Probably the Best Kiss in the World

by Pernille Hughes

  “Well, if we find a doer-upper, Jen’ll have her hands full with the refurb.” Apparently ventriloquism was her newly-acquired skill – she hadn’t even opened her mouth. “And then there’ll be the babies.” Robert had the good grace to touch wood then. “Plus, there’s Mumsie’s bridge plans.”

  “Ahh,” said Giles, conspiratorially. “You’ll have your hands full then. Excellent.” He gave Jen a pat on the arm, genuinely delighted for her.

  “I currently brew my own beer too.” She didn’t know quite why she’d said it. Possibly to have her own say in the conversation. Possibly to see how supportive Robert would be.

  Giles’ face took on a blank look. “Beer? You?”

  “Yes. Me,” Jen said. A touch of the feeling she’d had when confessing her passion to Yakob was rising in her tummy. Not that she was giving Yakob any further thought. She didn’t know whether he was a liar or a player, only that she didn’t need either in her life. “I’ve won shows with my beer.” Saying it out loud again gave her another boost of pride. Giles looked as if she’d just informed him Churchill was a burlesque dancer. “Celia?!” he said brusquely, “since when did the WI competitions have a beer category?”

  Celia gave him a withering look as she roughly wiped a stalactite of snot from Rooney’s pug-face. “Don’t be ridiculous, Giles. Women don’t make beer.” Giles turned back to Jen, his expression confused, as if suggesting she’d been pulling his leg, or worse still, blatantly lying to him.

  “Actually, women brewers – brewsters – have been brewing beer for over ten thousand years,” Jen started, just as Robert said, “It was her university hobby. Jen’s considering baking now, so wherever we find has to have room for a decent kitchen.” With that, Giles looked much happier, which irked Jen in many ways.

  She raised an eyebrow at Robert. “Is that what you have planned, that I’m in the kitchen?” His brow furrowed, savvy enough to sense he was on unstable ground. “No, of course not, I just meant–”

  “She’s not going to have time to be in the kitchen, are you Jen?” Ava slid her arm inside Jen’s and pulled her closer, rendering Jen suspended between the two siblings. Robert’s grip reflexively tightened. “Jen’s buying into Well, Honestly!”

  All eyes were suddenly on Jen, with various expressions.

  “Since when?” asked Robert, put out. “First I’ve heard of it.”

  “I’m thinking it over,” Jen began, willing a natural disaster – tsunami or tornado, either would do – to rip through the house right there and then.

  “See?” said Ava and Jen half-expected her to stick her tongue out at her brother.

  “But, to be honest, Ava,” Jen said, sensing her opportunity, “I don’t have the funds. But I do appreciate the offer. It was terribly generous.”

  Ava’s pout was huge and Jen felt her arm sliding away. There would be some bridge-building needed there. If she still had a job. Robert’s face was filled with triumph over his sister.

  “Surely you understand Jen needs her savings for our home, Ava?”

  Jen wasn’t sure what savings he thought she had. It seemed like now was the time to utilise Alice’s time-buying excuse.

  “Actually, Robert, I have a wedding to fund, so the money’s already spoken for. We’ll need to talk about the house thing.” Having managed her economies for the last decade, his making plans for her money bothered her, but she understood marriages came with adjustments and this would have to be another of hers. He opened his mouth, but she cut him short with a pointed “Later.” She wasn’t discussing her finances in front of his family. For now though, her wedding-funding ploy appeared to have done the job, as Ava huffed off to the velour chaise longue and began texting furiously on her phone.

  Eager for things not to be awkward between her and Robert, Jen clinked her glass to his with a “To us”. They each took their sip and with a twinkle in her eye Jen leaned in to say “Mm, the champagne tastes grape.” There followed a small satellite delay as Robert looked confused, then finally got it.

  “Aha!” he said, “I see what you did there. Great/grape.” He awarded her a short unconvinced laugh. “Although, strictly speaking, champagne isn’t actually the grape. It’s named after the region. The wine itself is an extremely complex blend, not only of grape varieties, but from different vineyards across the region–”

  Robert was interrupted, and Jen saved, by Celia moving to the mantelpiece and banging a brass mini-gong. Jen supposed this was to announce dinner. Actually, she’d lost her appetite and wasn’t looking forward to sitting through a meal with a surly Ava and four boys who preferred bogies over vegetables. She’d always suspected Zara was work-shy, given how much she travelled. Now, looking at her forthcoming “new” family, she began to wonder whether Zara wasn’t, in fact, hiding.

  But Celia didn’t usher them all through to the dining room. Instead she offered Giles her hand which he clasped, taking his place next to her.

  “I was going to announce this over dinner, darlings, but the time seems prescient given the conversation. Giles and I funded both Ava and Zara’s weddings, and given your parents aren’t here to give you yours, as our beloved new daughter, Jennifer, we’re going to pay for your and Robert’s nuptials,” Celia pronounced, basking in her fairy godmother status. “Your funding worries are no more!”

  Jen stood stunned, until Celia pulled her into another crushing embrace, almost smothering her in her cleavage, while Robert vigorously shook his father’s hand and Ava whooped that they could be bizzy-buddies after all, none of them acknowledging Beckham having dropped another one.

  This should be a godsend, Jen thought, her eyes watering again. Why then, did it feel like she was brewing a small panic attack?

  Chapter 15

  “Bummer.” Alice, though not one for swearing, wasn’t one to sugar coat things either.

  “I know.” Sitting on Alice’s shop counter while her friend arranged flowers was calming and Jen needing calming. Ava had forced her through a day-long brainstorming session for marketing the crampons and Jen, normally a fountain of ideas, had pretty much dried up. Zara Skyping in for thirty minutes from an infinity pool, complete with cocktail in coconut, hadn’t helped. “What’s more, Celia thinks I was crying tears of joy. Seriously, something had died in that boy’s bottom and no one else batted an eyelid.”

  Alice snorted a laugh, but Jen couldn’t see the funny side.

  “How am I going to get out of the business now? I don’t want to sell crampons. I don’t want to sell inco pads either, but this is the limit.”

  “It could be a sign,” said Alice, tying off a peony posy and setting it nicely on top of a wooden cabinet from Max’s salvage. Jen noticed a small stack of romance novels on it. A swift scan of the room showed it wasn’t alone. Jesus.

  Alice didn’t say a word.

  “A sign of what? That I haven’t had enough kickings in life?” Jen wasn’t really prone to self-pity, but she couldn’t quite see how to evade this.

  “The need for a job change?”

  Jen’s shoulders sank a little. “Yes, I suppose. Robert’s got it all planned out. Refurb the house, then fill it with sprogs.”

  Alice came around to the front, jumped up to sit next to her friend and took her hand. “Do you not want a house of sprogs?”

  Here we go, thought Jen. Another “intervention”. “I do. Maybe. But not right now.”

  “Fair enough,” conceded Alice, which surprised Jen, as she’d been prepared to defend much harder. “You might take ages to find the right house, or have the babies, so surely Robert can’t take issue with you finding another job?”

  “Believe me Alice, I’ve lain awake thinking about this, but there aren’t many marketing jobs in town, not decent ones anyway–”

  “In spite of the bar being pretty low,” Alice helpfully interjected.

  “–and I’d still have to explain it to the family without them hating me.”

  The shop door opened, its bell jingling. Max reverse
d in, carrying two bulging jute bags.

  “I’ve cleaned out three charity shops now, babe. The romantic mojo’s got to come back.” Turning and seeing Jen, her smile dropped. Jen sensed she’d heard something she shouldn’t have and cocked an eyebrow at Alice, who was looking sheepish.

  “Um, so, last time you were here and dissing the rom-coms and true love? Business has been a bit pants since.”

  “You think I’ve jinxed your shop?” Alice had always been a bit woo-woo, but this? Jen felt bad. Had she really been so negative? To be fair, no one had graced the shop in the hour she’d been there, and the going-home traffic normally held at least one boyfriend who’d arsed-up, needing to make amends with flowers. Alice gave her hand a squeeze.

  “No, I don’t think you’ve jinxed my shop. I’m just bringing more romance in.” Alice took a look around and genuinely seemed pleased. Max was keeping her head down, neatly stacking the new books onto some repainted bookcases and a couple of brocade reupholstered chairs. It added to the boho feel. “I like the way it looks; blooms, romantic furniture and love-stories. Who wouldn’t want to buy flowers in here?” Max finished her task and made a show of bowing to Alice, who blew her a kiss as she wandered to the back end of the shop and her salvage store.

  “Are things difficult, Alice?” Jen asked, suspecting Alice was putting on a brave face. It didn’t help that as landlord, she took money from them every month.

  Alice sighed. “Foot traffic has always been touch and go around here. Some of Charlie’s customers stop in now and again. But three of my corporate clients just cancelled their regular orders. They get flowers for the reception desks or for employee gifts – you know, birthdays or anniversaries etc. One is merging with a bigger company that’s got its own supplier and the other two are moving out of town. It was steady money. Meanwhile the funeral homes find us too untraditional.”

  “OK,” said Jen, her mind already whirring on how to promote Alice’s business. “Have you asked to pitch for the merging company’s contract?” Alice’s face showed that she clearly hadn’t. “Al, you have to be more forward. Shy bairns get nowt.”

  Alice wrinkled her nose at Jen. “What does that even mean?”

  “It’s northern. You have to ask for what you want.”

  “Yeah well, I’m not really pushy like that.” While Alice could be plenty feisty with her mates, and chirpy with her customers, she had never been comfortable cold calling strangers.

  “Well, we’ll have to work on that. Meanwhile, what are the other options?”

  Alice shrugged. “I’ll keep an eye out for new companies moving in and leave them a card?” Jen thought they had to do better than that. “Otherwise I’ll have to start looking at spaces closer into town, but they’re more expensive, less quirky and most importantly can’t house Max’s stuff. I love working in the same place.” Looking around her Jen saw that it would be tragic if they were forced to split up. Re:Love was all about the mix of the two of them and the mix of the flowers and the pre-loved salvage.

  Alice’s phone binged. Jen didn’t look at her own. The Phone of Shame did not warrant the constant checking she’d been used to. It currently sat ignored on Jen’s teenage Filofax which had been resurrected to hold her lists, now she was app-bereft. She wasn’t feeling as inclined to fill her lists in, either. The wedding to-do list was as thin on the ground on paper as it was on ChAPPel.

  Alice checked the notification, then jumping down sashayed to the computer. Today’s tea dress was one she’d sewn using old fabrics Jen had found in her loft. While Jen’s mother was a dressmaker, Jen had just never learnt how, spending hours with her dad instead, honing their beer. If Jen wasn’t mistaken, Max’s short sleeved shirt was the same material. Max dressed exclusively in 1950’s US boys’ style, with turned-up jeans, and white t-shirts under various short-sleeved shirts created by Alice.

  “PanFlora order incoming!” Alice announced with an operatic flourish. Jen looked at her watch. She needed to be off. Lydia would be home soon.

  “Ooooh!” sang Alice. “This is interesting.”

  “Is it Romantics Anonymous ordering a room full of flowers?” Jen asked, still slightly stung about the mojo insinuation.

  Alice ignored her. “I have an order here for tomorrow. For a Jen Attisen.”

  “What? Really?” Jen had a rush of excitement. She never got flowers. Ever. Except once, when Lydia robbed some from a garden returning from a pub and left them on the kitchen table with an “I wuv you” note.

  “Yes indeedy. Only, it can’t be you,” Alice said smugly, “your surname is Attison, not Attisen. Can’t be the same. Shame, it’s a lovely bouquet; all reds. Zinnias, roses, and Hypercium berries. Fabulous.”

  Jen was disappointed and confused. She’d been excited that they might have been for her – who didn’t like getting flowers? It didn’t make her a hopeless romantic or anything, it just meant someone was thinking of her and that was always nice. But like Alice said, the spelling was different. Robert knew how to spell her name and would have called the shop direct. He took pride in promoting local business.

  “Where are they going then?” Jen tried to sound interested as opposed to envious. She wasn’t sure she pulled it off.

  “Hhmmm,” murmured Alice, pottering between her flower buckets, pulling out some stems and beginning her assembly. They did look lovely. Lucky cow, that Jen Attisen. “To some company.” Oh. Robert wouldn’t send flowers to her work either. He’d think it was impractical for getting them home, whereas really all women wanted the chance to lord their flowers over their co-workers.

  Alice worked fast and fixed the flowers into a spherical bouquet. Looking at them, Jen couldn’t help but sigh.

  Then she held up two cards, for Jen to pick one, which she obediently did, but without enthusiasm. Alice checked the computer and wrote the message.

  “You know, I think she’d rather have them today than tomorrow, don’t you?” Alice said. It was after hours, so it seemed like a moot point.

  “Is it local?” Jen asked, glumly.

  “Well, Honestly!? Pretty close.”

  Wait, what? “But that’s … that’s me!”

  Alice laughed at her, and handed her the gorgeous bouquet. Delighted and intrigued, Jen whipped the card off and read it;

  Follow the passion!

  Jen was conflicted. On one hand she wanted Alice to hack the PanFlora mainframe immediately for his number and email address. She was well-mannered, so she should thank him. On the other hand she was still angry and disappointed with him. She’d walked away from the show and their rendezvous for a reason. She wasn’t about to put all of that aside for a bunch of flowers, even if it was the most stunning bouquet she’d ever received.

  “So,” said Alice. “I’m guessing it isn’t Robert.”

  “I … um … I don’t know Alice.” She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to incriminate herself in anyway – not that there was anything going on, of course.

  Alice guffawed then gave her a hammy whisper, “I think Robert knows how to spell your surname.”

  “I mean, I’m not sure who they’re from.” Well that was true. She was ninety-nine percent sure given the passion comment, but there had to be room for doubt in the world and he hadn’t signed the card. It gave her the leeway for sidestepping the question.

  Alice’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh, a secret admirer. How very romantic. Good job you aren’t one of those non-believer types, eh Jen?” Jen sensed she was being mocked and that she was on dodgy ground here.

  “Gotta go, Al,” she said, cack-handedly pulling her coat on while not letting go of her lovely flowers. “Lydia’s off camping. A weekend of singing around the campfire. She’ll need some help packing.”

  Alice gave her a smug smile. “Run away then, avoid the question.”

  Jen scarpered. As the door closed behind her she heard Alice shout “Good job, Max! The mojo might be back!”

  Jen placed the flowers on the workbench of her outbuildi
ng. They were gorgeous. But they didn’t change the fact she was annoyed with Yakob. Sitting on his deck, talking about their families, especially about his Morfar and her dad, she’d thought they’d had a connection, an honesty between them. There had been numerous chances where he could have said Oh Kronegaard? I work for them. And he hadn’t. He’d definitely hidden it. There was no two ways around that. He’d let her trash the company in all sorts of ways and he’d let her run her mouth off about her brewing like he wasn’t already well informed about such things. How stupid she must have sounded. Instinctively Jen put her hands to her heated cheeks. Oh God, she’d talked him through glass colours like he was a novice. How cringey. There was no way he couldn’t have been laughing at her behind her back. Just like Danny must have been too after she’d left Ibiza. It all made her feel a little bit sick.

  Neither Danny or Yakob had turned out to be what she thought, and while the red of the flowers reminded her of the red and white Danish flags she’d seen all over Copenhagen, they also reminded her that it had all happened in a holiday environment and she was adamant in her belief that people didn’t think straight on holidays. Regardless of having met him again, Yakob was definitely a holiday thing and Jen immediately realised that she absolutely wouldn’t let it destabilise what she had with Robert. Robert was a better thing. He was a decent bloke, just as her dad had said. She’d known him for years, not just a fleeting few hours. Having just been talked through all of his baby photos by Celia after their dinner, Jen was pretty sure she knew everything about him. Her life with Robert would be straightforward and uncomplicated and she could stay in control of it. OK, so he was making plans without her, but what they needed was a dedicated meeting, a sit-down to discuss and plan things out. They could set an agenda and work through the points, until they had a clear mission statement they could stick to for this marriage, which she believed would be a success. Within a framework like that, Jen knew she could function and go forward and most importantly stay in some semblance of control. Not of Robert; she didn’t want to be controlling, but of them as a team and partnership. However, above all else she needed to know she was part of the steering, because she’d been in a position of floundering helplessness before in her life and she would do everything she could never to be there again. Letting go of the brewing was surely a small price to pay for that stability, wasn’t it?