Page 6 of Happily Never After
‘I thought you and Meg might like to move in,’ she says hurriedly. ‘Think about it before you shoot me down. You’d have your own space, with company on tap when you wanted it. Meg and I already love each other and, unlike your flat, I have a secure garden she can use. I’d charge you rent, obviously, but it would be a fraction of what you’re paying now so you’d be quids in. I’d also have a bit of extra income, so it’s a win-win. Don’t answer now. Think about it for a while.’
This kind of generosity is typical of Liv, but she knows me too well. My initial reaction is immediately to say no. It just seems like a retrograde step; I may be a bit lonely, but at least I’m fully independent. If I move in with her, I lose a little bit of that and I’m not sure I want to.
‘What can I get you?’ I ask the waiting customer as I take my place behind the counter. I may not have worked here for years, but everything is instantly familiar. Even the forbidding-looking coffee machine doesn’t frighten me; I learned early on in my waitressing career that, despite each machine having its own set of foibles, they’re all much of a muchness underneath.
‘Umm, I’d like an espresso and a bottle of sparkling water, please, but I can’t decide on a pastry, I’m afraid. They all look so delicious.’
This is a familiar complaint and I smile at the man. He’s wearing a pink jumper over a stripy blue shirt, and a pair of light grey trousers. His thick head of hair is silvery-white, contrasting nicely with his deep blue eyes. He’s either naturally fastidious or he’s made an effort for someone, as everything about him is spotless and I can just detect the faint woody aroma of his aftershave. I’d guess him to be in his early seventies, but he’s in good shape for his age.
‘That’s not a problem,’ I reassure him. ‘Have you been here before?’
‘No. I’m, er, not local. I’m just here for the day, actually.’
‘OK. What flavours do you prefer, something fruity or more creamy?’
He smiles, revealing even white teeth. I’d be willing to bet they’ve had work done on them. ‘I like both,’ he replies. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry. If you were having tea, I’d recommend one of our fruit tarts to go with it. The strawberry ones are lovely, but I’ll confess that theTarte Normandeapple one is my absolute favourite. Coffee and fruit isn’t such a happy mix though, so I’m going to recommend a slice of ourFlan Pâtissier. It’s a Frenchcustard tart, absolutely delicious, and will go beautifully with your espresso.’
‘I’ll happily accept your recommendation,’ the man says, handing over his card to pay.
‘Take a seat and I’ll bring it over as soon as it’s ready,’ I tell him, noting that he’s heading for one of the tables near the door.
‘He’s meeting someone,’ Bella, who’s working the counter with me, remarks as I place a slice ofFlan Pâtissieron a plate and set about making his espresso.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Obvious. Look at the clues. He’s here on a day trip but he’s by himself. He’s made an effort to look his best without going over the top. Aftershave. No wedding ring. Sitting by the door so he can keep an eye on the pavement outside. He’s got first date written all over him.’
‘Blimey. Are you this forensic with all the customers?’
‘Oh, no. Only the interesting ones. See that lady over there?’ She nods in the direction of a woman about my age, who is savouring a macaron with her cup of tea.
‘Yes?’
‘She’s enjoying a bit of much-needed peace while her toddler is at nursery. I’m guessing the father doesn’t live with them and has pissed her off in some way.’
‘And you’re basing this on?’
‘Again, simple. She paid using her phone and I couldn’t help noticing that her lock screen image was her and the kiddie. No sign of Dad in the photo and no wedding ring, so she’s not married. Before she started drinking her tea, there was a bit of a messaging flurry and she didn’t look happy. I reckon Dad’s a dickhead. Ah, here we go.’
As if on cue, the door opens and a smartly dressed older woman walks in. The man immediately gets to his feet, smiling warmly as he shakes her hand and pulls out a seat for her.
‘Boo-ya,’ Bella murmurs. ‘Definitely first date. Sweet. Would you like me to take the order over, or do you want to wow him some more with your product knowledge?’
‘I’ll do it. You carry on your psychoanalysis.’
By the time I’ve delivered the man’s order, taken one from her for a pot of Earl Grey and aTarte aux Fraises, and handed that over as well, I am in full agreement with Bella. This is obviously a first date and, if the way she loops her arm through his when they leave is anything to go by, it’s going rather well. Bella turns and grins at me when they’re gone.
‘You know what?’ she says softly. ‘If I’m still up for meeting someone new at that age, I’ll be amazed. Good luck to them, that’s what I say.’
Although I’m impressed by her powers of observation, I can’t help feeling a bit depressed. It seems like everyone in here apart from Liv and me is either embarking on or already in a relationship. Bella wasted no time on filling me in about her new boyfriend in a rare lull between customers. Even the woman in the corner – who absolutely made Bella’s day by having a tense conversation on the phone that she swears ended with the phrase, ‘Oh, fuck off, Jason. You don’t get to shag around like you did and then come for me because I’ve moved on. Pete’s twice the man you were’ – is evidently in some kind of relationship, even if her ex doesn’t seem that happy about it. It all brings my newly single status into sharp focus.
By the time my trial shift comes to an end, however, my mood has improved and I’ve made up my mind about two things.
‘Liv,’ I announce as I throw my now less-than-pristine apron into the laundry bin. ‘It’s a big yes.’
She looks up from the tray of madeleines she was just about to put in the oven. ‘What is?’
