Chapter Nine
The unmistakable smell of frying onions and garlic greeted Erin when she arrived home that evening. She hung her bag and coat on the hook in the hall and went through to the kitchen, where Jack was stirring the contents of a large frying pan. ‘Something smells good.’
‘I’m making a veggie chilli,’ Jack said. ‘Thought you might like someone else to cook for you after feeding the masses all day.’
‘Lovely.’ Erin squeezed past Jack and opened the fridge.
She grabbed a bottle of beer and held it aloft.
Jack nodded, so she took two out, and shimmied past him again to the drawer with the bottle opener.
The kitchen wasn’t built for two adults to use simultaneously.
Funny how big and empty the flat had seemed over the last three years, and now it felt tiny and cramped.
‘Not that the masses have been flocking to the café in their droves. I wish they would.’
Jack took the bottle she offered and clinked the bottom of it against hers, before taking a swig. He put it down and glanced at her. ‘Quiet day?’
‘No more than usual. The regulars were … regular, at least.’
‘Was Zita in?’ He grinned.
‘Yep. The sugar bowl was predictably empty when she shuffled off home. I’m surprised that woman has any teeth left. She’d be able to make six Victoria sponges a week with the amount of sugar she pinches from me.’
‘Unless she’s stealing it to sell it on,’ said Jack, tipping a can of chopped tomatoes into the pan. ‘Or maybe she uses it to feed her stable of champion racehorses.’
‘Ha! I wouldn’t put it past her.’ Erin imagined the old lady holding out a handful of sugar to a whinnying thoroughbred. ‘I should ask her for a cut of her winnings, or at least a good tip. Every little helps.’
Jack stopped stirring and turned to her. ‘Are things not going well?’
Erin could have kicked herself. No matter how anxious she was about the future of the café, the last thing she wanted was to bring Jack to her worry party. ‘Ignore me, I’m being a grouch. Book group was weird this evening.’
‘Weird how?’
‘Riley came up with this idea of us all writing our own last pages, the last chapter of our lives if we got the ending we wanted, or our next chapter, or something.’ She couldn’t exactly remember the criteria they’d settled on, but she did know that she was already being forced to focus on the future more than she would like.
‘Deep,’ said Jack, sprinkling chilli flakes over the simmering dish and folding them in.
‘I know, right? I mean, who knows how their life is going to turn out?’ The chilli hit the back of her nostrils and she coughed.
‘But you can dream, can’t you?’
‘I suppose so.’ Her dream was that everything would stay the same, but that was looking less and less likely. She took a drink, the cold, crisp liquid soothing the sting of the spice. ‘What would your perfect last chapter be?’
‘God, don’t ask me,’ said Jack. ‘I’m stressed enough about what’s coming in the next few weeks. If I look further ahead than that, I might go to bed and never get up again.’
‘Oh, love, don’t say that.’ She wished she’d never brought up the stupid idea. ‘You don’t need to worry. Everything will work out.’ She was a hypocrite and she knew it. Saying don’t worry was about as useful as saying don’t breathe, in her experience.
Jack looked about as convinced by her words as she was. ‘I was hoping I could do some shifts at The Bookmark while I’m job hunting. That work for you?’
‘Oh, right, yes, of course.’ She couldn’t say no without giving him a good reason, and he clearly didn’t need another cause for worry.
As soon as he secured something permanent, she’d tell him and everyone else what was going on.
She might even have come up with a solution by then.
The churning in her abdomen told her that was a fantasy, but if the café was going down anyway, what difference would Jack working there for the last weeks really make?
She’d always worked at the café during her university holidays, and it had been a natural progression to take over when her mother became too frail to run the place ten years ago, but it was a thriving, profitable business back then.
Jack had always preferred to work part-time in local pubs before, where there was more of a buzz.
She’d presumed that was what he’d do to tide himself over now.
Apparently not. ‘You sure you don’t want to work at The Crown again, or The Hare and Billet? ’
‘Don’t you want me cramping your style?’
‘Don’t be daft. I thought you’d prefer to spend time with people your own age, that’s all.’
‘I’m catching Riley up,’ he said. ‘And I feel like working at the café would look better on my CV. Bar work is all right, but every student’s done that.
Unless I’m completely incompetent, I was hoping I could say I was the assistant manager of The Bookmark or something, if you ever trust me to run things on my own. ’
‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’
Jack shook his head. ‘I haven’t,’ he said. ‘I really, really haven’t.’
Neither had she, but she didn’t want to tell him that.
She would let the new state of affairs sink in over the next few weeks, and try to come up with a plan for the future while Jack concentrated on finding himself a graduate position.
She still had Riley to consider, though, so she gave herself a deadline.
If Jack hadn’t got a full-time job in four weeks and she hadn’t managed to find a solution, she would share the grim news.
If The Bookmark really did have to close, Riley and Jack would still have two months to find work elsewhere.
As would she, she reminded herself, as terror mixed with grief threatened to swallow her whole.
The next morning Erin and Jack left the house together at six-thirty, and made their way down to Blackheath village.
A mist hung over the heath to their left and there was a nip in the air, which Erin knew wouldn’t last when the early June sunshine worked its magic.
The weather was meant to be glorious for the rest of the week, and she hoped that would bring more tourists into the café.
‘I’ve missed this view,’ said Jack, scanning the vivid green ahead of him.
The spire of All Saints Church reached majestically into the cloudless sky.
Built from pale Kentish ragstone, Erin always thought it looked like the model of a perfect English church plonked in the middle of the heath.
It could just be seen from the doorway of The Bookmark, and when there was a particularly pretty sunset, she would find herself drawn outside to marvel at the beautiful building against nature’s spectacular backdrop.
‘I’m not surprised,’ she said. ‘Bit different to Birmingham, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t knock Birmingham,’ said Jack. ‘It might not be as pretty as this, but it’s got its attractions.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ said Erin, glancing both ways before crossing Royal Parade and making her way past Buenos Aires Café, then turning right into Brigade Street.
‘I thought you were a Londoner through and through.’ In truth, that was one of the things she found reassuring; even though Jack went away to study, she always thought he would return, and when he did, he would stay.
‘I am,’ he said. There was a wistfulness in his voice that made her turn to look at him. ‘But I might have to go where the work is.’ He followed behind as she unlocked the door and clicked the fob on her keyring to turn off the beeping alarm. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’
‘You’ll find something in London,’ said Erin.
‘I’m sure you will.’ She marched through to the kitchen, not wanting her son to see the worry on her face.
Now the café was slipping from her grasp, she couldn’t think about her son moving away again too, however much they both needed him to be in full-time work.
It felt like she was losing everything she held dear, and it was all she could do not to drop to her knees and beg the universe not to make the changes she feared were coming her way.