Day Six
Sara
I nudge Tyler awake. It’s an obscene hour, and he lets out a groan of frustration. After a few minutes, he’s reluctantly pulling on his jeans and gathering his clothes off the floor. This is a pretty usual routine for us.
‘I could stay,’ he says softly. ‘I could make you breakfast. Bring it to you in bed?’
‘I have to go to work soon and I need a shower.’ I pull the covers tight over my body, suddenly self-conscious. In truth I just want an hour or so to be by myself.
He leans forward and plants a kiss on my cheek. ‘Last night was good, Sara. It always is.’
I watch as he exits the room, his arse looking great in those bloody jeans. I groan again and pull the duvet over my head. The bed stinks of stale sweat, sex and Tyler’s potent aftershave.
He’s right. Last night was good. Tyler had called me up earlier and I realised that I needed company. When he came over, I’d actually been pleased to see him. I was still buzzing a bit from playing Lottie’s and my song and remembering the times we used to listen to it together, whispering our secrets and becoming even closer. It reminded me too of Jay, feelings that I had tried so hard to hide. Thinking about Jay again was hard. I had worked so hard to push him to the back of my mind, I thought he was safe there. I was obviously wrong.
Tyler had cooked me a lovely chicken dish telling me that I needed filling up. I didn’t think I was hungry but as soon as I started eating it was like I couldn’t stop.
‘It’s because you’ve been existing on a diet of baked beans and tinned soup,’ he told me, his eyebrows raised. ‘You need proper nutrients to recover.’
‘I’m not sick,’ I argued.
‘A broken heart is a kind of sickness,’ he said, leaving the table to check on the dessert (hot chocolate torte cooked to perfection). ‘My mum is half Italian. She always tells me food is healing. I guess I kind of agree with her.’
‘Only kind of?’
He opened the oven, and the waft of hot, rich chocolate overtook my senses. ‘Yeah, only kind of. I think there are other things that can help too. Far more fun things.’
I think of the sex now and my body tingles. Tyler might not be the best for in-depth conversations, or being able to commit to anything more long-term (not that I would want that either), but he is an incredibly good shag. I relive the moment he came up behind me while I ate my dessert and began to slowly and delicately kiss me on the back of the neck. It wasn’t long before he was leading me into the bedroom and peeling off my clothes, taking his time to touch and stroke every single part of me. It was no surprise that I was aching for him, that I actually had to beg him to fuck me. I know I was more insistent, more frantic last night as I clawed into the back of his skin, pulling him in closer, clamping my legs against his body so that I could really feel him. I know that I needed him to be fast and hard.
When I finally came, it had been like a small explosion, taking my breath away. I dug my teeth into his shoulder and moaned softly. He didn’t see the tears; they surprised me even. I’d never cried during sex before and I swiped them away quickly, angry at their presence.
I didn’t want sex to become tangled up in my other emotions. I’d always been so good at separating them, since Jay at least. He was the last man, the only man, where I’d let my guard down. Where sex had become something more than just a satisfying act.
Jay had been the only one where I’d let my defences down, and look what a mess that got me into.
After the sex, Tyler had picked up one of my old sketchbooks that I’d left lying around on the floor. Lazily, he’d skimmed through it.
‘Your art is so good, why don’t you do this any more?’
I pulled the book away from him, groaning softly. ‘Not now, Tyler. You’re ruining the mood.’
He nibbled my neck gently. ‘But I don’t get it. I never see you draw now, or paint. Surely you miss it.’
I tugged his hand, leading him back towards my body. ‘I’m too busy, Tyler. Too busy focusing on other things…’
I tried to focus on where his hand was going, and not on the book lying splayed on my carpet. Art was such a complex thing for me. All my hopes and dreams had been coiled around it. I had had dreams of doing something linked with my drawing, living a life that was creative and fulfilling.
But like so many of my dreams, this was another one that had been discarded and forgotten.
The jar is waiting for me again. Goose sits next to it like she knows, her tail curled around the base like she’s protecting it. I glare at her.
‘Since when did you get so bossy?’ I demand. Goose mews lightly and her green eyes flash, like she is telling me to get a move on. I don’t even know why I’m hesitating. Yesterday’s message had worked out OK – in fact, in some ways it had helped. A little.
‘But it’s not just that,’ I whisper. ‘Every message I read, means that another one has gone. Soon there will be nothing left of you.’
The curtain stirs in the breeze. I picture Lottie leaning up against the sill, her blonde hair catching in the light.
‘ But I’m not gone – not really. Now stop being an arse and choose your next one. ’
Quickly, I open the jar and select the next folded piece of paper.
‘I hope this is something achievable, Lottie.’ I mutter. ‘I’m working until six. I can’t do something crazy like a hot air balloon ride today.’
I read the words, a smile soon settling on my lips.
Go to Greta’s. Order the same crazy milkshakes we used to and try to sit in our seat by the window (if someone is already there, kick them out).
Remember the stuff we used to talk about. Remember when I told you about my fear.
You did something magical after that day. You need to connect with that.
‘So what’s the plan? You’re going to go there after work?’ Jess sips her coffee and looks at me in interest.
‘Yeah, I guess so. We often used to go late afternoon so the timing works. I might even order the messy burgers we used to eat.’
‘I thought you hated fast food.’
I shrug. ‘Not all of it. Actually, Greta’s always used to be pretty decent, though to be fair I haven’t eaten there for a while.’
She and I were chilling in the staffroom, taking a much-needed fifteen-minute break. The morning had already been full on. We were short-staffed due to staff illness, which had stressed Sharon out to start with, and then we had to call the doctor out for Jenny who had taken ill in her room. Likely, it looked like it was a virus and nothing too serious – but these kinds of things unsettled everyone, the residents included, and as a result there was a heavy feeling in the air. Jess had made us both mugs of steaming hot tea and ordered me to rest for five minutes because I hadn’t stopped since I’d arrived. Jess is a great advocate for taking breaks where you can.
I’d explained to Jess about the Jar of Joy and how I was having to follow an instruction every day. Jess seemed to get it straight away.
‘It’s like that movie I watched once, where the guy dies and sends his girlfriend messages and stuff.’ She screwed up her face. ‘I don’t remember much about it, but I know it was sweet.’
Jess also seems to be excited about me going to Greta’s tonight, although God knows why. It’s just a cafe after all, and an old and scruffy one at that. I’m surprised the place is still going; there are so many chains that have opened up all over the place now.
‘It sounds like it’s important to you both,’ Jess says. ‘Hopefully by going there it might bring you some, I dunno, peace?’
I hadn’t told Jess all of the message; I had kept back the bit about Lottie revealing her fear to me. That was too private, too important, to just share recklessly.
‘It might,’ I reply. ‘But it might also be painful. We went there all the time, either as a group or just me and Lottie. I don’t know why we loved it so much, but we did.’ With a sigh, I push my tea away, suddenly not wanting to drink it any more. ‘It’s going to be full of memories, they will be everywhere I look.’
‘Memories aren’t bad, Sara,’ Jess says gently. ‘You don’t have to fear them, in fact sometimes it is better to embrace them completely.’
Greta’s stands at the back of town, down a side alleyway that would be easy to miss if you didn’t know it was there. It is a tiny, narrow building with a scattering of seating outside and a beat-up noticeboard that seems to be displaying the same specials that it had years ago. I’m not sure who Greta actually is; for as long as I’ve known the place it’s always been run by a slightly overweight and red-faced man by the name of Frank, occasionally helped out by a range of young and flustered minions. Lottie and I used to joke that Frank had a secret life and lived as Greta by night, dressing in the finest gowns and wining and dining in high-end eateries. This memory immediately makes me smile.
As I walk in, the door rings and a familiarity floods through me. The smells hit me at once, roasted coffee and fried bacon, mixed with something a little sweeter, like cinnamon. We hadn’t been here for so long, I’m not even sure why. I guess we kind of grew out of the place. This was our teenage haunt, looking for cheap drinks and a place to hide from the rain and the cold, a place that didn’t mind if we took up a table for far too long. As adults, Lottie and I were far more likely to go to the usual nationwide cafes that filled the high street. The thought of that made me sad, like we had given up on a traditional and much-needed independent business in favour of something more commercial. It’s pretty empty in here, only a couple of tables are taken, and I wonder how they’ve managed to survive.
Frank is still serving at the counter, helped today by a young boy with short greasy hair and a hint of acne on his cheeks. I scan the menu even though I know exactly what I’m going to order. To my relief, it’s still there.
‘I’ll have the Super Strawberry milkshake please,’ I instruct the young boy. Then I pause, remembering Lottie’s instructions. ‘With extra cream and sprinkles.’
Frank had been cleaning the surfaces, but he looks up when I speak. His eyes sparkle and he points a stubby finger in my direction. ‘I remember you. Double trouble!’
I grin. Surely, he can’t recognise me after all these years. Double Trouble was the nickname he’d given us when we used to sit giggling in here all of the time. He used to joke that we were cooking up some dangerous scheme or other.
‘It’s been a few years,’ I say. ‘But I’m pleased this place looks the same.’
‘Some things never change,’ he says lightly, his eyes still on mine. ‘It’s good to see you here. Greg, make sure you put extra cream on this one. She’s a special customer.’
I feel myself blush. I don’t deserve this attention, especially as I haven’t been here for years. With a quick scan of the room again, I’m glad to see that our seat by the window is free.
‘She said you’d come,’ Frank says softly as he hands me the milkshake, and I blink in surprise.
It is just as I remember: a huge jug of bright pink milk topped with thick squirty whipped cream and hundreds and thousands. A massive, sickly delight – but we always loved it.
‘She came here?’ I whisper.
Frank nods and then gestures for me to follow him to our seats. Instinctively, I move towards the chair facing up towards the church. It was where I always sat; Lottie would be opposite me, her legs stretched out so that they touched mine.
‘She told me about her illness,’ Frank says gently. ‘Cancer is such a shitty, shitty thing. She was so young.’
I bow my head. ‘I know. It wasn’t fair.’
He touches my arm lightly. ‘She came by to tell me that you would be coming here one day soon and that you might be sad.’ He pauses. ‘But she told me to tell you to remember how it felt when you spent time in here with her. She wants you to remember those good times. How silly and daft you both used to be. How you drove me mad.’
‘Oh my God, we were so loud, weren’t we!’
Frank nods. ‘You were, but you lit up the place. Two pretty girls full of hopes and dreams. It was always a pleasure to have you here.’
I smile sadly. ‘Thank you.’
‘She also wanted me to give you this.’ Frank reaches into his pocket and delicately pulls something out. It takes a while for my eyes to register what it is, but when I do, I nearly start to cry again.
‘Oh, Lottie,’ I whisper under my breath. ‘How could I ever forget?’