The Waitress (37 page)

Katie and Sukie observed the change in Jon as he discussed his book. His whole body seemed to droop with anguish as he described the torment of trying to work out a new plot.

‘It can’t be that hard, surely?’ said Katie finally.

He balked. ‘Fuck off.’

‘Well, sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just that – well you look so troubled. It’s only writing.’

Jon did a fish-out-of-water impression.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Sukie. ‘It’s like reading, only different. Try going to a few auditions; you wouldn’t last a week.’

‘Yeah. Or try waiting tables,’ added Katie.

Jon sat up, red in the face. ‘
You
try writing a fucking book.’

Katie gasped. Of course! Why on earth hadn’t she thought of it before? It had been staring her in the face all this time, been under her nose all these years and she’d missed it. The perfect job! The ideal career! No CVs needed, no professional training, no boss, no politics, just the decision to go and do it – and she could do it while being a waitress! Like Sukie and her acting! This way she could turn the searing pain of contemporary urban dating into art! She stared at Jon. He stared back at her.

‘No,’ he said.

‘
Yes
!’ breathed Katie. ‘You have got yourself a deal!’

‘You won’t be able to do a paragraph.’

‘I’ll show you!’ she cried, flushed with excitement. ‘Just you wait.’

She ran out of the living room into her bedroom. Two minutes later she was back.

‘Jon?’

‘What?’

‘Can I borrow your laptop?’

Dan was glad of the opportunity to see his mum on her own. His father was at his Sunday evening Lodge meeting; it was good for him Harriet always said, and, more importantly, it was good for her – one evening a week when she got to keep the television off, listen to a radio play and do her tapestry. She’d had a lovely time with Geraldine yesterday, although she’d been glad to get home. She did have one of her heads. It was always lovely to see Dan though. As soon as he’d called her from his hotel that morning, she’d set to making one of her quiches and his favourite chocolate pudding. Now he was here she
rustled
up a salad and told him all about her day with Geraldine. Then she waited for him to begin.

Katie sat bright and alert, back straight, eyes wide, fingers on the laptop keyboard. Adrenaline was practically burning through her veins – and she hadn’t even started yet! This was going to be amazing. This was going to be It. She would discover herself through words, she would fly, she would soar, she would
be
.

She grinned stupidly at the screen, flexed her fingers, then spread them back on the keyboard. She’d heard that the hardest thing was starting. Which was why she was just going to jump straight into the water, feet first, like some brave holidaying kid who doesn’t know fear yet – there could be rocks in there, crocodiles even, but they didn’t care, life hadn’t tainted their every action with fear yet. She was brave, she was fearless, she was . . . she was hungry, that’s what she was. Hmm. Of course, every writer needs succour. Wasn’t that a famous saying? she thought, as she wandered through the living room (ignoring Sukie, Jon and the flickering television) into the kitchen in search of brain food. Or perhaps it
should
be a saying. Perhaps that would become her forte, there would be quotations from her in all the best quotation books. As the bread toasted, she saw herself reviewed in all the best literary supplements. As she spread the peanut butter and jam on one slice, cheese and honey on the other, she imagined certain crinkly-smiled married men picking up the paper and realising just what they’d let slip through their fingers. She brought her toast back to the bedroom and sat munching happily for a while. Ah yes, she thought,
people
would say ‘I remember her from school/college/work! She pretended she was just a waitress but all that time she was writing that amazing Pulitzer Prize-winning best-seller. And she never let on!’ She finished her toast and spread her fingers on the keyboard. Look at that keyboard – just twenty-six letters – and yet, the gateway to an infinite number of possibilities. It was a miracle really, when you thought about it. Only she never had thought about it, until now. And now was the beginning of the rest of her life. Hmm, wasn’t that a saying?

Sukie and Jon stopped calling Katie after the fourth time. Sod it. They’d watch
Big Brother
without her. More Cheesy Wotsits for them. Every now and then Jon muttered something about killing himself if Katie got published before him and Sukie reassured him that Katie probably would not break the habit of a lifetime and actually finish anything she started. Then they watched TV for the evening, looking up briefly every time Katie wordlessly strode through the living room into the kitchen and back into her room again.

Only forty-five minutes late, Jennifer wandered into the pub, a vision of everything that was right with the world. Was it Matt’s imagination or had it suddenly got lighter in here?

‘Hi!’ she grinned.

‘Hi!’ Matt stood up and then, feeling a little unsteady on his feet, sat down again. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yeah!’ She swung her silken hair across her back and sat down opposite him. ‘You all right?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he said, deciding to go to the toilet later. Then he remembered himself. ‘Fancy a drink?’

‘Oh yeah. A Grolsch, cheers.’

‘Right.’ He got up slowly and made his way to the bar where he ordered two pints. He didn’t want another pint, but he couldn’t very well order one for her and then order himself a Diet Coke, could he? And he didn’t want to have to mention that he’d already had two pints (not counting the swift swig of gin at home before coming out) while waiting for her. It might embarrass her.

He walked back slowly with his two glasses, then just had to give in and go to the Gents. He couldn’t help noticing other blokes eyeing Jennifer up as he made his careful way across the room, and wondered, somewhere in the dim recesses of his clogged up mind, why that didn’t make him feel as proud as he thought it would.

‘I do think you’ll love the dress,’ Dan’s mum told him.

‘Good.’ He stared at his whisky glass.

His mum nodded. ‘Frightening times,’ she murmured. ‘Frightening times.’

Dan looked up at her, the late Sunday sun behind her casting a coral haze over the garden. ‘What makes you say that?’

She smiled. ‘I just remember how I felt before marrying your father.’

‘You were
frightened
?’

‘Of course! It’s terrifying, marriage.’

Dan couldn’t believe his ears. Confusing, yes, a roller-coaster of emotions, yes. But terrifying?

His mum smiled, shaking her head. ‘You do make me
laugh
, you young people. You always assume we had none of the same feelings as you do. But you’re more like me than anyone else I know.’

Dan took this in slowly. ‘I thought I was more like Dad,’ he said quietly.

His mum scoffed. ‘Like your father? You’re nothing like your father. You’re all me.’ Dan pondered this for some while, idly looking at the still garden. ‘That’s why,’ his mum continued quietly, ‘I thought you’d never marry.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. You’re a male version of me and if I’d had to do the asking it would never have happened.’

‘Wow.’

‘But you’ve done us proud.’

‘I know.’

‘Geraldine’s a very special lady.’

‘Yes.’

‘And being terrified is just part of getting married. If you’re anything like me. Which you are.’

‘How did you get through . . . the terror part?’

His mother didn’t hesitate. ‘You just have to believe in fate,’ she said firmly. ‘This was meant to be. If it wasn’t meant to be it wouldn’t have happened.’

‘But I don’t believe in fate.’

‘Well, you have to.’

‘Right.’

‘Just tell yourself: This was meant to be. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t have happened. Repeat it to yourself in your darkest moments.’

Dan wished he’d known that before Sandy’s wedding. He pictured himself back there, standing at the bar after
that
kiss with Katie. He’d been shaking with exhilaration, preparing to go back, open his heart to her like she just had with him, and break it off with Gerry. Again. Up till then, he’d convinced himself the kiss with Katie hadn’t been as good as he’d remembered. He was right. It was better. Then, when he’d found her gone, he’d raced up to his room, thinking she must have thought he’d gone there and tried to follow him – but no Katie. Then just when he thought he’d go back down and try and find her, he’d heard voices in her room. Were she and Hugh going to sleep together? After that kiss? Would she tell Hugh? Was she with him? He had to know.

When the voices stopped, he’d started to knock quietly on their door at intervals, hoping it would only be heard by Katie, but to no avail. Half an hour later, utterly confused, he had no choice but to go to bed, his mind and body reliving her words and that kiss. He must have got about one hour’s sleep. He’d told himself he’d wait till he saw Katie in the morning, get himself sorted out. He fell asleep at about 6.30, woke soon after, didn’t bother shaving, just showered and dressed, and then had knocked lightly on Katie and Hugh’s door again before going downstairs. No bloody answer. He’d leant his head against their door. Was she in bed with Hugh? Were they sharing that bed? He couldn’t bear this. She’d done it to him again.

In desperation he’d decided to go for a fast walk round the grounds, because he couldn’t sit in his room any more and he had to get away from theirs. He rushed downstairs and on his way out, to his amazement, saw Katie sitting on her own in the dining room, leisurely perusing the
breakfast
menu. He’d stared at her for a few moments through the glass before feeling brave enough to go in. After breakfast he’d phoned Gerry. She’d been so happy to hear from him that it was a comfort just to hear her voice and he’d completely forgot to feel guilty about kissing Katie.

His mum cut him another piece of chocolate pudding. If she was right and what was meant to be would be, it made everything so much easier. One misunderstanding could be put down to bad luck; but two? If he was meant to be with Katie, none of this confusion would have happened and they’d be together, right? They just weren’t meant to be.

As he munched through his chocolate pudding, he thought back to that disastrous first date and Katie’s so-called ‘panic attack’. Did she really have a panic attack? He didn’t know whether to believe that story or not now. After she’d abandoned him in that restaurant, he’d never felt more lonely in his life. Like the proverbial motherless child. He hadn’t been able to eat or sleep properly for weeks. It was worse than any relationship break-up he’d ever known. Which was why, when Geraldine had called the next morning, he’d almost fallen into the safety of her arms again. It had only taken them a month to get back into the old rhythm. He’d hardly noticed it happen. Was that what it was like when it was The One? He had said then and there that he never wanted to go through another night like that – and, thanks to Katie Simmonds, that was just what he had done. Better to stay away from girls like her. Gerry was good for him. She was meant to be.

Yes, he was much more like his mother than he’d realised. He tried to imagine what she’d been like, a shy seventeen-year-old girl from a village coming to live with her successful new husband, almost fifteen years her senior and already a name in the city. And yet she’d done it.

‘Mum,’ he asked gently, ‘have you ever regretted your choice?’

‘Of course not, dear. I was just being a young silly.’ She gave a little chuckle and whispered, ‘Scared of making love for the first time.’

It was a bit like making love, thought Katie, this writing lark. It was all about letting go, allowing yourself to be utterly exposed, vulnerable, about losing yourself in the moment. Poor Jon, maybe that’s why he found it so hard. She gave a tiny gasp. Oh dear! Maybe he was a lousy lover. Maybe she should tell him – in a kindly way of course. Just mention that there are some people suited to writing and some who aren’t. It’s like some people being able to climb Everest and some who just don’t have the lung capacity. Or the motivation. Or dedication. Or they don’t like the cold. It’s nothing specific. Writing isn’t just about writing; she knew that now. It was about a whole host of factors, and all you need is one of those vital factors to be missing and the entire edifice collapses – like a house of cards! Yes! It was exactly like a house of cards! (She should carry a notebook around with her all the time, she was coming out with pearls.) And you need every single card to make that house – and the lowest cards are as important as the top one – in fact it’s probably more important. And if just one
of
those cards isn’t in place properly, the whole lot falls down. It was tragic really when you thought about it. Poor poor Jon, she thought, as she spread her fingers over the keyboard.

Matt and Jennifer linked arms as they made their slow way back to her parents’ house. Matt was glad they’d linked arms, partly because it showed she didn’t mind touching him and partly because it stopped him falling on his face.

He’d been glad that she hadn’t felt the need to tell him why she was three-quarters of an hour late. It showed a sense of trust, a sense of ease that proved she already felt natural with him. He’d been fascinated to hear so many details about her crappy job and her crappy friend. He’d always guessed she and Eva weren’t bosom buddies. He’d been a bit shocked to discover that not only was Jennifer almost two years older than he was, but she wasn’t on some gap year, or doing some temporary job to fill in her holidays, she had completely left school and was working full time. Later on, he decided – maybe when she came up to see him at university – he’d try and convince her to give education another go. She’d admire him for helping her change her life.

Going up the hill, they started singing some pub song which ended in hysterics by the time they reached her parents’ road. She started giggling and shushing him as they got nearer to her home, and putting her fingers to his lips to keep him quiet. It was so nice he sang even louder. He could hardly believe it – her lips were inches away from his. Was this going to end well? Was he actually
going
to get a snog with the divine Jennifer? He sang louder still.