Another Cup of Coffee (24 page)

‘Kit?'

Jack spoke flatly, a feeling of betrayal rising in his gullet. Sensing this was the case, Amy continued. ‘She wasn't grassing you up, so don't get all precious with her. Kit wondered if I was all right. I think she assumed I called our pub trip off because I was ill or something.'

‘Oh.'

Amy let the silence last for a little while before she went on. ‘Jack, I don't expect to see you all the time. If you're planning on going clubbing or something, then go. Just don't piss me about, all right?'

‘Sorry, Amy.'

‘Right. So,' Amy was suddenly business-like, ‘if we go for a pizza, will you be staying for the completion of the meal?'

‘You mean you'll come?' Jack was both relieved and surprised, and sounded it.

‘On one condition.'

‘Which is?'

‘Your mobile is turned off and you stay for pudding. Then, if you go clubbing afterwards, you'll have something in your system to soak up the alcohol.'

‘That's two conditions.'

‘True, and there may well be more later!'

Jack couldn't disguise his relief, ‘I don't deserve you, Amy Crane.'

‘No, you don't. I'll see you outside the pizzeria on the High Street, and we'll make it seven-thirty rather than eight. Do
not
be late.'

Amy hung up. She felt lightheaded, she'd been gripping her mobile far tighter than she'd realised, and her fingers ached. Yet she'd been the strong one for once. The one in control, and it felt good.

Trapped in thought, Jack cradled mobile in between his fingers. He should have told her about Toby; it had been the ideal opportunity. Maybe he'd tell her tonight. No. Tonight was about Amy. He'd do it soon though, before she found out on her own and went ballistic.

Forty-two

December 11
^th
2006

‘How's it going, then?' Jack collapsed into the chair next to Kit and, pinching up her notebook, started flicking through it.

Kit snatched it straight back and closed the pages, keeping her hands firmly on the cover. ‘Slowly, but I'm fairly pleased with what I've done so far.'

‘What's it about then?'

‘You'll see when it's finished.'

‘And the erotica, oh mysterious one?'

‘I emailed
Pearls
, explained the reason for the delay, and filled them in about Scott and my brief holiday from reason.'

‘They understood?'

‘Of course they didn't! They're kind and everything, but they have a website to run. It's sexy stories they want, not sob stories. It is a business after all.'

‘Ah.' Jack waved hello to Peggy as she moved across from the counter to serve some customers with tea and cake.

Kit continued, ‘After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, we've come to an agreement. I'm going to do three more short stories and another two bits of flash fiction for them; just to keep them ticking over while they find a new regular contributor, and then I'm quitting. I'm more than ready to have a go at a few novels, some of which I hope will be erotic. In fact,' Kit picked up her coffee cup, ‘I've already approached a couple of publishers to see if they'd be interested in compiling all the other stories I wrote for
Pearls
into one big anthology.'

Jack was impressed, ‘You're clearly not as stupid as you look.'

Kit doffed an imaginary cap, ‘Why thank you, kind sir!'

‘You could call it
Confessions of an Over-Imaginative Thirty-Somethin
g'

‘Gee, thanks Jack, but I think I might work on that title a bit.'

Pickwicks' door creaked opened and Amy came in. As she crossed the room,

Kit urgently whispered to Jack, ‘Does she know about Toby yet?'

‘No,' Jack hissed backed, earning himself a black look from Kit as Amy slumped down unceremoniously next to him.

Amy hadn't expected Jack to be there, but after he'd managed to stay put throughout their entire meal the other evening without seeming even remotely fidgety, Amy had given up being cross with him. It was pointless anyway, somehow she'd always forgive him whatever he did, and they both knew it.

‘What's the matter with you? You've got a face like the proverbial wet weekend.' Kit moved her collection of editing pens out of the way, so Amy had room on the table in front of her for some much needed caffeine.

Amy yanked off her rain spattered coat. ‘I guessed you might be here. I fancied some company.'

‘Here? On your day off? Looks like an emergency coffee stop to me. I'll fetch it, save Peggy's legs.'

Quickly returning, laden with three steaming mugs, Kit said, ‘So?'

‘I can't find a job.'

‘Nothing?' Jack was surprised. After what she'd said a few weeks ago about not searching for work until Peggy was sorted, he hadn't realised Amy had started looking; but then he thought, he hadn't asked her about jobs since Scott had left hospital, ‘but you've got so much experience.'

‘Oh, I can be a waitress or sweet-talk folk in pubs or shops no problem. I can be an unappreciated temp, scooting around various London offices, getting hopelessly lost in between appointments, or I can go back to being a junior version of what I did before, but I don't want to do that. It was so boring, and most of the advice I gave got ignored anyway, and then the idiot businessmen blamed me when they still went bust.' Amy sighed ‘But I know I can't afford to be picky, not if I want to stay around here.'

‘Do you want to move?' Jack surprised himself with the realisation that, despite his initial panic at the prospect of having Amy back in his life, now she was, he didn't want her to leave again.

‘Not really. Not now I've found somewhere I seem to fit in.' Amy blushed as she waved her arms around in frustration. ‘New job, new home, new life, that was the plan, but it's hopeless. I've got the new home; I've got friends, although I've totally given up on the new relationship part of my new life, but I feel clueless about a career.'

‘You're happy working here though, aren't you?'

‘I love it, Kit, but Peggy can't afford to pay me full-time, and although I'd work for her for nothing, that won't pay the bills, will it.'

‘I didn't mean that really,' Kit felt the stirrings of an idea come to her, but she decided to keep it to herself for now. ‘I meant you like working with people, don't you?'

‘Yes, but it's also nice not to have to all the time. Sometimes it's lovely to be able to hide behind a computer screen and not have to plaster on a happy face, especially when you have chronic P.M.T, or feel as sick as a dog, and all you want to do is scowl through the day and eat chocolate.'

‘That's true,' Kit agreed, ‘I don't know how Peggy does the constantly-smiling thing, I really don't.'

Jack laid a hand over Amy's, ‘Something will turn up, don't worry.'

Amy sighed again, trying to dispel the image of her dwindling bank account. ‘Let's change the subject. How's Rob doing?'

Once Jack and Amy had gone off to their respective destinations, Kit re-opened her notebook and read the last couple of paragraphs with satisfaction, before reluctantly closing it again, and taking a different pad out of her bag. Only five more naughty stories, then she could focus solely on her novel. The idea of that spurred her forwards, as she picked up her pen and began to write lines of kink. It used to scare Kit how easily she dreamt up erotic story lines; now, she was simply grateful, as luridly fun descriptions splashed across the page.

Jack had already got several paces away from Pickwicks when he decided to change direction, and catch Amy up. It was time he took Kit's advice and told her about Toby.

He hadn't meant to keep Toby a secret for more than a day or so, but he hadn't expected things to go quite so well, and then when they had, he hadn't wanted to jinx it by talking to his friends about it. Jack hadn't even properly discussed Toby with Kit beyond their first meeting, and had stalled all her attempts at friendly enquiry into how things were going. He hadn't wanted to tempt fate. But the time to confess to Amy had arrived; it couldn't be put off any longer.

‘Amy! Wait a minute.' Jack ran after her, ‘Have you got a second? I need to talk to you.'

‘Sure, I have nothing planned except more ploughing through soul-destroying jobs papers.'

‘You'll be all right, babe; you're bright, cheerful, pretty. You'll get snapped up.' Automatically, Jack put his arm around her waist as they walked, but then pulled it away sharply. Toby might not like it.

‘Well, I wish someone would do their snapping-up a bit faster!' Amy looked at him quizzically, surprised by the abrupt withdrawal of his arm.

‘Coffee?'

‘We've only just had some.'

‘So?'

‘Good point. Let's have it at my place though, I'd better start saving the pennies a bit.'

‘I'll get it, silly.'

‘No you won't. My place, or not at all.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' Jack saluted and followed her back to Princes Road.

As Amy dumped her coat and bag down in the corner of the dining room, Jack moved ahead of her to put the kettle on. He'd repeatedly run through how to tell Amy about Toby in this mind. She'd known he'd had some dates recently, but Jack had deliberately let her assume they were all with different men. Beyond a perfunctory ‘Good date?', Amy had never asked Jack to elaborate. Now, he wished he'd told her more from the start. Jack had a nagging feeling Amy wasn't going to like having been kept in the dark.

‘So, what's up?' Amy sank down next to Jack in their now regular spot on the sofa, the radio humming in the back ground; her spotty-socked feet up on the table. She felt strangely rejected when Jack got up and moved away, repositioning himself on the second sofa across the other side of room.

‘Jack?' Amy's skin chilled with anxiety.

‘I've got something to tell you.' Amy's face blanched, her brain filling with numerous potential crises. ‘No, don't panic, it's nothing bad.' His face broke into a beam as he spoke. ‘In fact, I think it's rather good.' Jack's smile spread to his eyes and his intentions to break it to her gently dissolved, as he became more animated, his personal happiness got the better of him.

Amy didn't hear his next few sentences, she didn't need to.
Oh God, he's in love. He's met someone
. She fixed a positive expression onto her face, and allowed her years of built-in self-protection take over; making sure she nodded and said all the right things in all the right places as Jack gushed out his words, his joy.

Her brain nudged her ears in time to hear Jack say, ‘So, will you meet him? I've told Toby so much about you?'

‘Of course.' Amy's facial muscles worked entirely of their own accord, as she smiled with mock pleasure. Jack would have had to be looking at her very carefully to see that her expression was pure fake, and of course, he wasn't. Amy's hands felt colder as she stuffed them into her pockets, while the rest of her body flushed hot, as if flu was about to engulf her. Her head ached. How new was this relationship? Why hadn't he told her before? Why not mention Toby over last week's pizza? Forcing herself to concentrate, Amy said, ‘I'd love to.' Her brain prodded her, ‘He's called Toby?'

‘Yes.' Jack exuded pleasure.

‘Not Nick?'

‘Who's Nick?'

Amy shook her head, ‘It doesn't matter.' And suddenly, it didn't.

Amy sat quite still after he'd gone. Did she mind about Toby? No. Jack had every right to have someone special in his life. Did she mind that that person wasn't her? Amy clutched her arms around her legs drawing her knees up under her chin, protecting herself from the world. Yes, she minded that, however ridiculous, however contradictory. She minded that very much.

Forty-three

December 12
^th
2006

Kit hadn't paid much attention to the state of her shoes recently. They were merely something she put on every day in the unthinking dash to get the twins to school on time. Staring down at them now as she travelled in the stale-aired, sardine-tin of a tube towards Clapham, Kit saw that the toes were scuffed, and had lost their black shine. They were now the sort of mottled grey which indicated a hole was imminent. She groaned inwardly, Kit hated shoe-shopping.

Once she'd disembarked into the enclosed mall at Clapham Junction, Kit took a lungful of the marginally fresher air, and headed towards Phil's office. It had been at least a year since she'd last been there.

She'd worked her idea over and over in her mind all the previous evening. Even watching
Notting Hill
with Phil last night, as they snuggled up on the sofa, hadn't been distracting enough to stop her thinking over the possibilities.

Kit suspected that, even though Phil had made what he called his “final employment decision,” he was having trouble letting go of something that had been part of his life for so long. She just hoped he would like her plan.

Perhaps I should have called him first?
Kit was unusually nervous as she climbed the stairs to Home Hunters' office. Phil could be anywhere this side of the river, showing clients around, or viewing prospective properties for lease. However, Kit was in luck. He was there, semi-buried beneath piles of paper and bulging files.

Phil caught sight of her, ‘Kit! Everything all right?' He waved from his corner of the room.

‘Yes, thanks love,' She strode over to him, ‘I wondered if you'd like to take me out to lunch.'

‘I most certainly would.' Without hesitating, Phil grabbed his coat, and with a friendly nod to his workforce, began to steer Kit towards the door, ‘Come on, Mrs Lambert. Let's escape and go Italian.'

The music was marginally too loud for such a small restaurant, but the fact that they got the last remaining table at only twelve o'clock so close to Christmas was a promising sign. The solid, chunky furniture sat awkwardly against the cobbled floor, suggesting that the diner should take care not to rock the table, for fear of knocking off the leather-bound menus and the dainty glass vases which sat centre stage.