Another Cup of Coffee (33 page)

She read the text again.

Told Jack. You should have seen his face! Rx

The damp air had become infused with a light mist as Amy and Paul turned towards St James Park's Storey's Gate. A distant, unseen church clock began to strike. One, two, three, four, five.

‘It can't be five o'clock! We've been together since ten!'

‘You don't have to sound so alarmed about it,' Paul's eyes were teasing.

‘I'm not; actually I'm sad it's nearly over. Today's gone so fast.' Amy spoke lightly to try and make her statement sound less serious.

‘Sign of enjoyment, if the day goes fast.' Paul held her eyes intently, ‘So, have you enjoyed yourself?'

‘Oh yes.' Amy's eyes flickered over the remaining festive lights that hung across the dusky street.

‘We don't have to finish it here. Come out to dinner with me tonight.'

‘Dinner?' Amy's heart began to beat out a samba.

‘I have a bit of work I need to do first, but I could pick you up about eight?'

‘Well,' Amy felt awkward. Today had been supposed to be the three of them, even if it hadn't turned out that way. Dinner though, that was more of a date thing, even if it was only Paul.

‘Come on, live dangerously,' Paul winked at her, ‘if you come, I promise to spill the beans about the girl from university.'

‘That's bribery!'

‘I know.'

Fifty-eight

January 23
^rd
2007

The hands of the kitchen clock seemed to have been turning insanely fast since Amy had returned to Princes Road. It was already seven o'clock, and she still needed to have a bath and, more importantly, she needed to calm down.

Amy had been on the last stage of the tube journey home when the penny had dropped. At first she had dismissed the idea out of hand. It was absurd. Paul was a caring friend who was delighted to see her after so long, but the thought had persisted to gnaw at her.
Am I the girl from university
? All the signs were there.

Her head crammed with questions.
What if I'm wrong? Do I want to be wrong? If I'm right, how long has Paul felt like that? How did this happen? Oh hell, what the hell should I wear?

Amy felt momentarily shocked at herself. She never worried about what to wear. But then, she hadn't been on a date since 1993. Is this a date? For God's sake, this was Paul! This was her friend, who, if her suspicions were correct, suddenly felt more like a stranger. Which, she supposed, he was in a way. Despite their day together, Amy realised she didn't know much about his life over the last decade.

Staring blankly into her wardrobe, Amy sighed. There really wasn't anything much to look at. A couple of old work suits, a pair of jeans, a shirt, a pair of aged shiny-kneed black trousers, a grey baggy cardigan she wore in PMT-induced comfort moments, and a semi-smart navy jacket she'd grabbed from a charity shop before Christmas.

Maybe Sarah and James would be home soon and she could throw herself on their mercy. No. Kit. She needed Kit. She'd lend her some clothes. Help her out, and stop her yo-yoing imagination from making her panic.

Amy's hand hovered over the phone, but then she snapped it back. She could be wrong about all this. In any case, this was Paul. A small voice of reason made an attempt to claim her. If he did like her, then smart jeans and the jacket over a T-shirt would be fine. It would surely be what he'd expect from her. If he was just a friend after all, then it wouldn't matter anyway.

Once Amy had made her, admittedly limited, clothing decision, she tried to think about nothing beyond getting clean, dressing, and brushing out her tangled hair.

Now she was ready, the hands on the kitchen clock seemed to have changed tempo, and were moving extremely slowly, making every minute agonizingly long. Just when Amy had she'd worked the whole thing out, and decided that the idea of Paul finding her attractive was ridiculous, her mind would return to the start of the problem. As she waited, a mass of indecision, Amy remembered a passage from
The Christmas Carol
. When Ebenezer Scrooge was first presented with the idea of the ghostly visitations to come, “
after mature enquiry, that it was all a dream, his mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, to its first position, and presented the same problem to be worked all through
…”

It was exactly eight o'clock when the doorbell rang. Even though she'd been expecting it, Amy jumped as the sound echoed through the hallway. Maybe she should pretend to be out; say an emergency had come up, anything to avoid any potential embarrassment. No. She had to know. One way or another.

Muttering her ‘new life' mantra to herself as she walked towards the door. Now she'd considered the idea, Amy realised that the concept of Paul as a boyfriend was not totally repellent to her. Would she be disappointed if her suspicions were unfounded? She didn't know. She wasn't sure of anything anymore. Closing her hand around the brass door handle, she took a calming breath, and flung the door open.

They talked of their hopes for their new jobs as they travelled in the taxi. Amy had explained again about how uneasy she'd been about accepting the position with Home Hunters. Accepting her paranoia with patience, Paul put it all into perspective for her once more as they were driven to the Covent Garden Grill.

‘Why, when you say it, does everything seem all right?' Amy felt reassured as she got out of the car.

Paul hugged her to his side as they walked into the packed, oak-panelled restaurant. ‘Because everything is all right, silly. Everything is almost perfect.' He bent down and kissed the very end of her nose. It was so innocent, chaste even. Amy was torn between feeling bewilderingly short-changed and tenderly touched.

The meal had been lovely, and even though there had been a couple of rather stilted moments when they first faced each other across the dinner table, Amy had soon relaxed enough to enjoy the food and company. But now they were on the coffee, and Paul hadn't said anything about liking her. He hadn't made any move at all, yet she couldn't bring herself to ask about his mystery girl. Amy found she felt disappointed.
At least that helps me to see how I feel about him
. Somehow that didn't feel much of consolation.

Regardless of the lateness of the hour, the restaurant remained busy. Amy was looking around at the other couples tucking into their steaks, when Paul unexpectedly asked, ‘Does Jack still do the song lyric thing?'

Surprised by the question, Amy replied, ‘Sometimes. Why?'

Paul hesitated. Should he tell her of the song that he always associated with her? He remembered Rob telephoning him for moral support just before seven, and encouraging him to go for it. So, taking a gulp of air, Paul plunged into his pitch for Amy. ‘I always associated you with that
Another Cup of Coffee
song. You know the one? Mike and the Mechanics I think it was.'

‘Really?' Amy spoke quietly, turning her attention to her empty square-shaped plate. ‘That's quite a sad song. About being alone; about looking back being hard. Regrets and stuff.'

‘I knew you'd get that bit.' Feeling uncomfortable, Paul began to fiddle with the corner of the tablecloth, much in the way Amy did when she felt uncertain about something.

‘Is that how you see me now, or just as I was back then, when we were students?' Amy asked, avoiding a gaze that wasn't looking at her anyway.

Paul shifted on his wheel backed seat, ‘Obviously, I
always
associate you with coffee.'

‘Obviously.' Amy raised her half empty cup, and flashed him a brief smile in acknowledgment, before re-lowering her eyes to the tablecloth.

‘But back then … I saw you being left, and then left again, that's all. So much of that song seemed relevant, you know, it just summed it all up. You and Jack. Like the whole thing about her wanting to make everything OK, and him making her feel awful all the time. And I didn't seem to be able to do anything about it. It was maddening.'

‘Oh?' Amy looked straight at Paul, wavering between being personally hurt, furious on Jack's behalf, and excited that he might finally be getting to the point.

Paul seemed to be waiting for her to elaborate, but Amy sat quietly, cradling her cup. She could feel her frustration rising, but bit her tongue and waited.

After a few minute's peace, which seemed to last hours, Paul banged a frustrated fist onto the table, making Amy jump as he expounded years of suppressed feelings. ‘You shut yourself away. Didn't answer calls. Didn't pass on your address. You disappeared.'

‘I know. I'm sorry. I explained it all to Rob, and I …'

Paul interrupted her, ‘It's OK. I know, and I sort of understand.' He put down his napkin, transferring his attention to twiddling a silver teaspoon between his fingers. ‘But now perhaps … if you are ready, um … having started again, like … to, well, um … ' Paul dropped the spoon down on the table and stood up abruptly. ‘I'm going to pay the bill, I'll be right back.'

Amy watched his back with growing exasperation. He'd been so nearly there. She was now convinced of what he wanted to say. Was he worried about ruining their refreshed friendship?

Paul was taking ages at the till, or perhaps it only felt like that. When he did return, a very determined look was etched across his face. Despite the vast supply on the table, he was carrying a folded paper-napkin in his hand. He didn't sit down, but loomed hesitantly over Amy in her seat.

‘The thing is, I've tried, but I keep getting jumbled, and well … anyway, would you read this please? Afterwards, I'll either order
you
a cab, or
us
a cab.' Paul thrust the cream napkin into Amy's hands and moved away, turning to stare blankly out of the nearest window.

After a few speechless seconds, Amy unfolded the paper triangle. She found a hastily scribbled note across its centre.

I love you. Sorry!

Fifty-nine

January 23
^rd
2007

Kit had been expecting the call. Had she got time for a drink? Could she get away?

Jack hadn't sounded desperate as such, but his voice certainly had an urgent edge, which he hadn't quite managed to disguise. Kit had a quick discussion with Phil (who'd rolled his eyes), and agreed to meet Jack at the pub.

Jack's turn at the bar had come and gone once already, and he hadn't even noticed. Observing Jack's distracted air, Kit studied his more-than-usually-crumpled appearance carefully, as he eventually purchased two pints of beer, and escaped from the semi-crush of evening drinkers.

‘So?' Kit looked at Jack expectantly.

‘What?'

Kit positioned her glass on top of the nearest beer mat. ‘You have snapped your fingers and summoned me like the genie of the lamp, because …?'

Jack managed not to appear taken aback, even though he felt it, ‘I fancied seeing you, that's all.'

‘Really? Without Toby?' Kit raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘And the fact that Amy is out with Paul tonight is a total coincidence?'

‘Oh, you know.' Jack had the decency to look at least a little bashful as he sat next to her.

‘Naturally,' Kit took a mouthful of Worthington's, ‘so, as I say. How can I help?'

‘Your voice couldn't be less sympathetic if you tried!' Jack, suddenly all charm, smiled with his eyes as he spoke, reminding Kit of the man he had been when she first met him.

‘Why on earth should I feel sorry for you?'

‘Well, because Amy is out with Paul. I mean, Paul! He's supposed to be my friend, and now I find that all this time … for all these years … and not just now, but then too …'

Jack's words tumbled out at speed, as he pleaded with Kit to understand his feeling of betrayal. It wasn't until he took in Kit's face, her eyes wide, her expression so set in disapproval that his sentence trailed off. He exhaled noisily into his pint. ‘You're about to lecture me on double standards aren't you?'

‘At least you can see that you've got double standards! Damn it, Jack!' Kit struggled to keep her temper, ‘How dare you!'

‘What do you mean?' He sounded confused.

‘For fuck's sake!' Now Kit did shout, only lowering her voice when she realised she was attracting a small audience from the surrounding tables. ‘You're jetting off with Toby in a few days' time. About to declare your relationship to your father, for God's sake.'

Jack placed his glass on the stool-like table next to him, and sat back. The music in the background began to filter into his consciousness. ‘Kit, do you remember our chat at Pickwicks, you know when I …'

Not wanting to revisit that particular scene in detail, Kit cut in, ‘I remember, go on.'

‘I said life for you was like Keane's “Everybody's Changing”.'

It was Kit's turn to sigh, ‘So you did.'

‘It's playing now. Listen.'

They sat together, silently listening, as Tom Chaplin's gentle voice jostled with the chatter, laughter and debate all around them. As the lyrics filled her head, Kit took hold of Jack's hand and placed it lightly over her own. ‘Change is scary, isn't it?'

‘You're telling me!'

‘It'll be all right though. You and Toby will fly off and have some fun. Your dad, who's probably known that you're gay all along, will be cool. I'll write a blockbuster, Rob and Phil will make a huge success of running the shop, and Amy and Paul will live happily ever after and breed you a new generation of godchildren.'

Jack looked at her hopefully, ‘You believe all that?'

‘Sometimes, you have to live in hope.' Kit spoke lightly and attempted to distract Jack from his unjustified gloom, said, ‘Talking of change. Something quite good has happened on the writing front.'

‘Yeah?'

‘I've got a deal on an erotica anthology. You remember we talked about it a while back?'