The Happy Hour

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

The rest of the week passed as sluggishly as the weather had been before the storm broke. On Wednesday, Jess worked feverishly on her Etsy shop, fulfilling all the new orders she had ignored over the last few days. She came up with a couple of new quotes which were, unsurprisingly, on the cynical side. A new dawn is a chance for a hundred new disappointments and, If a shark stops swimming, it’ll die. If a person stops swimming, they have to worry about drowning and the sharks.

On Thursday, her spirits were lifted when Kirsty came into No Vase Like Home trialling a new muffin flavour: sausage and red onion relish.

‘The chunks of herby, caramelised sausage really make it.’ She held the box out to Wendy and Jess, who each took one. ‘I’m expanding my breakfast range.’

Wendy looked at Jess. ‘I feel like that’s a dig at us.’

Jess smiled. ‘Or a compliment about our dedication to breakfast muffins?’

‘That one.’ Kirsty pointed at her. ‘Any luck with what we talked about on Monday night?’

‘You mean tracking Ash down?’ Wendy said before Jess could reply. ‘It was a failure, unfortunately.’

Kirsty looked stricken. ‘He didn’t want to see you?’

‘He wasn’t there,’ Jess said. ‘And his neighbour told me he’d made an excuse not to have coffee with him on Sunday – so he wasn’t here, but he wasn’t there either.’

‘Wow.’ Kirsty rearranged the last muffins in her box. ‘You must have really done a number on him.’

Jess’s indignation flared. ‘He did a number on me, too! At least I’m trying to get in touch with him.’ She thought of her strange dream-not-dream, and wondered again if it had been real. But if he was trying to see her, then why not call? Why not reply to the messages she’d sent, that had started out apologetic, then aimed for jovially laid-back, and then, if she was honest, had got a little bit desperate?

Wendy tore her muffin in half. ‘Don’t give up on him yet.’

‘Definitely not,’ Kirsty said. ‘Think about how close Enzo was to losing everything. Now his stall’s full of beautiful new pieces, Sofia’s planning on splitting her time between jewellery making and teaching for the foreseeable, Carolina’s treatment is finally working out, and she’s going to be working with her sister. They’re all better off than they were before. So much good, from what was a horrible situation.’

‘Exactly!’ Wendy held her hand up, and Kirsty high-fived it. They both held their hands out to Jess, and she high-fived them at the same time, nodding and smiling. But the thing with Enzo was different: anyone could see that. When it came to Ash and what had happened between them, despite all the support and encouragement of her friends, she was on her own.

On Friday morning, Jess set about rearranging the shelf of hares and owls because, unlike her, their customers thought they were adorable, magnificent and quirky, and they were selling at least three a day. Wendy had, in deference to it being Friday – and because she knew Jess wasn’t her brightest, most perky self – put the radio on, and the strains of Carrie Underwood drifted out from the storeroom.

She heard the door open, and turned to greet the new customer. It took her brain a couple of seconds to process the strawberry-blonde hair, the smart, biscuit-coloured nurse’s uniform, the name badge that said ‘Margaret’. Ash, of course, knew her as Peggy.

‘Hello,’ Jess said. It came out as a croak.

‘Hey,’ Peggy replied. She looked, and sounded, wary. ‘You ordered a couple of mugs for me, and I had an email to say they were ready to pick up.’

‘Right. Let me... I’ll go and get them.’ She gestured to the storeroom and then almost walked into Wendy, who was standing just inside, holding a box.

‘OK, Jess?’ She frowned.

‘Fine. I’m fine. Are they the mugs?’

‘I overheard. They arrived yesterday.’

‘Brilliant.’ She took the box. ‘I’ll do this.’

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘I’m great,’ Jess said. ‘No problemo.’ She winced, knowing Wendy would see right through her, and turned around. Peggy was examining the glittery twigs by the front door.

‘Here they are,’ she said too loudly.

‘How are you?’ Peggy asked gently.

‘I’m really good,’ Jess said. ‘Tickety-boo, in fact. Shall I wrap these?’

‘Oh no, you’re fine.’ Peggy waved her away. ‘They’re just for home. John – my husband – and I love these mugs, but we had a dinner party that got a bit boisterous, and our set of six went down to four. My home aesthetic doesn’t tolerate mismatched mugs.’

‘That’s understandable,’ Jess said. Her whole body was a live wire, she was so desperate to ask Peggy about Ash. Surely, even though he hadn’t come here, and had missed Mack’s coffee on Sunday, he hadn’t missed seeing his dad? Unless, of course, he’d listened to her and decided he didn’t need to go any more. Perhaps he’d seen all three of them as obligations, and dropped the whole lot. ‘These mugs are lovely,’ she added blandly. ‘So pretty.’

‘They match our colour scheme,’ Peggy said. ‘When I pictured how I wanted our house to look, it was more blue than green, but now we have several feature walls that I lovingly refer to as cosy slime.’ She chuckled. ‘The paint was so expensive, so John said we had to at least give it a tryafter the effort of decorating it all, and now – with a few bright cushions and art prints – it looks pretty swanky. The slightly icky colours seem to be in vogue right now.’

‘Cheerful cushions always make a difference.’ Jess added an extra layer of Sellotape to the box, to make sure the bottom didn’t drop out while Peggy was carrying it. The song on the radio changed to a low, melancholy tune by Fretland.

‘Have you caught up with Ash recently?’ Peggy almost whispered it, as if she might get in trouble for asking.

Jess’s heart pounded harder. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘We had an argument last Thursday, and I haven’t heard from him since. I’ve tried calling, sending messages, but—’

‘Thursday?’ Peggy said. ‘Just over a week ago?’

‘I went to his flat in Holborn, but he wasn’t there.’ She chewed her lip. ‘His neighbour hadn’t seen him either, and I know it’s been so hard for him...’

‘What has?’ Peggy asked gently.

Jess nodded, expecting this. ‘He told me how you know him. That his dad abandoned his family when Ash was young, but now he’s in Greenwich, and he’s really ill. He told me that he visits every Sunday, and that you’ve been looking after him.’

Peggy’s smile was more of a wince. ‘He’s been hard on himself from the beginning. It’s been such a tough situation, a difficult set of circumstances, but he still came. He was a lot stronger than he thought he was.’

Jess took a large paper bag from the shelf under the counter and opened it, sliding the box inside. ‘He didn’t come here last Sunday,’ she said. ‘And I know we’d had a fight, but he’s made other friends here, too. I felt awful that what happened between us stopped him from turning up at all.’ She exhaled. ‘I know you can’t really tell me anything, but I just – how was he, on Sunday? Was he OK?’ She held her breath, watched emotions cross Peggy’s face like the shadow of clouds on a time-lapse video.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Peggy said. ‘It’s not my place to say anything. But I do know he likes you, Jess. He talked about you a whole lot, and it was always good.’ Her smile was soft. ‘You made things bearable for him.’

‘I’m glad,’ Jess murmured. ‘Glad I was able to help.’ She turned the bag around on the counter.

Peggy took out her purse and pulled out a credit card.

‘Hang on!’ Wendy hurried out of the storeroom. She had a smudge of something – possibly ink – on her cheek, and Jess resisted the urge to wipe it off.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘I honestly didn’t mean to overhear, but this is a very small shop. Hello, Margaret.’

‘Hey.’ Peggy was back to wary.

‘What’s wrong, Wendy?’ Jess asked.

‘Didn’t you hear what Margaret said?’ Wendy’s tone had softened, but she was speaking quickly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m not wrong, am I?’ Wendy said to the nurse. ‘You said, He was a lot stronger than he thought ... You made things bearable.Not make. It was all past tense.’

Jess’s breath stalled. She held the card reader out, and waited while Peggy tapped her card against it, the ping of ownership filling the space.

‘Ash wasn’t there on Sunday, was he?’ Jess said, when Peggy didn’t answer Wendy. ‘I told him he shouldn’t feel responsible, that if he didn’t want to see his dad, if it was so hard for him, then he should give himself a pass. But the way he spoke about it, the way he walked out – I never thought he’d listen to me.’

Peggy pressed her lips together, as if she was desperately trying to stop her mouth from forming words.

‘Oh my God!’ Jess laughed. ‘So then why hasn’t he been in touch? Why haven’t we been able to talk through everything?’ She held Peggy’s receipt out, and the other woman took it, her eyes full of sympathy.

‘That wasn’t my first thought,’ Wendy said quietly. She squeezed Jess’s shoulder, but she was looking at Peggy, and Jess couldn’t stop her gaze flicking between the two of them.

‘What do you mean?’

Wendy sighed. ‘My first thought was that Ash wasn’t there on Sunday because there was no need for him to be.’

Jess frowned. ‘But I...’ she started, and then, like a heavy stone dropping onto her heart, realisation dawned: the reason why Ash had been ghosting her, had bailed on Mack, had been absent in a way that felt too big for everything they’d shared. ‘Because his dad died,’ she whispered. Her throat was thick. How had that not occurred to her before now? She stared at Wendy, then Peggy. ‘Did Ash’s dad die?’

Neither of them spoke. Peggy dropped her gaze to the countertop. It was all the confirmation Jess needed.