Another Cup of Coffee (14 page)

‘It doesn't matter if he does,' Peggy was uncharacteristically serious, ‘the question is: do you love Phil?'

Kit snapped her head back up and looked directly at her friend. ‘More than anyone. Ever.'

‘Then you having loved Jack once upon a time doesn't matter. You haven't done anything wrong. You haven't cheated on anyone; you've just been made to feel cheated. I think. Now,' Peggy stood up straight and smoothed her apron in a businesslike manner, ‘would you like a cup for that coffee or is the straw enough?'

Kit grinned, ‘If it comes complete with a scone, then I'll have a cup, ta.'

‘Coming up,' Peggy fetched Kit's order, ‘Oh,' she called across the room, ‘you haven't forgotten to tell me anything else apart from the fact your gay best friend was once your lover, have you?'

‘What the hell could top that?' Kit felt her earlier smile begin to return.

‘That you secretly write erotica for a living?' Peggy put her hand to her mouth in mock outrage, ‘Oh, but you do that anyway don't you?'

‘To be honest, Peggy, I'm not sure I do anymore. Not exclusively anyway.'

‘What?' Peggy rushed back to the table. This was serious; her free supply of smut was in jeopardy, ‘What do you mean? You're so good at it!'

Kit accepted the compliment gracefully, ‘Well, thanks, but although I am very proud of what I've written, I'm running out of ways to grind people's bits together in new and original ways. I feel it's time to move the writing on a bit. Try something straight before returning to the kink.'

‘You should be proud! I am bloody proud of you. I love telling people that one of my best friends writes erotica. The whole stun factor, you know?'

‘Yes, I know.' Kit smiled modestly. ‘And thanks, I'm touched that you're proud of me, but there's no need to be.'

Peggy stared at her friend with incomprehension. ‘Ye gods, woman, you've got the lowest self-worth on the planet!'

‘Sorry?'

‘And don't apologise.'

Kit almost said ‘sorry' again, but swallowed the word down, ‘What are you talking about?'

Peggy tugged her ponytail in frustration, ‘It's damned annoying sometimes, listening to you running yourself down.'

Kit started to mumble again, ‘That's more or less what Jack said'

‘As much as I hate to agree with him, he was right,' Peggy poked a finger through the rapidly-depleting bowl of sugar sachets, making a mental note to top them up later. ‘So, a novel then?'

Kit brightened up, ‘I've always wanted to write one, but the time has never been right. Either we haven't had enough money for me to be able to give up work, or I simply haven't had the time to get down to writing anything lengthier than a couple of thousand words.'

‘But now you have got the time and the money?'

‘The time, yes, but I need to talk to Phil about it properly. The money side, I mean.'

Peggy was curious. ‘So, what's this
magnum opus
going to be about?'

‘That would be telling.' Even as she spoke, Kit's vague literary ideas began forming more solid patterns in her mind. By the time Peggy had crossed the room Kit was writing furiously; scared to slow down in case her ideas leaked out of her brain and were lost to her forever.

Twenty-three

October 19
^th
2006

Amy typed the words into her phone, before pressing delete for the second time. Maybe she'd text Jack when she got home instead – or perhaps tomorrow morning would be better?

She had been happy to immerse herself in another day of filling sandwiches, pouring coffee, and gentle banter, before facing the next step in her new life. Now, gathering up her bag, Amy buttoned her coat over her black trousers and white blouse, and set off from the café. Head down and umbrella up, she walked into the rain, oblivious to everyone and everything, until she reached the door of the local newsagent, and reluctantly purchased the local job paper.

The night before, her new housemate James had told Amy that she could use his computer any time, and he'd also recommended several useful websites for job-hunting. Early that morning she'd done just that, reluctantly acknowledging that she couldn't survive on a waitress' pay long-term. The only snag was that she had no idea what she wanted to do. All Amy could be absolutely certain of was that she never wanted to give failing companies marketing advice
ever
again.

Kicking off her sensible black shoes with a groan of relief, Amy switched on the kettle. With a cup of sadly inferior instant coffee to hand, she collapsed onto the sofa and reluctantly thumbed her way through the jobs section of her rain-dampened newspaper.

Ten minutes later, Amy forced herself to recognise the fact that she was almost totally unemployable for anything other than the dreaded ‘business market advisory' sort of job she'd so recently escaped from. A realisation made even more depressing by the fact that there weren't even any jobs like that available in the vicinity anyway.

‘New job. New home. New life.' Amy recited her mantra firmly, and started tapping out a text before she could back out. As she did so, she told the phone, quite abruptly, that as the new home was sorted, and the new job was going to take eons to track down, she'd better make a start on the new life section of her ambitions. Amy knew she couldn't do that until she'd laid a ghost to rest. That ghost's name, of course, was Jack …

Hello Jack. It's Amy. U ok?

Jack stared at the message, a combination of relief and horror creeping over him. He had to reply, but what should he say? Amy hadn't said anything much. Testing the water, he supposed. He fumbled over a selection of possible responses. Should he seem cool and off-hand, restrained and vague, or eager and keen? This whole meeting up thing seemed to have had a bigger build-up than the World Cup, and he was no longer sure how he felt about it. He decided on a simple response.

All well with me. U?

Amy leapt off the sofa when the mobile beeped. She'd been expecting the sound, or at least hoping for it, but it still made her jump as it echoed around the quiet room. Her heart thumped louder in her chest as she read Jack's reply. With hasty but clumsy fingers, Amy typed her reply.

Better than ever thanks. Want to meet?

Jack's uncertainty vanished. He had to see her. The depth of his need surprised him;
perhaps it's because of how things stand with Kit
, he thought. A moment's doubt flitted through his mind – but Amy was “better than ever thanks”, which was a definite improvement on the “angry and out for revenge thanks,” that he'd been expecting. Of course, he pondered
, she
could be bluffing?

No. Not Amy
. If she was angry, her text message would have revealed the fact. She couldn't keep her emotions hidden, which was how he'd known that she loved him. She'd never had the confidence to say she did, but Jack had known.
And Amy isn't Kit. No. Don't think about that now.
He sent his reply.

Shall we have a coffee stop then?

Amy fired one back almost immediately.

No. Can we walk while we talk? U a member of Kew Gardens?

Amy thought hard.
Should I put a kiss at the end of the message?
No. Better not. It's too soon for that.

Jack swore as his predictive text went weird for a second, before shooting back.

I am. See u at main gate. Ten am tomorrow?

Amy's hands shook as she responded. Should I add a kiss at the end? Oh, why not, what harm could it possibly do now?

Sure. Tomorrow then. x

Amy couldn't sleep. Tomorrow seemed both aeons away and frighteningly close. She couldn't decide if she was excited or terrified at the prospect of their scheduled walk.

Jack couldn't sleep. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to get himself into another mess.

Twenty-four

October 20
^th
2006

Amy's stomach lurched as she saw the distant figure approaching on the opposite side of the road. She knew it was Jack. His walk, his dark hair, even his faded brown leather jacket: they all looked the same. She wondered if he'd spotted her yet. She thought that he probably had by the way he was staring at the pavement, rather than at her or at the gateway to the gardens. In spite of her nerves Amy felt an excited smile settle on her face.

Jack's brain was in overdrive as he plodded forward.
Do I really want to face this now?
Kit was still ‘thinking', and the idea of coping with another disgruntled female was not an appealing one. Especially
this
disgruntled female. Still, Amy was only a few yards ahead of him now. Jack had spotted her the minute he turned the corner from the bookshop.
Always early then, always early now.
Jack couldn't suppress a grin. Perhaps it would be all right …

‘Hello.'

They spoke in unison; not quite ready to make eye contact yet, they flashed their membership cards at the man on the gate and walked straight into the gardens, bypassing the handful of tourists queuing to pay for a day ticket.

So much had happened. There was so much to say. The air between them seemed textured with awkwardness, stilted, as if its very essence had filled itself with all the things they had left unsaid. Never one to be able to cope with an uncomfortable silence for long, Amy took a bold step and decided to ignore the mindless chatter option.

‘So, when did you come out then?'

As she had intended, Jack was taken aback by her directness. That wasn't the Amy he'd known, always so reticent, so reluctant to take the lead; but then recent events had made him question everything he'd believed he knew about the women in his life.

‘Eleven years ago.'

‘Eleven
years
!' Amy turned, facing him head on.

‘Don't shout, Amy,' Jack put his hand up to calm her down.

‘Eleven years, though, Jack! I'd assumed it was a recent thing, you know, seeing as you only just returned the tape. Christ, you could have said something!'

‘Didn't Rob ever say anything about me then?'

Don't try and drag Rob into it!' Amy snapped at him. ‘And no, no he didn't! He probably thought it was your place to tell me.' She began to fiddle with her signet ring.

Jack's eyes twinkled as he watched her, belying the solemn expression on his face. ‘Still practising displacement then?'

Amy couldn't help but laugh. ‘So it would seem.'

Jack examined his ex more closely as they strolled past the first large greenhouse. Still very much the same. Curvy in all the right places, and almost as tall as he was. Jeans with small holes in each knee, more from over-wear than the requirements of fashion; a chunky maroon jumper that was at least one size too big, and clumpy unflattering boots. She'd made no effort for him whatsoever. Vintage Amy.

‘You look great.'

‘Thanks. You too. You haven't changed; you still have the same gorgeous jacket.' Even as she spoke, Amy could vividly picture herself snuggled up against him, inhaling its battered leather aroma.

The hush that fell between them lasted long enough to get uncomfortable, before Amy jumped in with a new line of conversation. This time she headed for safer ground. ‘So, your parents OK?'

‘Dad's fine. He's actually Grandad now!'

‘No way! So is Susan married with all the ticks in the right boxes?'

‘Yep, my sister has done things properly. Married a steady bloke with a steady career, and produced two children. A boy and a girl, naturally.'

‘Naturally. Always the one for getting things exactly right, your Susan.'

‘Oh, yes.' Jack's eyes lowered for a split second, but it was enough of a pause for Amy to be able to read his thoughts.

‘Christ, Jack! They don't know, do they?' Jack said nothing, scuffing his feet through the leaves. ‘Do you think they have any idea? Or have they spent the last decade sat at home waiting for their only son to turn up with a brand-new wife and heir? I mean, bloody hell Jack, where do they think you are every night? Sat in front of the television tatting?'

‘Will you calm down? Why are you taking my not telling them so personally? And what the fuck is tatting?'

Amy wasn't listening, her arms waved around as she walked faster and faster. ‘I bet your mum knows. I bet she does.'

‘Amy!' Jack shouted through her rant, ‘Will you please slow down! Just stand still a minute and stop talking.'

‘But Jack...'

‘Listen a minute,' Jack cut in, ‘come on.' He grabbed Amy's hand to pull her into the Pavilion café, but dropped it the instant he felt her skin beneath his. They looked at each other in shock for a split second, and then simultaneously thrust their hands deep into their pockets. Neither of them had expected the old electricity to be there. And as tactfully as possible, neither of them mentioned it.

Quietly sitting on a seat, under the shelter of a large and totally un-seasonal parasol, Jack tried to focus on what he was going to say. ‘Mum died, Amy. Mum died five years ago.'

‘No!' Amy blanched, ‘Oh Jack, I'm so sorry. I just blundered on. Oh hell, I'm so sorry, she was lovely. Your mum, I can't believe it.'

‘Cancer. It was very quick, mercifully. No one had any idea that anything was wrong until the doctor announced she only had weeks left. She'd only gone to see him about a mild pain in her chest.'

‘Jack, I … I don't know what to say.' Amy brought her chair closer and, given their apparent electricity, risked being singed by putting her hand on his shoulder. ‘Your mum was great.'

‘I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. Mum was very fond of you. Back then, well … she had hopes, I suppose.'

‘Well, I liked her too,' Amy paused while a waitress deposited two hot chocolates on their table, ‘Is that why your dad doesn't know about you? Too much, now he's on his own?'