Chapter 8
It quickly became apparent that Will was part of the group. I felt baffled about someone so lovely needing friends, but I didn’t hate that he might have space for me to become one of them.
He put the candles on the table and sat down on an empty side.
Decision made, I took the seat beside him, trying very hard to squash my silly smile.
Joel brought my order over and everyone else took their places. There were now six of us.
‘Right, well, I know we’ve all done our welcomes and catch-ups, but seeing as we have a new member…’
Member! I really couldn’t be a member of the most pathetic club ever, could I?
Except this gathering didn’t seem pathetic at all. Certainly, a lot less pitiful than me lolling about at home bingeing yet another season of Love is Blind.
‘…I think it would be marvellous if we introduced ourselves. I’m Donovan.
Seventy-eight years young. For over forty years I had the most enormous fun playing the piano on cruise ships, but when I retired, I realised I had nothing and no one to come back to.
I tried a couple of clubs, but they didn’t suit me, so I decided to start one of my own. Who’s next?’
‘Me!’ Joel shouted. ‘I’m Joel Tucker. This is my café, Tucker’s.
I run it with my mum. I’m twenty-three and I am mad about Robin Hood.
’ He stopped to point enthusiastically at his T-shirt.
‘And Christmas. I am also looking for a girlfriend. Would you please like to come on a date with me?’ He asked this with the same level of seriousness as he’d asked about sprinkles on my cappuccino.
‘Um, that’s very kind of you to ask, but I’m not dating at the moment. I also think you’re a bit young for me.’
‘I don’t mind older women,’ Joel said. ‘I’m actually very mature.’
‘She said no, son.’ Merry patted his hand. ‘That’s the end of it, remember?’
‘Okay.’ Joel shrugged amicably and took another piece of tiffin. I felt confident the rejection hadn’t broken his heart.
‘I’m Merry,’ his mum continued. ‘I help Joel run Tucker’s.
We also employ Samira, who works in the kitchen.
Oh, and Donovan volunteers a couple of times a week.
My age is nobody else’s business. Joel’s dad, Ray, works on oil rigs so he’s often away, but to be honest that’s probably the reason we’ve stayed married all this time.
I like cooking, line dancing, chatting to folk. Darya, your turn.’
The woman who had initially asked me to join them gave a beautiful smile. She had dark hair and eyes, with incredible cheekbones and the poise of a professional model.
‘Hello. I am Darya. I don’t mind telling you I am forty-three.
I have been living in the UK for almost four years now.
Eighteen months after I moved here to get married, the useless lump of flesh masquerading as a husband told me he was still in love with his childhood sweetheart.
’ She shrugged. ‘This is okay because my father was British, so I can stay even now I am divorced.’
‘You don’t want to go back home?’ I asked, which may have been an intrusive question, but Darya hardly seemed closed off about the subject.
‘My parents have died, so I have nothing left there.’ She held up one hand.
‘Please do not ask me any more about this. Anyway, Merry lets me live in the flat upstairs and I clean here and some other places in Bigley. I like getting rid of dirt. I need the friends club because the only people I met in this country were my husband’s friends.
’ She muttered a few words in a different language. ‘They were not nice people.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Darya.’
‘Wellington?’ Donovan said. It took a moment to realise he was talking to Will.
‘Wellington?’ I repeated, unable to resist smiling.
Will – Wellington – rolled his eyes. ‘I knew it was a mistake letting that one slip.’
Donovan chuckled. ‘You didn’t tell me, Jordan did.’
I remembered Jordan was Will’s son, because I had no friends and so had memorised the message this gorgeous man had sent me.
‘Will,’ he said, with a pointed glance at Donovan.
‘I’m thirty-eight. I have three children.
My sixteen-year-old, Jordan, has piano lessons with Donovan, where it seems they spend more time gossiping about me than mastering the instrument.
I used to work in a job managing lots of people.
I was constantly stressed, exhausted and unfulfilled.
Now I run my own solo business, doing epoxy resin casting.
I’ve never found the time or energy to make friends, so Donovan persuaded me to join the group.
What do I like? My kids. Most of the time.
Morning coffee on the back porch before everyone’s woken up.
Making chocolate chip pancakes together. ’
No mention of a partner. I made a note to ask what epoxy resin casting was.
‘So, that’s Merry and Joel, Donovan, Darya and Will,’ I said, using one of my business tricks to memorise their names.
‘There’s also Lola,’ Will added, ‘but she’s working today.’
‘I like Lola. She’s pretty.’ Joel nodded thoughtfully. ‘I would like her to be my girlfriend.’
‘Yes, but she already has a boyfriend, doesn’t she?’ Merry said.
‘Yes. And we must respect women’s choices about whose girlfriend they want to be,’ Joel said firmly. ‘Even if Fletcher is a feckless wazzock who takes her for granted.’
‘Joel!’ Merry cried. ‘Where did you come up with that idea?’
‘Darya told you last week. You said Fletcher is weaker than a second-hand teabag and about as tasty.’
Merry’s cheeks flushed the same shade as her jumper as she spluttered an incomprehensible reply.
Darya merely shrugged. ‘It’s true. I told this to Lola herself, so I have nothing to hide. Friends don’t let friends date trash. The problem is when they only reveal their trashiness once you have moved continents and given up the career you almost died for to marry them.’
‘You’ve forgotten someone else,’ Donovan said. ‘The most important person to be introduced!’
Ugh. I could tell by the way he pointed both fingers at me that I wasn’t going to avoid this. I had a couple of seconds to decide which ‘Alex’ to introduce. After everything these people had shared, it was a no-brainer, really.
‘I’m Alex. I’m thirty-six. Up until two weeks ago, I ran a consultancy business and was getting sort-of famous from the show Winning at Life.
Then I became properly famous after losing the plot live on TV.
If you saw the British TV Awards, or the many clips, memes and impersonations that followed, you’ll know I have no friends, so even though I’m here purely by accident, it was probably meant to be and I’m thinking I might stay, if that’s okay.
I’ve had just under two weeks to start discovering what I like, but so far that’s walking, reading and Ernest. Ernest here is a dog of indeterminate age and origin that my niece hoped would stop me spiralling into suffocating despair. So far, she’s been right.’
‘Thanks, Alex,’ Donovan said. ‘Although, to be honest, I recognised you the second you walked through the door.’
‘Right.’ I didn’t know how I felt about that. Was that why he was being so nice to me?
‘I did not recognise her.’ Darya furrowed her strong eyebrows. ‘I still don’t. Should I have seen these awards?’
‘I love Winning at Life!’ Joel said. ‘When were you on it? I’ve seen all of them, but I don’t remember the one where you won.’
‘No, this is Alex Nixon, the woman who tells people what to do,’ Merry said. ‘Not one of the people being helped.’
Joel frowned. ‘But Alex Nixon is bossy and fun with pretty hair and a smart jacket. This Alex is sad and tired and super scruffy.’
‘Joel!’ Merry hissed.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I said, smiling, because his honesty was a wonderful antidote to months of celebrity-induced flattery.
‘I am sad and tired, Joel. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.
Plus, when I’m on TV they put on loads of make-up, someone sorts my hair and they use clever lighting and cameras to make me look better than I am.
This is the real me. Sad, tired, a complete mess. But the only way is up, right?’
‘Right!’ Joel gave me a thumbs up.
We chatted for a couple more minutes, then Donovan announced it was lunchtime. ‘After that, we’ll discuss the advent challenge and the next party.’
With the wind still wailing and rain hammering at the windows, the atmosphere in the café grew cosy as the group smoothly got to work dishing up mugs of tomato soup and handing round a platter of sandwiches.
The soup was watery and bland, the sandwiches basic cheese or ham on thin white bread.
I reminded myself how I’d once upon a time savoured a cheap tin of soup and something to put inside a sandwich and gratefully accepted.
‘Is it okay if I ask the other “how are you” question?’ Will asked quietly, the group breaking into smaller conversations as they settled down to eat.
I released a slow breath. ‘Dr Bashak isn’t worried, but I’m being seen at the hospital on Tuesday, just to rule out anything nasty.’
He nodded gravely. ‘Okay, that’s Dr Bashak. How are you?’
‘Mostly all right.’ I put down my spoon. ‘I’ve been trying hard to take each moment as it comes, focus on the next meal, a walk, a book I’m reading. And then all of a sudden, this ice-cold wave of dread rushes in from nowhere. It knocks the breath out of me, freezes me in my tracks.’
I shook my head, trying to keep the tears back as I lowered my voice to a whisper.
‘Apart from you, I’ve not told anyone. Well…’ I gave a weak laugh. ‘And everyone in the surgery that evening who happened to be listening. It’s a miracle someone didn’t blab to the press.’
‘The past couple of weeks must have been horrendous. The internet can be a complete cesspit.’
‘You’ve seen the clips about me?’
He scrunched up his face in apology. ‘It’s been hard not to.’