Page 45 of The Winter of Second Chances
‘But you eat dinner out of a fake basket on a regular basis?’ said Annie.
‘If it’s not in a basket, I won’t eat it,’ said Paul.
‘I’m glad you dropped by,’ said Annie.
‘Not as glad as I am,’ said Paul. He stuffed another handful of fries into his mouth. ‘So, your ex is hell-bent on winning you back?’
‘Until he realises he’s fighting a lost cause,’ said Annie. ‘The trouble is, I’ve always given in, in the past. It’s like a child having a tantrum: if you give in, you set a precedent and next time they’ll scream longer because they know eventually you’ll give in to their demands.’
‘Sounds like you’ve raised the bar pretty high,’ said Paul.
‘Unintentionally, yes,’ said Annie.
‘Do you still love him?’ asked Paul.
‘No. Not for a long time. Not the way I should anyway. I love him like a pet that shits on the carpet but you clean it up and forgive it because you’re used to it and you haven’t got the heart to rehouse it.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Paul. ‘That is the worst description of love I have ever heard. That right there is why I’ve never married. No one’s ever going to reduce me to an analogy of an incontinent animal.’
Annie laughed.
‘He doesn’t like to lose,’ said Annie. ‘He’s got a big ego but it’s easily dented.’
‘What will you do?’ asked Paul.
‘I’ll keep doing what I’m doing,’ said Annie.
‘Sharing his romantic gestures with other men?’ said Paul.
Annie smiled.
‘I can’t give him any reason to think there’s doubt on my part or hope on his,’ said Annie.
‘It’s sort of sad really,’ said Paul.
‘It is,’ Annie agreed.
Annie was up early as usual. She made two mugs of tea and took them down to the tea room, but Alfred had already left. She was sorry to have missed him again. He’d stayed a few times during the last week and she’d only managed to catch him once to give him a drink before he went on his way. She found herself uneasy that he went out into the cold dark morning without even a hot drink inside him. She had begun to leave snacks in the tea room before she went to bed, just in case he hadn’t managed to get anything to eat that evening. At first, she’d worried that he might take offence, but the food was always gone when she came down in the mornings. Last night she had made extra when she cooked her own dinner and left a portion of mushroom and spinach lasagne out for him; she was gratified to find the plate scraped clean this morning.
She threw open the shutters on the kiosk and opened the window. An easy breeze blew in, fresh and friendlier than last night’s wind, as though it had exorcised its anger in the storm and wanted to be friends again. There were a few dog-walkers out and the beach was populated by green-wellied fishermen, hopeful that the churning tempest had driven the fish closer to shore. Annie switched on the coffee machine. People would come or they wouldn’t, but if she was going to be down here anyway she may as well be open. She had stocked up on milks and syrups and contacted the coffee supplier about a delivery. She’d only opened the kiosk a couple of times but each time she had, she’d had steady custom. She had been humming and hawing about whether to give the kiosk a proper try, rather than opening it sporadically as the mood took her. A conversation with Alex had decided it for her:
‘I thought you wanted to cut loose for a while,’ said Alex.
‘I did. I do. But—’
‘But you can’t help fantasising about starting a new business,’ Alex cut in.
‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for not working at all. I get fidgety. And there’s something about this place. I don’t know how to explain it.’ She paused for a moment and Alex waited. ‘It inspires me,’ she said finally. ‘It makes me want to build something, something that’s just mine.’
‘Well then, you’ve answered your own question,’ said Alex. ‘Stop dipping your toe in and make it happen.’
Annie had her first customer at a quarter past eight and she informed them, and all those who came after, that from now on she would be open every day bar Sunday. A six-day week didn’t entirely fit with her original ‘taking a step back’ idea, however, she decided she wouldn’t open past half past two in the afternoon, thus giving her what felt like acres of free time.
Between customers, she took the chairs down from the tables in the tea room and set a scented candle on each one. Along the middle table, at which they would sit for the book club, she ran a line of tea lights and positioned her new lamps. When it became clear that it was going to be a busy day for coffee, Annie brought her ingredients for tonight’s snacks downstairs and baked them in the small oven in the cafe kitchenette.
Her phone lit up as she was rolling out the pastry for the tartlets. It was a text from Max. She hadn’t thanked him for the hamper; she didn’t know the etiquette for gifts from estranged husbands – any message would open a dialogue she didn’t want. Where Max was concerned, it was easier to ignore than engage.
Did you find the hamper I left the other night? I didn’t hear from you, so I wasn’t sure if you’d got it. I put the perishables in a cool-box in case you spent the night elsewhere. I hope you enjoyed it. Do you remember that night? I’d like for us to go back. Start again. Like when we were mad for each other. I meant what I wrote. x
