Another Cup of Coffee (9 page)

Jack laughed despite himself, ‘No thanks, mate. Sorry. I never function well without any sleep.'

‘Shouldn't pick them up on a school night then, should you?' Rob said teasingly.

‘Whatever.' Jack's handsome face darkened again. ‘Just unpack the orders that came in with the post, will you?'

Rob was extremely grateful when Jack asked if he'd fetch the sandwiches for lunch. He felt as if he'd been caged in with an irritated tiger all morning.

Normally Rob just grabbed the nearest vaguely appetising sarnies, but today he surveyed the refrigerator shelves at length. He needed time away from the black cloud that hung over Jack and everything he touched. Rob couldn't remember a time when they'd sniped at each other so much … well, not since Jack had broken up with Amy, of course.

If Jack hadn't wanted Amy to get in touch, then why on earth had he returned her tape? Jack wasn't stupid. He was foolish sometimes, but far from being an idiot. There must be something else wrong. Rob considered his friend's behaviour as he counted out his change; exactly the right amount for a tuna and sweetcorn with salad on rye, and a coronation chicken on white, hold the butter. Exchanging polite smiles with the shop assistant, Rob waited as she slid his chosen purchases into the compulsory brown paper bag, before he escaped back into the cool London air.

Maybe Jack was bored. The shop was always a bit dead this time of year, but why would that worry him? Jack didn't need the money, the death of a fabulously wealthy relative had seen to that, yet Rob had always thought the shop meant more to Jack than a hobby. Rob held a percentage, but the shop was Jack's, no question about that.

Rob felt his body chill. What if Jack wanted to sell up? Move away?
After all our hard work
! Rob began walking faster, his imagination heading off full-steam in the direction of personal employment disaster. Rob decided to tackle Jack as soon as he got back. This was too big to ignore. It would gnaw away at his brain. It had started to already.

‘What
are
you talking about?' Jack looked confused as Rob weighed in, talking at ninety miles an hour, with his selling-the-shop theory. ‘Why on earth am I fighting this computer if I wanted out?'

Catching his breath after his outburst, Rob took a bite of his sandwich. ‘So what is it then? If you don't want out? This mouse-battering and daily bickering can't be all about Amy, can it?'

‘Amy?' Jack put his own sandwich on the counter.

‘Yes, you know, the girl you've been dreading walking through that door. Ever since you found out she was heading this way you've been as edgy as a … well, as something edgy.'

Putting up his hand to calm Rob, Jack continued to chew his mouthful before he replied. ‘I've cocked up, mate. Really cocked up.'

‘What do you mean? You haven't got someone pregnant, have you?'

‘Ha fucking ha.'

‘All right, spit it out.'

Jack spoke with genuine sorrow now, ‘I've upset Kit.'

Rob suddenly remembered he'd seen her. ‘Hey, Kit was here searching for you the other day; she was concerned about you. Told me you'd walked out on her.'

‘I did,' Jack wiped his sleeve across his mouth, ‘We had coffee, and Kit said you mentioned Amy. I wish you hadn't.'

‘Then you should have told me not to. I'm not a bloody clairvoyant.' Rob concentrated on not getting cross again, ‘I assumed she knew. And let's face it, Amy's ancient history relationship-wise, and so is Kit for that matter.'

‘That's what I thought when I filled Kit in about Amy.'

Rob's brow furrowed as he listened. He was having trouble keeping track of this conversation, ‘How did that upset Kit? She's got a hide like a bull elephant.'

Jack sighed, realising he seemed to be doing that a lot lately as well. ‘Kit didn't know about Amy. I didn't think there was any need to tell her details about my past when we were together, and then, well, I moved on, and so did she.'

Resisting the urge to make a joke out of Jack's use of the phrase ‘cock-up', Rob scrunched up his sandwich packet. ‘At the risk of labouring the point, what happened?'

‘She went quiet.
Angry
quiet. You know, the way women do.'

‘Ever the diplomat. Go on.'

‘It was the tape that did it I think. The music.'

‘Really?' Rob tried to sound as if he understood.

‘I don't know.' Jack began waving his hands about in his struggle to describe Kit's reaction. ‘It was like she was jealous of the lousy tape, for fuck's sake!'

‘I think you'd better take me through this from the beginning, I'm lost.'

‘You and me both, mate. It was like I'd got the reaction I'd expected from her when I came out all those years ago. Well …'

‘
Crept
out, you mean.'

‘Whatever.'

Fourteen

October 12
^th
2006

Amy waited wordlessly with the other Starbucks customers. It felt so sterile, so alien. One of the few things she'd loved about the corner of Scotland she'd lived in was the coffee places. They were clean, quiet, and had the best scones on offer anywhere in the world. Her favourite café, The Acorn, tucked away in a luxury food and countryside supplies store in the remote village of Midmar, had pretty tablecloths, welcoming waitresses, and friendly customers. In the English capital and suburbs, with the occasional exception, things were very different. For a start, she was one of the elder customers, even though she was only in her thirties. In Aberdeenshire she was used to being the youngest coffee-swiller by at least twenty years.

In London there was none of the innocent banter with strangers about the weather, the traffic, or the appalling state of British television. You simply queued quietly, paid, and stayed within the confines of your own little world, drinking as quickly as possible so that the next customer could occupy your seat in a never-ending stream of changing clientele. Amy sent up a silent word of thanks for having found Pickwicks as soon as she had.

Amy sat at the most secluded table possible, which wasn't that private, but would have to do. She removed a newspaper that had been left on the table, not wanting to be distracted or depressed by things she could do nothing about. Running a moistened finger across the plate which held her almond croissant, she mopped the crumbs which had fallen off in transit, and licked them up, before producing a copy of
Jane Eyre
from her bag, to re-read for the umpteenth time.

Five minutes later Rob sat down, making Amy jump. Engrossed in Jane's trials and tribulations, she hadn't noticed him come in. He put down his tray of cakes and coffee, and placed his Timberland jacket neatly on the back of the chair. ‘Is it me?' Rob asked with a grin, ‘or is this a tiny bit surreal?'

‘Very surreal! Good, though.' Rob grasped Amy's hands tightly before hoisting her into his arms. A forgotten, and yet familiar feeling of rightness engulfed Amy along with Rob's hug.

His slim frame looked so much the same, but his ginger hair was fading with the first streaks of grey, and his green eyes seemed puffy and tired. His grin, though, was as impish as it had always been. ‘Christ, I've missed you, girl. Sorry it's taken me a while to get the time off work to meet up.' Rob pinched a bit off her pastry as he sat down. ‘Even if things go pear-shaped down here, promise you'll stay in touch this time. Proper touch.'

Amy hung her head, ‘I'm sorry.' Then, looking her friend in the eye she said, ‘I promise. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let all that past come between us. I missed so much by hiding.'

‘It's OK.' Rob reached his hand out to hers.

‘No, really, you'll never understand how sorry I am. I've been pathetic. I daren't let myself think how much I've missed, how many opportunities I've let pass me by through fear of rejection, of not matching up.' Amy spoke into her cup, focusing on what she was saying, and on not welling-up while she said it.

‘Well, you're here now, and I'm glad.' Rob began to munch on his bacon and Marmite bagel. ‘Debbie wondered if you'd like to come over for dinner on Sunday.'

Suppressing a twinge of nerves at the prospect Amy said, ‘I'd like that; she looks so nice from the photos you've sent. I'm sorry I missed the wedding,' Amy let the fact she'd chickened out of attending because Jack would've been there remain unsaid, ‘Trouble is, I'm working on Sunday. When do you normally eat?'

‘Not until about eight o'clock. It's the one evening when we don't try and instil civilised table manners into our tribe. We eat after they've passed out in bed.'

‘In that case, thanks.' Amy smiled, and began asking about the three daughters, Rose, Flora and Lily, that Rob referred to as his “bunch of flowers”, exclaiming at how old they were already, before they settled back into happy shared reminiscences.

Half an hour later, as he stirred his second latte, Rob broke the spell of nostalgia. ‘I didn't think you'd do it you know.'

Amy glanced at him sideways, ‘No?'

‘Debbie said you would, but I thought you'd visit, panic, and run away again.'

‘But Debbie doesn't know me.' Amy started to twiddle a packet of brown sugar between her fingers.

‘I've told her a lot about you.' Rob tilted his head towards her, ‘I suppose I'm trying to say I'm proud of you. That's not too patronising is it?'

‘You're proud of me?' The packet split open and a stream of golden sugar crystals spread through Amy's fingers across the table. ‘Why?'

‘Big decision, chucking in your life like that.'

Amy grimaced, ‘Not so big. I missed my friends, hated my job, and never felt as if I fitted in up there anyway.'

‘But you always talked Scotland up so much. When you did get in touch, of course.'

‘OK, enough with the teasing, I've said sorry, I'll keep in touch now.' Amy kept talking, feeling the need to explain, ‘Aberdeenshire is a lovely place. The people are really friendly. I just didn't fit. It wasn't even that stupid English versus Scottish thing. I was on the outside peeping in. Aberdeen was somewhere to go, far enough away to be gone, but not truly gone, and not so far away that I had to learn another language.' Amy's mouth twitched into a smile as she remembered the occasional bizarre conversation with the older members of the local farming population, where neither understood a word the other said. ‘Although it did feel a bit like a foreign language sometimes.'

‘Do you fit now?' Rob collected up the spilt sugar with a folded napkin. He wasn't a father of three for nothing.

Amy paused to consider her answer, ‘Waitressing for Peggy is good for now, and the house is great. But … well, ask me when I've done what I came to do.' She sat up straighter as she reeled off her mantra, ‘New job, new home, new life. Well, that's the plan, anyway.'

Rob nodded approvingly, ‘Amy?'

‘Yes?'

‘Don't leave it too long before you see Jack. He's like a cat on hot bricks.'

‘Good.' Amy felt strangely satisfied that she'd managed to unsettle Jack.

‘He wasn't expecting you to move to London.'

‘I bet he wasn't.' Amy looked about her. By the door, an impossibly young mother was struggling to force a toddler into a bag-laden pushchair. Mature students were laughing over their bacon baguettes, and crosswords were being completed at top speed by business folk on a break. At every alternate table a mobile phone was tucked under a chin, a mixture of conversations with invisible drinking partners filled the room. ‘I didn't expect to come either. I didn't let myself think. I just sold up and came. You were here. It seemed the right place to start afresh. I doubt if I'll stay forever.'

Rob's forehead crunched, his freckles creasing as he scrutinized his friend's face. ‘You might stay though. If you get a grown-up job?'

‘I might.' Amy went quiet for a moment, rubbing a fingertip around the top of her cup. ‘Is he OK?'

‘Not really. He needs a good friend.'

‘He has you.'

‘Yes, but right now he needs you.'

Amy gathered up her things. She didn't feel ready for an in-depth “Jack” conversation yet. ‘Right Rob, I've got to go to work.'

Accepting her dismissal of both the subject and their meeting, Rob asked, ‘See you on Sunday then?'

Amy kissed his cheek. ‘See you then.'

Fifteen

October 16
^th
2006

‘Would you like milk with that, or is Primo OK?' The waiter placed an extra large black coffee in front of Jack. ‘Sir?'

Jack snapped his head up, vaguely aware that someone was speaking to him. ‘Sorry?'

‘Hot or cold milk, sir? With your Americano?'

‘Sorry, no, just Primo thanks.'

The waiter placed the tray containing Jack's coffee, complete with complimentary oatmeal biscuit, onto the octagonal table next to his armchair. ‘Are you all right, sir?'

‘Yes, thanks. Heavy night.' Jack grimaced weakly and picked up his cup.

‘I see.' The waiter seemed to pack a heap of innuendo into those two words, and with a brief flash of his white teeth, retreated towards his other customers.

Cute bum
. Jack watched the slimly-built man move away. Then, as he burnt his top lip on the scalding drink, he hissed sternly under his breath, ‘I've got to stop this.'

It was eight o'clock on a Monday morning and he felt awful. Zipping his coat right up under his chin in an attempt to block out the cold which seemed to shroud him these days, Jack sent a text to Rob, apologising for the fact that, once again, he was going to be late for work.

Jack had left the CXR nightclub bar at three in the morning, and his successful cruising activities had already been consigned to the ‘best forgotten' part of his brain. The brief thrill his submissive conquest had given him was already a distant memory. Stumbling onto an unfamiliar street about an hour away from home, Jack had sought sanctuary in Ashford's, the first early-opening coffee shop he considered safely out of range from the particular apartment block which he'd departed at an undignified pace.