Chapter Fifteen
It wasn’t a date.
Just a coffee, just an in-person chat, because they were both stranded in a place they didn’t know and, in Jen’s case at least, didn’t want to be.
So why was she nervous?
She was going for the ‘nice top and jeans’ outfit option, partly because it was only a coffee and not a date, and partly because that was all she had with her.
She and Julia were the same size, but she doubted there was anything in her sister’s mum-wardrobe that she’d consider wearing, even if she was willing to ask.
Jen tried to push away the memories that flooded through her mind, of herself and Julia as teens, in their parents’ cottage, giggling together about boys and getting ready for dates.
In those days they shared everything – clothes, make-up, stories.
She once told Julia things she’d never told another soul.
Until the one thing she’d told her that she wished she hadn’t.
Jen shook away the memories. Her phone beeped; the Uber was here. Living in a place where you couldn’t walk or get public transport wherever you wanted was new to her. Julia and Dan had both offered to drive her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck in a car with either of them.
The journey was a slow one, and the driver grumbled good-naturedly about the fact that the local country roads were never gritted, and that the snow was expected to continue for the foreseeable.
Waterfield was pretty as a picture in the snow, though, its cobbled streets sparkling and its pretty shopfronts twinkling with Christmas lights.
She slip-slid her way along to the café, trying desperately not to fall on her backside; the weather called for wellies, but the occasion warranted something slightly dressier.
Anthony was already there, sitting in the window, a large mug steaming beside him as he gazed down at his notebook, tapping his full lips with his pencil.
‘Hi,’ Jen said as she reached him, flustered in the sudden heat of the café. Her scarf got tangled in her earring as she unwound it and she could feel a sheen of sweat gathering above her lip. Not how she’d imagined meeting him.
Anthony looked up at her, dark hair falling into blue eyes, and smiled. He had perfect teeth. Of course.
‘You look great,’ he said, rising to kiss her cheek.
She took in the sharp line of his cheekbones and the chiselled angle of his jaw. Those eyes, resting on hers. ‘So do you,’ she murmured.
Come on, Jen, she told herself crossly. Get a grip. Where was the cool girl about town she usually was?
But, as Anthony stood and pulled a chair out for her, taking her coat and placing it on the spare seat next to him, she realised with horror that that girl was nowhere to be seen. She’d been replaced with a grinning, mooning idiot.
‘Working on the novel?’ she asked, nodding at his notebook.
‘Ah.’ He closed it and slipped it into the pocket of the coat he’d hung on his chair. ‘Something like that. So how was it getting here? I didn’t know if we’d get cancelled due to adverse weather.’
He grinned, and her heart leapt. Oh dear.
Hours passed quickly. Gingerbread lattes were drunk, mince pies eaten, canned Christmas music talked over.
‘Do you want to hear my confession?’ Anthony asked, leaning in so close that she could see the dark sweep of his eyelashes.
‘Go on, then.’
‘I love a chain coffee shop.’ He looked around, indicating the one they were sitting in.
He held up his palms and dipped his head.
‘Unpopular opinion, I know. Everyone loves a little indie café or whatever, and I get it, support the little man and all that. But I can’t help it, I love a chain!
You know what you’re getting, it’s reliable, it’s modern – no sticky floors or wonky handmade biscuits. I’m terrible, aren’t I?’
Jen couldn’t help thinking of Marnie’s café. The pretty gingham tablecloths and the delicious, unique home-made food. The well-stocked play area for the children. It was so much more appealing than a chain.
She leaned in, twinkling her eyes. ‘Want to know a secret? I agree!’
His smile lit up his face. ‘Really? Well, there you go. We were destined to meet!’
She laughed. She didn’t believe in destiny, and certainly not one dictated by opinions about cafés. But she liked the idea that somehow, for some reason, she was meant to meet this creative, free-spirited man.
He nodded to the window. ‘What do you think his story is, then?’
Jen laughed. ‘I don’t know, you’re the writer!’
He shrugged. ‘Give it a go, though.’ His blue eyes were on hers. ‘For me,’ he said softly.
She looked at the elderly gentleman he’d pointed out. ‘Oh well – he’s obviously Father Christmas in disguise. On a reccy! Checking out who’s been good and who’s been naughty.’
He caught her eye and bit his lower lip. ‘Uh-oh. Bad news for me!’
‘Your turn.’ She nodded to a rather flustered-looking woman walking past, clutching a bundle of bulging shopping bags.
‘Single mum,’ he said. ‘You think those bags have got Christmas presents for her kids, but no, they’re full of essentials – nappies, baby milk. She spent five minutes looking at the cheapest bottle of vodka and imagining going home and necking it while the kids play at her feet. But she resisted.’
Jen pulled a face. ‘Bit dark!’
He leaned on his elbows, so close that she could almost feel his lips brush her cheek, and smiled.
‘Ah, don’t worry, she’ll be all right. Father Christmas saw her resist the vodka when he was on his reccy, she and the kids are getting a great Christmas.
And she’ll go to a New Year party –’ he leaned even closer – ‘and meet her prince charming.’ He sat back in his seat, still smiling. ‘Happy ever after!’
In Jen’s version the single mum would get a high-flying job, have a glittering career and provide for her three adorable children that way. But she thought better of tackling him with a feminist argument right now.
They continued this way, telling stories about the people that passed until the light faded, and the staff began pointedly wiping the empty tables around them.
Anthony’s stories had more drama, but always a happy ending.
Hers, unusually given that she wasn’t a Christmas lover, centred more around Father Christmas and escaped elves.
Their casual coffee meet-up became a meal, the meal became drinks, and afternoon slipped into evening.
The stories they told each other were no longer about strangers passing in the street, but their own.
They’d both had country childhoods and escaped to the city as adults, both had a sister and adored that sister’s children – two nieces for Anthony, a niece and nephew for Jen.
As they sat curled towards each other on a sofa in a softly lit corner of a bar, Jen told him that she rarely spoke to Julia, that Julia was the favourite, the one who had done everything right while Jen had watched helplessly as her own life fell apart.
She didn’t go into details about what led to the tension between them.
She told him how hard it was to be trapped with her, how she could sense Julia’s desire to reconcile but couldn’t bring herself to forgive and forget.
She described the infinite cuteness of the children and how making up for lost time with them was worth every awkward sister moment.
He listened, his blue eyes sympathetic, his expression serious, resting a hand on her knee.
‘Families can be tough,’ he said when she finished. ‘But all of that – that judgement you feel, you know, the feeling like you’ve somehow . . .’
‘Failed?’
‘Yes. That’s just perspective. I don’t think of it like that.
Just because you’ve chosen not to give in to the nine-to-five job and the two-point-four kids doesn’t make the way you live less valuable.
You’re not conventional, you’re more interesting than that.
And people like us, we make braver decisions, you know?
Sometimes they’re harder.’ He smiled. ‘But they’re way more interesting, right? ’
She smiled. She’d never really considered that where she was in life was a choice, much less a brave one, rather than the result of disasters that had befallen her. She wanted to be the person Anthony saw her as. She wanted him to think of them as ‘people like us’.
‘I’m glad you think so,’ she said. ‘So what about you? Any dark secrets to share? Did your sister steal your inheritance or something?’
He grinned and shrugged. ‘Nothing so interesting, I’m afraid. All boringly amicable – we get on, the kids are cute, her husband’s decent and we’ll all have a bloody lovely time at my parents’ for Christmas.’
Jen laughed. ‘That’s lucky; my brother-in-law is the most boring man on earth, just a guy in a suit, you know? I bet he does no housework or childcare, I’m worried Julia’s secretly really unhappy. But I can’t believe it’s all so hunky-dory for you, I thought you were some kind of tortured artist?’
‘No, but you might be tortured if you ever see one of my pictures or hear one of my poems!’ He pulled a face. ‘You a poetry fan?’
Jen swallowed the last of her gin and tonic, and looked past him. The crowds had thinned out, and the bar had emptied. ‘Of course,’ she said.
‘Oh dear, so you’ll know mine’s rubbish then,’ he said, grinning and swirling the last dregs of his whisky. ‘Who’s your favourite?’
The last time Jen had read a poem she’d been at school. She loved reading, she was never happier than under a blanket with her nose in a book, but she preferred novels. ‘Sylvia Plath,’ she blurted, the only poet she could think of off the top of her head.
‘Ooh.’ He screwed up his face. ‘No one can compete with that!’
Relieved, she breathed again. ‘And you?’
Jen nodded and tried not to lose focus as Anthony spoke of the poets and artists he admired. She did her best to appear knowledgeable and cultured, the girl who was unconventional and brave and interesting. She wondered whether he was buying it. Because she’d give anything to be that girl.
At last they could no longer ignore the fact that the bar was empty and the staff were desperate to close up and go home. Anthony helped her into her coat and, as they stood on the street while the last revellers tottered away down the snowy street, he leaned in.
Her heartbeat quickened, and she moved closer, already imagining the press of his lips against her own. Instead, she felt the gentle brush of them against her cheek. Opening her eyes, she found his face close to hers as he gazed at her, and stroked a stray curl from her face.
‘See you again?’ he asked.
She nodded. Of course. A smile split across his face.
‘You know, I’m not – I don’t normally feel . . .’
She was shaking her head. ‘Nor me.’
That smile again, dazzling her.
He put her in a taxi and asked her to message when she was safely home.
Jen watched him walk away, and before she knew it he was gone, disappearing into the crowded streets.
She spent the journey in a daze, reliving every moment of the afternoon with him – every story he’d told, every touch of his hand.
The way he’d made her feel good about herself, like no one ever had before.
When she got back, the porch light was on and the rest of the house was in darkness. She tiptoed to her room, and messaged Anthony to let him know she was back safely.
The dancing dots appeared immediately.
Good to know. Lovely night with you x
Jen fell onto the bed, holding the phone to her chest.
She really needed to find a way to swot up on poetry and art.