The last customer finished buttoning up his mac and waved goodbye before heading outside into the black February night. My chest squeezed. Jim had eaten here every weekday evening for the past two weeks, since his wife died. I’d patted his back when he’d told me and, to my amazement, old-school, tweed-cap wearing Jim had leant in for a hug. As for his visits here, whilst I’m a huge fan of fast food, that’s on the understanding that it’s part of a balanced diet. Therefore I’d instructed John to surreptitiously start including a free portion of vegetables alongside his fries and a dollop of fruit on top of his favourite cheesecake.
Sheila, Jim’s late wife, always used to order the same thing when they ate in the diner on a Saturday lunchtime – veggie burger with sweet potato wedges and a strawberry milkshake. She reckoned that meal made up most of her five-a-day. Jazz took full credit for my increasing number of vegetarian customers.
‘You’re late.’
Dave shrugged, raindrops flecked across his cheeks. ‘Tuesdays mean team meetings – always a long day in the office. Then I had to pick up the ingredients.’
No apology from those deep tones but his eyes darted towards the floor. That would do me. I could forgive a lack of manners, due to his current turmoil. Plus I was simply flabbergasted that detached Dave had agreed to meet me alone – that was a first. In the past he’d seemed to avoid my sole company at all costs. Me paranoid? Sometimes, perhaps. But not over this. And… and it hurt.
Finally Elvis’ voice petered out but then aarghh! The next song was ‘America’ from West Side Story – hardly a song to cheer up Dave. He put down a full plastic supermarket bag, took off his coat and sat down at one of the tables. I poured two coffees and joined him.
‘Got nothing stronger than that?’ Dave met my gaze for a brief moment, one eyebrow raised. Then he sighed and looked away. ‘She’s still not replied to my texts or phone calls. Perhaps this plan is stupid. Now it’s nine days and counting until Jazz leaves – that’s not much time.’
‘It’s more than enough,’ I said in a bright voice and shifted in my seat. Loyalty was a right bugger sometimes. It meant I couldn’t tell Jazz that Dave was going to try his very best to win her back; I couldn’t reveal to Dave that Jazz had definite plans now, to move to the States.
‘Stop with the negativity.’ I reached into my apron pocket and took out a notepad and pen. ‘Right, let’s see what we wrote down yesterday, before you dashed off… Jazz’s main interests are dancing and cooking. That’s what we’ve decided to work with, to make her feel special over the next week.’ I cleared my throat. ‘So, what are you going to cook me, as a trial run for dinner with her tomorrow night? And we need to crack on with those dance lessons you agreed to take, so that you can take her out to her favourite salsa bar with a degree of confidence. In fact I’ve–’
His shoulders slumped and he met my gaze again. ‘Is there any point? She’ll never agree to see me so soon after Sunday.’
I slipped my hands behind my head and leant back. ‘Let me worry about that – I’ll tell her to stay in tomorrow, because I’m cooking. Then you can turn up.’
‘She’ll go mad!’
‘Perhaps. That’s a risk I’m willing to take – what about you?’
‘You really do want to help, don’t you?’ He swallowed. ‘Okay. But I’ll play safe with the food and make my signature dish, spaghetti bolognese. Usually I do two portions – beef for me, Quorn for her… but I’ll make the extra effort and also go veggie for the night.’ He pulled a face. ‘I know – it doesn’t compare to your homemade sushi or hummus, so try to keep any sarcastic observations to yourself.’
‘Sweetheart, you have a funny way of showing gratitude. I’m missing my favourite DIY show tonight. This week it’s decking.’ I smiled. ‘Be nice, or Mikey might throw you out.’
‘Skip the pretence,’ he scoffed. ‘Jasmine reckons you only watch it cos you fancy the presenter.’
If it wasn’t for the bags under his eyes and slumped shoulders, I would have thought up a sarcastic response. Instead I grinned. ‘Ha! For your information, I put up those new shelves in my lounge.’
Dave loosened his collar. ‘Really? Oh…. nice job, then. The red makes a change from the black and white theme of the sofa, blinds and walls.’
‘Straight men don’t comment on colour plans, do they? Instead, shouldn’t you observe how level the shelves are or explain to me in detail exactly how many different varieties of bracket I can buy?’ My mouth twitched. Teasing Dave. This was new. Normally we just exchanged pleasantries about the weather or work.
And oh… I felt all fuzzy inside. Dave’s face broke into a smile. Well, almost. The slight upward quirk of his lips was a start, anyway. ‘Now who’s being stereotypical.’ He sipped his coffee before emptying the supermarket bag onto the table. Spaghetti, garlic, salad, ready-made chocolate mousses and–
‘Huh? A pre-prepared dessert?’ I wagged my finger. ‘Naughty boy. I shall have to punish you for that by–’
‘Just having you in my life is punishment enough, believe me,’ he muttered, the usual cloud of unfriendliness descending out of nowhere.
My stomach twisted as if he’d just thrown a physical punch. Ouch. Just when I thought this experience might bring the two of us closer together.
Unexpected hurtful comments – I should have got used to them over the years, yet they always caught me unawares. Like the occasional insult muttered if I ever booked into a hotel room with a boyfriend. Or the disappointed ramblings from an elderly relative when I explained for the hundredth time that no, I hadn’t out-grown my “confused phase”. It made me less… willing, to be open with people – not that I wasn’t proud. Me. My lifestyle. I’d nothing to be ashamed of. I just preferred to avoid being hurt. ‘Fine.’ I snapped. ‘If that’s how you feel, I’ll leave you to it and go fetch my mop and bucket. With today’s rain the floor is now covered in filthy footprints.’ Damn, my voice wobbled. ‘But if you hadn’t interrupted, I was going to explain that my punishment would be showing you how to master one of Jasmine’s favourite puddings–’
‘I know it’s jam roly poly,’ Dave blurted out. ‘With cold custard.’
‘Right. John’s got a great recipe – it’s punishing because of all the things that can go wrong whilst making it. Rolling dough into a cylinder without it splitting, for a start. That’s all I was saying.’
Without looking at him, I got up and headed out the back. Shoot. Why had I lost my cool? My chest tightened as I filled a silver bucket with soapy warm water. Trouble was, my mood had been up and down all day, since hearing Jazz’s announcement that she wouldn’t be returning from New York.
I headed back out to the front. On the way to work tomorrow, I’d buy a big box of chocolates for the staff to share – as recompense for me nit-picking over the small stuff today. Dave stood hesitantly by the table and… blimey… held out his hand.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t have reacted like that, especially when you are helping. The jam roly poly sounds great.’
‘Okay.’ My throat felt scratchy. ‘Guess I’m a bit jumpy today too.’ Briefly we squeezed each other’s fingers, him staring at my mop and bucket.
He coughed and busied himself with his bags. The Twist sung by Chubby Checker came onto the jukebox. Dave actually whistled very quietly (out-of-tune, of course) and whilst pushing to and fro with the mop, my breathing felt the easiest it had all day. The door swung open. Even though we were closed, I’d left it unlocked for Sanjay. I met him in a nightclub years ago. He was an antiques dealer and we kept in touch due to a mutual love of fifties memorabilia. He’d promised to bring over a set of four toy American classic cars that he thought would look great on top of my glass counter.
I propped up my mop in the bucket and headed over. He put down his holdall and we hugged. ‘Looking good, man. Like the new haircut.’
‘Backatcha, Mikey,’ he said and grinned. ‘Honestly – such a waste, that you’re pining over some unrequited love. Let’s d
iarise a night out clubbing, soon, and finally get you hooked up with someone available. You need to stop behaving like a puppy-eyed teenager and focus your attention on an actual relationship, instead of some fantasy figure who’s probably got the biggest hidden flaws, like wearing white y-fronts or having moobs or–’
Playfully I punched his shoulder. Every guy needed a straight-talking Sanjay in their life. ‘Just as well it isn’t you. Love your new profile picture on Facebook, by the way – the new girlfriend looks great.’
‘Early days but she’s a real babe… owns her own bookshop. I’ve had to start reading again!’
Dave cleared his throat and headed over to shake Sanjay’s hand and compliment him on his leather jacket. Then he initiated a lively conversation about spy novels and laughed about once going to a fancy-dress party dressed as Austin Powers.
See what I mean? It had always been hard work, trying not to let it hurt that Dave only seemed uptight when around me. With other people he was warm, friendly, chatty. In eighteen months I couldn’t remember a single occasion when the two of us had been out alone, like we would be this evening. Not even for a walk to a pub, or a coffee in my restaurant. And if he turned up early to take Jazz out, he’d simply head for the sofa and turn on the TV – as if to blank me out. Not like her previous boyfriend, who regularly brought his young niece to Polka Dot Diner for one of my chocolate brownie ice cream sundaes.
‘So, it’s you who’s looking for salsa lessons?’ Sanjay said, after he and Dave had discussed the news that Frederick Forsyth really had worked for MI6.
I cleared my throat. ‘Um, Dave, I tried to tell you earlier – Sanjay and I got talking online last night. I explained that you were looking to learn a few moves to surprise Jazz and he said his friend, Theo, teaches all sorts of dance. I’ve got the phone number.’
‘If anyone can get your hips swaying to the right rhythm, Theo can,’ said Sanjay. ‘He put me through my paces for my cousin’s wedding last year.’ He shook his head and grinned. ‘Mate – was that Jasmine I heard next to you last night, on the phone, trying to tickle you so you couldn’t speak? Sometimes you two behave like a pair of schoolkids.’
I grinned. ‘Yes. We were having one of our DVD nights and she came back to bed unexpectedly fast after getting another bottle of wine. Little minx almost got wind of this secret dance plan.’
‘Thanks Sanjay, for the number. I’ll ring Theo this week,’ interrupted Dave abruptly. He shook Sanjay’s hand again, before heading back to the kitchen.
I examined the set of American cars. Wow. A red Cadillac, the cutest pink Corvette, a blue Chevrolet and a Hot Rod with flames painted on the front. Sanjay talked me through their exact condition, previous owners and price and I couldn’t wait to line them up, on top of the glass counter. Dave turned around to look and gave Sanjay the thumbs up. Already he was frying onions and chopping tomatoes, mushrooms and peppers. I insisted Sanjay stay for his favourite frothy cappuccino and hot melt-in-the-mouth waffles drenched with maple syrup, whilst he told me about a genuine fifties gumball machine he might have located. I’d been looking for one for a while, so that I could offer kids sweets at the end of their meal. It would have to be in bright red, of course.
The savoury aroma of simmering bolognese filled the diner, along with the bubbling noise of water boiling for spaghetti. Clearly Dave’s meal would be ready soon, so I took out my wallet – but not quickly enough. Within seconds Dave had shot over, as if he were wearing roller skates.
‘I’ll pay for the cars,’ he said and gave a bright smile. ‘Call it payment for your services, Mikey,’ he said. ‘What with tonight and the planned dancing lessons.’
‘Appreciated, Dave, but no way. I don’t need payment for doing a favour. Plus, these cars are worth every penny… but they aint cheap.’
‘No please. Really. I always pay my debts.’ He shook a wad of notes under Sanjay’s nose.
Sanjay shifted from one foot to the other, as he slipped on his jacket. ‘Look, um, Mikey, you can always pay me later in the week.’
‘I insist!’ said Dave and thrust the notes into Sanjay’s hand before heading back to dish up the meal.
Cheeks hot, I followed Sanjay to the door. After a quick hug he left as quickly as possible. My heart raced and I curled my fists. What on earth was Dave’s problem? I got the feeling him paying for the cars wasn’t just a generous gesture.
Breathing in and out slowly, I took the mop and bucket out the back. When I returned, Dave sat at a table he’d set for two, bowls of spaghetti already dished up, a bowl of mixed salad in the middle.
I sat down opposite him.
‘Well, what do you think?’ said Dave and glanced down at the spaghetti.
Wrong question to ask, after the day I’d had, still reeling from the news that my best friend in the world was about to leave for the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
‘That you’re a prime jerk. Showing me up like that.’ I swigged my water.
Dave’s cheeks flushed. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I was only trying to return your favour.’
‘You think I want paying? And you reckon my meagre services are worth over a hundred quid?’ Stomach in tight knots, I shook my head. ‘We both know there is more to your generosity than that.’
Dave put down his fork. ‘Calm down Mikey. Look–’
‘Don’t tell me to calm down. I’m sick of it. All these months I’ve had to put up with your distance, jumping away at my slightest touch – making sure you are never in a situation alone with me.’ Uh oh. Finally speaking my mind, I prepared to be bruised in return. I shrugged. ‘I don’t get it – my heart tells me you aren’t homophobic but my head… all the evidence points to that.’ My voice became as wobbly as my knees felt. ‘And then tonight you pay me off, as if the idea of being in debt to me is the least appealing thing in the world.’ Voila. My true feelings were out there.
‘It’s not like that!’ said Dave, in a raised voice. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘And I object to you calling me a bigot. Who the hell do you think you are?’
‘Isn’t it?’ My palms felt clammy. ‘Come on – just tell me, what exactly is your problem? Jazz thinks I’m decent enough to live with – isn’t that a good enough recommendation? Isn’t that proof that I’m a good guy? I’ve welcomed you with open arms for Jazz’s sake, but you’ve never given me a chance.’
Dave pushed away his plate and got to his feet. ‘Yeah, it’s a great recommendation all right…’ His lip curled. ‘She even sleeps in your bed.’
‘You make it sounds as if I’m some sort of love rival.’ I shook my head. ‘For God’s sake Dave. Stop acting like a child and tell me once and for all… what’s the matter?’
‘So you’ve never secretly considered shagging my girlfriend?’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘My God. You really are ignorant. I’m not going to even dignify that with an answer.’
‘Yep, and I know why,’ he muttered.
My eyebrows knotted. ‘Dave, speak in English please. If not, get out of my café. I’ve had my fill of your snide comments.’
We stared at each other. Okay Mikey. Be the grown up. Rein yourself in. Sharing your emotions with people who weren’t really close has rarely got you anywhere. I got up, went over and gently curled my arm around his. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I’ve got a bit emotional, but we need to talk about this and–’
‘Don’t touch me,’ he snapped and pulled away his arm as if electricity, not blood, ran through my veins. Dave backed away and grabbed his coat.
My shoulders slumped. ‘See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.’
Dave stood still, as if we were two chess pieces, waiting for each other’s next move.
‘I guess this means the meal tomorrow night is off?’ he said, stiffly.
My eyes pricked but I kept a steady voice. ‘No. We are both going to carry through our plan for Jazz’s sake. Turn up tomorrow at my flat, at seven. I’ll leave as soon as you arrive.’ I glanced around at the
food and turned back. ‘The meal looks okay but don’t mix the bolognese mixture into the pasta, it’ll look more appealing on top, with the white spaghetti all around. Plus garnish the top with a sprig of basil or parsley. And make sure you set the table up with a romantic candle – perhaps scented – and pretty napkins. Maybe buy her a present – at the moment she’s thinking of trying those books by someone called… let’s see, James. Something James.’
‘Really? Oh. Sure, I know the ones… okay, well it’s not exactly rocket science, is it then?’ said Dave tightly, yet his posture relaxed. ‘And what about pudding?’
‘Leave it to me,’ I muttered. ‘I’ll get John to make some at work tomorrow. I’ll stash it at the back of the flat’s fridge with a tub of his homemade custard. Jazz will never see it.’
‘Look, Mikey–’
I shook my head. ‘Go home, Dave. Before I say something else I shouldn’t.’
The door closed behind him and I sunk into a chair. Hands over my eyes, I sucked in my cheeks to stem a wounded groan. If only I’d kept my thoughts to myself; kept my mouth shut. Not for the first time in my life I felt judged and a chip appeared in my veneer of self-acceptance. A veneer that had taken years to lay down, with confidence that had grown as I’d learnt to embrace…. to embrace me; the person I was. Maybe Dave really was prejudiced.
Images flashed across my mind of the disapproving looks from pedestrians if I’ve ever dared walk out, hand-in-hand with a boyfriend; of the rejection, by some men I considered friends, when I told them I wasn’t straight; the time I was cornered in an alleyway by a group of drunk lads, threatening to “beat the gayness out” of me.
I swallowed and blocked out other memories from younger days, where I’d been insulted or laughed at or punched. Most of the time, you see, it didn’t matter – the judges were strangers and their verdicts meant nothing and said more about their narrow minds than my love life. But Dave, Dave was… was my best friend’s boyfriend. His opinion mattered.
How to Get Hitched in Ten Days Page 3