Page 50 of When We Were Young

‘I bet it felt good to quit, though?’

‘It’s the kind of thing you fantasise about, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted to tell her to stick it, but it didn’t quite go how I’d hoped. I’ve been replaying it in my mind ever since.’

‘Still, it took balls. I’ve seen the way she spoke to you, and others. She had it coming.’

‘Yeah. The only thing is, I don’t have a job and I’m not sure what I’ll do without a reference.’

He pulls a face. ‘Ah.’

‘Hmm.’

A group of young men at the next table burst into laughter.

‘Well, you’re better off out of a job you don’t enjoy. I know Florence and the other kids will miss you, though.’

It’s kind of him to say, but the kids won’t even notice I’ve gone.

We talk about our daughters. He flatters me by saying I don’t look old enough to have a fifteen-year-old. When I tell him about Liv moving out, he looks genuinely terrified about what he has in store.

After a while, he changes the subject. ‘You know, a friend of mine might have a job for you. He needs someone to help look after his café while he’s in Thailand for six months. He doesn’t want to sell it until he’s sure about the move – new girlfriend and all that. How are your barista skills?’

‘Non-existent.’

‘Well, it’s not brain surgery, is it? He’s got one girl who has been working with him for years – she can run the place – she just can’t do it full time. They’d show you the ropes, obviously. He’s getting desperate; he’s been let down twice already, and he should’ve been in Thailand by now.’

I picture myself running a coffee shop – I like the mental image.

‘There’s no harm in having a look, I suppose,’ I say.

‘You’d be doing each other a favour and the good thing is, it’s only for six months, so it’s not like it’s forever.’

‘It sounds like fate.’

He raises his glass. ‘To new beginnings.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’

We share a cab. His place is closer, but he insists on dropping me first. I’m quiet on the ride home, my mind racing. Is he expecting to come in? Do I want him to come in? I put the underwear on, but I’m not so brave now.

‘When would you like to visit my mate’s café?’ He has the calendar open on his phone. ‘How about Monday morning?’

‘I have nothing on for the foreseeable future.’

‘Pick you up at ten?’

I fix him with a confident smile. ‘Sure.’

We pull into my road, and I direct the cabbie to my house. I take off my seatbelt, my ‘get-a-life’ mantra ringing in my ears again, then hear myself say: ‘Would you like to come in for coffee?’

He hesitates.

‘What am I saying?’ I backtrack. ‘It’s late—’

‘Sure, why not?’

Even as I put my key in the front door, I haven’t decided whether I mean coffee or ‘coffee’ in inverted commas. I look to FHD for inspiration. His hands are deep in his pockets as he stares into the distance.

‘Come in,’ I say, putting my handbag on the sideboard.

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