by Helen Lowrie
Her eyes held mine and I couldn’t look away. ‘He doesn’t have to know they’re from me.’
‘He still wouldn’t like it.’
‘Why not?’
With a sigh she tore her gaze away and looked down at her wedding band. ‘Our marriage is complicated.’
I left after that but only because she’d asked me to. I spent the whole drive back to Wildham trying to recall every reference to Vic I’d heard and turning them all over in my mind. He seemed popular among the locals but Rina never looked happy when she talked about him; she was overly cautious about sparking rumours among her regulars and nervous about upsetting him – not signs of a woman secure in her marriage. So was Vic a particularly jealous man? Was Rina just trying to protect her marriage or was it worse than that? Was Rina actually afraid of her own husband?
Chapter Seventeen
It was Thursday and, as I stacked towers of dirty plates on autopilot, I looked forward to James’s weekly arrival. I was keen to find out how the bank holiday weekend had gone at the garden centre. Was it as busy as the one at the start of May? Or had the rain affected sales as James had predicted? Over the course of his last two visits I’d learned a great deal about Southwood’s and James’s plans for the business. I loved to listen to him talk; to watch the animation in his face and picture the place he described. I’d never been anywhere like it, never left London in fact, and it was exhilarating imagining myself there with him: pure escapism.
Leaving the kitchen area, I started wiping down the nearest table, my mind still on James. What about the informal meeting with the planning officer? Were they likely to OK James’s expansion plans? Last week James had told me about the new coffee shop he was creating. It sounded entirely different from Vic’s Cafe – all afternoon tea, cake and scones rather than smelly, greasy fry-ups. He had asked for my input, or as he phrased it ‘the benefit of my years of experience in the food service industry’, which made my job sound ridiculously grand. I’d assumed he was taking the piss at first but he seemed genuinely interested.
James listened when I suggested that the tables needed to be easier to clean than the fancy ones he proposed and that the chairs and tables should be moveable (not bolted to the floor like ours) so that they would have the flexibility of accommodating larger parties of people. He made notes as I wondered aloud whether some simple soft furnishings – curtains, seat cushions, maybe a wall hanging or too – might help soak up the noisy clatter of crockery and cutlery. And when I asked him if he would have space for some outdoor seating, perhaps with parasols or a retractable awning for cover, he had gazed at me over his coffee mug, his eyes alight with humour, as he shook his head and said, ‘I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.’ To my surprise he took my advice seriously – all of it – and altered his plans accordingly, a fact which privately made me giddy with delight.
Of course I was under no illusions; I’d never get to see the coffee shop I’d helped design, not unless he brought me pictures. Nothing could ever happen between James and me. He was way out of my league and I was trapped in my life as surely as if Vic were standing directly behind me with a knife at my throat. But there was no harm in daydreaming a little was there?
As I moved aside a newspaper I did a double take. It was today’s edition of the local rag, left behind by a customer and folded open at the entertainment section. The page covered all the usual things: a rundown of the weekly TV listings, cinema showings and live gigs but it was an image halfway down the page that had caught my eye. I stared at the picture in disbelief and sank slowly into a plastic seat as I read the accompanying text. The short piece was promoting the opening of a new West End show starring a local actress and minor celebrity, Jasmine Reed. I vaguely recognised her from a catchy toothpaste commercial on TV, pretty and petite with perfect white teeth. In this photo she looked every inch the glamorous film star as she posed for the paparazzi at a glitzy party. But it wasn’t her image which had caught my eye. Stood beside her, with his arm around her waist, clad in a well-tailored tuxedo and flashing his now familiar, breathtaking, smile was, according to the caption, ‘Jasmine’s partner, James Southwood.’
Jealousy and disappointment surged up inside me, more potent than I could have thought possible, making me nauseated. But I had no one to blame but myself. I’d let myself get carried away, caught up in James’s smile; his stories; his worries, hopes and dreams – even the small pots of flowers he brought into the cafe meant far more to me than they should. It was ridiculous – I was ridiculous. James Southwood was a customer, an acquaintance, a casual friend at best, but he would never be anything more than that. And who was I to him? Nothing but a bored, sad, old waitress stuck in a bad marriage. What man in his right mind would want me when he could go home to a glamorous girl like Jasmine Reed? No, I had conjured up this foolish fantasy out of nothing and now it had to stop, before I embarrassed myself.
Rising to my feet, I glanced out of the window to see James’s van slowly reversing into its usual spot. Flustered I hurried back behind the counter, discarding the paper in the recycling box on my way.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ I muttered to the customer hovering by the till. I’d been so distracted by my own thoughts that I hadn’t noticed he’d finished. ‘Can I get you anything else or do you just want the bill?’
As James walked in I was grateful to have other people to serve. I found myself completely unable to look at him, despite being fully aware of his every move. He had brought yet another freshly planted pot of flowers to replace the one that had started to wilt in the heat of the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him nonchalantly swap them over without any encouragement or acknowledgement from me. But I felt absurdly angry and defensive and couldn’t get my smile to work properly on my face. He waited patiently, watching as I worked until there was no one else to serve.
‘Morning, Rina, everything OK?’ His lovely warm voice was threaded with concern.
‘Hi, yes fine, just busy. What can I get you?’ I barely glanced in his direction.
He paused before replying and I knew he was waiting for me to look at him but I stubbornly held out, focusing on rearranging the serviette-wrapped pairs of cutlery instead.
‘Just a coffee, thanks,’ he said at last.
‘OK.’
Once I’d tapped his order into the till, I served his drink and then quickly turned away before he had a chance to speak. I was fuelled by irritable self-disgust as I crashed about in the kitchen scouring pans that were already clean, all the while fighting the heavy pull of his eyes on my body.
By the time I’d finished noisily loading the dishwasher I’d run out of things to keep me occupied. The only other customer left in the place was a pensioner who was sitting in his favourite spot in the window and eating beans on toast at a leisurely pace. In desperation I decided to empty the waste bin, even though the bag was only half full.
‘Have I done something wrong?’ James said quietly, as I stalked towards the back door. I pretended I hadn’t heard. It was stupid but I felt too confused to think straight. As I reached the relative privacy of the dimly lit passageway I was close to tears and fled out the back door, horrified.
A sob escaped as the heavy bin lid slammed shut and I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth in a lame attempt to hold the rest of my emotions in. I didn’t cry often – but especially not over something as silly as this. Get a grip. As I took some deep breaths, despite the stench of blocked drains and cat piss, I started to feel calmer and more in control of myself. Stepping back inside I firmly closed the door behind me and as I passed the customer toilet I checked myself in the mirror, wiping a rogue tear from my cheek. I was about to re-enter the cafe when I recognised Jo’s voice,
‘’Scuse me, this is you ain’t it? In the paper? With Jasmine Reed?’
Shit. Now he’d realise I’d seen the picture too. Straining my ears I tried to catch James’s response but his low voice was lost in the DJ chatter coming from the r
adio. How could I face him now?
Hoping I could wait him out, I turned on my heel and headed back the way I’d come. But as I reached the back door he caught up with me.
‘Rina?’ He touched my elbow and I flinched to a stop. ‘Please look at me.’ I turned and his tender dark eyes locked on to mine. ‘Is this why you’re not speaking to me?’ He held the paper up in his other hand and then let his arm drop.
What could I say? I didn’t want to lie to him but I couldn’t bear to admit the truth either. ‘No – I don’t know – you never said. Why didn’t you tell me?’ I heard the hurt in my own voice as I fought to ignore the conflicting feelings his proximity provoked in the confined space of the passageway.
James stared into my eyes as if he was trying to read my mind, his fingers slipping down from my elbow and casually interlacing with mine, his touch both painful and exquisite. ‘That picture was taken last year. We broke up a couple of months ago, after Dad died, and I moved out. But it was over between Jasmine and I long before that.’ I tried to hide the relief I felt at his words but he was standing too close; he could read me too clearly. ‘Rina I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d care. I mean, you’re married, and –’
‘I know, sorry,’ I said, interrupting him. ‘Please don’t say anything else.’ My eyes stung with humiliation and regret, blurring my view of his face.
‘Rina.’ Reaching up he tenderly hooked a strand of my hair behind my ear, the simple stroke searing me with pleasure. ‘Please don’t cry.’
For a moment it was as if time itself held its breath – the air between us hummed with anticipation and I could hear nothing but the thumping beat of my own heart. And then, gently, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, James kissed me, his mouth firm and warm, his arms drawing me closer. I sank into his embrace as if I’d been waiting, yearning, for this moment all my life, his touch both comforting and reviving at the same time. As his kiss deepened, his tongue tenderly caressing and tasting me, a strange rushing sensation coursed through my body, accelerating my pulse, heating my skin and stealing my breath. He felt, smelled and tasted divine and I was sure I must be dreaming. With a curious thrill I registered that he was hard against my hip and the knowledge made me ache inside. My god, I wanted him. I never wanted anyone – but I really wanted him.
Then there was a vague creak overhead.
It was a subtle shifting sound that would have meant nothing to anyone else but I knew that it was Vic stirring in the flat upstairs. My husband didn’t usually get up this early but there was always the risk he might. As my brain registered the full implications of what I was doing, fear shot through my veins like iced water making me gasp and pull away.
‘We can’t do this. You have to leave,’ I whispered in alarm.
James regarded me, his eyes darkly dilated. ‘All right but meet me somewhere when you’ve finished for the day?’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘Tomorrow then – I’ll come back tomorrow.’
‘No, I mean I can’t meet you anywhere – ever – I can’t leave here.’
James stared at me a moment, his expression shifting from bewilderment into disbelief and making me feel uncomfortable. ‘What do you mean you –?’
‘Please, James.’ I tried to push him back towards the cafe but his feet were firmly planted, his body as solid and immovable as concrete. ‘You don’t know me – you don’t know anything about my life; please just go.’
‘Is that really what you want?’
‘Yes.’ I moved past him. ‘I’m sorry – this was a stupid mistake. Please go and please don’t come back.’
Fear and adrenalin pounded in my ears as I returned to the cafe.
‘Hi, Jo, sorry to keep you waiting,’ I said, scrubbing my hands with soap in the sink. ‘I was just dealing with the bins out the back. What can I get you?’
‘Ah no worries, I’ll just get a Coke if that’s OK; I need the extra caffeine today.’ I nodded, dried my hands and turned away to fetch one. ‘Hey, Rina,’ Jo added in a hushed voice, leaning forward over the counter, ‘I think one of your regulars dates someone famous. He’s using your lav right now! He denied it but –’
My cheeks heated but I avoided looking in James’s direction as he re-emerged from the passageway, glanced at me, and then departed, his cup of coffee untouched.
I let him go. No doubt I would miss James and the transient joy he had brought into my life but my immediate feeling was one of relief. I’d had a lucky escape. It had been unbelievably stupid and reckless of me to risk my husband’s rage and my own security – for the sake of a kiss.
But what a kiss…
Chapter Eighteen
When I signalled the barman for another beer he hesitated, silently assessing me and raising a dubious eyebrow. He thought I’d had enough. But I didn’t. Two days ago I’d done something stupid; selfishly crossed the line with Rina, potentially destroying our friendship and I’d been trying not to think about it ever since. Staring calmly back without speaking, I made an effort to convey more sobriety than I felt and it worked. Opening another bottle the barman set it before me without comment, while I muttered my thanks. I was aware it would be my last, at this establishment anyway. It was Saturday night in the capital or, rather, early Sunday morning and, although the bar had been busy, the crowds were now thinning as revellers moved on to clubs or simply retired for the evening.
I’d come in to London seeking distraction but my friends, a group of people I’d met at university and loosely stayed in touch with, had not stayed long past dinner. Mostly they were couples with four-bed households to run and babysitters to relieve so I’d been left to continue drinking on my own. It was only just sinking in that I no longer lived in the city; I’d missed the last train back to Wildham and a cab from here would be as expensive as a hotel room. Technically I still owned a flat in London but I wasn’t about to go round there and give Jasmine the opportunity to lay into me. I wasn’t sure at what point I’d let my ex-girlfriend become a squatter but I needed to persuade her to leave before she started claiming rights. My turning up unannounced in the middle of the night would not only start an argument but might well induce her to change the locks on me. No, I was stuck here until the trains started running again.
A scruffy-looking guy with tattoos and piercings detached himself from a group of people across the room and leaned on the bar next to me. How he’d been allowed in, given the strict dress code, was beyond me.
‘Ready to settle your tab, Bay?’ the barman said.
Bay chucked a credit card down on the bar, without bothering to check the bill, and eyed me as I took a swig of my fresh beer.
‘A woman is it?’ I could tell from his voice that he was a smoker.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘That look on your face – either someone just ran over your dog or it’s woman trouble.’
I sighed. ‘I don’t have a dog.’
‘Yeah, I figured,’ he said with a smirk, entering his pin into a card machine and handing it back to the barman. ‘She’s probably not worth it man. I’d steer clear if I were you.’
‘Yeah, but, I don’t know; there’s something about her.’
He narrowed his eyes and stared at me for a moment and I got the feeling he understood exactly what I was talking about, though I barely did myself. ‘Sounds like you need distracting,’ he said, slapping a hand on my back. ‘A few people are coming back to my place for a party if you fancy it?’
I glanced over his shoulder at his rabble of friends. They looked interesting: one guy had a Mohican, while another reminded me of a young Andy Warhol and the girls were pretty, even the one with quirky, surfer-style dreadlocks. Bay was probably right – I needed distracting but right now I was drunk and morose and reluctant to socialise with a load of new people. ‘Thanks mate, but I think I’ll pass.’
Bay shrugged and left soon afterwards, his card receipt discarded along with a generous tip on the bar. Considering the w
ay he’d been dressed I was surprised to note that the guy had spent over five hundred quid on drinks for his friends. Never judge a book by its cover.
At the far end of the bar a petite blonde in her twenties caught my eye. Or rather she kept staring at me and I inadvertently glanced in her direction. I took another swig of beer as she made her way towards me on cheap stiletto heels. Maybe that was what I needed – a mindless one-night stand to get my head straightened out.
‘Hey, handsome, you wanna buy me a drink?’ she said hopefully, flicking her hair back from her shoulders. My eyes automatically dropped to the ample cleavage she had on display. Surely her dress was too tight to be comfortable? Why did some women feel the need to reveal so much flesh? Were men really that shallow? Actually, yes – they probably were.
‘Sure, what can I get you?’ I said, returning my attention to her face.
She ordered an expensive cocktail of some description and the barman added it to my tab as she settled herself on the barstool beside me. ‘Thanks, I’m Brooke.’ She had a transatlantic accent.
‘James,’ I said, making sure to flash a smile.
‘Do you often drink alone on a Saturday night, James?’
‘No, not often – my friends left early.’
She nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. ‘Mine too.’
‘Is that an American accent I hear?’
Her face lit up in delight, her teeth a perfect row of tiny white pearls. ‘Too right! I’m from LA, here on business; how about you?’
‘British, born and bred, I’m afraid.’
‘Mmmm, I just love the British accent; it’s so yummy. Do you live in London?’
I sighed. ‘No, not any more.’
‘Aw, that’s too bad.’ The barman set a bright orange cocktail before her and she wrapped her lips around the straw before taking a long pull on it. ‘Ahh that’s good,’ she said, her eyes temporarily closing. She smiled seductively at me as she licked her lips and I refrained from rolling my eyes at her obviousness. After all, obvious was good. Simple, uncomplicated, no strings and offered to me on a plate – I could work with that.
