Another Cup of Coffee (7 page)

Deciding not to tell Peggy that she'd spent more time locked within her own memories than writing, Kit replied, ‘Pretty good, thanks for the inspiration.'

‘Any time.' Peggy tapped the side of her head. ‘Constant supply of material nestled in here, you know.'

Kit laughed ‘You're a star, a grubby star, but a star nonetheless!'

Peggy began to sing ‘
Twinkle Twinkle...
' as she danced back to the counter to fill out an employment form for one Miss Amy Crane …

Eleven

October 6
^th
2006

Jack wasn't slumped in his seat this time, as he waited for Kit at the back of the department store café. In fact, he was looking pretty good. Not as relaxed as usual, granted, but not blatantly uncomfortable either. Jack winked at Kit as she crossed the room, her tray laden with highly-calorific treats. He patted the round-backed chair next to him.

Sinking down, Kit found herself embraced in one of Jack's familiar hugs. She inhaled the smell of his leather jacket and felt reassurance and relief flood through her. It was Jack's equivalent of saying sorry for walking out on her, and she accepted it without question.

‘How's Phil doing?'

This was not the opening question Kit had been expecting, but if Jack wanted small talk, then fine. ‘Still hating work and pretending otherwise.'

Jack agreed, ‘He needs to get out before he burns out.'

Kit emptied the contents of the tray onto their table, ‘Tell me about it. Trouble is, he's run Home Hunters for ages. I'm not sure he knows how to let go.'

‘He could sell up. Must be worth a bit; going concern and everything?'

‘I'm sure it is, but until he's ready, I can't make him change his life.'

Understanding Kit's dilemma, Jack asked, ‘Have you talked about it?'

‘Not really. There never seems to be a minute, what with work, writing, the twins; time seems to evaporate.'

‘Oh, that old excuse.' The corners of Jack's mouth twitched into a wry smile.

‘Yes that old excuse.' Kit trailed fingertips through the icing sugar that had fallen from her croissant. She glanced at the inexpertly-done wildlife paintings that adorned the walls, and not for the first time thought that they'd be better suited to a second-rate country hotel, rather than this genteel corner of an otherwise smart high-end department store.

Dragging herself back to the reason she'd arranged this meeting; Kit steeled herself to change the subject completely.

‘So, what tape?'

Jack was still squeezing Kit's hand long after he'd finished talking. Kit hadn't said a word, but had sat motionless, her body stiff as his words filtered into her brain. She already knew about his time as a student, about how he'd played the field when he'd been at university, while at the same time he hadn't really been sure of his sexuality.

What she hadn't known was that, just as Jack was starting to think about giving up the whole ‘women thing', he'd met Amy, and for a while everything had felt OK. That he'd never loved anyone like he loved Amy, and he'd dared to think that maybe he was straight after all, and that the first flickers of suspicion that he might prefer men had been happily extinguished.

Without looking at her, Jack told Kit of how he came to realise though, as the months passed, that something was missing, wrong even. That, although he'd never loved anyone like Amy before, and when he'd slept with her it was fun and inventive, it wasn't, well,
right
. He tried to describe the frustration that coursed through him each time he failed to feel content after sex.

It hadn't only been the sex either; it was as if something was out of kilter all the time. Jack explained that he'd broken up with Amy, and got back with her again, more times than he dared to think about. How The Clash could have written ‘Should I Stay Or Should I Go' just for them. That he saw now how badly he'd treated her; that Amy couldn't have known if she was coming or going.

He explained how Amy's tape had been a gift from her brother, and about the music he'd put on it for her. And how, more than anything else, he wished he'd left it all alone. Kept it buried. Never sent it back. For now Amy was here, in Richmond, he'd have to explain. He'd have to face all the guilt he had run away from.

Kit couldn't speak. She extracted her hand from Jack's grip and replayed his words in her head. “I never loved anyone like her.” It went through her like ice. He'd said it twice.
Twice.
And the music! Amy and Jack together had taken music as their own. But that's what
she
, Kit, did with Jack. Had done, anyway. They'd frequently had entire conversations in song lyrics; it was rarer in these days of parenthood and responsibility, but they still did it now and again. Bile rose in Kit's throat as she had a vivid recollection of dancing around the kitchen to David Bowie a few days before, her daughter watching with mystified disdain. It seemed ridiculous now. Worthless.

‘Kit?' She was vaguely aware that Jack was talking to her, his hazel eyes clouded with confused concern. ‘What's the matter?'

Kit studied his face like it was new to her. He really didn't know. He genuinely had no idea that he'd just cut her to the bone. “
I never loved anyone like her.”

Plus a tape.
They
had been going to make a tape of all the songs that had reminded them of each other, the important events in their lives, the things they'd said and the places they'd been. Jack had never got round to making it though. It had never mattered before, but suddenly Kit felt cheated.

‘Kit?' There was an edge of panic to Jack's voice as he watched his friend stand up, her legs wobbling beneath her. Jack grabbed her arm, ‘Where are you going? What is it? What's up?'

Pulling herself free from his grip, Kit hoisted up her bag. She wasn't sure how far she'd get, but she knew she had to leave. Turning towards Jack, a complex conflict of emotions etched onto her neat round face, she glared at him as he sat, a mass of incomprehension. ‘You like to express yourself with music? Go listen to
our
tape. Oh, of course, you can't, can you, ‘cos you never bloody recorded it.
Did you!
'

Jack wasn't sure how long he'd been sat there. He felt exhausted. It had cost him so much, telling Kit all that. Never in his life had he been so open with anyone. Even when he'd come out, he'd never gone into details about his feelings. He shook his head as if trying to remove the image of Kit's ashen face when she'd stalked out. He had truly thought she'd understand. Kit
always
understood.

With a hazy realisation that the café was crowded, and that other customers were looking for a seat while he cradled an empty mug, Jack got up, uncertain what to do. Was this how Kit had felt when he'd walked out on her the other day?

He'd go for a walk. He'd go to work. Anything but think, because he wasn't sure what the hell to think.

Kit?

Twelve

October 7
^th
2006 – 1.00am.

With his duvet clenched around his shoulders, Jack attempted to get comfortable in bed. Turning over, he untangled the sheet that had somehow become looped around his legs. But even when he finally felt cosy, he was unable to prevent himself from thrashing through his conversation with Kit. Conceding a win to his subconscious, Jack gave in, and allowed himself to remember ...

June 2
^nd
1995

Jack could hear her laughing even before he opened the pub door. It was an infectious, light laugh that always started in her eyes. He loved her eyes, probably more than the rest of her. Kit knew that though; she knew this was for fun, and that was exactly what he needed.

His recent experience in Nottingham had unnerved Jack more than he cared to admit. He really ought to think about it properly, but if he acknowledged to himself that it had gone well, felt right; then he'd have to face the bigger truth, and he wasn't ready for that yet. Anyway, he was having fun with Kit. She was so different from the other girls he'd dated. She could drink as much as him without passing out, never bothered about her hair, told blue jokes, played Twister in the nude, and did whatever he wanted her to in the bedroom. She was perfect. For now.

Kit was sat squashed up around a small table with Rob, Paul, and a petite blonde student archaeologist Paul had bought with him from his latest excavation. ‘What's so funny?'

Extracting Kit from her seat, Jack pulled her up onto his lap.

‘Well?'

Kit wriggled until she was comfortable, causing Jack's dick to sway promisingly beneath her pert backside. ‘There was this thing going around work today. You have to choose five songs that sum up pivotal moments in your life.'

‘We are so stuck. Come on, Jack, you're always spouting lyrics and stuff, we need your help. Rob keeps coming up with total crap.' Paul smirked into his beer.

‘Thanks a lot,' Rob smiled, ‘but I happen to think that
never
buying a copy of George Michael's “Careless Whisper”, despite my girlfriend of the time nagging insistence of its brilliance,
was
a pivotal moment in my life.'

They hadn't talked any more about their musical highlights in the pub. Paul had got another round of drinks in, and the conversation had moved on. But once Jack and Kit were back in the semi-squalid bedsit he rented, he'd asked her what music she would choose.

Sat at Jack's coffee table, her hands cupping a steaming mug of hot chocolate, Kit had immersed herself in thought. Watching her from the comfort of his lone armchair Jack waited quietly for her response. After a while she sighed audibly, ‘It's too tricky. There are just too many songs, too many events,' Kit ran a finger around the top of her mug. ‘I can think of hundreds, getting them down to five is impossible. What about your top five?'

Jack reached out his hands and she came to him. ‘Well, I can think of one straight away.' He stood, putting his arms around Kit, dancing her around the tiny space between the end of the bed and the living area to no music at all. ‘“Let's Dance”, by Bowie.'

‘Of course! I love that one. Can I have it too?' They swayed together to the imaginary music.

‘Only if you can tell me why it is so important.'

Kit beamed up at him, ‘I'm stunned you remember. I didn't have you down as the sentimental type.'

‘Cheek! You'll pay for that one.' Jack grabbed hold of Kit's wrists.

Squeaking out a reply, Kit giggled as Jack towed her towards the bed, ‘It was playing in the bar when we first met.'

‘It was! Congratulations! Your two-point prize for remembering is: one, you can have it on your list as well, and two, you can bend over the edge of the bed, yank your jeans down, and let me smack that gorgeous butt of yours until you beg for mercy.'

October 7
^th
2006 – 1.30am

Jack closed his eyes and banged his fist against his pillow in a feeble attempt to smother his memories. A crisp frost was gathering outside. He'd forgotten to put the heating on before he went to bed, but it wasn't the temperature of the room that made him shiver. He didn't want to remember how good it had felt. Jack tried to block out the image of smacking Kit until she was screaming to be screwed. It was hopeless. Somehow he'd allowed the box that he kept sealed at the back of his brain marked
Kit Past
to be opened. All he could do now was subject himself to the consequences. It was all Amy's fault, what did she have to come back for?

June 3
^rd
1995

He'd been awake for hours. Tucked up behind Kit's back, Jack listened to her gentle breathing. He was finding it harder and harder to settle next to her at night these days. The waking hours were fine, but at night, as he watched her sleep, usually content after sex, a growing sense of discontent, suffocation, and guilt would engulf him.

He had almost told Kit that he suspected he was gay twice before. That when he shagged her, his mind was full of images of the various fit men he'd seen walking around the city, but each time he had shied away from a confession at the last minute.

How could he be gay anyway? He'd loved Amy, and he adored being with Kit. Why throw all that away? Why give up on a more accepted life on the off-chance his suspicions were correct? Perhaps he was bi? Yet the vision of the men dancing before him at the club in Nottingham haunted him, and in the dead of night, Jack knew he was kidding himself.

Their discussion last night about music had prompted Jack to remember one track in particular. As Kit's unconscious body turned away from him, he wondered if he should use the opportunity she'd unwittingly presented him with to tell her about it. To help him come clean.

Only minutes after waking the following morning, Kit sat abruptly up in bed. The cool of the room made her exposed nipples stand to regimental attention as she blurted out two more song titles.

‘“Come on Eileen”, by Dexy's Midnight Runners, and “Gypsy Woman” by Don Williams.'

Jack, who had only just dropped off to sleep, rubbed his eyes as his brain frantically backtracked to what they'd been discussing the night before. He spoke with incomprehension, wishing, not for the first time, that Kit wasn't so lively first thing in the morning. ‘What? “Come on Eileen”? You must have been about eight years old! And who on earth is Don Williams?'

‘”Eileen£ was on almost constantly when I was at college. I loved the oldies nights we had there! And Don Williams is a really famous country-and-western singer. I'm amazed you haven't heard of him! His song “Gypsy Woman” reminds me of my Dad. He loves Don Williams. It reminds me of being a kid.'

Jack propped himself up on one elbow beside her and laughed. ‘You're priceless.' Tucking her straggly red hair behind her ears, abruptly serious, Jack's heart was pounding so fiercely he could almost hear it, as she said, ‘You'll want to know one of mine now, I suppose?'