Page 109 of The Happy Hour
‘Because...’ Ash floundered. He’d had enough of being interrogated by people who thought they were wiser just because they’d lived longer than him. And those unkind thoughts were the reason he had been right to walk away from Jess. But then... the woman’s question was so simple.Why are you here, and not there?If he told her that it was because he was too fucked-up, she’d probably hit him with her umbrella.
‘Well then,’ the woman said, when he didn’t finish his sentence. ‘You need to be purposeful.’
‘I do?’ He rubbed the back of his neck.
‘Yes. Whether your purpose is to enjoy this market, or to go to the other market where this woman is, or to sit on a bench next to the cathedral and drink your coffee, enjoying a tiny corner of London where the birds are singing, you need to own it. Right now, you’re floating around like a lost soul, swearing to yourself, stuck in between. Make a decision, then act on it.’
‘Even if it’s the wrong one?’
‘I think you know, almost as soon as you make it, whether a decision is right or wrong. Not everyone puts stock in intuition, but I believe in it. There’s a part of you that knows.’ She tapped her temple.
‘Right,’ Ash said again, and thought that maybe she was making sense. Walking away from Jess, leaving her on that bench in the park, had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done: harder, even, than going to see his dad, lying still and silent in the hospice bed. Every step away from her had felt like he was leaving a vital part of himself behind, but he had told himself he couldn’t backtrack; he couldn’t give her a speech about how he couldn’t be with her after all, despite their weeks together; be the cause of all her tears, watch as he broke the heart of the woman he was certain he loved – and break his own heart at the same time – then race back up the hill, make jazz hands and say,Just kidding! Ilove you more than I’ve loved anyone, so pleaseput up with me through the shitshow that is mylife right now because I’m selfish and I don’t want to spend another hour without you.
No, he couldn’t have done that. So he had stuck to his decision, and maybe it was the wrong one – surely if it was right, he would have started to forget about her by now, or at least stop dreaming about her – but he had made it, at least. But what had the woman said just now? That he was floating around, stuck in between.It didn’t mean anything, except that this morning had been a mistake. How had he ever thought Jess, everyone and everything at Greenwich Market, could be replaced?
‘Thanks.’ He gave the woman a quick, perfunctory smile.
‘No problem, young man.’ She tapped her umbrella on the ground. ‘Glad I could be of service. I somehow know when people need a snippet of advice – even if they’re complete strangers. You, with your obscenities and hunched shoulders, those sad grey eyes, were a prime candidate.’
‘Sort of like a sixth sense, then?’ Ash said. ‘Thanks again.’ Now he really was going to leave. Maybe find that bench, enjoy his coffee in peace – unless, of course, the birds she was referring to were pigeons. If they were, then they could fuck off: a pigeon would nail the coffin shut on this disaster of a morning. He flashed her another quick smile and turned away.
‘More like my own little superpower,’ she called after him.
His breathing stuttered. Slowly, he turned back round to face her. ‘What did you say?’
She shrugged, all her sternness evaporating. ‘It’s not earth-shattering, I know. Not like flying or being invisible, but I like to think of it as my mini superpower.’
‘A... a mini superpower?’ he repeated.
‘It sounds silly, but that’s how I see it. Are you OK? I know I was abrupt, but swearing really is—’
‘No,’ Ash said. ‘It’s fine. Honestly.’ He realised he was rubbing his chest. The ache had been there, dull but unforgiving, for the last ten days. It was undoubtedly psychosomatic, because your heart didn’t actuallyachewhen you were heartbroken – that was reserved for serious medical emergencies like heart attacks. But now it was sharp, and it was telling him – this woman was telling him – that he’d got it wrong. He’d got it so, so wrong. ‘Thank you.’ He pressed his coffee into her hand.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I don’t want this—’
‘It really is great coffee,’ he called, already hurrying away. He turned to give her a smile – if she had thought he was a bit strange before, now she must think he was positively unhinged – and tripped, catching his hand on the brick wall. He kept going, hoping the woman with the umbrella would understand.
It was almost eleven o’clock: he had just over an hour to get there.
Chapter Forty
Jess knew that Felicity’s party had gone on late into the night, because when she woke up on Sunday morning, there were a lot of slightly incoherent messages from Lola on her phone, proclaiming her undying love for everyone: Jess, Wendy, Roger, Spade and Braden and their Market Misfits – even her Fitbit step sessions with Malik. Jess decided she would reply later, in case her best friend hadn’t put her phone on silent after finally slumping into bed.
She showered and put on a blue dress with orange fish swimming across the fabric. She wanted to get to the market before Wendy, so she could spend time in the shop while it was empty and get a sense of how best to organise it for autumn: how she could maximise its potential, make every item sing, imbue every customer who walked through the door with a cosiness they wanted to take into their own homes. The hares could have pride of place on the very bottom shelf, except for Halloween week, when she would allow them a moment in the limelight.
She tiptoed carefully through the quiet flat. They rarely bothered to close the living-room curtains, and early morning sun was streaming in through the window, dust motes dancing in the beams of light. She put bread in the toaster, got out the butter and marmalade, and scrolled through her phone. There was a message from her dad, sent last night after she had fallen, exhausted, into bed.
Loved seeing you on Tues! Why don’t you bring Lola and Malik round one Sunday for a barbecue? It’s been ages since we’ve seen them, and I’ll even open the studio doors. Dad. xx
Jess waited for the tight clench in her stomach, the urge to push the phone and his invitation away, but it didn’t come. She spread butter and marmalade on her toast, and replied.
Malik will go insane at your train set! Let me see if Wendy will let me have a precious Sunday off, and I’ll check dates with L and M. It was really lovely to see you too. xx
When she’d finished her breakfast, she padded quietly down the stairs and out into the pale, early morning sunshine. She walked along roads with only the lightest traffic, the pavements dusty, pigeons cooing while they pecked for morsels in the cracks. The world was waking up slowly, but Jess felt more awake than she had done in days.
She had decided, after Ash’s no-show yesterday, that she had to try again. She didn’t know whether to start with a gentle trickle of messages he couldn’t ignore, or go all out with a return visit to his flat, but she wasn’t giving up on him. He was one man in a city of millions, and the sensible part of her brain said she should move on, that their meeting on the bench had been the final act. Usually, by now, she would have consigned him to history.
But yesterday evening, surrounded by her friends, and people she considered her family, she had realised that if she tried and failed to win Ash back, they would look after her. She had good people around her, and she wanted him to be one of them: she wanted him to have those people around him too.
