs Lambert, I’m taking you out for a curry. Go and wash your face and brush your hair, and you’ll feel much better in no time.’

  Staring at her bleary-eyed reflection in the mirror, Kit splashed her face with cold water. Phil was right: getting out and having some food along with a change of scene would do her the world of good.

  She felt tired with the relief of having uncovered what was bothering her.

  As long as that is the problem.

  Kit squeezed her eyes closed against the new voice of doubt in the back of her head. ‘Of course that’s it.’ She spoke directly to her reflection as she dried her face, shutting out the insistent voice asking, Or is there something else going on here?

  Taking some deep breaths, Kit suddenly found herself thinking about Amy, who’d discovered she was pregnant at forty-three, just when she and Paul had given up on having a family. Kit was delighted for her friend, and very much looked forward to lots of cuddles with a new baby. But as she stared hard at herself in the mirror, Kit had to acknowledge that, just as Amy would be starting her family life, her own would be ending...