Chapter Ten
‘Morning.’
Erin turned from where she was leaning over to wipe down a low pewter-topped table, to see Adam standing in the middle of the room, a wide smile on his face.
She blushed, convinced his grin was partly because he’d caught her with her rear end pointing skyward.
She straightened up and tugged down her navy-blue polo shirt with The Bookmark’s logo emblazoned on the breast pocket. ‘Hi.’
‘Okay if I sit anywhere?’ He gestured out to the room, where only two of the tables were occupied.
‘Yes, wherever you like, although I’d avoid Kiddies Corner. I’m expecting a few mums and babies to descend any minute. You here for breakfast?’
‘Yep. I thought I’d work here this morning, if that’s okay?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘As long as you keep eating and drinking, the table’s yours.’ She felt bad setting out her terms, but he needed to know that if he was still there at lunchtime, she might need the space for paying customers, unless he was one himself. She’d never run the café like that, and hated doing it now.
That wasn’t entirely true. She was happy when people like Zita or the baby groups hung out long after their drinks were finished, but a number of people had taken advantage of the space and free Wi-Fi over the years and that felt different.
One woman started to regularly hold business meetings over Zoom, her voice loud and clipped, while other tinny voices came through her computer’s speakers.
Erin let it go on for a few weeks until other customers started to complain.
She hated conflict, and her discomfort wasn’t helped by the fact the woman didn’t seem to see why her behaviour was a problem.
She argued that other people were holding conversations, and hers were no different.
She begrudgingly agreed to use headphones, but that only served to make her speak even more loudly.
In the end, Erin resorted to switching the Wi-Fi off and pretending it was beyond her control the woman’s meetings kept being interrupted.
She stopped coming in after the connection proved unreliable.
‘Understood,’ he said, saluting.
‘Black coffee?’
‘No, I’ll have an oat milk latte, please,’ he said. ‘I’m switching it up this morning.’
Typical, thought Erin. That man wasn’t happy until he was trying something different. ‘Coming right up. The breakfast menus are on the table.’
In her peripheral vision she saw Tybalt drop to his haunches and creep towards a fluffy Pomeranian who was snoozing by its owner’s feet.
Erin bounded forwards, just as the cat reached its extended claws towards the dog’s tail.
She scooped Tybalt up and deposited him on a free armchair, wagging her finger at him before making her way back to the kitchen.
As she did so, she made a bet inside her head that Adam would go for a full English.
She could already tell he was the type to ask for extra black pudding.
‘Could you take the order from the man by the window?’ she said to Jack, five minutes later.
Jack raised his eyes from the pan of beans he was pouring over buttery toast. ‘Okay, but I thought you said I was on kitchen duties and you were front of house until I’d got the hang of things?’
She took the pan handle from him and nudged him out of the way with her hip. ‘Yes, but that’s Adam from book group, and I’m not in the mood to chat.’
Jack poked his head out of the kitchen and scanned the room. ‘The fella with the biker jacket?’
Erin batted him on the arm. ‘Don’t make it obvious.’
‘Don’t you like him, then? He looks all right.’
Erin glanced towards where Adam was shrugging off his jacket, revealing another band T-shirt, The Police this time.
His shoulders were broad and his biceps firmer than she’d expected.
It occurred to her that she shouldn’t have anticipated anything about his physique.
She wasn’t in the habit of noticing if a customer’s arms were more muscular than average.
This man was endlessly disruptive. ‘He’s fine, but I don’t want to get into a conversation about that writing exercise. ’
‘Why not?’
‘Could you just make him an oat milk latte and take his order, please?’ She couldn’t hide her exasperation.
‘All right, keep your hair on.’
After a while, Erin peeked out from the kitchen to see what was holding Jack up.
He was standing by Adam’s chair, slouched back on one hip, as the two of them chatted.
Jack clearly had no idea how important it was to keep moving in a busy café.
Not that it was busy, at that point. She’d delivered the mushroom omelette and beans on toast for the only other people who’d ordered food in the last half an hour, and there were only two other occupied tables in the whole café.
That wasn’t the point, though. If Jack was going to work there regularly, he needed to speed up.
She decided to put two sausages in the frying pan in anticipation of Adam’s order.
The delicious smell made her stomach growl.
It was hard to resist the high-calorie food she had to make sometimes.
She bet Adam didn’t have that problem. It was so unfair middle-aged women stored more fat than men of the same age.
She was glad of another thing to hold against him.
He had no idea how fortunate he was, with his high muscle density and fast metabolism.
She was just about to add the bacon to the pan when Jack returned to the kitchen. ‘You took your time,’ she said.
‘He’s an interesting man,’ said Jack. ‘He’s writing a piece on what’s changed in the Lebanon in the thirty-five years since Terry Waite was released.
’ Erin vividly remembered her mother crying with relief when she heard the news that the humanitarian, who lived in Blackheath and worked at All Saints Church, had been freed after five years in detention.
She’d taken Erin to witness the candle the church’s reverend kept lit for the entire time, and they’d rejoiced at the sound of the church bells ringing in celebration at the gentle giant’s release.
‘Is he now?’ Erin lay a rasher of bacon beside the sausages, pulling her hand back from the sizzling fat. ‘Does he want black pudding with his fry-up?’
Jack’s brow furrowed. ‘He ordered avocado on toast.’
Erin turned to Jack. ‘Did he?’
‘Does he usually have a full English?’
‘He hasn’t been in for breakfast before, I assumed …’ She trailed off, watching the bacon fat brown in the pan. She’d wasted good food – food she’d already paid for.
‘Interesting,’ said Jack, slowly. ‘You thought that, because he’s a taller than average middle-aged man he would want a fry-up.’
‘No … well yes, but only because I’ve got years of experience of feeding middle-aged men.’ She gazed forlornly at the contents of the pan. ‘Do you want this?’ At least if Jack ate it, the expense wouldn’t be for nothing.
‘Yes please,’ Jack said with relish. ‘Don’t mind if I do. Why don’t you finish making that, and I’ll smash the avo for your man’s actual order?’
Erin poked at the sausages, disgruntled about being wrong, and blaming Adam for it, as Jack took an avocado from the enormous fridge, then cut a thick slice of sourdough for toasting. ‘I suppose the writing exercise will be simple for him,’ she mused, ‘since that’s how he makes a living.’
‘I asked him about that,’ said Jack. He turned the labels of the spices in the rack to face him until he found the chilli flakes. ‘He said he hadn’t had a chance to think about it yet.’
Erin remembered the uncomfortable expression on Adam’s face yesterday evening and wondered why he wouldn’t relish the idea of writing his last pages.
He was a writer by trade, and he embraced change and wasn’t afraid of risk as far as she could tell.
His motive for not wanting to write his own ending couldn’t be anything like hers.
She finished cooking the sausages and bacon at the same time Jack added a light drizzle of balsamic glaze to Adam’s breakfast.
‘Thanks,’ Jack said, handing her the plate, and taking the sausages and bacon from her. She wanted to protest and ask him to take Adam’s meal out to him, but he’d already bitten the end off a sausage and was chewing and waving a hand in front of his face, as if his mouth was on fire.
She tutted, slapped on a convivial expression, and delivered the plate to Adam, who greeted her with the same warm smile as before. ‘That looks great, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She swivelled to go back to the kitchen.
‘Erin?’
‘Yes.’ She turned back.
‘I hope this isn’t an impertinent question, but how old are you?’
Erin tucked her chin into her neck, then realized that gave her a double chin and released it immediately. ‘Why?’
‘Sorry, it’s just that I’m writing this piece about Terry Waite and wanted to talk to someone who remembered how people who lived around here felt when he was taken captive.’
‘Oh, right.’ Not such an odd question, then.
‘I was …’ She did the calculations in her head.
‘About fifteen when he was taken, so around twenty when he came home.’ Why didn’t she tell him she was fifty-four?
She wasn’t ashamed of her age. Her mother had drummed it into her that ageing was a privilege not everyone got to enjoy.
‘You’re my woman, then. I take it you lived here around that time?’
‘Blackheath born and bred.’
‘Maybe I could take you for a coffee sometime, in return for picking your brains?’ He glanced around the room. ‘Although that might sound like a busman’s holiday to you. A walk in Greenwich Park, maybe? Let’s swap numbers. I’ll message you when I know my schedule.’
Heat crept up her neck and the treachery of her own body made her furious. She wasn’t a teenager. She should be able to talk to someone of the opposite sex without going red. ‘Okay,’ she said. She recited her phone number and he put it in his phone.
‘I’ll message you now, so you’ve got mine.’
Erin’s phone buzzed in her pocket. ‘Let me know when, and I’ll make sure I’m not on shift.’ Before he could answer, she turned and strode back to the kitchen.
‘You look hot and bothered,’ said Jack, dipping the last of the sausage into a dollop of ketchup, then shoving it in his mouth.
‘It’s warm in here,’ said Erin.
‘Is it?’ He peeked past her at Adam. ‘Were you two discussing your last pages?’
‘No, he was asking me to help with the piece he’s writing, actually.’ She didn’t know why she sounded so defensive. She had nothing to hide. ‘We’re going to go for a walk in the park to discuss it.’
‘Are you now?’ Jack grinned, the pulped sausage bulging in his cheek.
‘I don’t know what you’re implying,’ she said, ‘but it’s purely about his work.’ Her face was irritatingly warm. ‘And wipe that ketchup off your moustache before you go back out there.’
‘Okay,’ said Jack, his voice an octave higher than usual. He scrubbed at the hair above his lip with a piece of kitchen roll.
To Erin’s relief, the café’s door rattled open. ‘Now stop being an idiot, finish that mouthful and go and earn your keep.’
‘Whatever you say, boss,’ said Jack, his lips still twitching with a smile that told her she was protesting too much. ‘Whatever you say.’
Only one table was occupied by 4 p.m., and the couple seated there were far too busy staring into each other’s eyes over half-finished cups of tea to need two members of staff to serve them, so Erin told Jack he could go home early.
‘Why don’t you go?’ said Jack. ‘I can finish up.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’m breaking you in gently,’ she said.
‘Before the summer rush.’ What was she doing, pretending she anticipated a massive surge in business?
Having her head in the sand was one thing, but she shouldn’t be blatantly lying to her son.
They both looked across the empty room, and she wondered if Jack was thinking the same as her, that a summer rush was as likely as the couple at the table suddenly realizing they were ravenous and ordering everything on the menu.
Maybe he could sense the café was nearing its end too.
She hoped not. One of them riddled with worry was quite enough.
‘Okay, if you’re sure. See you at home.’
Erin took a seat in her favourite chair, but instead of picking up her book, she opened the search engine on her phone and typed in Adam’s name.
There were an astonishing number of results.
He’d had bylines in every major British newspaper and several glossy magazines as well as more niche travel publications.
She turned her phone to show the cat, who seemed to have become a permanent fixture in the café since the gift shop closed.
‘Look at how impressive our new friend is,’ she said.
Tybalt mewed as if he agreed with her, which made her smile.
She tapped on a piece Adam had written for the Guardian about sustainability in the travel industry.
‘Hot and socially conscious.’ She gave Tybalt a firm stare.
‘Don’t tell anyone I said that first bit.
’ He responded by twisting and licking his bottom, which made Erin feel oddly judged.
Turning back to her phone, she used her thumb and forefinger to enlarge the photo by Adam’s name.
She felt a trill of excitement that he’d asked her to help with a piece he was writing.
The excitement was about the journalistic endeavour, she told herself, nothing to do with the handsome face of the man on the screen of her phone. Nothing at all.