Best Served Cold, page 13
‘Are you sure?’
‘It might help. Now. We could go for dinner in one of the restaurants in the Marina?’ I wind my scarf tighter around my neck. ‘Or a beachfront cafe? Or local in Kemptown?’
Jack and I walk back along the Undercliff, arms linked, one bare hand in a pocket. The birds are still screeching above us and whirling into the honeycomb rock cliff to nest.
‘I have loads of pubs, bars and restaurants near me in London. I don’t have a beach and a sea, even if it is only a channel.’
‘Beachfront it is. Then I vote we go to a place called the WalkAbout Café. It’s halfway between here and home.’
It’s late afternoon by the time we stand staring at the sand-filled volleyball court. There are a few people, fit-looking, stripped off, bopping a ball back and forth and grunting. The pier can be spotted in the distance, and again, the screams are pretty audible from people on the rides. If it’s so frightening, why do we do stuff like that? And we all do, don’t we? We love to be scared shitless. Is it because the fear is controlled? Because it has a time limit? A simulation of a near-death experience is just that. It’s not real.
The tables and chairs are arrayed on weathered decking for the best view over the sea, which is changing colour by the minute, although it’s far too chilly to sit out. Inside the main building, it resembles the underside of a large wooden hull, with curved booths reminiscent of an American diner and a sleek bowed wood ceiling. There is a vast picture window, so you can see what’s going on outside from the comfort of being inside. It’s all painted white, with black chalkboards at intervals with their ‘Specials’ and mainstays. It appears they are proud of serving organic food, local meats and craft beers. The stools are chunky blocks of wood with padded covers.
I scan the menu. ‘Do you want a snack or something substantial?’
‘Hm, I’ll go for the homemade soup of the day and the sourdough baguette.
‘I’ll go for that too. Do you fancy sharing a mini mezze?’
‘Great.’
We order our food and two mixed-fruit smoothies and slip into one of the booths.
‘Ugh,’ I say as I unwind my scarf. ‘I think I’m now at the stage where I can start to feel my nose. It must be as red as Rudolph’s!’
‘It may be a bit pink,’ says Jack, ‘but it’s still adorable.’
I smile. ‘As long as I don’t have frostbite yet.’
‘Done all your Christmas shopping yet?’ His eyes twinkle.
‘Prezzies, yes. I did all my family last week. Food, not yet. I’ll wait until Tuesday morning to do a Crimbo jaunt to Sainsbury’s. I’ve discovered through trial and error that Tuesday mornings are a weird dead time with very few customers. Knowing my luck, it’ll be rammed to the gunnels when I go.’
‘Sod’s Law. And, rule number one is, never tell anyone, or it will not go to plan.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Yep, doubly damned. I don’t have a car, so I’ll walk there and get a taxi back.’
‘You don’t have a car?’
‘I work from home, and the parking in Brighton is extortionate. I bike to local places and it’s much easier to catch a bus or train for anything further afield. I’ve found it’s way less hassle.’
‘Ah, yes. I saw your dangerously situated bike. But you can drive?’
‘Yeah, my dad made sure of that before I left home. He said it was one of the most important skills I could have. That independence was priceless.’
‘Wise man, your dad.’
‘He is.’
When the food arrives, the soup is delicious, and the bread, well, the bread reminds me of Harry. Damn!
I scrape the last bit of soup out. ‘So, where do you live in London?’
‘Hackney.’ Mopping the soup bowl with his bread, he doesn’t look up.
‘I used to live in Hackney. Small world,’ I say.
‘Which part?’
‘Near Ridley Road market. Do you know it?’
‘Yeah, I live up near Dalston. I get my fruit and veg there all the time. Small world indeed. When did you move down here then?’
‘About six years ago, give or take.’
‘Work-related?’
‘Not really, as my main publisher is based in London. It was more personal.’
‘Relationship?’
‘Yep.’ I nod, not wishing to pursue this further. ‘Isn’t it always?’
‘Usually.’ He leans back and stretches. ‘Do you mind me asking if it was amicable? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’
‘Amicable?’ I laugh, although I know it is not a happy sound. ‘Not really, no. I caught him shagging someone else when he thought I was out.’
‘Oh, nice!’ Jack sucks on his teeth. ‘I can understand if that leaves you with trust issues, Lily.’
‘It was a long time ago. I’m getting on an even keel about it all.’ Oh, God! Trust? Yeah, I have trust issues.
‘Let me know if you are feeling insecure about anything. I don’t want us to get off on the wrong footing in any way. I’ll be there for you, no matter what.’
‘I appreciate that, Jack.’ I reach out to touch his hand. ‘I really do.’ I don’t wish to put it to the test.
‘Did you move down alone or with mates? I mean, it must have been hard after that happened to you?’
‘I came down with my friend Alice, as she wanted a change at the same time. We got a flat together, and then, later, I decided I should try for my own place. Simply to get on the property ladder.’
‘What happened to Alice? Is she here in Brighton? I know you still see her, as you spoke about her earlier.’
‘She’s in our old flat, but her boyfriend moved in when I left.’
‘So, it all turned out for the best?’
‘Looks like it. At least, I hope so.’ Although now I can’t say for sure. If she breaks up with Matt, then she’ll have to go through all the references and checking to make sure her next flatmate isn’t a mad Scottish Jane, a drug-fuelled Tone or a drunken Bernie and all the others waiting out there, ready to cause havoc in our home lives.
I don’t want to think about Harry, but he’s in my mind as if he is an omen of what might come. But that won’t happen to me again. Hit twice by lightning? No. I must trust Jack. I cannot let the past affect my future. My ‘now’.
Three days later. That’s when I finally got a message asking if Harry could come over to my bedsit to talk it all through. Three bloody miserable days and godawful nights. My bedsit was scrubbed and polished. I mean, what else could I do except mope about, eat utter crap and clean like a devil? Alice had popped by with supplies of chocolate and a welcome shoulder, though I knew she didn’t want to be caught in the middle between us.
That day, Harry came in and stood in the centre of the room, looking about him as though he’d never seen the place before. He didn’t take off his jacket. I could only imagine what that meant.
‘Do you want a tea?’ I was desperately holding my shit together, although I wanted to either brain him with a frying pan or hug him and never let go.
‘Thanks, yes… a tea.’ He sat tentatively on the edge of the bed. ‘Lily?’
‘Yes, Harry?’ I ensured I had my back to him as I put teabags in our mugs.
His voice shook. ‘It was just a kiss, or so Alice told me. I can’t take it back, though I need to let you know it wouldn’t have gone further. I am so sorry. I have no defence, except I was unbelievably drunk, but as Alice told me, that’s not an excuse either.’ He sniffed and I wondered if he was crying.
‘No. It isn’t,’ I said quietly. I’d gone over this in my head, around and around. Should I mention that I knew about that other kiss? Okay, you could say that it was after they’d broken up, but she’d barely received that awful text before he was off with his tongue down someone else’s throat. Alice had said they were kids and there were mitigating circumstances, in the fact she was a cow. Did that make it more acceptable? Anyway, if I said something, he’d know that Alice had let it all slip and I didn’t want to cause a family rift. Wow! My head still hurt.
‘I barely remember anything after talking to you when you were… in the bathroom.’
‘Throwing up.’
‘Yes. I didn’t mean to do anything like that. It has no bearing on what we have—’
‘What do we have, Harry?’ I had to turn to look at him. I had to see his eyes. They were wet. ‘What, exactly, do we have?’
‘We have everything.’ I heard him swallow. ‘At least we did. Before I fucked it all up.’ Wiping his face with his sleeve, he gazed up at me. ‘Can you forgive me, Lily?’
‘Yes, I can forgive you, you stupid twat! I love you, Harry.’ There. I’d said it and said it out loud.
Harry took a deep breath, then half grinned. ‘I love you too, Lily.’
‘Harry?’ I still had to say it. ‘If you ever do anything like this again, that will be it. You understand me?’
‘I promise I will never, ever do this again.’
Oh, promises, promises. I suppose Harry kind of kept his word because what he did was much, much worse.
I feel as though my worlds, past and present, are connecting somehow. Is all this coming up because I didn’t give myself time to grieve over Harry? Was I so angry with him, with them, I bottled it all up and suppressed it in the far reaches of my mind? Stuck all that emotion in a box and put chains around it. Had it fermented so much the bloody lid had finally blown off?
Chapter Twelve
HARRY BE DAMNED!
Jack and I both realise at the same time we need to get home. We chit-chatted through lunch and gazed out of the window as the winter evening rolled in across the beach, obscuring the sea and the courtyard outside. The volleyball players have long since donned sweaters and jackets and packed up, and no one is braving the outdoor tables.
Paying up, we stomp out to keep warm along Madeira Drive to the Old Steine. It’s freezing now, and our breath puffs out as wispy plumes in the air. Up, up, up along Grand Parade and Richmond Place to where we walked past The Level this morning. It feels an age ago.
Ripping off our jackets before we even make it through the front door, we are like animals, hands pawing, tugging at clothes, belts, buckles, buttons and hooks. Our mouths are joined. Then our bodies. There are inevitably awkward moments, elbows that knock, bits of body in the way, a movement that is not so graceful, but it doesn’t matter. Familiarity comes with time, and we haven’t had that luxury yet. Depleted and satiated, we lie back, pulling the covers over our nakedness, suddenly self-conscious. At least the central heating came on earlier this afternoon, or it would be glacial in here.
Moonlight pours in through the window and lights us in silver. Hugging the duvet to cover my breasts, I focus. There’s a big scar across his left shoulder. I touch it, and he jumps.
‘Sorry—’
‘No worries.’ He pulls the duvet up. ‘It’s what I call my old war wound. I cut some nerves a few years back, so it’s strangely ticklish.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘Bicycle accident. It was long ago, and I don’t like talking about it much. My fault, you know?’
I think back to what he told me. ‘You said your body was an ultra-rapid something or other?’
‘Metaboliser. Yeah.’
‘Then that must have hurt?’
‘It hurt like hell. Still does.’
‘Yeah, I understand. Okay, changing the subject then, do you fancy something to eat and maybe a glass of wine?’ I sit up.
‘Always.’ Jack has his face turned from me as he pulls on his pants and trousers. ‘Got any cheese? I am a bit peckish for some reason.’ He laughs again, and I wince. Who has a similar laugh? I wish I could place it.
‘I’ll get a plate of food sorted while I open a bottle.’ I also shrug back into my clothes. Are there protocols nowadays about nudity?
‘Great,’ Jack says, and now he’s pulling his top on. I would’ve liked to see him properly, but maybe that’s something for tomorrow.
In the kitchen, the cork comes out with a satisfying pop, and I rummage in the fridge for the variety of cheeses and hams I have bought for this evening. The posh crackers are in the cupboard, so I take them out, though I’m unsure if he wants any salad. I pop my head out of the kitchen, but he’s in the bathroom. I decide I want some salad, so I plate up lettuce, cherry tomatoes and cucumbers, and I’ve got bottles of pickles, relish and mayonnaise. That should be more than enough to start with. It’s all on the table when he comes in.
‘Brilliant, I’m starving.’ He lays into the food as if he hasn’t eaten in a week. The bottle is empty in less than half an hour, so we run, giggling like children, back into the bedroom and strip off our clothes again. This time it is slower, and we don’t clack our teeth and dig into our ribs quite so much. I could get to like this. Yes, I could, and Harry be damned.
Chapter Thirteen
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13TH – CROISSANTS IN THE MORNING
I wake to the smell of percolating coffee. I yawn and stretch. This is the first time in over six years someone else has made me coffee in the morning. No one has ever got this far. I must remember to thank Rose for her choice.
Jack is fully dressed when he leans around the bedroom door. ‘I fancy a croissant with the coffee. Do you mind if I nip out and get a couple from that French baker’s I spotted across the street?’
‘I can go if you want. I should have got something in. I didn’t think.’ I’m levering myself out of bed.
‘That’s fine. I’d prefer them fresh, and I’m already dressed, and it’ll only take a moment. Can I borrow your keys?’
‘Yep, hung up on the wall by the door.’
He turns to leave then darts back to kiss me quickly on the lips. ‘I’ll only be a mo. Why not have a shower? I can reheat the coffee if it gets a bit cold.’
‘Okay.’ He darts out again, and I hear the click of the door. Ambling into the bathroom, I shower and wash my hair while listening for his return. I dress in fresh clothes and towel-dry my hair. The coffee will definitely have to be heated up. Has he got stuck in the usual Sunday queue?
Flicking the curtain, I’m relieved to see him coming out of the baker’s. He looks up at my window, and I wave at him. He grins up at me.
I’m already decanting the coffee into mugs to pop in the microwave when he comes in.
‘Seems there’s a lot of people who want croissants down this street,’ he calls over to me as he shrugs out of his jacket. ‘The baker’s was packed! Great range of stuff. Very arty-farty.’
‘Well, it is a French patisserie, so everything will be exquisite, tiny and very expensive.’
‘That’s why I had to get two croissants each. I hope you have butter.’
‘In the fridge, and there’s also Bonne Maman strawberry jam.’
‘Couldn’t be better than that.’ He nods down the hallway. ‘I know it’s bloody cold, but could we have breakfast on the terrace? I love being outdoors, and I rarely get the chance when I’m home in London.’
‘It’s what I normally do, come rain, shine, snow, even hail.’ I smile. ‘I put the summer brolly up until it’s either sodden or blown away.’
Hauling on our outdoor gear, we bustle out onto the tiny roof terrace and sit at the table, the steam from the coffee curling seductively into the air. The croissants are flaky and soft in the centre.
‘It’s beautiful here, Lily. You are lucky to have this,’ he sweeps his hand up and down the neighbour’s gardens, ‘right on your doorstep. It’s practically like living in a large village, not a city.’
‘I do love it here.’
‘What are the chances of seeing any foxes?’
Shrugging, I hold out my hands. ‘A watched-for fox will never be seen. You might be lucky, although I rarely spot them at this time of the morning.’
‘Then I need to be here at the time when I might see one.’ Jack leans back in the chair, stares across the many gardens and sighs. ‘Yeah, I do like this.’
When we have washed up and put the mugs and plates away, Jack nods at my worktable.
‘Can you show me some of your work?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ I have a plan chest that butts up against my desk. My latest work is in a portfolio in the top drawer. I pull it out and lay the work out. ‘The author is Romanian. The story is quite off-the-wall, so my problem is how to convey his ideas but not scare the prospective buyers, which are the parents.’ I make a face. ‘And that also includes the publishers. As I said, they don’t want it too scary.’
‘They’re bloody excellent.’ Jack nods. ‘I wish I had a talent like that.’
‘As an engineer, your work is essential. That’s a major talent in its own right.’
‘I suppose you could say that.’
‘So, what are you working on now?’
His eyes narrow. ‘Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that. It’s pretty boring, and I don’t want to bring my work into this.’ He indicates me and then himself. Which is strange, as he’s just brought my work into it.
‘Maybe I won’t find it boring?’
‘Trust me, you would.’
‘I hope it’s not because I’m a… woman, is it?’ I laugh. ‘We can handle physics and maths as well as the guys, you know.’ There’s a strange expression on his face. ‘That was meant as a joke?’
‘Yeah, yeah, okay.’ Blowing out the side of his mouth, he says, ‘It’s nothing to do with your imagined competence and understanding. It’s more I’m bored to tears by my work and want to get away from it at the weekend.’
‘Okay,’ I nod. ‘I understand. But,’ I raise a finger, ‘I want you to know I am interested in what you do.’
‘Thanks. And I appreciate it.’ Glancing down at his watch, he says, ‘Listen, Lily. I should really get off now. I know I didn’t want to talk about work, but there are some things I need to get done before Monday. It’ll take me a while to get home, so I need to be heading out.’
