Another Cup of Coffee (11 page)

‘I was up at six o'clock staring at a computer screen, willing myself to write for America.'

‘What? All of it?' Peggy's eyes twinkled.

Putting a hand over her mouth as she replied, so Peggy wouldn't see her semi-chewed breakfast, Kit replied, ‘Oh, ha, ha. No, I've got a bit behind.'

‘But you're never behind. You're more punctual than a full stop.' Peggy lost her mischievous glow, dragged out the chair opposite her friend, and sat down concerned. ‘So if you haven't been scribbling away furiously for our American cousins, what have you been doing in here? I've barely heard a peep out of you lately, except the faint scribble of pen on paper.'

‘Sorry Peg, nothing personal.'

‘I swear I saw steam rising from your pen yesterday. What are you working on?' Peggy emptied the contents of her percolator jug into Kit's mug.

‘Not sure to be honest. Just thoughts.'

‘You OK?' This wasn't like Kit, Peggy shrewdly observed; her friend normally took salacious pleasure in sharing her plotlines.

‘Not really, but I can't explain it. Wish I could.'

Peggy sighed for her friend, ‘You haven't called Jack yet, have you?'

‘No.' Kit changed the subject. ‘How's the new girl shaping up?'

‘I'm surprised you've even noticed I have a new girl! You've barely raised your head from the table recently. Scott was dead worried about you on Friday. He said you'd left some coffee to go cold.'

‘OK! I've said sorry.'

Peggy put her hands on the table and pushed herself up, ‘Oh honey, I have no idea what's going on, but it sounds like teenage angst to me. Jack's your mate, not your bloody lover. Be an adult and call him, for fuck's sake.'

‘Thank you, Mary Poppins.'

‘No problem. Now drink up and write some pornography. And not another word, young lady! Or I shall have to call in a number of chimney-sweeps with fake Cockney accents to make you work. I'll get them to dance across the tables, soot and all, if you're not careful!'

‘Yes Mum.' Kit giggled as Peggy did a Dick Van Dyke-style jig across to her counter.

Looking down, Kit contemplated her notebook. A novel. She was almost sure she was writing a novel. She just hadn't told anyone yet, not even herself.

Seventeen

16
^th
October 2006

Nothing,
Amy thought as she scuffed her feet,
is quite as satisfying as scrunching through freshly-fallen leaves.

Last autumn Amy had kicked her ankle wellies through the satisfying crackle of pine needles and cones at the impressively Scottish Crathes Castle. Kew Gardens was quite a different proposition. Even though she'd never been before, Amy had optimistically handed over the rather steep yearly membership fee and wandered through the main gates.

Pickwicks was work now, so it could no longer function as her place to hide. She needed a different bolthole, somewhere to disappear into whenever she felt like it. ‘Like a security blanket, but for adults.' Amy had tried to explain her need to Peggy, who'd simply shrugged, openly declaring Amy insane for spending a precious day off in the freezing cold, and paying for the privilege.

As her blue boots flashed through the contrasting russets and orange of the autumn fall, Amy reflected on the weekend just past. Sunday dinner had been good. Rob obviously fitted the role of family man perfectly. His three girls were delightful, with shy smiles and shocks of curly ginger hair; they had mumblingly introduced themselves to her earlier. Having read them a collective bedtime story, and promising Flora that she would come round to play Lego sometime soon, Amy had left Rob to tuck them into their beds, and escaped into the kitchen.

Despite being nervous, Amy had forced herself into conversation with Debbie. Shorter than Amy, with shoulder-length brown hair which curled like her daughters', she was every bit as nice as Amy had hoped. In fact, after several hours of regaling her with tales of Rob's less auspicious university escapades, Debbie had been in hysterics, and Rob had had the air of a hunted man, torn between being fed up at being the butt of the jokes, and pleased that his wife and his long-lost friend were getting on so well.

The grounds of Kew Gardens were very quiet. While most of London coped with the horror of another Monday morning, Amy revelled in the peaceful solitude of freedom. Clutching her foam-topped mug of cinnamon- and marshmallow-sprinkled hot chocolate, she watched two squirrels dance around the trunk of a nearby oak tree, as she took stock of her short time in England.

Over the past few years, Amy had become adept at phasing out the image of Jack. In the beginning, once the initial sobbing self-pitying stage had passed, anything that reminded her of Jack was treated to serious diversion therapy. She would concentrate on anything else; the weather, the people nearby, the view. Any distraction would do. Amy had become so good at it, that her brain had learned to short-circuit the whole process for her. Sometimes she found herself thinking about one thing, and suddenly her mind would flick elsewhere, like a well-honed automatic self- defence module, before she'd even registered that a Jack thought was imminent.

Now that she was in London, only a short distance from the cause of her self-imposed exile, her control over those defences had slipped. Even though they'd never lived in London together, there seemed to be reminders everywhere. Bitter coffee, couples taking lengthy walks in the cold, music (any music), pubs, laughter, and the smell of leather jackets in the rain. He was everywhere.

Rob had asked her again last night. When was she going to get in contact with Jack? She'd hesitated, knowing that she was suffering, not just from cold feet, but also from the need to sit back a while and adjust to the increased influx of memories, before she faced the reality. Everything had changed so fast. She simply wasn't ready to meet him yet. To appease Rob, Amy had agreed to take the address of the bookshop in Kew.

Fishing out a sunken pink marshmallow from the bottom of her mug with a finger, Amy supposed that she couldn't be far from Reading Nature right now. Maybe she should turn up there today? The mere idea of finding the shop, let alone seeing Jack, brought on a fit of butterflies.

‘I'm a coward, that's the trouble,' she told the squirrels as they continued to chase each other around the trees. ‘Don't knock cowardice,' the squirrels seemed to reply.

Shouting a thank you to the waiting staff, Amy continued her walk, temporarily burying the decisions she needed to make beneath the opportunity to investigate the huge tropical greenhouse that stood before her.

Two hours of slow meandering later, Amy sat down on an old grey metal bench beside the currently-closed Waterlily House. Just for now she could live like this. A poorly-paid waitress in a small Richmond café, an explorer in a city she hardly knew. A visitor on the edge of other people's lives. ‘For another day or two,' she told a passing blue tit, ‘just a couple more days, that's all, and then I'll text Jack, start applying for permanent jobs, and re-enter the real world, however scary it is.'

Eighteen

October 16
^th
2006

Jack put the cup back into its saucer with a crash, grabbed his jacket and, before he could change his mind, crossed to the till and waited to pay. He barely acknowledged Toby as he thrust a ten-pound note at him and, without waiting for change or looking back, Jack sprinted from the café. He'd got about three strides down the pavement, when he ran back.

Toby was still by the till. Jack marched straight up to him. ‘Sorry. It's a bad time, there's stuff I have to … Anyway, I might come back here some time.'

Toby held his gaze, but said nothing.

Jack continued, more uncertain. ‘If that's OK? Some time?'

Toby inclined his head a fraction.

‘Good. That's, um, good.' Jack felt strangely satisfied, but rather awkward, as he dashed towards the Underground, determined to carry out his newly-formulated plan of action.

Jack had promised Kit that he'd never meet her at Pickwicks. That was her space, especially since she'd started writing there. His presence, they had long ago agreed, would cause too many distractions. But this was an emergency, and anyway, Jack had already broken so many rules that he wasn't going to worry about one more. It was only ten o'clock. If he hurried he could get back to Richmond by eleven and catch Kit before she packed up, and headed home to type up her morning's labours.

He stared impatiently down the track at the strangely quiet Leicester Square station, willing the train to arrive. Now he was doing something positive Jack felt better; enlivened. What he was about to do might not help, but he had to at least try to sort things out.

As the Piccadilly Line tube arrived, Jack leapt into the grey and red carriage and did his best to relax. He could picture Kit hunched over her table, pen and notebook in front of her. He had given up trying to persuade her to carry a laptop around with her ages ago. One of the few things Jack had in common with Phil was the inability to understand Kit's preference for a pen and paper; that she gained genuine satisfaction from leafing through a book filled with her own hand-written work.

A thought of Toby flitted through his head. Toby was certainly something to look forward to. Blonde and blue-eyed, that he'd registered at once, but now Jack had allowed himself time to think, he saw that Toby was also elegant, with light freckles and slender hands. Jack reflected, as he watched subterranean London rocket past the windows, that he and Toby were probably of about equal height, although the waiter was certainly slimmer. Feminine, there was no doubt about that. Toby had feminine written all over him. But not camp, for which Jack found he was grateful. Beyond the requirements of a drag act, Jack had never been a fan of camp, or of any sort of unnecessary affectations for that matter.

Crossing onto the District Line at Hammersmith, Jack stopped his thoughts in their tracks. Just because Toby had piqued his curiosity, it didn't mean that the feeling was reciprocated. It was ridiculous to even consider it. Toby wouldn't be interested in someone like him. He was a slut, a tart, a slapper, and he knew it. Reaching Richmond, Jack switched his contemplation away from his own sexual shortcomings towards Kit, and the conversation that awaited him. His palms began to sweat.

Walking past Pickwicks' window to check that she was there, Jack saw it was very busy. Full of elderly women with shopping trolleys, ladies who lunched, and Kit. She was in the corner just as he'd imagined, head down, her right hand speedily moving back and forth across the table as she scribbled down her words. Jack was about to open the door when he saw Peggy approach her. He hung back, watching their exchange as Kit's cup was refilled. Jack couldn't help but smile. He wondered how much coffee she'd unconsciously drunk that morning, and not for the first time, marvelled how Kit's body coped with such high levels of caffeine on a daily basis.

As he stood there, Jack realised that it had been a long time since he'd looked at Kit properly. Without him even noticing she'd turned from a girl into a woman, a mother, and a wife. Her hair was still red; no grey was peeping through. It was shorter than he remembered, though. Maybe she'd had a trim recently, or more likely it had been like that for ages and he just hadn't noticed. Despite the coffee-and-cake lifestyle, she was still relatively slim, but childbirth had changed her shape, and the chest he used to admire was bigger than it had been. There she sat, quiet, motionless, and slightly scruffy. The last woman. Jack knew how much he owed her. It was high time he told her so.

Peggy had gone to tend her other customers, so the coast was clear. Jack wiped his tacky palms on his jeans, suddenly conscious of being in last night's clothes. They smelt of stale smoke and beer. Jack ran a hand around his face; the stubble had crept beyond its usual fashionable shadow. Still, he hadn't crossed London to back out because he was a touch less than hygienic. Pushing the door open, Jack approached her table. ‘Kit?'

She looked up. Her oval-shaped face went white as she saw who was standing before her.

‘May I sit down?'

She didn't say anything, but nodded, gripping her pen tighter as he sat down on the spindle backed chair opposite her.

Peggy, who'd noticed Jack's hesitant approach to the corner table, immediately recognised the urgent need for another cup of extra strong coffee. Quickly filling a mug, the waitress scooted forward, and placed it wordlessly in front of Jack before retreating to her counter, keeping her ears wide open, ready to witness the potential showdown.

Words tumbled out of Jack's mouth as he plunged straight in, ‘I want to apologise. I didn't
not
tell you about Amy. It just never came up.
She
never came up. Time moved on and stuff.'

Kit twiddled a biro between her fingers, looked Jack directly in the eye, and spoke with a calm voice that belied the turmoil within. ‘You have absolutely no idea why I'm so upset, have you?'

He hung his head, ‘No. Not really. Sorry.'

‘You didn't make our tape, did you?'

Jack felt uneasy. ‘No, I've remembered some of what would have been on it though. I've remembered quite a lot actually. It's been quite a fortnight.'

‘Hasn't it.' Kit picked up her drink, trying to resist her natural tendency to forgive instantly, determined not to tell him it was OK; that she was being silly, and that he should forget it. Because it wasn't OK, not this time. Trouble was, she still didn't really know why – but she was damned if she'd tell him that.

‘Peggy,' Kit hailed her friend, ‘we need sugar over here. Fast.'

Without a word, Peggy headed for the cake display, placed two large slabs of carrot cake onto a plate, and returned to the frosty silence which hung over her corner table.

‘Thanks,' they spoke in unison, both Kit and Jack thankful to have something to focus on as they sat opposite each other and, for the first time in their lives, didn't know what on earth to say.