Page 8 of Cream & Sugar
I usher Freddie towards one of the empty two-tops. He takes the far seat but I make him swap so I can keep an eye on the counter. There are only a few people in here, but the curse of every café is that a queue magically appears the second you let your guard down. I swear customers do it on purpose, hiding in the bins until I’m not looking.
As I sit down, I take a couple of steadying breaths. I always get nervous doing interviews. No matter what anyone says, being the interview-eris just as scary. But for some reason, I’m more nervous now than in any of the others.
Perching myself on my chair, I clear my throat which has gone dry all of a sudden. Damn. I should have brought us some water. It’ll be awkward if I go all the way back now. Unless…
“Would you like a water, Freddie?”
“Nah, I’m fine, thanks.”
Bugger.
Trying not to cough, I place my notepad on the table and flick to a blank page, mentally rehearsing all the interview tips I’ve memorised from books and blogs.
“So, Freddie, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”
Freddie shrugs. “What would you like to know?”
“Whatever you like. Imagine you had thirty seconds to give someone a good impression of you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Kind of like speed dating?”
I swallow, dryly. “If you like.”
Freddie thinks for a moment, his long fingers drumming a rhythm on the table. “Okay, well my name's Freddie and I'm unemployed.”
I chuckle at the joke, though I’m secretly relieved. Unemployed equals no notice period.
“I'm a West Marbank boy, born and raised. I’m pretty good on guitar and my brother says my singing is ‘not completely shit’. Oh, and I'm single.”
“Huh?” I say, taken aback.
Freddie winks at me. “Speed dating, remember?”
“Right!” I say, pretending to write something down on my pad. Why are my hands so tingly? “Singing huh? Is that a hobby?”
He shrugs. “For now. Maybe something more one day.”
My smile tightens. Great, another performer. Hopefully the fact he's looking for a café job means he's not got a record label champing at the bit to sign him. Still, I don't want to end up in the same sticky situation I'm in right now. Maybe he's a talentless hack. Not that that stopped Kyle.
“That’s cool,” I say, fighting the tickle in my throat. “I can’t sing at all.”
Freddie puffs out his chest. “Maybe I can teach you? Only if you give me the job, of course.”
I chuckle. “Well, can you tell me why you think you’d be a good fit here?”
He ponders for a moment.
“I mean, obviously I haven’t worked in a coffee place before, but I learn fast and I get on well with most people I meet. Old ladiesloveme.” Freddie gestures to the counter behind him with his thumb. “Plus, those fancy machines look fiddly and, being a musician, I’m pretty good with my hands.”
He holds my gaze for a second, his teeth grazing his bottom lip.
“Mhmm,” I look down to make a few random ticks in my notebook. “And what would you consider—”
The cough explodes from my mouth like a cannon blast. Then another, and another. I cover my mouth with my sleeve and wait for them to stop, but they don’t. My eyes start to water.
“Do you need a drink?” Freddie asks, but I’m coughing too much to speak.
A scrape of wood as Freddie pushes his chair back from the table. He hops up and strides over to the counter where glass bottles of tap water are lined up for people to help themselves. Picking up a bottle with one hand, he reaches behind the counter with the other and plucks a clean glass from the shelf. Without spilling a drop, he quickly pours out the water as he strides back to our table, setting a full glass in front of me. Impressed, I take a swig as Freddie settles back into his chair.
