Page 88 of Five Gold Rings

‘Mrs Caspar, I have a question. When I came into the shop, you called Joe to come along, why him? Why not George who works in the week? Or Bailey who works Tuesdays?’

‘Because George is in his fifties, and I know for a fact that he goes to bed at seven o’clock every evening because of indigestion issues.’

‘Mrs Caspar…’

There is silence on the end of the phone. ‘So the rings were our mistake, completely. But yes, I rang Joe because… He is a good boy. And because he likes you, Eve… and, yes, in my infinite years of wisdom I thought it was a window of opportunity for the two of you to get together.’

‘MRS CASPAR! You knew all this time and never told me… He liked me?’

Noel reaches over trying to listen into the conversation, urging me to put it on speaker.

‘Of course he did! It was little things. He used to stand a bit straighter when you were in the shop, he listened when you spoke, he paid attention to you. It was a sweet and lovely thing to observe. So, when you broke up with that rotter, Chris, I just gave things the little push they needed. I pushed too hard, didn’t I? Why are you not with him now?’ she asks, sadly.

I am again a little emotional to hear her words, thinking about all those times the three of us would have been in the shop and she would have been watching over us. Shame on her for not letting on to me though.

‘He’s gone home for Christmas.’

‘Are you OK, my dear? You’ve had quite the week. We are here if you need us.’

I feel tears start to well up in my eyes at her kindness. ‘I’m with my brother, it’s all good. Please give Mr Caspar a big Christmas hug from me. I think the last few days have been eventful but also done me the world of good. So, thank you. Thank you so much. Merry Christmas.’

‘Never thank us. We love you, Eve,’ she says kindly before hanging up.

I look blankly at my phone as a screensaver of Joe pops up again. He liked me. Shit. I put my head in between my knees as Noel looks on, chugging his third espresso of the evening.

‘Oh, Evie. Deep breath. Is there anything I can do?’

I shake my head. It’s a very big mess in my head at the moment but all I know is that it would be good to see Joe tonight. To at least tell him that while he’s had a head start, I’m catching up. I’d like to jog beside you now and tell you how I feel, too. What are we doing? Brighton is a bloody big city. I have no idea where he lives down there.

‘Well, are we good to take a pit stop?’ Noel asks. ‘I love you. But my bladder can’t take all this caffeine.’

I nod, signalling that a pit stop is allowed. Hell, maybe it’s a chance to plan this, to think about what I need to say. Or maybe it’s a chance to turn this car around. I don’t know where we’re going or if Joe will ever pick up his phone or reply to me. It’s selfish of me to think he’d come away from his family at a time like this. This was a stupid plan. I’ve taken up enough of his Christmas Day already. We’ve left Dad alone, too. I don’t want him to be alone. We should go back. Noel takes the turning for the motorway services and finds a space in the unnaturally empty car park, parked next to a van where the driver in a Santa hat sleeps in the driver’s seat, like an elf but not.

‘You should pee, too,’ he tells me.

‘Alright, Dad,’ I jest.

‘No, seriously. If there’s no plan and we’re driving around Brighton all night, shouting out on to the streets for this Joe then I say pee now. Or you’ll have to go and squat in the sea.’

I salute him, undoing my seat belt, looking down at the necklace in my lap and putting it on, catching myself in the rearview mirror of the car. Joe was right, it’s three letters but it’s a good name. It’s kind of perfect.

‘Hurry up, it’s cold.’ I hear Noel outside the car, jigging around to keep himself warm.

I get out, smoothing out the skirt of my dress, and link arms with Noel. ‘God, we’re a right pair,’ I tell him as I look at our party dress and Christmas jumper collab. ‘Nice kicks though.’

‘Someone really awesome bought them for me.’ I pull him closer. ‘I love how we’re spending Christmas Day in a motorway services – the glamour of it all,’ he jokes, casting a hand over the building. ‘Oh look, Burger King is open. I think the only time I ever eat a Burger King is at a motorway services,’ he says.

And for some reason, I stop. I think about what someone once told me. And just like that, I look around that car park and watch as the van we were parked beside pulls away, revealing a green Mini. I take a deep breath. I believe that car’s name is Olive.

‘Noel, where are we? What is the name of this services?’

‘I think we’re in Crawley. Pease Pottage,’ he says, reading off the sign.

Joe

‘Joe?’

‘Hey, Dad… Yep… all good there?’

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