Nostalgic painting
It was Saturday afternoon, and everyone was at the sandwich shop, paintbrushes and rollers at the ready, and Robbie was holding court.
Max and Robbie had arrived a few hours earlier, putting down large dust sheets across the floors and preparing the whole shop to be painted from top to bottom.
Joe’s brother-in-law, Pete, was coming to work exclusively on the front door, while everyone else was going to help paint the shop.
Hope was still working on signage ideas with Robbie, and that would be done before the official opening.
It was going to be something minimal and small, perhaps hand-painted lettering and they were brainstorming ideas for a potential logo.
Robbie had decided to go with a Scottish theme inside, so the walls were going to be bright blue with white trim like the Scottish flag.
He had also decided to go with wooden floors to keep it smart and traditional, and they would be installed after the painting.
‘I’d like to thank all youse for coming today and helping out.
It really means the world to me, and my business partner, Max.
The idea of having me own sandwich shop was mostly, airy-fairy, never going to happen, pie in the sky stuff, so to be here, in me own shop, is proper magic.
This is hopefully just the beginning of Rab’s Sandwich Shop, and youse all will have played a part in it, success or no.
Once we’re done painting, I’ve sandwiches to go around, and some ice cold cans of Irn-Bru! ’
Everyone clapped, and then it was time to get to work.
Bethan was in a pair of denim dungarees, and Max thought she looked fantastic with her hair in pigtails too.
It was a little strange seeing her after his impromptu meeting with Emma in the week, almost like he was cheating on Bethan, which was crazy because nothing romantic was happening with either of them.
His thoughts and emotions were all over the place.
Robbie put on some music, a mix of the sort of songs he wanted to play once Rab’s was officially open.
It was essentially a playlist of his favourite Scottish bands from Aztec Camera, Travis, Paolo Nutini, The Fratellis, Del Amitri, Belle and Sebastian, Texas, and, of course, The Proclaimers.
With music playing they all got to work.
The least skilful or confident painters (Anita, Bethan, Max, and Charlie, who despite being the most confident person in that shop, admitted that he had never actually painted before) went into the back room, while Robbie, Joe, Eve and Hope, painted the front of the shop, where it really mattered.
Joe’s brother-in-law, Pete was stripping layers of paint off the front door, before he was going to paint it again in a brilliant blue.
Everyone was soon in a rhythm, listening to some classic Scottish music, and painting their strip of wall.
Charlie and Anita were on one wall, while Bethan and Max were on the other.
Bethan already had some paint on her cheek, which only made her look more adorable to Max, who was trying his best to think of her as just a friend.
Nothing was going to happen between them, and as difficult as it was, he just had to accept it and move on.
The consolation prize was that he also loved being friends with her, and he wanted to spend more time with her.
She was good company, even if she wasn’t ready for anything more.
‘Have you painted before?’ Max asked.
‘Once, but it was years ago, and after less than an hour, I was relieved of my duties because apparently, there was more paint on me, the floor, and everything else but the actual wall I was supposed to be painting. In the end, I ended up being the coffee and lunch run girl.’
‘You do already have some paint on your cheek, and some in your hair.’
‘Ugh, really? I’m useless at this,’ replied Bethan, laughing at herself.
‘Luckily you’re brilliant at so many other things, and honestly, I don’t think being good or bad at painting is going to have a massive effect on your life.’
‘Agreed. Although if I do ever get a husband, we buy a house, if he’s rubbish at painting too, it will mean we’ll have to pay professionals. So, technically, it could have a financial impact on my life.’
‘True, but one day I’ll buy a car, and that doesn’t mean I’m going to take a crash course in how to change a tyre, fix a spark plug or, you know, change out a carburettor.’
‘You say those words like you actually know what they mean.’
‘Oh, I know loads of car words. Like, err, gasket, oil filter, piston, crankshaft!’
Bethan laughed. ‘Stop it, you’re killing me.’
‘Fine, I literally know nothing about car engines, which was my point. When the time comes, I’ll go to a garage to get my car fixed, and I’m sure it will cost a pretty penny. You will just have to pay for a proper painter and decorator. It’s called life tax. The cost of living.’
‘Fair enough. Although now I know Joe’s brother-in-law, Pete, maybe I can get one at mates’ rates.’
‘Bingo!’ said Max, as they continued painting, while Paolo Nutini sang about new shoes.
Max hadn’t had much experience painting himself, apart from that one half-term when his parents had decided to paint the house.
Half-terms were usually kept for going on holiday or days out in London ticking off all the touristy highlights.
If his dad was working, Max and his mum would head into London on the train, usually with a packed lunch, and they would go to The National Gallery, the Natural History Museum, the Imperial War Museum, or they would do a walking tour, created by his mum, of London’s famous landmarks like Buckingham Palace, Big Ben or St Paul’s Cathedral.
Max had loved those days in London with his mum, who did so much to educate and entertain him.
However, on one of those half-terms, when Max was ten, they had stayed in all week to paint the house.
They had entrusted Max to help, but only in low-traffic areas where if he messed up, it wouldn’t matter.
The best part of everyday that week was dinner.
Because they were painting all day, they went out for dinner somewhere new every night.
Max vaguely remembered the painting, but he recalled in detail every restaurant they had gone to, and what he had eaten at each.
As Max painted, he thought back to that half-term, nostalgia ripping through him, and it was impossible for him not to feel something.
However, as he thought about it, the strokes of each roller taking him back to being ten again, it wasn’t pure sadness as it had so often been before, but instead with a fondness and a sense of joy.
The thought of spending a week at home with your parents painting would be absolute terror for most children, but he had loved that week.
His mum had moved the television outside with an extension cord through the kitchen window, and he remembered sitting outside while they had lunch, watching Neighbours, her favourite television show, over cheese and ham sandwiches, crisps and orange squash on old camping chairs.
The overwhelming feeling he had was one of happiness that he’d had that childhood.
Eventually they were all done, and it was decided that they would head to Clapham Common for Robbie’s sandwiches and ice-cold Irn-Bru.
The shop reeked of paint, and while Pete finished up with the front door, everyone else headed to the common.
They found a spot, and sat down while Robbie handed out sandwiches and cans of cold Irn-Bru.
Because it was outside and he didn’t have the time or way to prepare them, he couldn’t make his famous ‘The Scotsman’ sandwich, and so instead, offered everyone his favourite cold sandwich.
‘This is my version of a Scotch egg. Youse got hard boiled free-range eggs, a crumbed Scottish ham, a chive mustard mayo with rocket on my sourdough bread.’
Everyone tucked into Robbie’s sandwich, and immediately everyone started nodding their heads, saying ‘ummm’.
‘Mate, this is top-notch,’ said Charlie.
‘A ten out of ten in my book,’ said Anita.
‘I’d definitely tell all my cabbie mates to give this a bash,’ said Joe.
‘I think it’s the mayo that does it,’ said Hope.
‘I make it myself,’ said a pleased as punch Robbie.
‘It’s feckin’ delicious,’ said Eve, and when she smiled at Robbie and he smiled back at her, Max saw the look between them. Something big was happening with them, and it wasn't just about the sandwich.
‘It’s one of the best sandwiches I’ve ever eaten,’ said Bethan.
‘Thanks so much, youse all too kind,’ said Robbie, and when he looked over at Max, he gave him the thumbs up too.
Max had tried the sandwich before, and he wasn’t disappointed either.
It was delicious, and it made Max confident in Robbie’s ability to be a success.
If the shop failed, it wouldn’t be because of the quality of the food, and that’s where Max hoped he could help.
Neither of them had any experience running a small business, but Max had been to university, was more studious and liked the details of things, and was good at research.
Robbie was an incredible baker and creator of sandwiches, but Max also knew that Robbie had his shortcomings when it came to decision making, and taking care of things like paying bills and staying organised.
Robbie had been in trouble more than once because he had forgotten to pay bills.
Max knew that the success or failure of the shop depended on him to make sure that all the administrative business things got done, so Robbie could focus on the food.
As they sat on Clapham Common, Max thought about telling them all about his parents, as he had planned, but the sun was shining, everyone was happy, and he didn’t want to bring them down.
So, he decided to wait for another time, perhaps at run club when it felt more in-tune with the moment.
The last thing they wanted with their sandwiches and Irn-Bru was devastating heartache.
After they were all done, they wandered back to the shop to finish painting.
As they walked, Max and Bethan hung back together.
‘What’s been happening with you?’ asked Bethan.
‘Oh, you know, not much,’ replied Max, before he knew he had to mention Emma. ‘I did bump into my ex-girlfriend the other day.’
‘Oh, right. Was it awkward?’
‘Surprisingly not, actually,’ said Max, looking across at Bethan. ‘We went for a drink, and it was more fun than I thought, and it was sort of like old times before my parents’ accident.’
‘That’s good, right?’
‘Yeah, it’s good. Actually, we’re going to meet up again.’
‘Oh,’ said Bethan, and this time her voice changed a little. It was higher, with an edge of something.
‘Just before we parted, she asked if we could see each other again, and I said sure. It was just so relaxed between us, and all the drama of the break-up seemed to be behind us.’
‘Yeah, that’s great,’ said Bethan with a smile, but Max definitely detected something else in her voice.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, as they approached the shop.
‘Fine!’ said Bethan with a bright smile, and the energy in her voice had changed again. ‘Just happy for you. Right! Back to painting.’
‘Yes, back to painting,’ said Max, as they rejoined the rest of the group, but something was definitely off with Bethan.
He wasn’t always the best at reading people, and especially not women, but the tension in her voice and the way she acted about his news definitely made him think that she was jealous of Emma.
Was it possible? Could Bethan like him more than she had let on?
Was there a chance that maybe, after all, she might be ready to date?
The problem was, whether she was jealous or not, he didn’t want to put any pressure on her, or keep bringing it up because he didn’t want to jeopardise their friendship.
So, as they walked back inside the shop, and took up their paintbrushes and rollers, Max and Bethan worked in a slightly uneasy silence.
Something had clearly happened when he had mentioned Emma, but Max was too afraid to ask what.
Their relationship was a confusing one for Max because he liked Bethan so much, but she had been through the worst heartache imaginable, and despite his recent gains, he wasn’t sure he was ready for a relationship either.
But there was definitely something there he couldn’t ignore, like a nagging itch he couldn’t stop scratching.