Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
TOM
The heat arrives on a Tuesday and doesn’t leave.
By Thursday, the village has surrendered.
Shop doors propped open, dogs sprawled in patches of shade, the harbour shimmering like something out of a fever dream.
The surgery waiting room has two fans running and it’s still not enough – Mrs Carmichael’s spaniel is panting dramatically in the corner, and I’ve already seen three cases of heatstroke this week, all of them entirely preventable if people would just keep their dogs inside during the hottest part of the day.
‘It’s not natural,’ Jude says, appearing in the doorway with two bottles of water. He’s in his marine services polo, salt-stiff and sweating. ‘This heat. It’s not right.’
‘It’s May.’
‘It’s Cornwall. May in Cornwall is supposed to be grey and disappointing. This is Mediterranean. This is wrong.’
‘Take it up with the weather.’
‘I would if the weather had a complaints department.’ He tosses me a bottle. ‘Kit says the drill’s at four. He says if you’re late again he’s making you buy the first round for a month.’
‘I was late once.’
‘Three times.’
‘The first two were emergencies.’
‘The first one was a constipated hamster, Tom. You spent forty-five minutes on a constipated hamster while we waited on the slipway in the rain.’
‘The hamster recovered. You’re welcome.’
I finish the water and check the clock. Half one. Afternoon appointments start at two, which gives me just enough time.
‘Are you going to the café?’ Jude asks, too casually.
‘I was going to grab lunch.’
‘At the café.’
‘It’s the only place that does decent sandwiches.’
‘The Ship does sandwiches.’
‘The Ship does sandwiches that taste like cardboard wrapped in regret.’
‘You’re going to the café because Nina’s there.’
‘I’m going to the café because I’m hungry.’
Jude’s expression does something I’m choosing not to acknowledge.
‘Four o’clock,’ he says. ‘Don’t be late.’
The walk to the café takes four minutes.
The heat is thick and heavy; it’s sitting on my skin and won’t let go. The harbour is busy with tourists – families with buckets, couples with ice-creams, a group of teenagers jumping off the sea wall with reckless disregard of the will of the sea waiting for them below.
The café door is propped open, a fan whirring uselessly in the corner. Nina’s behind the counter, hair piled up off her neck, a smudge of flour on her cheek, and she’s talking to someone.
A man. Tall. Tanned. Effortlessly good-looking. He’s leaning on the counter – her counter – with the easy confidence of someone who’s used to being looked at, and he’s saying something that makes her laugh.
I stop in the doorway, slide my hands into the pockets of the blue scrubs I didn’t bother changing.
‘Tom!’ Nina spots me over the man’s shoulder, and her face brightens, opens, pivots towards me like I’ve solved a problem she didn’t know she had.
She does this every time. Every single time, and it means nothing, because this is how Nina greets everyone she’s happy to see, and she’s happy to see most people.
It’s not personal. I have to keep reminding myself it’s not personal.
‘Perfect timing. The machine’s doing the thing again. ’
‘The grinding thing or the hissing thing?’
‘A new thing. A sort of … coughing thing. It’s very dramatic.’
‘Machines don’t cough.’
‘This one does. Come listen.’
The man turns as I approach. Up close, he’s even more annoying with his sharp jaw, expensive sunglasses pushed into his hair, and an easy smile that I don’t like.
‘Sorry,’ he says, stepping back from the counter. ‘Didn’t mean to monopolise the barista.’
‘I’m not a barista,’ Nina says, waving her hand in a way that totally undermines her supreme coffee-making skills. ‘I’m the owner. I just make the coffee because I can’t afford staff.’
‘Owner, then. Even more impressive.’ He extends a hand. ‘Freddy. Staying at the Airbnb up the hill – the one with the blue shutters.’
‘Tom.’ I shake his hand. His grip is firm and holds on a beat too long. Attitude. ‘I’m the local vet. My surgery’s across the harbour.’
‘A vet. That’s great. I love animals.’ He turns to include Nina. ‘I’ve got a Lab back home – Charlie. Best dog in the world.’
‘They usually are,’ she says, blinding him with a smile that makes me irrationally want to stab his eyes out with a biro.
‘Tom’s very modest,’ Nina says, already moving towards the coffee machine. ‘He’s actually the best vet in Cornwall. Possibly the world. He once saved a flamingo.’
‘It was an inflatable flamingo. I just pulled a kid off it before he drowned.’ Okay, so maybe I puff my chest a little.
‘Still counts. Come listen to this machine.’
She beckons me behind the counter, into her territory, and I’m sliding in with a smirk while Mr Smooth is left standing on the other side with his expensive sunglasses and his easy smile.
The counter between us is two feet of scarred oak and it might as well be a wall.
Nina’s already crouching by the machine, waving me down next to her, her shoulder close to mine in the narrow space between the counter and the wall.
‘When did this start?’ I ask.
‘This morning. I thought it was just being temperamental, but it’s been three hours and it’s getting worse.’
‘Have you cleaned the filter?’
‘I’ve cleaned everything. Twice. It hates me.’
‘Machines don’t have feelings.’
‘This one does. It’s had a grudge since I bought it.
’ She leans closer, dropping her voice, and coffee and flowers and the warmth of her skin in the heat fill my head, making it swim, and her mouth is close enough to my ear that I can feel her breath.
‘Also, that man has been here for forty-five minutes and he’s only bought one coffee.
I think he’s working up to asking me out. ’
It’s a whisper.
‘Is that a problem?’ I say. My voice is level.
‘It’s not a problem. It’s just very obvious. He keeps finding reasons to stay. First it was the WiFi password, then dinner recommendations, then hiking trails. I’ve given him enough information to plan a full holiday and he’s still here.’
‘Maybe he really likes the coffee.’
‘The coffee is currently making a death rattle. Nobody likes it that much.’
I focus on the machine. The underside. Anything that isn’t Nina’s mouth three inches from my ear.
‘There’s a backup,’ I say. ‘Coffee grounds have compacted in the – here.’ I reach under and find it. ‘When did you last descale this?’
‘Define “last” exactly.’
‘Within living memory?’
‘Then … not since…’ I hear his name in the hesitation before she’s even whispered a letter. ‘Not since Peter.’
My gut winces with an imaginary punch. ‘Nina.’
‘I’ve been busy! There was, there was…’ our gazes meet as her words dance over the black months, the months of nothing she lived through. ‘And then, well, Truro, and reopening, and the dog, and—’ She waves her hand. ‘And you know.’
I could unpick this. I could dig into the grief, see where she’s at. But I’m a coward so instead I shake my head and smile brightly. ‘“You know” isn’t an excuse for poor machine maintenance.’
‘You sound like my mother.’
‘Your mother is a wise woman.’
I work the blockage free and the machine shudders, coughs, and settles. Nina beams at me like I’ve resurrected the dead.
‘You’re a genius.’
‘I’m a vet who’s fixed a coffee machine. Genius is a push.’
‘You’re a genius and I’m going to tell everyone.’ She reaches up and squeezes my arm, her fingers pressing through my shirt. The flour is still on her cheek. I could reach out and brush it away with my thumb. The movement would take less than a second. My hand doesn’t move.
Freddy clears his throat from the other side of the counter. We both look up, Nina still smiling, me crouching with a handful of coffee grounds.
‘I should probably head off,’ he says. ‘But it was really nice talking to you, Nina. Maybe I’ll see you around?’
‘Maybe. We’re a small village. Hard to avoid anyone.’
‘I was thinking more deliberately. There’s a new bistro with a terrace on the marina front in Amber Cove? I hear the crab linguine is incredible.’
He’s done research. I hate him for the research. I hate him for the crab linguine and the specific terrace and the way he’s leaning on the counter looking at Nina like she’s something he found and might like to keep.
‘That’s really kind,’ Nina says, but behind the smile is a stutter and I’m thinking I’m the only one hearing it. ‘But I’m not really… I mean, it’s a busy time. With the café. And the dog. And everything.’
‘Of course. No pressure.’ His smile doesn’t falter. ‘But if you change your mind, I’m at the blue shutters until Sunday. The offer stands.’
He saunters for the door and leaves. The door swings shut. The café settles back into its own air.
‘Well,’ Nina says.
‘Well.’
‘That was…’
‘Forward.’
‘I was going to say flattering, but forward works too.’
She takes the coffee grounds from my hand and bins them, and her fingers brush mine in the transfer, and I let them, because I’m incapable of not letting them.
‘He was nice, actually’ she says. ‘In a very obvious way. Like a golden retriever who’s figured out how to use hair product.’
‘Is that a compliment?’
‘It’s an observation.’ She wipes her hands on her apron and looks at me sideways. ‘Why? Are you offended on his behalf?’
‘I’m not offended on anyone’s behalf.’
‘You’ve got a face on.’
‘I don’t have a face on.’
‘You do. It’s your disapproving face. It’s the same one you use when someone’s been feeding their dogs chocolate.’
‘People shouldn’t feed any animals chocolate.’
‘People shouldn’t do a lot of things.’ She’s studying me, slightly too perceptive, seeing everything except the one thing that’s right in front of her. ‘You’re allowed to have an opinion, you know. About Freddy.’
‘I don’t have an opinion about Freddy.’
‘Liar.’ But she’s grinning, and the flour is still on her cheek, and she has no idea what this conversation is costing me. ‘Lunch? As a thank you for the machine?’