by C. J. Duggan
‘Lunch?’
I wasn’t going to deny that my main draw to the pub was the blackboard out front, which promised the best traditional fish ’n’ chips in town. I smiled, taking the menu from her, and quickly located the very thing that had my tummy grumbling in reply.
The nation’s favourite dish! Chunky, hand-battered cod fillet, served with the traditional British accompaniments of chips, choice of mushy or garden peas, Haywards™ pickled onions, bread and butter, curry sauce and tartare sauce. SOLD!
‘Yes, please,’ I said, clutching on to the menu for dear life.
‘How many?’
‘Oh, ah, just one.’
If the waitress thought me tragic then she didn’t show it; instead, she perused the cramped space for a spare table for a lone, sad diner. Just as I was ready to hand the menu back she stood on her toes to look over the crowd before spinning back so fast her ponytail nearly blinded me.
‘Yes, there’s one down the end, follow me,’ she said, grabbing some cutlery and coasters for our weaving, awkward journey to a tiny table in the corner of the room near the toilets.
‘Here we are, you just have to order at the bar when you’ve decided what you want. ‘
‘Thanks, but I’m ready to order. Fish ’n’ chips with mushy peas,’ I said, sounding far too excited, but the waitress laughed.
‘Good choice,’ she said, taking the menu from me and wedging it between the salt and pepper shakers.
I’ll say, especially washed down with a cold cider. My mouth watered at the thought as I headed for the bar, squeezing past locals, and despite the small confines of the crowded scene, I had never felt more free.
Paying for my meal, I stole some extra beer coasters from the bar, taking great care in weaving my way back to my little table in the corner. Dark, noisy and overcrowded it may be, but I was gloriously happy to be sitting in a true English pub, sipping on cider and waiting for my traditional pub meal. There was no time to delay: I took my seat and flipped over the coasters, foraging around inside my handbag for a pen before hooking my bag over the side of the chair.
Now, for total world domination.
Having discovered Nana’s secret closet, I felt immediately inspired – I had finally found an angle for ‘Kate on the Thames’. I could use the secret room as a stunning backdrop for my weekly blog posts; I mean, I wasn’t doing anything overly wrong. It wouldn’t be like I would be touching anything; well, not really. My mind flashed back to a gorgeous pair of gold Chanel earrings under the glass top of the island. Their classic, interlinking Cs were absolutely striking, completely classic. I may or may not have slid the glass aside and held them up against my ears to see what they would look like, but I was ever so careful with them. If there was one thing I was passionate about it was respecting Chanel.
I dot-pointed some ideas on the small pieces of cardboard with joyous abandon until the swinging toilet door flew open at speed and hit the back of my chair mid-sip of my cider.
‘Shit!’ I said, flicking my hands and grabbing for some napkins to wipe up the mess.
‘No chance of anyone stealing this table,’ I mumbled, and glared at the back of the man who walked without so much as a backward glance, annoyed that my coasters of amazing, life-changing ideas had suffered the full brunt of the spillage. Shifting from side to side in my seat, I tried to catch the eye of the friendly waitress to ask for a cloth when my eyes landed on the pub entrance. Or, rather, the person standing in it. Blinking once, then twice, I craned my neck to look again, my blood running cold, and then thought that maybe I was seeing things as the crowd shifted and I breathed once more.
Phew.
Kate, calm down, take another sip of cider and enjoy what’s left of your freedom.
I glanced at my watch and lifted the pint up to my mouth again, just as a loud voice called over the murmuring of the patrons.
‘Blimey. Jack bloody Baker, how the hell are you?’
I spat my drink out and coughed, lifting my watery gaze to the barman across the room, who was vigorously shaking the hand of the very real Jack Baker, the Jack Baker who had nearly killed me. The Jack Baker who was looking. Right. This. Way.
Chapter Five
So far I had knocked over the salt and pepper shakers in my desperation to barricade myself behind a laminated menu, but then my chair was hit with the toilet door once again.
‘Seriously!’ I yelled, receiving a confused glance from a man walking back to his group of mates.
I sighed, fixing my angry stare on the menu, thinking maybe Jack would just disappear, or would think that he was mistaken and hadn’t really seen me.
Of all the pubs in all the world he had to walk into mine.
But as minutes passed, and I resisted the urge to adjust my menu for a peek, I became more confident that he wouldn’t approach, that he hadn’t seen me after all. I was safe; in the dark corner of my tiny table I had avoided discovery. I sighed, thanking the universe for small mercies.
‘One ultimate fish ’n’ chips for Kate!’ called out a deep Cockney voice.
Oh my God.
I peeled the menu from my face to see a man with a grubby white apron circling the room with a plate of food. Why didn’t they just have a flickering neon sign pointing in my direction? Seriously, didn’t they believe in table numbers? I watched helplessly as the man worked his way closer to me.
‘Order for Ka—’
‘HERE!’ I said, far too loudly, holding up my hand and wincing – beyond the man’s shoulder I could see Jack, who was hiding his smile behind his pint and looking my way while chatting to the publican.
‘Oh, here we go, one fish ’n’ chips for Kate!’ the kitchenhand yelled above the crowd, dumping the plate on my table. Any other time my eyes would have lit up with the massive feed that sat before me, but all I wanted now was to get the hell out of here.
‘Ah, I don’t suppose I could get this to go, could I? In a doggy bag?’
He looked at my plate then back up at me as if I were mad. ‘No, sorry, we don’t do doggy bags. Health regulations.’
‘Oh, okay, no worries. I don’t suppose there’s a back way out of here, is there?’
‘Only through the kitchen, but only staff are permitted there so …’
‘Right, okay, no problem.’ Thanks for nothing.
There was no escape. And as I picked at my plate, flaking the delicious morsels of battered fish into my mouth, loath to leave such a feast behind, it dawned on me.
He wasn’t coming.
He wasn’t going to approach me, or annoy me; he was going to let me be. I stole the odd glance between mouthfuls of food. Jack sat propped up at the bar, in deep conversation with the barman and no longer looking my way. For some completely irrational reason this annoyed me. All that time at Nana’s really had sent me mad.
Was he ignoring me? Really?
I wasn’t sure what the correct greeting ritual was when bumping into the girl one had nearly run into with one’s car, but surely at least an awkward wave was required? Pfft, whatever; now I could finally eat in peace—
The toilet door slammed into the back of my chair again, this time with such force that the entire table skidded along the floorboards, sending my mushy peas sliding off my fork. I sighed, spiking the fork into the fish and grabbing for my bag. I had gone from wanting to hide to not caring if he saw me, and I strode up to the bar with my chin lifted. I placed my empty glass on the bar and waited for the barman to drag himself away from his conversation with Jack, who was four bodies down the bar, not that I was counting. I looked straight ahead, feeling his eyes on me as I ordered another drink, and grabbed a fistful of serviettes for any future spillages.
I can’t believe he’s not going to say anything.
He had certainly had plenty to say before. But let’s face it, I knew men like Jack; okay, perhaps not firsthand exactly, but I had heard about men like Jack in the gossipy bathroom stalls on a Friday night. The kind who would make girls swoon, walk you
to your door, kiss you goodnight, only to never call you … ever. I snuck a glance and saw him talking to a man to his left, who was dressed in a similar fashion: elegant tailored suit, glinting cufflinks, crisp white shirt and expertly knotted tie. I could only assume they were colleagues, or they had both rocked up to the pub embarrassingly overdressed; still, it had me thinking how well the white-collar professional look suited Jack, with his square shoulders and tall, lean frame. His dark hair had once again resisted all attempts to tame it. My attention returned to the drink that landed in front of me and as I reached for my purse the barman held up his hand.
‘No need, lass, it’s all taken care of,’ he said with a smile. My eyes followed his down the bar to Jack, who was still involved in a discussion with his well-dressed mate.
Well, this is awkward. Is he extending an olive branch? Do I thank him? Try to make eye contact across the crowded bar?
I delayed taking the cider. ‘Look, tell him thanks, but I’ve got this,’ I said, placing the money on the bar and leaving before receiving my minuscule change. I just wanted to skull the drink in a dark corner then get the hell out of there. Heck, yes, that’s what I would do. I wouldn’t even sit back down; instead, I would just stand right here next to the table and – the men’s toilet door flung open one last time, knocking the pint all over me and a little over the suited man before me.
‘Bloody hell!’ he screamed, wiping the tiny splashback from his cuff as I stood frozen, drenched down my front, gasping in shock.
‘Watch where you’re going, ya dozy cow,’ he shouted, checking his pants and his shoes. I went to say sorry, then thought better of it.
What had I to be sorry for?
‘Maybe you should watch where you’re going!’ I said.
Great comeback, Kate, total badass.
The man scoffed, looking me up and down like I was something that was stuck to the bottom of his shoe. I never thought a look had the power to make me feel so small, so pathetic; but then again, being soaked in cider wasn’t exactly helping the situation. My day of freedom had become a complete disaster; it seemed that whenever I ventured outside my confines I was destined for bad things. I wanted to say something smart and cutting, something to dress him down in front of the pub patrons, all of whom seemed to be watching the saga unfold with great interest. Lord knows, I’d stored up plenty of Nana’s icy remarks, so surely I had some retort to wound him with. As I tried trawled my brain for the right words, I felt something brush against my arm.
‘All right?’ said Jack, looking directly at the suit and towering a good foot above him, causing the suit’s eyes to trail up to his face.
‘All right, mate,’ he replied, but the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and his brows rose showed he was anything but.
Jack smiled, wolfish and seemingly pleased by how nervous the man was. ‘I’m not your mate,’ he said, taking the time to look him over. Now the suit was the one who felt small. Jack turned his attention to me.
‘Kate, you seem to have met with an accident.’
I could have played it down, defused the situation, but as I glanced back at the now-pale face of the suit, I couldn’t help myself.
I shrugged. ‘I guess I’m just a dozy cow.’
Jack folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘Now why would you think that?’ he asked, amusement lining his face.
I went to reply when the suit started to delve into the inside of his jacket pocket. ‘Listen, let me make it up to you,’ he said, frantically thumbing through his wallet, shelling out layers of money onto my table. ‘Let me buy you a drink – here. And dry cleaning, yeah, let me fix you up.’
‘And her meal.’ Jack nodded to the table.
The man glanced down at my partly eaten meal, confused, before looking back at Jack.
‘It’s gone cold, ruined.’
‘Oh, right, yes, of course.’ He pulled out another bill onto the pile and I almost snorted in disbelief. Jack simply watched, amused, like a cat toying with a mouse.
‘So no hard feelings, yeah?’
Jack turned his dark brown eyes to me in question. I turned to the suit and shrugged casually.
Jack breathed out a laugh. ‘Well, who said money can’t buy happiness?’
Against my better judgement I laughed, thinking how bizarre my lunch had become and how this really was the worst seat in the house. The nervous laughter of the suit brought Jack’s attention back to him and he reached past me to scoop the cash off the table. ‘You can go now,’ he said abruptly, while counting the notes.
The suit nodded. ‘Right, yes,’ he stammered, excusing himself for a quick exit.
Jack held the money out to me, and my eyes flicked to the neat little parcel he had created with the rolled-up notes. When I didn’t take the cash, he grabbed my hand and shoved it into my palm. ‘Spend it wisely, Miss Brown.’ He smiled and I was aware of his skin on mine, burning like a brand. It almost distracted me from the devious glint in his eyes.
‘Back in a minute,’ he said, then walked to the gents’, opened the door carefully, and disappeared. I stood near my table, confused, then looked at the wad of cash in my hand.
‘What just happened?’ I said to myself.
‘Gotta hand it to Jack, he knows how to handle a crisis.’ The kitchenhand who had delivered my meal appeared next to me, clearing the table and wiping up the spilt cider. ‘You finished?’ His eyes flicked to the half-eaten lunch.
‘Oh, yes, sorry, I am.’ I grimaced, feeling bad about the waste, and wondering what would happen when Jack returned. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, I didn’t want to get to know him, and I really didn’t want him to get to know me. What could I say? ‘Oh, I’m just living on the second floor of my nana’s terrace, looking for excuses to sneak out even though I’m twenty-five years old.’ Even in my mind it sounded hideous. I had to get out of here, and fast.
‘Excuse me.’
The kitchenhand stilled with his hands full.
‘Do you do bar tabs? Credit?’
‘Yeah, we do.’ He nodded.
‘Oh, great. Listen, I have to go but would I be able to set up a tab for Jack? He’ll be back in a minute, but I just want to, well …’ I held out the money.
He grinned broadly. ‘I defy any man to say no to that,’ he said, before nodding toward the bar. ‘Hand it over to Leo, he’ll fix it up for you.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, wasting no time and heading straight for the bar. I was keen to get away from the Stanhope Arms and put this whole event down as yet another awkward memory I would choose to forget.
As I quickly made my way back down Gloucester Road, I glanced at my watch and sighed with relief; I would make it home in plenty of time.
At least you got one thing right today.
And that’s when I heard my name.
‘Kate, stop!’
Chapter Six
It was one thing to see a very attractive man running toward me. But to see said man running with a red leather handbag slung over his shoulder? That was something else. The sight of my bag made me skid to a rather abrupt halt.
Oh shit.
‘Forget something?’ he said, unhooking the bag and handing it out to me.
‘Thanks,’ I said, taking it from him. For the first time (without concussion, anyway) I took in the sight of Jack Baker close up. I had to lift my eyes to look at his very handsome face. Not literary-classic handsome, mind you; he didn’t have the curly hair and broody stare of Mr Darcy, the kind of man I had dreamt of finding on my British expeditions. He was tall and built in all the right places, with olive skin. His dark hair was cropped and he had the slightest dusting of stubble along his strong jawline. His brilliantly white, slightly imperfect teeth were revealed by a cheeky smile, a smile which lit those warm brown eyes that were framed by dark lashes. Lovely.
‘You headed home?’
I blinked out of my trance.
‘Yes,’ I said, instantly regretting the admission.
‘I’ll walk you,’ he said, moving ahead with his hands in his pockets as he looked back at me expectantly.
‘Look, you don’t have to do that, I am perfectly—’
‘It’s okay, I’m headed that way anyway,’ he said.
I started walking, three of my steps equal to his one. I thought it better to keep up, seeing as his offer was apparently non-negotiable.
‘So, Kate Brown, do you always cause trouble wherever you go?’
‘Excuse me?’ I pulled my bag over my head and across my body so I could concentrate on keeping up.
‘Always running into the path of men.’ He stopped briefly at the corner, looking each way for oncoming traffic before tilting his head to follow. I double-checked for myself before moving.
‘He ran into me! In fact, you ran into me, too!’
‘A rather disastrous start to your London adventures, to say the least,’ he said, glancing at me with a smile. ‘Well, I’ll be sure to get you home in one piece.’
I rolled my eyes. It’s not that I wasn’t grateful for his help at the Stanhope Arms, but I wasn’t completely hopeless. I could look after myself. Just as the thought ran through my mind, I tripped on an uneven bit of path, grabbing Jack’s arm to steady myself. I quickly whipped my hand away, trying not to look at what no doubt would be a cocky smirk, or to dwell on how his arm felt like granite under my touch. Jesus! Was the universe deliberately trying to humiliate me in front of this man?
‘Are you all ri—’
‘I’m fine!’ I snapped, readjusting my bag and pushing my hair over my shoulder, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. This time I walked on, taking the lead, until Jack caught up.
‘So what is it that you do, Kate Brown?’
I sighed, wishing he would just call me by my first name; why was it that everyone wanted to call me anything but just Kate? Katherine, Katy, Miss Brown; I was sick of it.
I thought for a moment, mulling over the dreaded question. How do you best describe the fact that you really don’t do much at all? Back home I had been the jaded manager of a hideous clothing chain store in the Bourke Street Mall for a painful five years, selling size six tank tops with slogans like Bootylicious scrawled in glitter across them. It was a nightmare for my fluctuating size twelve dress size; I could barely fit my wrist inside the sleeve let alone actually wear anything from the store. It may have seemed the height of fashion when I was a teenager, but the ten percent staff discount was not enough to make me stay. There had to be more to life, and I was going to find it, I just didn’t expect it would come to this. Here I was, stranded in Kensington with my evil nana, with no job, no future. Only my savings to stop me from becoming a true tragedy, and as soon as they ran out, I would head home having accomplished nothing more than an emptying my bank account. But as I listened to the clicking of my boots on the pavement, I realised that, while I may be the damsel-in-distress, apparently hopeless, Kate Brown to him, I had the potential to be anyone I wanted to be. To be the Kate Brown of my dreams. Hadn’t this whole trip been about reinvention?
