‘I see.’
‘She’s been absolutely useless,’ Molly says as she releases a big sigh.
‘Really?’ I ask, laughing, enjoying the fact that the new girl isn’t perfect and that I haven’t been easily forgotten.
‘Honestly, bless her little heart, but cooking, baking or anything like that isn’t her forte. I’ve had to take over the entire morning baking session through fear of her burning the place down.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Yes … but it turns out she’s actually quite good with the customers. She loves talking to them and asking lots of questions and you know all the old dears love a natter. So, as long as everyone is happy, I don’t mind being in front of the oven a bit more. You’re just lucky you look all happy here, otherwise I’d be dragging you back with us,’ she jokes, tugging at my arm.
‘So, how old is she?’ I ask, still curious about the girl who has replaced me.
‘You know, I don’t know. I think she’s about your age,’ guesses Molly.
‘And where has she come from?’
‘I think she said something about an aunt living nearby and staying with her for a bit. Actually, I guess, other than knowing she’s a rubbish cook, I don’t know much about her. She’s so good at getting other people to talk about themselves it seems she hasn’t had a chance to tell me much about herself yet,’ says Molly, laughing.
‘Smile,’ calls Billy, as he points the camera in our direction, causing us to squeeze into each other and grin.
‘But you must have got a CV from her?’ I ask, once Billy has continued his conversation with Mum.
‘Nope … I thought I’d just give her a trial, like I did with you.’
‘Right,’ I say, a little confused as to why Molly wouldn’t have enquired about this girl a little more, especially as she’s not from the village.
‘She’s much more confident than I thought she was at first, mind, but, quite frankly, she’s not you.’
‘Aw, Mol,’ I say, leaning my head on her shoulder once again and putting my arms around her.
‘Anyway, petal, how are you finding life here? Is it what you thought it would be?’
‘In some ways, yes, but in other ways, not so much,’ I say with honesty.
‘What do you mean?’ she asks.
‘It’s just different,’ I shrug. ‘I don’t feel like I fit in yet … I get up early and go to work, go back to an empty flat and potter about until it’s time to go to sleep.’
‘That doesn’t sound too different from your life at home.’
‘I guess broken down like that it’s not, but I feel like I spend so much time alone. At least at home I had you and Mum with me.’
I look up at Molly and see the concern on her face. It makes me wish I hadn’t said anything.
‘Oh, you don’t have to worry. I’m still settling in, that’s all. Getting used to the busy streets and hectic lifestyles that surround me,’ I laugh, suddenly realizing it’s best for me not to worry either Molly or Mum with my doubts about having moved here – they’d only be anxious for me and I’d rather not burden them with it unnecessarily. I’m sure things will be different when I’ve managed to get myself a better job and when Billy has finished working on the play.
‘Yes, I bet there’s lots to get your head around,’ she nods. Molly squeezes me tight before she continues. ‘I hope you’re enjoying it, though, duck, and not wasting all your time and energy in a thankless job. You’ve got to make the most of life and not let these little opportunities pass you by. Before you know it you’ll be old and wrinkly like me and wishing you’d done more. Just make sure you’re happy.’
An hour later, after walking several laps around the park, we’re all spread out on a couple of picnic blankets, away from all the screaming children and men playing football. Molly and Billy seem to have dozed off in the heat, but Mum and I are still awake, soaking in the day.
Sitting talking to Mum in the sunshine, I notice that there’s something different about her. Her cheeks glow a warm pink, her eyes sparkle and she laughs freely, looking comfortable. She doesn’t seem to be caught up in the inner turmoil that she has had for over a decade and a half. She doesn’t seem so fragile. I grab the camera from my bag and take a picture without her noticing.
‘You look wonderful, Mum,’ I say, looking back at the image.
‘Thank you. I feel wonderful,’ she says, as she takes my hand and squeezes it.
We sit smiling at each other. I feel choked up at how far we’ve come in just a few months, after years of being helplessly stuck in a rut.
‘Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,’ says Mum, looking down at the ground, unable to stop a flicker of concern from appearing on her face, clearly finding it difficult to share whatever is on her mind.
‘What is it? Are you OK? You’re not ill, are you?’ I say with panic.
‘No, no, no, it’s nothing like that,’ she says, wiggling my nose like she used to when I was younger, which causes me to grin. She pauses, takes a deep breath and smiles at me as she says, ‘I’ve met someone.’
I can actually feel the smile slide from my face as her words hit me and I’m overcome with numbness. She continues regardless.
‘It’s nothing serious. We’ve just been out for a couple of dinners and occasionally we sit together and read, or go for walks. You know … I like the company. It’s been so quiet without you at home.’
‘I see …’ I say, unsure of how to process the information. The thought that Mum would one day find someone new had never even occurred to me. It makes sense obviously and I’d hate for her to grow old alone, never feeling what she did with Dad again … but it makes it all so final. It’s a mad thought, I know. Dad hasn’t been with us for over fifteen years now and it’s not as if that scenario will be changing any time soon. So surely it’s only fair that she has company, right? Someone to listen to her thoughts and fears? Someone to make her laugh? However stupid it might seem though, I can’t get rid of the disappointment growing inside me.
‘It doesn’t change anything, love,’ Mum reasons, the earlier joy on her face slipping away, allowing me to see a glimpse of her vulnerability once more and the hurt that has overpowered most of our lives.
I don’t want that Mum back, the Mum that was unable to function. The Mum I couldn’t bear to leave. I’d be a fool to voice my thoughts or show any disappointment. I’d be selfish to expect Mum to live a life of solitude after so much hurt, when for years I wished her heart would mend – that I’d get my Mum back.
‘Oh, I know it doesn’t. It’s just … a shock I guess,’ I manage to say. ‘You deserve to have someone though, Mum,’ I add with a smile. ‘I mean that.’
Mum squeezes my hand, causing me to look up at her face. It makes me so happy to see that warmth in her face once again.
‘We’ll never forget him, you know, love. No one can take away those special memories and the love that he gave us. He’ll always be here, holding us two together.’
I nod, but remain silent, wondering if I’ll ever miss him any less.
‘Darling, what have you told Billy about what happened?’ she asks quietly, making sure Billy and Molly don’t overhear.
‘Nothing,’ I admit with a shrug.
‘Really?’
‘He’s known all along that it’s just you and me, but he hasn’t asked.’
‘He’s never asked about your family?’
‘No. There was a point early on that I thought he would, especially as I talk about Dad being around when I was younger, but he didn’t. So I haven’t told him.’
‘Don’t you think you should?’
‘It’s a bit late to bring it up now, isn’t it? How do I just slip that one into conversation?’
Mum doesn’t say anything. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
I know that at some point I’ll have to open up about the most painful time in my life, but right now I’m not ready for my past to taint my present. Not
when I finally have a new life away from the tragedy that has loomed over me for so long. Burdening Billy with this and seeing that look in his eyes, that sorrowful, sympathetic look, is something I’m just not ready for.
The next day, Molly and Mum’s visit plays on my mind. We had a glorious day in the sunshine, just lazing around, talking and laughing, but tiny things have niggled at me since: the fact that Mum is seeing someone, that Sally is supposedly a wonder with the customers and that I have talk to Billy about Dad is, of course, a huge part of it. But that’s not all. I don’t feel missed. It’s as though I moved to London in the hope of living this joyous life with Billy, only to spend my days being belittled by vile customers and my nights walking around an empty flat alone, whereas they’re back in Rosefont Hill and seem happier than ever without me.
It’s these thoughts that lead me to being flustered, butter-fingered and confused at work – much to the annoyance of Andrezj and a few dissatisfied customers.
‘Er, excuse me?’ says a man’s voice, deep and agitated.
‘Yes? How can I help, sir?’ I ask politely, as I look up to see a suited businessman looking at me in disgust. He holds his plastic cup out to the side, as if it’s vermin in his podgy fingers, his round face flaming red and a hive-like rash appearing on his neck.
‘I asked for an iced sugar-free coffee-based mint mocha frappuccino?’ he spits, elongating each word and over-pronouncing them in that special way that English people do when they think they’re talking to foreigners … or someone stupid.
‘Ye-es?’ I say, not quite seeing the problem and refusing to let him rile me.
‘Coffee-based?’
I smile at him, hoping that he’ll soon tell me my error so that I can get on with the orders from Andrezj, which are now piling up next to me.
His flaring nostrils tell me he doesn’t appreciate the smile. Far from it. Now that I’ve played the nice card he’s even more pissed off.
‘There’s no coffee in it?’ he spits with rage. ‘It’s meant to be coffee-based!’ his voice gets louder and causes a wave of silence to fall over the shop. ‘Honestly, is it so difficult to get a fucking coffee order right?’ he barks at me.
I just stare at him, hoping that he’ll hear back in his head how he has just spoken to me and apologize, but his glare gets meaner and his jaw rocks from side to side as his anger continues to increase.
‘I’m sorry, sir, let me take that back and I’ll make you a fresh one,’ I say as I grab the cup from his hand, feeling extremely uncomfortable and exposed, aware that everyone is staring.
‘That’s not the point is it, little lady. You should’ve made the right thing from the start. You might not have a proper fucking job, sweetheart, but the rest of us do and we deserve to get what we paid for.’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help thinking you’re overreacting –’ I say, trying to reason with him before getting cut off.
‘What?’ he booms.
‘It’s only a coffee …’ I explain.
‘I’ve heard it all now!’ he says in despair, raising his arms in the air, as if calling on the gods to come and shoot me down for my insolence. ‘If a doctor went into work one day and decided to give a patient a nose job instead of, I don’t know, a heart transplant, he’d be sacked.’
‘Well, I think that’s slightly different, isn’t it? Look, I’ve said sorry, I can’t do any more than that – so, would you like another coffee or not?’ I say, as I pull the lid off of the discarded cup, ready to dispose of it.
‘I don’t want you to say sorry, I want you to acknowledge the fact that you’re a useless human being and a waste of fucking space!’ he shouts.
The cold drink goes flying through the air, landing on the guy’s face and suit, before I even have a chance to think about my actions. The gathering crowd of customers and staff (who decided to simply watch and not interject while I was being verbally attacked) gasp in shock.
Silence falls over the shop.
Oh crap!
A loud clap starts up from somewhere in the shop, causing a few more people to join in, adding wolf-whistles and cheers.
‘I’d have done that five minutes ago!’ declares a woman at the back of the queue.
‘What a twat. Well done you!’ shouts out a burly builder.
‘Who does he think he is?’ a teenager asks loudly, tutting at the businessman in disdain.
Regardless of their support, I know I’m in trouble.
While my unhappy customer wipes the creamy drink away from his face and looks down at the mess I have made of his (no doubt designer) suit, I decide enough is enough. I turn to Andrezj and give him an apologetic shrug as I whip off my apron and baseball cap, leave them on the side, grab my bag and calmly walk out of the door.
13
The journey home is quick as I battle to keep my composure, the shock and adrenaline causing my body to shake uncontrollably. As soon as I walk through the door I stop in my tracks and sob. Big fat tears spill out of me. I cry so hard my breathing becomes erratic.
Billy arrives by my side in the hallway, looking dishevelled from another night out. He doesn’t say anything, he just holds me as the tears continue to fall.
‘I want to go home,’ I wail. ‘I hate London. I want to go home!’ The words get caught in my throat, making me sob harder.
When my tears start to subside Billy guides me to the kitchen and sits me down in one of the swivel chairs at the counter. In silence, he makes us both some tea, then sits in front of me and takes my hands in his.
‘OK, baby. What’s happened?’
‘I’ve been an absolute idiot.’
‘What? How?’
Slowly I tell him about the morning’s events – the horrible man at work and the vile things he shouted at me before I lost my rag and drenched him in sloppy brown liquid.
Billy sits in silence, his mouth wide open in disbelief.
‘So you just left?’ he asks, a smile creeping across his lips.
‘Yeah … I figured that I was going to get sacked anyway. There’s no way Andrezj could keep me on after that, even if he wanted to.’
Fresh tears threaten to fall at the thought of it. How could I have been so reckless?
‘Baby, I’m so proud of you,’ Billy says, kissing the back of my hand.
‘What? Why?’
‘Because you stood up for yourself.’
‘Hardly! I just saw red.’
‘I think there’s more to it than that. This guy … was he the only one to treat you this badly?’
‘No,’ I admit sheepishly, taking a gulp of my tea.
‘What? Seriously, baby, if I’d known that you were being treated so badly I’d have stopped you working there. I can’t believe you’ve not told me this stuff.’
‘It’s not like everything about the place was bad,’ I try and reason. ‘Besides, I thought something better would come along quickly. I didn’t realize I’d be stuck there quite so long.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Sophie?’ he asks, as a frown appears on his face.
‘You’ve got a lot on,’ I shrug.
‘That’s a rubbish excuse.’
‘What? You’ve been busy with the show – I haven’t wanted to bother you with my nonsense.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were so unhappy?’
‘I’m not unhappy,’ I lie.
‘I think crying and saying you hate being in London and that you want to go home kinda constitutes being unhappy.’
‘Billy …’ I say, burying my head in my hands. ‘I’m just not very good at saying I need help!’
‘Why not?’
I look at his loving face and think about spilling my guts. Getting everything out there and telling him exactly what has happened to make me resist depending on others for the majority of my life.
But Billy starts to speak again before I get the chance.
‘Admit it, you’ve hated it here, haven’t you?’
‘No!’
‘I dragged you to London so that we can be closer, but then stay out late every night while you have a shitty job and spend your nights alone,’ he pauses to let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’m so sorry for being so selfish.’
‘No, no, no. It’s not your fault.’
‘I could’ve made things better.’
‘It’s not you. I guess it’s just not been what I thought it would be like. If I’m honest, I’ve been lonely.’
Billy stares at me, silently, allowing me to continue.
‘Back at home I spent so much time on my own, but never once felt lonely. Here, even though I see hundreds more people each day, I’ve never felt lonelier. Sitting at home each night, I don’t have a clue what to do with myself. Outside the streets are buzzing with excitement and I’m not a part of it. But you are.’
‘That’s why I’ve tried to get you to come out with me, so that you could make some friends here.’
‘It’s not about friends, Billy. Not really. I’ve never really had many of those,’ I say honestly. ‘It just doesn’t feel like home.’
‘Yet,’ Billy adds.
I look up at him, his eyes big and hopeful.
‘Molly said something interesting to me yesterday, about grabbing the opportunities life throws your way,’ he says.
‘She said something similar to me.’ Perhaps, I think, she’s been more tuned in to how unhappy I’ve been than I thought.
‘Well, I think we should take that on board and not waste time doing something one of us hates …’
I sigh, knowing what he’s about to say.
‘Will you please stop being so proud and forget the idea of getting another job?’ he asks.
‘But –’
‘Just for a little while? I’ve only got a couple of weeks left on the show anyway and after that, well, who knows where we’ll be. But I want you in my life. Actually in it. With me.’
‘It would make things easier if we actually spent time together,’ I say, giving the idea some thought.
‘Exactly.’
‘And I do have my savings, so I could dip into those if I needed to.’
Billy and Me Page 13