Chapter 2
Unlike Liv, who meets most of her conquests online, Angus and I met in real life, during freshers’ week at Edinburgh university.
Having made my bid for independence by deliberately choosing to study about as far away as I could get from my parents’ home in Kent, I was determined to immerse myself in all things Scottish.
I wouldn’t have noticed Angus on the Economics Society stall had he not been wearing the most ridiculously garish kilt, and I couldn’t help stopping to ask if that was his clan’s tartan.
It wasn’t; he was wearing it specifically to get attention but, before I knew it, he’d invited me to join him and the other new society recruits for a drink that evening.
I made it clear that, as an English literature undergraduate, I had no interest in joining the Economics Society, but he was undeterred and suggested it would be a great way to broaden my horizons and meet people from other courses.
In the end, he wore me down and I have to admit it was a very pleasant evening.
He walked me back to my hall of residence at the end and, somewhere along the way, I seem to have agreed to go on a date with him.
The weird thing is that he really wasn’t my type, physically at least. He wore his long, dark hair in a ponytail, which has always given me the ick on men, and his wardrobe appeared to consist solely of black ripped jeans and a selection of black T-shirts advertising various thrash metal bands that I’d never heard of.
To complete the cliché, he had an electric guitar that he used to try to serenade me with.
I’m no princess, but even I struggled to find the screeches and feedback howls romantic.
He was, however, enormous fun to spend time with and I slowly found myself succumbing to his charms. By the time he graduated, a year before me, we’d mapped out our future in Scotland together.
He was going to secure a job in the Scottish parliament, and I’d offer private tuition so I could have flexibility to write the novel that I hoped would launch my literary career.
Of course, life never works out the way we plan, does it?
Not only did the Scottish parliament fail to spot that Angus was indispensable and offer him a job, none of the other companies in Edinburgh he applied to were interested in him either.
By the time I graduated, a year after him, he’d been forced to move back home to Glasgow, where his father had given him a role in the family carpet business as a fitter.
Although it was reasonably well paid, it wasn’t really making use of his talents and he spent a fair amount of time complaining to me about how boring it was.
Undeterred and in love, I relocated to Glasgow as well, where his mother welcomed me like a long-lost daughter, much to Angus and his brother’s amusement.
However, my own search for work was also fruitless.
Although nobody said it out loud, my Englishness definitely counted against me and I ended up working a number of zero-hours waitressing jobs while my writing went nowhere.
Thankfully, Angus never stopped applying, progressively widening his search until it pretty much encompassed the whole country.
Ironically, his chance of escape from his father’s sphere of influence came when he was offered a job as an employment coach in Margate, just over thirty miles from my own parents.
I was surprised how relieved I felt when he decided to accept it; although I’d been made very welcome by his family and still look back on my years in Scotland with affection, Kent has always been my home and I was ready to return.
It felt like this was going to be the fresh start we needed and I was delighted to see Angus throwing himself wholeheartedly into his new life.
And then, of course, I met Liv.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she says as I don one of the dark blue aprons with the Maison Olivia logo embroidered in white. It’s a week or so after my visit and I’ve left Meg at the flat to do a trial two-hour shift.
‘Always dangerous,’ I quip. ‘Dare I ask what about?’
‘You, actually. Well, you and me, to be precise.’
‘Are you propositioning me? I mean, I love you to bits and everything, but—’
‘Of course I’m not propositioning you. Apart from the fact that you’re totally not my type, you’re my best friend, and I wouldn’t want to risk messing that up.’
‘Now I don’t know whether to be relieved or offended!’ I reply with a laugh. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘Nothing. You’re beautiful, even if I sometimes worry about some of the dark stuff that comes out of your mind when you’re writing. I just prefer curvy women, that’s all.’
‘You know what they say: crime writers are safe because they let all their dark thoughts out onto the page. It’s the romance writers you need to worry about.’
She laughs. ‘I’ll have to add that to my lessons for life.’
Our conversation has obviously distracted her from the train of thought that started it, as she turns her attention back to glazing some strawberry tarts.
This gives me a dilemma. On one hand, Liv’s thoughts can often be direct to the point of brutality and they’re sometimes best left unexpressed, but how am I meant to know whether this is one of those unless she shares it?
I sigh. ‘So, this thought…’ I prompt.
‘Oh, yes! You got me so far off topic I completely forgot. Here’s the thing. You and Meg are rattling around in that flat without Angus and, not to put too fine a point on it, I think you’re lonely.’
This is one of the more brutal ones then. To be fair, she has got a point. The whole reason for me doing this trial shift is to give me time away from being on my own. Meg is lovely, but I miss conversation and I’ve probably leaned on Liv more than usual since Angus left.
‘I see,’ I tell her.
‘Don’t be cross. You know it’s true. Anyway, my spare room is massive, as you know, so I thought…’ She tails off.
‘You thought…’ I prompt again.
‘I thought you and Meg might like to move in,’ she says hurriedly.
‘Think about it before you shoot me down. You’d have your own space, with company on tap when you wanted it.
Meg and I already love each other and, unlike your flat, I have a secure garden she can use.
I’d charge you rent, obviously, but it would be a fraction of what you’re paying now so you’d be quids in.
I’d also have a bit of extra income, so it’s a win-win.
Don’t answer now. Think about it for a while. ’
This kind of generosity is typical of Liv, but she knows me too well. My initial reaction is immediately to say no. It just seems like a retrograde step; I may be a bit lonely, but at least I’m fully independent. If I move in with her, I lose a little bit of that and I’m not sure I want to.
‘What can I get you?’ I ask the waiting customer as I take my place behind the counter.
I may not have worked here for years, but everything is instantly familiar.
Even the forbidding-looking coffee machine doesn’t frighten me; I learned early on in my waitressing career that, despite each machine having its own set of foibles, they’re all much of a muchness underneath.
‘Umm, I’d like an espresso and a bottle of sparkling water, please, but I can’t decide on a pastry, I’m afraid. They all look so delicious.’
This is a familiar complaint and I smile at the man.
He’s wearing a pink jumper over a stripy blue shirt, and a pair of light grey trousers.
His thick head of hair is silvery-white, contrasting nicely with his deep blue eyes.
He’s either naturally fastidious or he’s made an effort for someone, as everything about him is spotless and I can just detect the faint woody aroma of his aftershave.
I’d guess him to be in his early seventies, but he’s in good shape for his age.
‘That’s not a problem,’ I reassure him. ‘Have you been here before?’
‘No. I’m, er, not local. I’m just here for the day, actually.’
‘OK. What flavours do you prefer, something fruity or more creamy?’
He smiles, revealing even white teeth. I’d be willing to bet they’ve had work done on them. ‘I like both,’ he replies. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry. If you were having tea, I’d recommend one of our fruit tarts to go with it.
The strawberry ones are lovely, but I’ll confess that the Tarte Normande apple one is my absolute favourite.
Coffee and fruit isn’t such a happy mix though, so I’m going to recommend a slice of our Flan Patissier.
It’s a French custard tart, absolutely delicious, and will go beautifully with your espresso. ’
‘I’ll happily accept your recommendation,’ the man says, handing over his card to pay.
‘Take a seat and I’ll bring it over as soon as it’s ready,’ I tell him, noting that he’s heading for one of the tables near the door.
‘He’s meeting someone,’ Bella, who’s working the counter with me, remarks as I place a slice of Flan Patissier on a plate and set about making his espresso.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Obvious. Look at the clues. He’s here on a day trip but he’s by himself. He’s made an effort to look his best without going over the top. Aftershave. No wedding ring. Sitting by the door so he can keep an eye on the pavement outside. He’s got first date written all over him.’
‘Blimey. Are you this forensic with all the customers?’
‘Oh, no. Only the interesting ones. See that lady over there?’ She nods in the direction of a woman about my age, who is savouring a macaron with her cup of tea.
‘Yes?’
‘She’s enjoying a bit of much-needed peace while her toddler is at nursery. I’m guessing the father doesn’t live with them and has pissed her off in some way.’
‘And you’re basing this on?’
‘Again, simple. She paid using her phone and I couldn’t help noticing that her lock screen image was her and the kiddie.
No sign of Dad in the photo and no wedding ring, so she’s not married.
Before she started drinking her tea, there was a bit of a messaging flurry and she didn’t look happy.
I reckon Dad’s a dickhead. Ah, here we go. ’
As if on cue, the door opens and a smartly dressed older woman walks in. The man immediately gets to his feet, smiling warmly as he shakes her hand and pulls out a seat for her.
‘Boo-ya,’ Bella murmurs. ‘Definitely first date. Sweet. Would you like me to take the order over, or do you want to wow him some more with your product knowledge?’
‘I’ll do it. You carry on your psychoanalysis.’
By the time I’ve delivered the man’s order, taken one from her for a pot of Earl Grey and a Tarte aux Fraises, and handed that over as well, I am in full agreement with Bella.
This is obviously a first date and, if the way she loops her arm through his when they leave is anything to go by, it’s going rather well.
Bella turns and grins at me when they’re gone.
‘You know what?’ she says softly. ‘If I’m still up for meeting someone new at that age, I’ll be amazed. Good luck to them, that’s what I say.’
Although I’m impressed by her powers of observation, I can’t help feeling a bit depressed.
It seems like everyone in here apart from Liv and me is either embarking on or already in a relationship.
Bella wasted no time on filling me in about her new boyfriend in a rare lull between customers.
Even the woman in the corner – who absolutely made Bella’s day by having a tense conversation on the phone that she swears ended with the phrase, ‘Oh, fuck off, Jason. You don’t get to shag around like you did and then come for me because I’ve moved on.
Pete’s twice the man you were’ – is evidently in some kind of relationship, even if her ex doesn’t seem that happy about it.
It all brings my newly single status into sharp focus.
By the time my trial shift comes to an end, however, my mood has improved and I’ve made up my mind about two things.
‘Liv,’ I announce as I throw my now less-than-pristine apron into the laundry bin. ‘It’s a big yes.’
She looks up from the tray of madeleines she was just about to put in the oven. ‘What is?’
‘Assuming Meg hasn’t torn the flat apart from the trauma of being alone, I’d love to do some shifts for you. You were right. It’s been good for me, being in here, being busy and chatting to the customers.’
She beams and wraps me in a floury hug. ‘I’m so pleased. You looked right at home out there and I’ll take all the help I can get, currently. Did you get a chance to think about the other thing?’
‘Moving in with you? I did, as a matter of fact. I’ll have to check with Meg, of course, but assuming she doesn’t object, we’d love to.’
Liv looks like Christmas has come early. ‘We are going to have so much fun,’ she assures me.
I hope she’s right. The idea of leaving our flat feels like cutting the final ribbon joining Angus and me, and after nearly ten years together, that’s a huge step into the unknown.
I shudder as I think about what that means on my journey home.
Although the idea of starting again with someone new doesn’t appeal in the slightest, I don’t want to be single forever either.
I giggle as I briefly contemplate putting on weight to see if Liv takes an interest. I love her to bits, but not like that.
A thought comes to me: What if she finds ‘the one’ while I’m living with her?
The idea of playing gooseberry until she awkwardly asks me to move out to give them privacy makes my skin prickle uncomfortably.
I hope I haven’t just made a massive mistake.