The Waitress (43 page)

‘Why?’ asked Sukie. ‘She’ll be in again when she’s well.’

‘Well she’s been off for three days now,’ said Dan, ‘and she did sound awful.’

Sukie shrugged. ‘So phone her.’

‘I think it’s a lovely idea,’ said Patsy. ‘I’d like to think that if I was ill you’d phone me to see how I was.’

‘He wouldn’t need to phone you, Beautiful,’ said Nik.

‘Why?’ asked Patsy.

Nik grinned. ‘’Cos I’d have phoned you first.’ He gave her a wink that had destabilised many a woman before and Patsy responded with a laugh Barbara Windsor would have been proud of. Sukie walked past Dan out of the kitchen. ‘Excuse me,’ she muttered. ‘I may just barf.’

They watched her go and then Patsy and Nik started wondering why she had suddenly turned so spiteful.

‘It’s not our fault we’re having fun,’ pouted Patsy, delighted.

Dan was unable to answer them. He tried to work out when the atmosphere had suddenly soured and asked them if they’d said anything to Sukie recently that might have upset her. While they tried to cast their minds back, he glanced up at the monitor in the corner and saw Geraldine coming into the otherwise empty café. Oh shit. He knew exactly where she’d been; she’d taken time off work to collect her engagement ring, and if he knew Geraldine he had to get out there fast. There was absolutely no way she’d understand why he hadn’t told anyone about their engagement. He muttered something to the others about discussing this later and then –

Too late. He stood, paralysed as the grainy image of Geraldine on the screen stretched out her hand across the counter and displayed her ring to Sukie. He watched out for signs of surprise from Sukie followed by surprise then muted anger from Geraldine. He rushed out into the café to face his fiancée’s wrath.

The two women turned to him and he stopped. Geraldine gave him a smile.

‘Gorgeous ring,’ said Sukie. ‘I always knew you were a man of taste.’

‘Well,’ said Geraldine, ‘he did pick me.’

‘Exactly,’ smiled Sukie.

Thank God, he thought. Sukie had thought on her feet and not let on. She had saved him a day of heartache. She deserved a rise.

Later that afternoon, Katie went to Ye Olde Tea Shoppe. She sat at the table nearest the kitchen, so that she and Mrs Blatchett could talk in relative privacy. She looked at the café with new eyes; the eyes of a future owner. She studied the layout, she looked at the view on to the street, she considered the number of tables, she scrutinised the menu and she wondered what the first changes would be. She realised how consistent and how correct Ye Olde Tea Shoppe’s image was for its clientelle. Mrs Blatchett had been thorough and spot-on with her vision for this place. It had been no lucky coincidence that her business had stood the test of time. It appeared that Mrs Blatchett was more than a little old lady in sturdy shoes. She was an astute businesswoman ahead of her time. Katie suddenly felt nervous.

‘Hello my love,’ she greeted Katie, wiping her hands on her pinny. ‘What can I do for you?’

Katie swallowed hard, fighting the temptation to ask for a cream tea and then go home. She’d never been daunted by Mrs Blatchett before. ‘Mrs Blatchett,’ she said quickly, before she could change her mind. Then she went quiet.

Mrs Blatchett frowned. ‘Do you mind if I sit down? Only I have a feeling this is going to take time.’ She sat down at the table, opposite Katie, and gave a deep sigh. Then she gave her a direct, but not severe, look. ‘What’s on your mind, my dear?’

Katie told her she didn’t know where to start.

‘Pretend you’re a newspaper,’ instructed Mrs Blatchett immediately. ‘Give me the headline, then the first paragraph, and then the whole story. And if you can,
finish
on a weak pun.’ She gave a little chuckle.

‘Would like to buy your café,’ said Katie. Mrs Blatchett stopped chuckling. She stared at Katie. Then she nodded for her to go on. ‘I have excellent relevant experience,’ continued Katie, ‘and I have come into some money. I would like to update the café while maintaining your vision exactly. So . . . you could say . . . that I would like to
make over
your business,’ a thin film of sweat lined her upper lip, ‘more than
take over
your business.’

Mrs Blatchett gave her a pat on the hand. ‘I was only joking about the pun,’ she said softly.

Katie gave her a wan smile.

Mrs Blatchett explained that her son, Dennis, who lived on the other side of the world, was to inherit the café. If he liked the sound of Katie’s offer, the café was hers. As long as Katie would not mind giving Mrs Blatchett a regular afternoon shift. She was far too old to learn how to do nothing with herself. ‘Mind,’ she said, pointing a knobbly finger at Katie. ‘Dennis is no pushover. I feel I should tell you that.’

Katie grinned. How had she ever thought Mrs Blatchett was sweet? This woman was terrifying.

They agreed that Dennis would contact Katie through his solicitor before the day was out and then Katie left the café feeling more adult than she had ever felt before.

She went home, packed up her car and said her goodbyes. Then she popped in to say goodbye to Great-Aunt Edna and set off back to London where she was desperate to put things straight: apologise to Jon, straighten things out with Sukie and then hand in her resignation to Dan. She would work her notice. She would
be
there for the summer party, at the end of the week: it was an event Dan was hoping would become a regular, along with the Christmas party, so it was vital that the first one was good. In fact the whole thing had been her idea, so there was no way she’d leave him in the lurch before that.

There was no doubt about it, she told herself as she drove home, Dan had been a more than decent boss. She had been given complete carte blanche with nearly all of her ideas, despite her being bolshie and prickly to him. However, the possibility of being her own boss, of not having to answer to anyone and of being responsible for herself was proving more thrilling than she could ever have imagined. Oh yes, this was the right thing to be doing. And not just for her. She needed to leave Dan and Geraldine alone. In the cold harsh, unforgiving light of day she knew that she should leave them to their joint risk-taking. (And Geraldine was certainly taking on a risk with him. A man who could so lightly betray her.) She tutted to herself, said out loud that all men were the same and then put on her Divas album.

Sitting in the Gnat and Parrot after work, Eva took the compliment from Matt as it had been intended. Eva knew how to take a compliment. This one, though heartfelt and genuine, wasn’t the best she’d ever had, but it would do. She gave Matt a warm grin and thanked him sincerely.

‘I mean it,’ he insisted.

‘I know,’ she insisted back.

‘You’re so easy to talk to.’

‘So you said.’

‘It’s almost like talking to myself.’

There was a fraction of a pause before she thanked him again, slightly less effusively than before. Then she crossed one leg over the other and resettled herself. She’d worn a short floaty skirt with little navy flowers on, a strappy navy top, strappy white sandals, a funky bright plastic ring on the middle finger of her left hand and a white cardigan for later. Her dark wiry hair was up in a ponytail; carefully coiffed ringlets shaping her face, and her features were enhanced with subtle, expensive make-up. And it had all been worth it because she was, she had just been informed, the easiest person in the world to talk to.

She glanced back at Matt, who was now staring at her short floaty skirt with little navy flowers on.

‘So,’ he started slowly.

‘Yes?’

‘I was just wondering . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Has Jennifer said anything to you about me?’

Eva pulled a face. ‘It’s all got a bit awkward at work, so she has other things on her mind at the moment.’

‘What’s happened?’ asked Matt. ‘Has his fiancée found out?’

‘No! If she had, Jennifer would be sacked. You wouldn’t want that to happen to her would you?’ Matt was silent for a while. ‘Would you?’ she repeated.

He shrugged. ‘If it meant she’d come crawling back to me,’ he said in a dull voice, ‘and force me to have wild passionate sex with her . . .’ he sighed, ‘I’d live with it, yes.’

‘You’re all heart, Matt.’

They took contemplative sips of their drinks.

‘So what are the complications then?’ he asked.

‘You really want to know?’

‘I really want to know,’ he answered stoically.

‘Right,’ prefaced Eva. ‘Well, at the moment, Jennifer’s problems include trying to find a cupboard big enough for her and her boss to do it in without his fiancée finding out, but with enough people in the office to realise so that his fiancée is suitably shamed and humiliated.’

Matt grimaced as if he’d just been punched in the stomach. The thought of that old man touching Jennifer actually caused a physical reaction in his body. How was that possible? He hadn’t even felt sick watching
Pulp Fiction
. He hung his head. Oh God, this must be love. Why hadn’t anyone told him love felt like being sick?

‘So,’ Eva said. ‘Let’s try and talk about something else. Seen any good films lately?’

He shook his head.

‘Theatre? Do you like theatre?’

He shook his head.

‘How’s school?’

He grunted.

‘How’s the café going?’

He shrugged.

‘What did you think about the war in Iraq?’

Another shrug.

‘What’s your favourite colour?’

They sat in silence for a while.

‘So,’ said Eva eventually. ‘When was the last time you saw Jennifer?’

‘A week and a half ago. She’s stopped coming into the café. Is she avoiding me? Or has she just got better things
to
do with her lunch-hour? Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. You see, that’s the thing –’

Then suddenly, as if from nowhere, another feeling, not quite as nauseating as love, not quite as spiritual as heartache but none the less very real, rose within him. Without lifting his head, his eyes shifted to his upper thigh and yes, sure enough, he found the cause. On it,
on his thigh
, as bold as brass, lay Eva’s hand. He knew it was hers because of the vast plastic ring on her middle finger. And because she was the nearest person to him.

He froze. Then he heated up. Then an inner ice cracked through the heat. His body was all over the place. He could almost hear a weatherman grinning inanely into the camera, pointing out various parts of his body: ‘And here we have a warm front drifting down to the groin, while in the north, I’m afraid it’s a thick, dense fog.’

Matt’s learning curve shot up into a vertical line.

‘You’re going to have to forget her,’ came a voice in his ear.

Forget who? he thought.

‘Come on,’ said Eva, her hand – the one on his thigh – squeezing ever so gently. ‘I’ll get you another drink.’

And suddenly the hand was gone as Eva took it to the bar with her.

He watched her and the hand go. That skirt was short. Not slutty short – just-right short. And the top went in and out exactly where she did, as if it was meant to. No, her body wasn’t like Jennifer’s, but if you looked at it from the right angles you could see it had many good points. He watched it for a while from the right angles. He watched it as she stood at the bar, one leg resting on the foot-rail,
strappy
sandal sliding off her foot, skirt rising up her thigh. He watched it as she turned slightly to her left and eyed a bloke at the other end of the bar. He eyed her back! And then she smiled at him. He smiled back! Tosser, thought Matt.

By the time Matt looked back at Eva, she was walking towards him with a warm, inviting smile. He jumped up, taking the drinks out of her hand.

‘So,’ he said, as soon as they sat down. ‘They’re showing a new Tom Cruise film at the Odeon.’

‘Ooh, I love Tom Cruise.’

‘Do you? Me too! Isn’t that funny!’

‘Yeah. Amazing.’

‘Fancy going? Tonight?’

Eva sipped her drink and gave him a little grin.

‘Yeah, why not?’ she shrugged.

Dan glanced across the street as he turned the Closed sign to face outwards, and Paul sat himself down at one of the tables near the counter. Dan joined his business partner and prepared himself for the worst. He could never have expected to hear what he heard. He blinked at Paul, and then smiled.

‘Congratulations! Blimey! What the hell brought that on?’

Paul allowed himself a smile. He shrugged. ‘I just woke up and decided she was the one for me.’

‘Had enough flings on the side had you?’

Paul shook his head firmly. ‘Those days are over, mate.’

‘Good. So what really brought this on?’

Paul gave a resigned look. He knew he couldn’t fool his
best
mate. ‘Well, all right,’ he started, and then gave a big sigh. ‘She just said that she wanted to know where our future lay, that sort of thing.’

Dan eyed his friend. ‘An ultimatum?’

Paul frowned in concentration. ‘I suppose, as it was, the relationship wasn’t really fair on her. She’s not getting any younger, she wants kids one day, we’ve been together five years. She needed to know where it was going, or –’

‘Or she was going to leave you?’ finished Dan quietly.

Paul nodded. He spoke quietly. ‘And it made me realise that all those stupid flings were meaningless. Without her I’m nothing. New slate. New me.’ Dan smiled. ‘The lads at work are ripping the piss out of me, but I knew you’d understand,’ continued Paul. ‘You being engaged and all that.’ Dan stopped smiling. ‘When you’ve met the one, you’ve met the one.’

‘This is wonderful news,’ said Dan. ‘So why the long face?’

And so Paul told him.

It was only afterwards, when Dan was sitting on the floor in the silent kitchen, staring at the dishwasher, that he realised he couldn’t ever have prepared himself for the worst because his imagination wasn’t that good.

Paul had said his well-rehearsed piece about how he had got the promotion. About how this and the prospect of his wedding made him realise it was time to stop gambling with money that wasn’t his alone any more. About how he wanted to put a deposit on a house and he might as well put it on as big a house as he could get. He owed it to his girlfriend – no, his fiancée. And then he had waited in an echoing silence.