Chapter 3
F rom the little alcove inside the restaurant, Lucas watched the taxi pull away and disappear down the street. He hoped the woman in the fox dress was okay – she’d been shaking so badly, those pretty eyes full of fear, as if a bear had cornered her in the middle of the street.
‘What are you looking at?’ said Dwayne, craning his neck to see out of the restaurant window, too. Splatters of rain were falling on the glass, April living up to its reputation for showers.
Dwayne was Lucas’s friend from university – a big, broad-shouldered man with dark skin, a bald head, and a thick fuzzy beard he kept long.
He could always be found in a brightly coloured shirt: today’s choice was a blue shirt with mini alligators all over it.
Lucas didn’t know how he managed to look so effortlessly cool, even with some very questionable shirt choices.
‘Nothing,’ said Lucas quickly.
‘Wait, was it a woman? Where?’ Dwayne continued to lean to the side, trying to see.
The man cottoned on far too quickly, but he supposed that was a result of knowing one another since their first week of university. ‘No,’ he lied.
‘I always know when you’re lying.’ Dwayne broke out into a grin. ‘Come on. Did you ask for her number?’
The woman’s face popped back into Lucas’s mind – why was it he could remember every line of her face?
But she had been striking: shiny black hair hanging a little above her shoulders, eyes the colour of creamy coffee, and a peachy tint applied to her lips.
He wondered what her mouth would look like when she smiled; instead, she’d looked troubled and nervous. Why was that?
‘She was a random stranger,’ he said. ‘Why would I ask for her number?’
‘Because that’s what people do when they like someone?’ Dwayne laughed, knocking down the last of his beer and wiping the foam from his beard.
‘When did I say I liked her?’ he said, rolling his eyes.
‘It’s obvious from the way you’re pining at the window. You should have talked to her.’
‘I’m not looking for a relationship, Dwayne.’ But the woman’s face was imprinted onto his mind like a footprint; she had been beautiful. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sensed that little tug of attraction inside him.
Dwayne lifted his thick eyebrows questioningly. ‘You don’t want a relationship and yet you have a dog, which is a big commitment—’
‘ Exactly . A dog is more than enough commitment for me, thanks.’
Dwayne groaned. Lucas pushed the image of the woman far from his mind – it didn’t matter.
Lucas and Dwayne didn’t live here in Oakside; they lived in Windermere, where they ran Muddy Paws Café.
They’d come for a meeting with a local coffee supplier, since it was a good in-between location to meet – the meeting had just finished, the plates cleared.
‘I have too many responsibilities,’ Lucas pointed out. ‘And I’m not talking about having a dog. Running our business, paying stupid amounts of rent, trying to save up – and I want to help my parents sort themselves out. You know family comes first. They always have. Dating is never worth it.’
It still made him feel low-key irritated when he thought of his last girlfriend.
In spite of knowing about his dad, she’d hated him having his phone on him at all times, or sitting with it on the table if they were at a restaurant.
And if he didn’t reply to her messages within thirty minutes, she took it as some personal affront, rather than realising he was a grown-up with a busy life.
She also didn’t understand his commitment to Muddy Paws Café; she’d said he was wasting his time and his film degree by continuing to work in catering.
More than that, she’d screamed at him one day because he cancelled their date – his dad was in pain and his mum too busy at work to pick up painkillers or help him.
If a girlfriend meant neglecting the family who needed him – and the career he was building himself – well, he didn’t want one.
‘You’re missing out,’ said Dwayne, shaking his head. ‘You’ll realise it at some point.’
Lucas shook his head, because he didn’t feel he was sorely missing out in life by not diving back into the dating pool. It was full of sharks anyway.
*
‘Morning,’ Lucas called across Muddy Paws Café.
A damp breeze whipped inside along with a new customer.
The skittering of dog’s paws on wood was almost louder than the din of conversation coming from the nearby hikers seated around a table, loading up on strong Colombian coffee and thick, iced cinnamon buns before tackling the Brant Fell walking route.
An older woman approached the counter in a light rain jacket, her greying hair scooped into a ponytail, with a younger woman at her side.
Two dogs were straining at their leads, tails wagging fiercely, tongues lolling out in excitement – one shadow-black, the other like a caramel toffee.
The younger woman was trying to keep them restrained.
‘What can I get you?’ Lucas asked them.
‘A flat white for me,’ said the older woman, turning to the glass display counter to her left, where baked and sweet treats were set out alongside little handwritten labels.
‘And a tea. Go on, I’ll have a garlic and tomato flatbread too – looks delicious.
Want any snacks?’ she added to her friend – or daughter? – who shook her head.
‘Sure thing. Baked that flatbread fresh this morning,’ said Lucas, offering them a winning smile.
He went to grab a plate, picking up the flatbread with a pair of tongs. As he did so, he couldn’t help but overhear a part of their conversation. He glanced up briefly. The older woman was talking rapidly out of the corner of her mouth.
‘. . . she’s so young though, she can’t possibly have “chronic pain”.
’ The woman rolled her eyes heavenwards.
She said the phrase with quotation marks, as if she were talking about the existence of a unicorn or the Loch Ness monster.
‘Goodness, everyone thinks they have something these days! She’s exaggerating. ’
‘I don’t think she—’
‘Trust me, she is. I’ve met her type before. Work-shy, lazy. Can’t be bothered to work hard like the rest of us.’
Lucas dropped the flatbread – and the plate quickly followed, smashing into dozens of pieces around his feet.
The women looked up, startled, and the café quieted in the wake of the breakage.
The two of them said something to him, but the conversation was muffled now, like someone had clamped their hands over his ears.
Someone cheered jokingly across the café at his blunder, and noise and chit-chat broke out once again.
Dwayne came hurrying out of the back and assessed the situation in a fraction of a second. ‘Here, I’ll sweep up. You sort out the order—’
‘God, what kind of service is this?’ the woman muttered, though it was loud enough that Lucas heard, as if she wasn’t trying to keep her voice down at all. ‘We should have gone to the other place, like I told you.’
Forcing himself to unstick his feet, Lucas gave a shaky half-laugh and moved off to make the drinks.
He did it mechanically, though the hissing of the milk frother grated on his ears.
When he finally set a tray down on the counter – complete with a fresh plate and flatbread, and the coffee and tea – he had to force a smile, the sensation making his face feel strained with effort.
He was sure that didn’t do much for their confidence in Muddy Paws Café, but he no longer cared.
It wasn’t often he lost his cool; he needed to get it together.
By the time the women had taken their tray and were comfortably seated by the window, Dwayne had cleaned up the mess.
‘You okay, mate?’ he said.
‘Yeah, fine . . .’
But he wasn’t fine. Comments like that . . . This woman had no idea what she was talking about.
‘Why don’t you take a break?’ Dwayne suggested. ‘You’ve been at it non-stop all morning.’
They owned Muddy Paws Café together. Technically, Dwayne owned the largest chunk – he’d put up most of the money to open it using an inheritance, and Lucas had contributed what he could on top of that, which wasn’t much.
But they had done all the planning and preparing together – had talked about it for years before taking the leap – and Dwayne wouldn’t hear of anything but Lucas becoming his business partner and co-owner, regardless of the mismatched investments.
‘Thanks,’ said Lucas. The mishap had nothing to do with his busy morning, but he didn’t say so; repeating what he’d overheard would make him more irritated. He sighed deeply, as if the act could force the irritation from his body. ‘I need to call my parents anyway. I was too busy yesterday.’
‘How are they doing?’
‘Not great. Mum’s stressed out.’
‘If there’s anything I can do—’
‘Thanks, but unless we can somehow work a miracle, there isn’t much. We’re doing everything we can.’ Unhooking his apron, he clapped Dwayne on the shoulder gratefully and pushed his way out from behind the counter.
The group of hikers were leaving, tramping out across the wooden floor, raincoats and jackets rustling, and calling out their thanks.
A few of them thanked Lucas as they passed or offered him nods and smiles; one was stuffing the remnants of his cinnamon bun in his mouth and dusting the crumbs from his jacket. The door closed behind them.
Lucas went through to the room at the back of the café, which was much larger and filled with framed, artistic photos of various dog breeds, from Dalmatians to miniature poodles and Alsatians.
It opened up onto a patio with sets of tables and chairs spread around, and a timber pergola stretching over the space.
He headed outside, round the side of the building and into the shade of the trees.