Chapter Thirteen #2
‘It’s not my department, it’s Bill’s. Living and working together never works.
’ He laughs nervously and pulls at his tie, realising what he’s implied.
‘Not that we live together yet, obviously, but you know what I mean.’ The tips of his ears have turned red.
‘It’s the perfect job though. I know you’d be brilliant at it and it’s got progression built in.
’ He beams at me like a proud parent encouraging a six-year-old with their difficult homework.
‘Your dad thought this was the one you should go for.’
My heart skips a beat and not in a good way. ‘My dad? What the hell were you doing talking to Dad?’
Greg has the decency to look abashed. ‘We happened to talk on the phone.’
My eyes narrow. ‘Happened to?’
‘I needed to ask him something and we got chatting. I’d better go.’ He’s already getting to his feet and shuffling out from the picnic bench. ‘I’ll help you with your CV if you get it ready. I know what Bill’s looking for, so we can tailor it to the job. Talk soon.’
Before I can interrogate him any further, he’s almost running back towards his car, leaving me fuming. My dad. He’s been talking to my fucking dad. What the hell?
I take each of the printed papers and screw them up into tight scrunched balls and take aim at the rubbish bin attached to the café wall. There’s huge satisfaction in watching each one sail directly into the bin accompanied by an affirmation.
No.
No, I won’t sit in an office.
No, I won’t follow a plan made by two men behind my back.
No, I won’t become someone I’m not.
When the last ball of paper hits the bin, I let out a long breath and a bolt of clarity hits me.
Somewhere between Jackson’s understanding and his warm hand on my arm and Greg’s cold practicality where I’m supposed to be grateful to him for organising my life, I’ve realised something.
Something that’s been staring me in the face for a while now.
It’s not just the jobs that aren’t right for me, it’s that Greg’s not right for me either.
I’ve spent most of the afternoon trying to tailor my CV to the jobs I am applying for, but right now my head is fried.
I need a change of scene and I did say I’d call over to the Camper Café.
I have no clue what Sophie’s idea might be, but I am curious.
The bike ride along the coast road passes in a flash and I’m out of breath when I arrive at the library green.
Jackson’s wiping down one of their small metal tables.
‘Hey. You look like a tomato. Was that hard work? There aren’t any hills, you know.’ His eyes glint with humour.
‘Ha ha. Very funny. I could do with a drink.’
‘Milkshake?’
I stand at the counter and he goes inside to conjure up his magic. There’s a new picture to the right of the illuminated pink JAFFLES sign. It’s the blown-up photo of Daisy I gave him the other day. Seeing it up on public display hits me harder than I expected. He catches me looking at it.
‘I didn’t want to just shove it in a drawer.’
There’s something touching that he wants to share our special place with everyone, without anyone knowing that’s what he’s doing. I take the drink he hands me and we clink a cheers.
‘So, how’s Mr Suit and Tie?’
I shudder internally. ‘He’s OK. He didn’t see you, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Would it have been the end of the world if he had? No one should tell you who to be friends with.’
‘He doesn’t,’ I say quickly. ‘I need an easy life at the moment, that’s all.’ I want to tell him it’s over between Greg and me. He doesn’t set me alight the way I think he should and the way someone else does. But I’m scared, and I haven’t technically finished it, so I change the subject instead.
‘What’s this idea of Sophie and yours?’
His face lights up and he comes out from behind the counter and we sit down at one of the van’s small, round, black metal tables.
‘Mum was saying the other day how great your photos are and then it hit me. He gestures towards the Canon camera nestled in the front wicker basket of my bike. ‘What about holding some photography evenings? Teach people what you love.’
‘Who would want lessons from me?’
He gets up and brings the camera to us. ‘Can I?’
I nod. He switches the camera on and flicks through my pictures on the small square viewing screen. There’s a whole variety, anything from a seagull holding a vape in its beak and a crab waving its claws to dripping ice creams and the reflections of the waves in a pair of sunglasses.
‘These are stunning. Original. Funny. Thoughtful. Why wouldn’t anyone want to learn from you?’
I reach over and take the camera from him. ‘I wouldn’t even know where to start.’
‘I don’t take photos, so I don’t know the details. But use your café for the learning part and then take people down onto the beach for the practical. Tie it in with a barbecue and a glass of wine at the end of the evening.’
My mind whizzes around. He makes it sound so easy and very tempting.
‘But not everyone has a camera and if they do, they probably know how to use it. Do you think it could work?’
‘Why not? It wouldn’t cost much of an outlay. A bit of food and some wine from Aldi. The expertise and seating area are your own. And wandering along the beach is free. And everyone has a phone with a camera these days.’
‘What happens if nobody comes?’
‘Then you’ve not lost anything, but I think people would come. People love learning something new. The setting is breathtaking. And it’s not just about the camera. It’s about the way you see the world and translating that into something tangible.’
Before I can respond, Milo’s voice carries across the car park.
‘Alright, bro.’ He’s pushing their mum in a wheelchair. He grins at me and parks his mum next to me at the table. ‘Hello, beautiful,’ he says, as cheeky as ever. ‘Fancy seeing you here. That’s one way to make my day.’
Jackson’s eyes flash him a narrowed look.
‘Decided it was about time I tried one of Jackson’s unicorn milkshakes,’ I say, waggling my half-empty mini milk bottle.
‘You look as red as Ellie did from cycling here,’ Jackson says dryly.
‘You would too if you’d pushed Mum all the way here. The wheelchair doesn’t fit in the back of my Mini.’ He bends to gently tuck the soft grey blanket back around his mum’s legs.
‘It’ll keep you fit,’ Sophie says with a weak smile. She reaches out to pat his hand. ‘But I do appreciate it. I needed some fresh air and there’s something special about being able to hear and smell the sea.’
I’m fixated on her hand. The brown age spots are prominent against the sinews of her hand.
It looks like the skin is melted directly on the bones.
I cast my look up to her face. She’s still talking to Milo, so I can look without being caught staring.
Her cheek bones are prominent and her skin is wrinkled as it hangs from them.
She’s almost pale green in colour, although she’s applied blusher, but not with any finesse, and her eyebrows are awkwardly painted on too.
Her thin wispy curls have been brushed neatly, but it simply accentuates how little hair she has.
‘We’re getting Mum a drink. Do you want another?’ says Jackson, dragging my attention towards him.
‘No, I’m good, thanks.’
‘Milo, come on,’ says Jackson sharply and the lads head towards the camper, leaving Sophie and me together.
The quiet isn’t calming and I’m trawling my head for the right thing to say. The normal opening to conversations centre around ‘how are you?’ and ‘have you been up to much?’ And I don’t think either of those work.
‘They’re good boys.’ Sophie breaks the quiet.
‘I’m glad I got to see Jackson. And he pushed Milo to finish the van.
He never seemed to have time with all his other garage work.
They’ve made a great job of it, haven’t they?
’ She’s staring over at her two lads and her eyes have misted over.
Her chest is moving up and down and her breath raspy, as if it was an effort to speak for that long.
‘You could always go over to Australia to see him. Have you been?’
She shakes her head. ‘It’s too far. I’ll not get there now. That’s why he came to me.’
I’m about to ask her what that means, when raised voices float over from the van.
‘What is it with you going behind my back?’ Jackson’s angry. I’ve rarely heard him raise his voice.
‘Get over yourself,’ snaps back Milo.
They’re standing a couple of metres apart and look as if they’re on the brink of throwing punches.
‘Boys,’ says Sophie. But her voice is weak and it doesn’t carry.
I touch her arm. ‘I’ll go.’
‘Remember what happened last time?’ Jackson takes a step towards his brother, who doesn’t flinch one bit. If anything, Milo squares his shoulders and looks Jackson directly in the eye.
‘Don’t even try it,’ Milo growls. ‘I’m not a kid anymore.’
‘OK. OK.’ I plant myself between them. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘He’s threatening to hit me,’ says Milo.
‘He’s what? Why?’
‘Because that’s what he did last time. Gave me a black eye.’ Milo’s eyes shoot daggers at his brother.
‘Last time?’ I still don’t understand what is going on.
Milo shuffles his feet. ‘New Year’s Eve. Remember when I kissed you?’ he says, still glaring at Jackson.
I freeze. Shit. I didn’t think that would come back to bite me.
‘You hit him?’ I swing around to look at Jackson.
‘Yeah. He had no right to kiss you behind my back.’ He juts his chin out. ‘I was pissed off.’
‘So, you gave him a black eye?’
‘He’s lucky that’s all it was,’ retorts Jackson. ‘Now he’s flirting with you all over again.’
His attitude is seriously pissing me off. ‘You weren’t even around then. You’d fucked off overseas. I hadn’t seen you in years when it happened. What about if I asked him to kiss me?’
That floors him and his brow creases. ‘Did you?’ he asks, uncertainly.
‘No. But that’s not the point.’ It’s my turn to glare at him. ‘And why are you threatening to do it again?’
‘He has no right to be calling you beautiful.’ Jackson’s eyes flash towards his brother.
‘I can flirt with who I like, thank you,’ Milo butts in, but then his tone softens. ‘Bro, stop being angry at the world. You’re burying your head in the sand, but that’s not going to change things. You’ve got to face reality.’
‘Face what?’ Jackson’s eyes are dangerous now and I can see the tight line of his jaw.
Sophie’s voice drifts across the green. ‘Boys.’ It’s faint, but loud enough that it stops their bickering. She begins to wheel herself towards us.
‘See what you’ve done now,’ Jackson snaps at Milo and he goes to help his mum. ‘Hey, stop that,’ he says with feeling, jogging over to her. ‘I’ve got you. Your drink’s coming.’
I look at Milo. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I can’t do this now. He’ll kill me. I’ll talk to you later.’
Milo makes the drinks and soon we’re all sitting around one of their little black tables. The atmosphere is strained. The two brothers are still unhappy with each other and I’m back to trawling my head, looking for something safe to say.
‘How did you get on with the permits at the council?’ Milo asks eventually.
Jackson pushes his chair away so he can stretch out his legs. ‘Disaster. They are so unorganised. I swear I sent the right paperwork at the time. But they claim I didn’t.’
‘What paperwork?’ I ask, my heart sinking.
‘Oh, some bloody busybody complained about the Camper Café being here. Now the council’s making noises about shutting us down,’ says Jackson.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. ‘They can’t do that surely?’
‘They can if they’ve got no proof I submitted the permit,’ he says bitterly.
‘It means we might have to close.’ Milo’s fingers are white as he grips his glass of water.
I stare at the table, praying I’m wrong, that it wasn’t my letter that started all this. My act of desperation is going to bring the whole tower of cards tumbling down.
‘I’ll sort it,’ Jackson says. ‘Although if I could get my hands on whoever it was, I’d give them a piece of my mind.
’ His anger switches from Milo to the complainant and there’s no way I’m coming clean when he’s in this mood.
‘We mind our own business. We tidy up after ourselves every night. I’m telling you, if I find out who it was … ’ His voice is beginning to rise.
‘Shhh,’ says Milo, nodding towards their mum. Sophie’s head has lolled sideways against the back of her wheelchair and her eyes are shut. Milo moves to tuck the blanket around her again, pulling it further up her body. ‘The sea air must have wiped her out.’
‘Can I ask you a favour?’ says Jackson, his voice bordering on a whisper. ‘I have to go back to the council tomorrow for round two with Ms Officious. Milo will be here and Dillon can’t get off work. Would you sit with Mum for a bit while I’m away?’
‘Of course. Anything you need.’
The brothers are sitting quietly now, both looking at their mum, their eyes full of emotion. I want to pull them into a big hug and tell them it’ll all be OK. But after the end of that argument they’ve just had, I’m beginning to suspect things are going to be anything but OK.