Chapter Eleven
I can hear Jill humming in the kitchen. She’s making banana bread out of the reduced-price bananas I bought from the minimart in the village yesterday.
I pick up the single envelope the postman dropped in this morning.
I’ve not opened it. It has the coffee supplier’s logo on the front and I know what’s inside.
For a second, I think about sliding it underneath the till and burying my head in the sand.
Then, with a sigh, slide my finger under the flap and rip it open.
As I guessed, it’s a statement of my account, only this time it’s accompanied by a personalised letter from their accounts department. I fold it back up without reading it.
‘All done and in the oven,’ says Jill, wiping her hands on her apron as she comes out of the kitchen. ‘I managed to make three so we can freeze two of them and they’ll do us for a while.’
‘Thanks. You’re a gem. I’ll make some cookies later for tomorrow.’
Jill puts her hands in her trouser pockets and then takes them out and faffs with her hair.
‘What’s up?’
She approaches the counter and pulls up a stool. ‘Can I have a word?’
‘Always.’ I push the coffee supplier’s letter to the side, glad of the distraction.
‘There’s a job going at Ted’s school as a kitchen assistant.
It’s only over the road from me and it’d mean I get the school holidays off so it would help with childcare.
’ She rubs her hands down the front of her apron.
‘Only I know things have been a bit tough here lately and I don’t want to leave you in the lurch. ’
‘You absolutely wouldn’t be.’ I don’t miss a beat in replying.
Jill has been loyal to me and The Beach House and I’ll always be grateful for that.
I steal a look around my quiet café. I don’t know how much longer I can pay her wages, anyway.
This might be a good thing all round. ‘Go for it. It sounds perfect for you.’
‘You wouldn’t mind?’
‘Course not. I’ll get a student in for the summer. They’re always looking for hours, aren’t they?’ It’s not something I can afford, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Jill looks relieved. ‘I was dreading saying anything.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ I nod towards the driftwood clock hanging on the wall. ‘Why don’t you get off early? I can take the banana bread out of the oven.’
‘Aw. That’d be great. I need to get a bit of shopping in before I collect Ted from after school.’
With Jill gone, I set the timer on my phone so I won’t forget the oven and set to taking all the mugs off the shelf by the coffee machine and wiping them down. I only did this exact task yesterday, but I need to keep my mind and my hands busy.
The bell above the door tinkles and I turn to see Greg walking towards me. I put down the pink polka dot mug I’m wiping.
The wariness in his eyes reflects the feeling running through my body. We haven’t spoken since that awful non-date, and the few texts we’ve exchanged have been sanitised and short.
‘I’m on my way to my last meeting for the day. Thought I’d grab a coffee to go.’ He hovers by the till seat, but stays standing.
I put a takeaway cup on the drip tray of the coffee machine and press a button.
There’s something different about him. ‘Have you got gel in your hair?’ His chocolate-brown hair, which I’ve always liked, is tufted and spiky at the front and looks a bit silly.
Self-consciously, he runs his fingers through the stiff uneven clumps of hair. ‘Thought I’d try something different,’ he mumbles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
‘Looks great,’ I say, turning to concentrate on his coffee. It doesn’t, but what else do I say?
Coffee cup full, I hand it over. There’s something else different about him too, but I can’t quite pinpoint it.
He fiddles with his tie and it hits me. His ties are always navy blue.
Never black, or grey or bottle green, but navy blue.
That’s just him. But this one isn’t. It’s sky blue and has tiny daisies splashed all over it.
‘Is it dress-down Friday?’ I say, motioning towards his chest.
He looks down, frowning. ‘Don’t you like it?’
I shift uncomfortably. ‘It doesn’t feel very you.’
He puts his coffee down too hard and it splashes out of the hole in the lid. ‘I can’t bloody win, can I?’
The harsh pitch to his tone sets me on edge. ‘What?’
‘I’m trying to be more spontaneous,’ he growls. ‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’
I pause. It feels like an accusation and maybe it’s warranted. ‘I don’t want you to change.’
‘What exactly do you want then?’
Before I can answer, my phone alarm goes off. ‘Shoot. Sorry, I need to get that,’ I say, spinning around. ‘The bread will burn otherwise.’
‘Can’t you leave it for a minute? At least give me the courtesy of finishing this conversation.’
I’m torn. If I don’t get the banana bread, we’ll have no cakes for tomorrow. ‘I need to get it. I’ll only be a minute,’ I say. I feel like I’m on a tightrope being pulled one way, then the other, and about to plummet to the ground any minute.
‘You don’t care, do you? I went out of my comfort zone because I thought that’s what you wanted. And you won’t even finish a conversation.’ Greg’s eyes have narrowed and he’s yanking his tie undone. ‘We were better when we were friends with benefits,’ he spits out.
The door tinkles again and my eyes widen. This is not what I need right now.
‘What the fuck is he doing here?’ Greg hisses.
‘It’s a bloody café, Greg. What am I supposed to do? Put a sign up banning him from entering?’
Jackson has stopped at my one occupied table to chat with the two elderly ladies who are enjoying a pot of tea.
‘This is shit. I don’t know what you want, Ellie. But not this, I guess.’ He snatches his coffee off the counter and simultaneously yanks the sky-blue tie from around his neck. ‘I think we’re done.’
I freeze as the two men walk towards each other. I think they’re about to pass with no repercussions when Jackson has to ruin it.
‘Nice tie there, mate. Didn’t think floral would be your style. Bit jazzy, isn’t it?’
‘What are you doing in here?’ Greg’s voice is almost a hiss.
‘Buying a coffee,’ says Jackson as if it’s the most innocent thing in the world. ‘It is a café, isn’t it? Or did I get that wrong?’
Greg’s fist balls up and I know the colour has drained from my face. This cannot get physical. That’d be ridiculous.
My phone timer goes off again, but I can’t drag myself away from the show.
‘You’ve got coffee at your own place.’
‘Yeah, but it tastes much better when someone else makes it for you.’ Jackson finishes his words with a sparky smile, looking infuriatingly smug.
‘Whatever,’ spits out Greg, and he stuffs his tie into his suit pocket and stalks out of the door.
With Greg gone, Jackson looks over to me and when my alarm screams at me for the third and final time, I take the opportunity to run into the kitchen to try to gather myself together.
The minute I’m through the door, all thoughts of cakes, Jackson and Greg are out of the window because there is water pouring out of the cupboard under the sink.
‘Shit,’ I say, louder than I intended.
‘Everything OK?’ Jackson has followed me into the kitchen. ‘Oh crap.’
The water ripples around my feet as I get to the cupboard door. I yank it open. Water sprays out everywhere and I slam it closed. ‘Can you pass me a tea towel?’ I gesture towards the pile of clean towels on the side next to him.
He picks one up and splashes through the water to hand it over. ‘Want me to call a plumber?’
I almost laugh. ‘Do you know how much they cost?’
I take a deep breath and, holding on to the tea towel tight, crouch down and open the door.
The water is spraying out 360 degrees from the pipe at the back of the cupboard and it drenches my T-shirt.
I pull out the baskets full of kitchen sprays and washing-up liquid, then screw my eyes shut and reach out my hand to locate the pipe.
I wind the towel around it and hold it tight.
The water soaks through the towel almost immediately, but it stops spraying.
‘I need another one,’ I say, looking around the cupboard to find the stopcock. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.
‘Bit wet in there, is it?’ Jackson’s rich voice with its Aussie twang ripples all the way through me.
No shit, Sherlock. ‘Is that your attempt at helping?’ I snarl, squeezing as hard as I can around the fractured pipe.
With one hand I try to turn the stopcock which I’ve now located. It’s stiff and won’t budge. The water is squirting out through the fabric I’m holding on to for grim death. ‘Another towel, Jackson!’
‘Keep your hair on.’ His white trainers splash straight into the water and I get a glimpse of his orange heel tabs before a new tea towel is pushed into my hand. Then he ducks down and settles himself beside me, his head in the cupboard space alongside mine.
‘Having a spot of bother?’
I’m winding the second tea towel around the pipe. ‘Yes,’ I say, irritated. If he’s here to wind me up, he can fuck off.
He’s so close, he’s impossible to ignore.
He’s pushed his hair behind his ear, revealing that sexy eyebrow ring, and he’s already reaching for the wheel of the stopcock.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him clean-shaven and it accentuates his perfect full lips and the tiny dimple in the middle of his chin.
His smile is confident and my heartbeat accelerates.
‘Here, let me.’
I don’t want him to take over, but I’ve tried and failed and I can’t hold on to the pipe for much longer with one hand and stay dry. So I release my hold on the stopcock.
Jackson’s arms tense as he tries to shift it and every muscle is defined with the effort, the black of his tattoo dark against the golden of his skin. ‘It’s stuck.’ He lets go of the little wheel and shifts back, giving himself a break.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but your boyfriend’s a bit of an ass,’ he says, his eyebrows tilting up.