Chapter 17
A call to my old PA at Mylk It confirmed my worst fears. They are trialling a pop-up in Bristol with a view to launching a permanent café here. The news has loomed like an ominous cloud over everything from the moment I hung up. What with my new commitments to the Barnaby’s Babes, general parenting of Lila, work and this new thunderstorm brewing, I’m feeling decidedly distracted by the time Sunday rolls around. We’re heading en masse to Mum and Dad’s local for Sunday lunch, which means that on top of everything, I’m now low-key freaking out that Mum and her razor-sharp perception will somehow figure out there’s something amiss between me and Joe. Poppy’s promised not to say anything about our relationship, so as far as my folks are concerned we’re all just going out for lunch with Lila and her pal Sidney. But still. Will she get a whiff of deception? Will she somehow uncover the strange dynamic of a fauxmance? To quote Eminem, my palms are sweaty.
Joe seems unusually on edge today, too, and I realise that with everything going on, we haven’t really spoken since the night out and the unwelcome appearance of Mylk It the following day. He doesn’t want to catch my eye and has barely said a word to me on the drive out here. Perhaps he’s nervous about meeting my parents?
We gather with the kids outside The Royal Oak and as we walk in, I spot my family propping up the bar. Dad’s wearing his classic Sunday outfit of checked shirt and chinos, Mum’s in a floral dress and Poppy’s wearing jeans and a purple velvet blazer with a white tee underneath, which she manages to make look unbelievably cool, the dick.
‘Mummy your hands are clammy,’ Lila points out, abandoning me in preference of the outdoor play area in the pub’s garden. But not before my eagle-eyed mother notices the comment.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ Mum asks, grabbing my hands and inspecting them.
‘Too much caffeine this morning,’ I say, attempting blasé. ‘Hello, Mum and Dad! Pops!’ Too keen, Sophie. Just plough on. ‘This is my fake – FRIEND – sorry, I mean friend. Ha ha! There’s nothing fake about Joe.’
I’m spiralling. Kill me now.
Poppy’s eyes bore into my soul.
Joe shoots me a look and I pat him on the back a bit too hard, which makes him splutter. ‘Joe, this is my mum Ingrid and my dad Charles. And you’ve met Poppy, obviously.’
‘Gosh, aren’t you handsome,’ chirrups Mum.
‘Good to meet you, son,’ Dad says with a firm handshake.
‘And you, Mr and Mrs Rogers. What a great place.’
While everyone else is admiring the pub I have a stern word with myself. There’s no point in getting het up, is there? I’m at the pub with my favourite people on the planet and there’s nothing I can do about Mark right now. I’ll figure out how to deal with all of that later and in the meantime, I should just enjoy today. This is meant to be a cosy Sunday lunch. No biggie! I haven’t been to the Oak since it had a makeover and it’s been ages since I saw Mum and Dad.
‘Bloody Mary?’ offers Joe. ‘Oh wait, you’re not drinking.’
‘I’d actually love one.’
The combination of vodka and pep-talk-to-self work their magic and I feel marginally less sweaty as I follow our group through to the table. I actually can’t believe this is the same place that Poppy and I used to sneak into when we were definitely not under age, officer. The brightly coloured bar is buzzing with customers. We’re led through to a large dining room, all exposed floorboards, reclaimed tables and chairs in green and blue. We’re seated close to French windows which lead out to the pub garden, former setting for many a drunken vomit, now fully landscaped with a wooden pirate ship for little guests to commandeer. Sidney is already shouting ‘ahoy there, me hearties’ from the crow’s nest.
Back at the table, Joe’s settled into a chat with my parents.
‘The thing is, Joe, I just love chicken in a basket. What’s so wrong with the classics, that’s what I say,’ Dad laments.
‘Not again, Charles,’ tuts Mum.
Joe nods. ‘You and my mum would get along well. She nearly disowned me when I ordered an alcohol-free Guinness when we went back to Ireland together last year.’
‘Zero per cent Guinness,’ Dad scoffs. ‘If you didn’t have that accent I wouldn’t be convinced that you were Irish.’
Joe laughs good-naturedly. ‘You can’t beat a pub classic. The roast beef sounds good?’
Dad scowls at the menu. ‘What’s a maple-glazed parsnip when it’s at home?’
‘Quick, let’s order before Dad spots the deconstructed puddings on the menu,’ Poppy teases.
‘Bloody hell,’ Dad mutters.
It’s not long before our food arrives and Joe’s tasked with persuading the kids to come inside and eat.
While he’s out, Mum leans across conspiratorially. ‘He’s lovely, darling.’
‘Yes, thanks, Mum, it’s really nice to have a friend at school now. Lila and Sid are—’
‘Never mind Lila,’ Mum cuts in, and I suspect this is the first and only time in her life she will ever utter that combination of words in a sentence. Even Poppy stops what she’s doing in shock.
‘He’s lovely,’ she says again, this time with a theatrical wink.
‘Steady on, Ingrid,’ Dad protests.
‘Well just look at him, Charles. So handsome! And such a good father. He was very open about what happened to his wife while we were chatting earlier. Poor soul. But still …’ Out of the corner of my eye, I note that Poppy is finding this hilarious. ‘Have you thought that maybe it’s time for you to get a new boyfriend, Sophie?’
I make a sort of ‘meh’ noise while she eyes me like an eagle.
‘Did I tell you that Auntie Belinda has a friend with benefits these days? They met at a surfing club for the over fifties on the beach in Fremantle. He’s an Australian called Scott. They’re not a couple but they get together to meet each other’s sexual needs.’ Mum’s saying this as if I might not be au fait with the concept of ‘friends with benefits’. If she graduates to ‘fuck buddies’ though, I’m officially emigrating.
‘Maybe you and Joe could have a go at that?’ Mum suggests. Dad has picked up a newspaper and is now studiously ignoring the rest of us. I’ve convinced myself that the only way through this cringe-fest is via another bloody Mary.
‘Great idea, Mum,’ Poppy, the devil, chimes in.
I shake my head at her in silent protest.
‘What’s a great idea?’ asks Joe, turning up right at the worst possible time.
‘What’s a friend with benefits?’ asks Lila, her little hand holding Joe’s.
Mum has the good grace to look mortified, Poppy is almost bursting at the seams with glee and apparently I am temporarily paralysed so it’s left to Dad to stand up, scoop Lila up into his arms and deploy the ultimate distraction tactic. He pulls a pound coin from behind her ear and hands it to her. Then he does the same for Sidney and by the time we’re all sat down again, it looks like all inappropriate chat has been long forgotten by everyone but me.
By the time we’ve finished our mains, Poppy has turfed me out of my seat next to Joe and is engaging him in a very in-depth discussion about the use of nature in Shelley’s poems. I’ve tried to catch Joe’s eye a few times, just to make sure he’s happy talking literature on his day off, but he seems genuinely engaged with my little sister’s conversation. Poppy, meanwhile, is hanging off his every word. She’s even making notes on the back of a menu for her next poetry group night.
‘How was everything, guys?’ booms a hearty voice.
I turn to see the monolith of a man that is Akoni Jones standing by our table. He looks even bigger within the frame of this cosy village pub. He’s wearing a white shirt and jeans, although the shirt looks like it’s trying to break free from his muscle-clad body, and he’s so tall that his head almost brushes the exposed beams on the ceiling. We all have to tip our heads up to look at him.
‘Akoni, dear!’ greets Mum, taking charge. ‘You already know Sophie, of course, but everyone else meet Akoni Jones, The Royal Oak’s new celebrity owner.’ Akoni protests the celebrity part but Mum just shushes him and introduces our group by name, explaining that she and Dad met him when they came for the pub’s reopening a while back.
Joe gets up to clap him on the back. ‘Good to see you again.’
‘Joey! Bro!’ Akoni is thrilled and I am tickled pink to hear Joe being referred to as a bro.
Poppy clasps my hand. ‘Jesus. He looks like Jason Momoa’s more intimidating big brother,’ she exhales, running a tongue over her lips. ‘Is this the southern hemisphere rugby superstar Mum’s been banging on about? He’s divine.’
Oh no. Poppy with a crush is a certified disaster zone.
She gets up to shake his hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Akoni. I would love to see your tackle.’
‘Poppy!’ Mum chastises.
Akoni looks startled. ‘Well, the only thing I tackle these days is menu planning.’
‘Perhaps we could have a chat about this deconstructed nonsense then,’ Dad says to an intake of breath from the rest of our table.
Mum starts fussing. ‘Charles! Leave the poor man alone. He’s clearly busy.’
‘We’ve actually got that on the agenda for our next meeting,’ I tell Dad. Still, Akoni affably pushes his shirtsleeves back and pulls a chair up next to my father.
Lila and Sid decide to head back outside while we wait for our puddings. Meanwhile Poppy’s eyes are trained on Akoni like a black widow eyeing up her next meal. ‘I need to wrap my hands around those biceps,’ she says, tongue all but hanging out.
‘Why don’t you run some cold water on your pulse points to cool down?’
‘Can’t. I don’t want to miss a second.’
Normally, this would be the point where Joe and I catch each other’s eye and share a moment but as I look over at him, expecting him to pull a little ‘what’s your sister like?’ face, I find that he’s already looking at me. When I meet his gaze, he quickly looks away. I’m genuinely disappointed at this, which catches me by surprise. He’s clearly not happy about something – maybe he’s annoyed about the friends with benefits chat? I fiddle with my cutlery and decide that I’ve never been one to let things fester. If there’s an atmosphere, I’ll face it, so I scoot over to Joe’s side of the table.
Dad and Akoni are locked in menu discussions, Poppy’s being a pervert and hanging on every word Akoni says and Mum is fretting about Dad saying the wrong thing. Reassured that they are otherwise occupied, I ask: ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Truth be told, I don’t know.’
‘You seem a little off with me.’
‘Well … I guess so. Maybe now’s not the time to talk about it?’
‘We could go and order some drinks, get a bit of space?’
Somewhat reluctantly, Joe agrees and we walk to the bar area together.
‘Have I done something to upset you?’
Joe chews on his lip for a moment, elbows on the vast mahogany bar. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s just that we haven’t spoken about, you know, that kiss we had and it’s been playing on my mind …’
Of course. Argh.
Joe picks up a drinks menu and carries on. ‘I just … it caught me by surprise and … I mentioned it the next day, right? But then Olivia turned up with those coffees and the whole work thing happened for you and of course you needed to deal with that. I get that. But it’s been, what, a week now? And I’m still feeling confused.’
It’s fair to say I’ve been feeling confused too but what we don’t need right now is two people who haven’t got a clue what’s going on.
‘We do need to talk about it,’ I agree. ‘And I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve brushed it under the carpet this past week, that honestly wasn’t my intention.’
‘I figured with Mylk It and Mark back in your head, I didn’t matter,’ he says, looking downcast.
‘No! That’s not it at all. You do matter! It’s just that with everything else going on I thought maybe we could just bury it.’
Joe winces at that and I immediately start to backtrack. ‘God, sorry, that sounded a bit harsh. The kiss was a weird thing to happen, right? Frankie was absolutely insisting that we kiss and I genuinely could not think of a reason not to—’
‘Wait, what?’
‘Remember? I was trying to apologise to you when I came up? Before it happened?’
‘I couldn’t hear you properly,’ Joe says. ‘All I heard was “demanding a kiss” and the next thing I knew we actually were, you know. I thought you … wanted to.’
OH GOD.
The bartender, sensing we’re in the middle of a deep discussion, gives us a few more minutes.
‘Right. I didn’t not want to but also … Urgh, I don’t know, it’s not as simple as that.’ How do I explain this? Obviously I can’t tell him I enjoyed the kiss because I need to squash those feelings. Trample them down like long grass under foot. I don’t need a man. I’m happy as I am – that’s what I said when I started this thing. But hearing the words come out of my mouth like this is excruciating. Sorry for kissing you because my friend told me to! It meant nothing!
‘Frankie and the mums were getting worked up and I didn’t feel like there was another option,’ I end up saying feebly.
Joe nods slowly. ‘Okay. No, that makes sense.’ Is it me or does he seem crestfallen? ‘I get it now.’
I eye him warily. ‘Are we okay?’
‘Yep,’ he says. ‘You wanna just chalk it up as a weird moment and get back to normal?’
I’m so relieved I nudge his side body with my right arm.
‘Yes please.’
‘All right then,’ he says, his face brightening. He’s not displaying the most dazzling Joe Kitson smile I’ve ever seen, I think as I call over the bartender and put in our order. In fact, I might even suggest it was on the half-hearted side.
I’m wondering if I should double check that he’s definitely okay when Joe nudges me back.
‘A horse walks into a bar …’ he says.
‘Oh my god! Are you suggesting I’ve got a long face?’
‘Never. Come on, let’s go deliver these drinks.’
Hmm. If the terrible dad jokes have made a return, he must be all right, I decide. And once we get back at the table to find that Mum has now reached nuclear levels of despair, there’s enough going on to distract us from any more awkwardness.
‘Sophie, for goodness sake, say something,’ Mum implores. ‘Your father is still talking about steak and kidney pie to Samoa’s top try scorer.’ Dad has drawn a picture of a pie on the back of his napkin.
I settle down between the two of them and grab a menu. ‘You know, we could save ourselves the Zoom and talk shop now?’
Akoni looks pleased to have been rescued. ‘Go ahead.’
‘So I think Dad’s not entirely off the mark. The Sunday menu is perfect but the midweek options are very trend-led. I’m all for the Korean-inspired food, the sharing plates … they’ll be a huge draw but a classics section might prove popular.’
‘Spotted dick,’ Dad says wistfully.
Akoni’s not sure what to make of this.
‘Yes, thanks, Dad. Just a handful of crowd-pleasers could really appeal, particularly for multigenerational diners like us.’
‘I would be all over your banana split, Akoni,’ Poppy murmurs from the other end of the table.
‘Poppy!’ That was Mum. I bite my lip. Joe stuffs his hand into his mouth to stop from laughing. I catch his eye and end up having to do the same.
‘Oh yes, with a bit of custard?’ suggests poor, oblivious Dad.
Akoni’s making a show of clearing his throat and I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a huge man look so flustered.
‘Maybe we should carry on this conversation another time, after all. Perhaps when we’re not being interrupted by lunatics?’ I suggest.
Grateful for the escape route, Akoni scurries off back to work.
‘Sweet boy,’ Mum says later when we’re leaving the pub. ‘Not as sweet as Joe though. He’s so good with my Lila.’
‘Yeah, he is,’ I say, watching as he straps the kids into his car. ‘Pop, want a lift back to Bris?’
‘I’m staying at the mothership tonight,’ she says. ‘Should we pop back here for a nightcap, Mum?’
‘Imagine, using your own mother to seduce poor Akoni!’ Mum protests. ‘Come on, I’m doing cheese and biscuits for supper.’
Before she gets into my parent’s car, Poppy grabs my hand. ‘Mum’s right. Joe is sweet. I’m really happy for you both.’
My throat catches as I say: ‘Thank you, Pop.’