Probably the Best Kiss in the World

by Pernille Hughes

  Driving home, she was still narked with him. Was it too much to ask that he came to see how she’d done? Even if he saw her hobby as something that was ending soon, he was a competitive man and should have been rooting for her. And yet, he’d neither wished her good luck, nor asked her how she’d done. The disappointment inside Jen ran deep. She was still muttering about it as she stumbled through the front door, arms laden with bags and table cloths to be washed.

  As always, she was met by her parents’ beaming faces. A large framed photo of them hung at the end of the short hall, directly opposite the door. They’d hung it there themselves, “to remind us not to be miserable gits when coming in from work.” Jen and Lydia had unequivocally agreed to leave it there after the accident, in spite of it breaking their hearts. Over time, it had become easier to look at. On numerous occasions Jen had found herself asking their advice as she passed, generally regarding Lydia.

  To free up her hands, she stuck the rosette onto the frame for the moment. It made her feel like a child, bringing a prize home to show them. They would have been so proud. Given it was for beer, her dad would have been over the moon. She could imagine all the questions he’d be asking her; about the beer, about the display, about the competitor’s entries. Actually no – he’d have known all of that already, as he would have watched her brewing it and he would have worked the stall with her. He would have kissed her good luck as she went to see the results and he would have celebrated with her after. Jen hustled to the kitchen to off-load the table cloths, and to clear the welling in her eyes.

  The wash cycle with the table cloths was just kicking off when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Lydia was probably Kumbaya-ing in her field already.

  Opening the door, she was met with a face full of white flowers and a fist proffering a bottle of champagne. Alice’s face appeared from behind it all.

  “Delivery for the victorious Jen Attisen.”

  Jen ushered her in, as Alice unloaded the bouquet in her arms. White roses, freesias and jasmine, surrounded by pale green eucalyptus. They smelled heavenly. Alice knew her way to the kitchen and placing the bottle on the table, found two mismatched champagne flutes. “I’ve had it chilling all afternoon,” she said, pausing for a moment, “but do you want to save it?”

  “Open it,” Jen said, immediately. Lydia wasn’t around, Robert could get stuffed right now, and Alice was one of her favourite people, so it seemed exactly right to celebrate with her. Jen unlocked the door to the courtyard and set two faded patchwork cushions on the doglegged wooden bench which her dad had built into the near corner. The evening sun hit perfectly in over the outbuilding, warming the little suntrap.

  “Read the card,” Alice commanded, setting the glasses on the table and settling herself onto the bench.

  Congratulations, Jen!

  Follow the passion.

  Dropping down into her seat, Jen was mystified. How could he have known? He was in a different country for goodness sake. How could he know about the win, and arrange flowers so fast this time? How? Dammit he was making it hard to not think about him or stay cross at him. He was certainly persistent in his encouragement, it made her wonder whether he could really be laughing at her brewing. That he’d acknowledged her win, where someone else hadn’t, wasn’t helping either.

  Alice gave her a nudge. “Want to talk about it?”

  “I … he … actually, no, not really, Al.” How could she talk about it without being disloyal to Robert? They were beautiful flowers, just as lovely as the red bouquet, but they hadn’t come from her fiancé, and that had her conflicted when it came to squeeing about them. Which was difficult as she was now pissed off with both men and she really, really wanted to squee about the flowers. Apparently she loved receiving flowers. “They’re gorgeous, Alice. You did a beautiful job.” Jen popped the cork on the bottle. Much as she loved beer, the pop of a fizz cork was a wonderful thing; one compact little sound announcing to a room that something marvellous had happened.

  “The instructions were pretty clear; white and fragrant,” Alice said, as Jen filled their glasses. “He obviously knows you have a fine nose.” They both knew they weren’t talking about Robert. Alice was one of the least judgmental people Jen knew, but she still couldn’t bring herself to talk about Yakob other than to enquire whether there had been a name with the order.

  “Nope. Sorry,” Alice said, holding up her glass to toast Jen. “Follow the passion,” she toasted, with a knowing smirk. Jen had no choice but to clink her glass and agree. “I knew you’d ask me though,” Alice went on, after a long sip, “so I’ve pulled a favour at PanFlora, and someone’s on it. You’ll be the first to hear if we get anywhere.”

  Jen relaxed into her seat and allowed herself to bask quietly in the glow of the day, gazing at her bouquet. Alice told Jen about her day at the flower shop, still lamenting the decreasing flow of customers but being entertained by the increasing madness of the few who did come. Jen took part in the conversation, but her focus was on the words on the card as she spun it on its corners, between her fingertip and the wood of the table.

  She was rather amazed by the efforts Yakob had made. He’d tracked her down for starters, when really all he’d known was her name, her town and the fact she worked in inco pads. Google could have helped him there, she supposed. He knew she’d won the show though, which meant he’d not only remembered her talking about it, but he’d made time to find out the result. Perhaps it might be mentioned already on the show website. He’d then reacted immediately to arrange the flowers and the–

  “Was the champagne in the order too?” she asked, interrupting Alice’s flow about someone’s dog weeing against one of her flower buckets in the shop.

  “I love you Jen, but I can’t afford this stuff.” She poured them another glass and carried on about the dog, not remotely bothered that Jen wasn’t fully engaged.

  Jen continued with her pondering. He’d arranged flowers and champagne to celebrate her win. How nice was that? How supportive. His insisting she “follow the passion” made her feel he saw something in her, when really that was ridiculous. He didn’t really know her, and he hadn’t tasted her beer, but nevertheless he was encouraging her dream. His belief in her was heart-warming. And generous – he wasn’t asking anything in return. It reminded her of her dad.

  Worried she’d get teary, Jen forced herself to look away from the flowers and to focus on Alice. They spent the next hour discussing Alice’s marketing options and everything unrelated to the fragrant white elephant in the room, until Alice said she had to go and Jen remembered she still had a re-stocking situation and that she was dog tired.

  Alice, slightly squiffy, took her hand at the door.

  “I know we aren’t talking about it Jen, and I totally respect that, and I know they’re only flowers, but I see the shine in your eyes when you look at them and I see your brain working overtime about what they might mean. I also see your conflict and I get that too, but here’s the thing; the conflict says you have options. Your head and heart knows there’s more to think about. You aren’t married yet and even if the flower-sender isn’t something long term, then perhaps it’s still a sign you need to be reconsidering your current choices?” Alice didn’t hang about, having said her piece, she gave Jen’s hand a squeeze and headed off down the path before Jen could say anything about how she was wrong, or in defence of Robert.

  Closing the door and leaning against it, Jen turned to face her parents. They were smiling as if they had forever in the picture, but she knew how short their lives had actually been. What would they think now of her choice, if they knew she was about to pack her talent away, for a simple safe life?

  She wasn’t so sure they’d be so proud of her after all.

  Probably not helped by the champagne, Jen’s mood took a turn for the worse and for once she was glad Lydia wasn’t in the house. While her sister convened with nature, Jen slammed about the house, banging doors and stomping up and down the st
airs, soundly ignoring the protesting wall-walloping of the neighbours, as she prepared for the early start the next day and tried to sort out her life. Jen was proud of her multi-tasking skills, but this was hard.

  Coming across her failed attempt at knitting, she slapped it into a drawer. She wasn’t going to be picking up a golf club either and Celia could stick her bridge too. There wasn’t any other hobby she wanted. Three rosettes was a clear sign. The Universe had made its point. Jen stopped her angry marauding, the words sitting primed on her tongue. She took a moment before she let them fly, their release hurling her across a precipice; “I am not giving up the brewing!”

  At once a layer of anxiety lifted from her. She felt a smile rise to her face, and she said it louder.

  Better.

  She said it again, this time technically a shout, and it made her feel euphoric, in spite of the annoyed ‘Oi’ from the other side of the wall. She locked up for the night and hoofed up to her room, where she flung herself backwards onto the bed.

  She was keeping the brewing. Two hundred percent FACT. It made her happy and she needed to be happy, because life could be short, so she had to accommodate it. That was her brief. Jen liked a brief, as it was a starting point for a list, and now she could start building her action plan, because she was going to need one.

  Somehow she was going to find a way to grow her brewing business – because she wasn’t just in this for the hobby now, she was going see her goals through – and show Robert it could all work and hopefully work well, to their long-term benefit. So she was cross with him right now, but such things passed, everything would smooth out. All couples had spats. Once he saw it could turn a proper profit she was sure he’d be on board and more supportive than he was currently. In spite of what Alice was wrongly alluding to with the flowers, she’d accepted a future with Robert and she believed this new strategy would be a sound underpinning. The kids could wait and when they came, they’d be fine seeing Mummy had a career too. She wanted her kids to see their mum had goals and ambitions, not just wiping their noses and bottoms. She’d still be dependable to all of them, she’d just have something of her own too.

  There, that was decided, and she felt immeasurably better for it. She’d have to thank Yakob one day if she ever met him again. Not just for the flowers, but for pushing her to hold on to her passion. She would always be grateful to him for that.

  Daredevils came out to play on the south coast this weekend, with the annual Extreme Sports expo welcoming over 10,000 visitors. Adrenalin junkies had the opportunity to try many of the extreme sports, ranging from Paragliding to Aggressive Street Skating, Soapbox-racing to Parkour.

  Local live-wire Lydia Attison (22) is seen here impressing spectators with her newfound Street Skeleton skills. The gorgeous Westhampton resident was fearless as she took one of the fastest times of the day, in spite of being a leg down on other riders in the sport, which is essentially racing at high speed, face-down to the asphalt on a wheeled tea-tray. A scout for the British Bobsleigh and Skeleton Association said he was keen to spend some time with Miss Attison regarding ParaSkeleton, which is seeking to become a Paralympic sport.

  Unfortunately, Lydia was unavailable for comment despite continued efforts by the Echo.

  -Neil Finch, Staff Reporter, Westhampton Echo, page 5

  Chapter 18

  Jen was deliberately late to the restaurant. Robert preferred eating out on a Sunday – less noise, more service, apparently. It was, in his mind, another genial part of their Wednesday/Sunday date night routine. This evening however, it would also mean him sitting alone, waiting, which would be more obvious, more awkward. She reckoned twenty minutes was enough to make her point. Maybe it would dawn on him that it wasn’t nice to leave people hanging or take them for granted.

  “Something happen?” he asked, getting up from the table to kiss her hello. He took a look at his phone too, in case her distress message had just pinged in. Perhaps he was making a point of his own. She was having none of it.

  “No,” she said, leaving The Phone of Shame in her bag. Funny, now she didn’t have her iPhone with its apps, she wasn’t remotely inclined to have it sitting out on a dining table, and she was noticing how others religiously did, and how often they looked at them during conversations. Had she been like that? If so, things were changing once she got a new one. “I was tidying up from the show and lost track of time.”

  He gave her an odd look. Losing track of time was not something they did.

  “Right,” he said slightly unsure of her, but was side-tracked by the waiter arriving to take their drinks order. Robert began to suggest a wine for them both, but Jen asked for a beer instead, earning her another disconcerted look, before he ordered his by the glass. Jen took a look around the dining room. It was a calm modern space, the decor kept to creams and whites. Jen imagined during the day, when the light came in through the white wooden shutters, it must feel like part of the beach that lay beyond the glass. “So, the show,” he started and she was pleased he’d taken the hint. Sometimes people just needed prompting. “Sell out? Clear the stock?”

  “I did,” she said with a smile, waiting for him to ask about the competition. It suddenly dawned on her she was sitting in Anthony St James’ place. She wondered how he’d managed, navigating the showground laden with her beers. She on the other hand, with no beers left to sell had simply given Fenella a hug and carried her earnings, banner and trestle table back to the van.

  “Excellent. That’ll give you some space back in the house and money in the coffers. Can’t market a house properly with a lounge full of boxes.”

  Jen felt her entire body bristle. So many things about that sentence bothered her, she didn’t know which to tackle first.

  She decided to back-burner her beer for the moment as there was something more pressing to address.

  “Robert, have you forgotten Lydia owns half the house?”

  “No, of course not,” he said, tearing off some of the sourdough roll on his side plate and buttering it, “but is she able to buy you out?”

  “No, of course not,” Jen batted right back.

  “There you go. So she’ll get half of the sale value.” Robert sent her a smile, as if they were on the same page now. “You know, properties in the old town are getting exceptional prices; there’s the competition with the second-homers and holiday-lets, too. I asked around with the estate agents. She’ll be able to buy something of her own with half the cash. In fact,” he paused to taste the wine and having swilled and considered it properly nodded to the waiter, in spite of it being a full glass already, “if we can time everything right, she could even buy my place. How neat would that be? Minimal chain. Fortuitous and practical.” Jen could see how it wrapped up neatly in his head, and had it been anything other than her childhood home and her sister, she might even have agreed – at least to its practicality – but it wasn’t and she didn’t.

  She took a big swig of her beer. “Robert, your flat is on the third floor.”

  “Which affords it the sea view.”

  “That’s six flights of stairs for her.”

  “There’s the lift,” he pointed out.

  “Which is temperamental and to be honest it’s not really in a part of town I want her living in.”

  “She’s a big girl now, Jen. She can choose for herself.” He was looking at her like she was being stubborn in her arguing. He was also overlooking that he appeared to be choosing for Lydia himself.

  “Good,” said Jen, “then you’ll understand if she chooses to stay in our parents’ house, which she is used to, and which,” Jen fixed him with a determined eye, “I won’t be forcing her to sell.” Jen wasn’t going to be forced into selling anything either. She wasn’t a push over.

  “But Jen, how will we buy the house we want, if we don’t pool our resources? I know my sisters have their eye on your money for their business, but I’ll persuade them to make you partner based on your paying for your shares over time with the
dividends and–”

  “I’m not taking the partnership,” she interjected. She’d better get that on the table now. She didn’t want to work for the sisters forever, and she didn’t want to buy into the products. Saying it aloud felt good. A huge smile spread across Robert’s face.

  “That’s wonderful, Jen. I’m so glad.”

  “You are?”

  “Absolutely. It would have been a waste of time setting the partnership up, just to get you back out of it again once the babies come. Can you imagine?” There was very little in the crampon scenario Jen wanted to imagine, that was true, but she didn’t share his motivation. She had to tell him about her beer plans. Walking over, she’d decided she needed this laid out clearly, so they could proceed with their future planning knowing what was what. “But coming back to the house then, Jen, that only leaves selling the Arches …”

  “I can’t sell the Arches, Robert. Apart from the sentimental value, the rent the units bring in has funded Lydia’s healthcare and prostheses. Do you know how much a leg costs?”

  “An arm and a leg?” he ventured with a smirk, ham-fistedly trying to lighten things. She was definitely in an odd mood this evening.

  “Not funny.”

  “Sorry,” he said contrite and sipped at his wine. “Surely the settlement from the haulage company covers that?” Robert had been part of the compensation case. It had been uncontested given three CCTV cameras recorded the lorry ploughing through her family.

  “I want Lydia to have the best legs possible, and nowadays they cost more than the case calculated. It’s tens of thousands per leg. They only have a five year shelf-life and then you either refurb, or pay again to get a new one. Hoping, as I am, she’s going to have a long life, I need to account for that, plus an old age where she’ll need extra facilities and help. That doesn’t come cheap either, and I can’t afford to overlook it now.” Jen wished she had her iPhone, so she could show him her spreadsheet of things required to ease Lydia’s life.