“But … but I made Robert a promise. I committed. He proposed and I accepted. That is a verbal agreement, Lydia. How can I go back on that?” It was her being a woman of her word and seeing things through, that made her trustworthy and reliable, and if she wasn’t seen as such by those she loved and valued, Jen didn’t think she’d know what she was.
“For fucks sake, Jen,” Lydia barked, shaking Jen’s hands, “this isn’t a contract, it’s your life. You’re allowed to change your mind.”
Jen stared at her, stumped. There was something that rang true in what Lydia was saying. And Lydia wasn’t finished. “I know you, Jen. I know how this has you conflicted because you need to be seen as dependable, but I’d put money on what’s actually upsetting you most is the thought of having to let go of Yakob. That’s what’s tearing you apart, right up there with the terror of the feelings you have for him, because you aren’t used to them and you can’t control them.”
Jen burst into a fresh volley of wracking tears. Lydia’s words weren’t just ringing true, they had klaxons going off and neon lights flashing around them too. Of all the awfulness of the day, the thought of not seeing Yakob again was the very worst.
“How did you get so wise?” she asked Lydia as she was escorted home, feeling pathetic because her little sister was both looking after her and was apparently infinitely smarter when it came to this kind of thing.
“I read lots of romances when I was recovering,” Lydia sighed, pulling her along by the hand, “and just from watching you fuck up, I suppose.”
Jen chose to let her “vomit bug” continue, allowing her to stay off work and cancel her date night with Robert. He stayed away as there’s no need for two of us to come down with this, is there, darling? He’d already been feeling a bit iffy since he’d seen her, according to his texts. Her new phone lay discarded on her bed, where her original phone would have idled in her hand, ready to grant her wishes at a moment’s notice. Instead, Jen was surrounded by paper, lists and forms to fill in. She had come to re-love the feel of paper. It didn’t ping messages at her for starters, giving her panic pangs. She almost dreaded that ping now. The funny messages from Yakob kicked her spirits sky high, the check-in notes from Robert flung her straight back down into the hell of guilt and worry about what to do. The opposing feelings were exhausting and as Lydia kindly pointed out, she looked wrung out. Ava’s constant texts regarding how to run the office didn’t help either – so much for being on sick-leave.
After the first afternoon of simply staring at her ceiling, looking for hidden messages of advice in the Artex swirls, Jen started to reject the helplessness. The following morning, she did the only thing she knew how to do to combat it and that was to adopt a project and take back the control, little by little.
The brewery expansion couldn’t have come at a better time, nor could the free days off. They allowed her to make the required phone calls to the council and HMRC, without the threat of Ava catching her. Steadily, she got more and more of a grip, pushing her focus onto the paperwork and the growing shopping list and budget excel sheet. She even ventured out into the outbuilding, to tap the current beer which was ready. This was supposedly the first batch of the wedding beer. Rather than brewing another of the same as scheduled, she spent her afternoon setting up one of her staple beers, to deliver as a trial batch for Anthony. She wanted him to know her full range. Boiling the water and malt, adding the hops to the wort at the right times, Jen engaged with her true self, closing herself off in the task and not worrying about anything beyond the door.
It was dusk by the time she’d transferred the cooled beer to the fermenting tank and washed out the mash tun ready for next time. Looking at the room, trying hard to compartmentalise her thoughts of Yakob for now, she saw that whatever happened now with her love life, this was one thing she would not, could not, give up. The beer was her constant, her touchstone. It was her creative release and it was where she most felt herself. Like Yakob said, it made her heart sing. The board above the counter still held the recipe for the wedding beer. Swansong it said in Lydia’s angry script. Jen took the cloth and rubbed it out. She’d tried it as she’d tapped it; it was strong and robust, but fresh and full of hoppiness. She had her own title now and chalked it up. Heartsong.
Chapter 26
As soon as the clock struck five on the Friday, Jen was out of the house. Now officially the weekend, she felt “recovered”. Charlie was smoking at the door when she arrived at the Arch.
“Sorry about the other day, Charlie,” she said giving him a kiss on the cheek, dodging the smoke, hoping he could see she was in better shape, “I’ve done as much as I can on paper, now I need to measure up and calculate and no doubt revise and adjust. I’ll try not to get in your way and I don’t want you to see it as me pushing you out. You must have jobs still booked in and lots of things to wind up, but I need to get my brain working on this.” Walking in however, she came to a grinding halt.
Various men were milling about the place, pulling boxes from the wall racks and putting them in what appeared to be designated piles. Some were even pulling items in from the crap-pile in the yard.
“I’m having a garage sale,” Charlie said behind her. Looking around, the workshop was looking pretty sparse already. “I put the feelers out as soon as you left on Wednesday, this lot have always had an eye for a bargain. It was like flies to shit down here yesterday. Bloody piranhas.”
She turned to look at him. “I meant what I said about not pushing you out, Charlie. You have a month’s notice on your contract. I was expecting you to take it.”
“Don’t need it, don’t want it,” he said with a grin. “The wife booked a holiday as soon as I told her. Over the bleedin’ moon she was.” Charlie wasn’t looking half as tired as the last she’d seen him either, well, perhaps not the last time, where he was scared by her crying, but the time before. There was a spark back in his eye. “The shelving comes with the building.” That was a blessing, she was going to need the racking to store boxes and kit.
“I’m leaving you something else too.”
“You are?”
“You could call it a house warming gift,” he said with a smirk, “but the thrill might wear off pretty quick.” He waved his hands in a ta-dah fashion at the corner by the office.
She looked at him with feigned excitement. “A pressure hose. For me? You spoil me.”
He was grinning now. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll give you a hand.”
“That’s OK, Charlie. I’ll do it. You have an excited wife waiting for you. I’ve got this.” Now she could envisage having the place to herself, she couldn’t get him out fast enough. And she wanted to do the power cleaning herself. If she was going to be the one adhering to the food and drinks regulations, she needed to know she was abiding by the cleanliness stipulations. She was only going to know that if she did it herself. Scanning the space, her beautiful if dirty brewing space, she tried to work out how long it would take her. If she started as soon as the last guy left, and dispensed with sleeping–
The “vehicle reversing” beeps interrupted her frenetic calculations. Charlie went to investigate, with a “What’s this then? I ain’t ordered nuffink”.
He called her over to the door. A lorry with its own forklift on the back was parked out front. The driver jumped out and they stood silently as he lowered the forklift and finally pulled open the doors.
“You been shopping already?” Charlie looked amused. Jen looked gobsmacked.
In the back of the lorry stood three large fermenting tanks. But she hadn’t bought them. How?
“Lads!” Charlie shouted back into the arch, “the lady’s gonna need a hand here.”
She couldn’t help stroking them. The tanks. Not the lads, although they and the driver had done a sterling job, as she’d hastily hosed down the area she had planned for the fermenting, along the right hand wall. It wasn’t quite the immaculate job she’d intended, but they’d left enough space between each to acces
s for later cleaning. This was the thinking she knew how to do; the practical thinking, the implementing of plans, firmly pushing aside the emotional stuff she clearly was inept at. The lads hadn’t minded helping, in fact they were highly interested in the idea of the town having its own brewery. She told them about her market stall, but it also got her mind working on other possibilities, as she gave the new tanks a polish. She’d have to look at the regulations for selling at the front door. As long as she declared it, surely it couldn’t be an issue? She made a note in her Filofax, and got back to the wiping.
The tanks weren’t new, but she didn’t need them to be. The scuffs and little dents gave them character, helped them fit in with the building. She’d need to build a platform around them so she could get into them for cleaning, but a stepladder could do for now. What was most pressing however, was the phone call she needed to make. She had a man to thank for some tanks.
Just bringing up his number made her smile goofily. She was glad no one else was around to witness it. Just before hitting the dial button she had another idea. This was a smartphone. She hit FaceTime instead.
And lo, his heavenly face appeared before her.
“Hello again,” said the slightly pixelated Yakob. His eyes were wide and he seemed delighted to see her. “You have a new phone!”
“Hello again, Santa,” she said, batting away the pang of guilt that she was using Robert’s gift to call him. She was too pleased to succumb to it and she’d already done worse.
“They arrived then?” His image was moving with a slight lag as if time zones away, but she could easily make him out. It was lovely to see him.
“They’re beautiful.” She leaned against one of them, feeling slightly delirious at sort of being with him. Since when had she become such a sap?
“They’re steel tanks, Jen,” he said, clearly not seeing the beauty. She gave the one she was at a quick caress in case it had heard his derision.
“A departure from the flowers, aren’t they?”
“Maybe a little more useful?” His lovely blue eyes kept flicking across the screen, like he was taking all of her image in at his end. She doubted she looked her best, but it was too late to care and he didn’t seem repulsed.
“Such a thoughtful gesture, Yakob, but I can’t let you buy them for me. I need to reimburse you. They’re in my budget.”
“Jen, they were being removed from a building at work and I thought recycling them was more environmentally friendly. Really, you did us a favour.”
“But you could sell them.”
“Jen,” he said, with an eye roll that the pixels didn’t disguise, “we’re quite a big company, we don’t have time for eBaying.”
“Fair enough.” That did make sense. “Well, thank you for thinking of me.”
“You were top of my list of start-up breweries.” And there it was again, the blushing. She couldn’t hide it, and he clearly noticed as his smile grew wide.
“You don’t have a list.” She said it as a statement, but a teeny tiny part of her wanted assurance.
“No, I don’t,” he said kindly, “but you know, as soon as you start using them, you’ll be a competitor, so we’ll be enemies.”
“Obviously,” she agreed, “especially when I start kicking Kronegaard’s butt.” She liked hearing him laugh.
“It’s all going well then?” he asked.
“Well it’s early days yet, but I have it planned.” She walked them over to the far wall to show him her flow charts and excel sheets, setting out what was happening and when.
He whistled at her. “That’s pretty detailed, Jen,” he nodded, though she doubted he could really see and appreciate the meticulous logistics through the pixels.
“It’s the six Ps Yakob; Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. These sheets keep me in control of all this,” she said grandly, turning three-hundred-and-sixty degrees so he got a proper look at her Queendom. “Where are you, by the way?”
“Sydney.” She was right about the time zones then. But that would mean …
“Ah no, did I wake you?” He didn’t look nearly bleary-eyed enough, but then his hair always looked kind of bed-heady, so she couldn’t be sure.
“Ha! No, it’s morning. I’m just leaving for a breakfast meeting.”
“Oh right, what are you up to? Wheeling and dealing or saving lives?”
He grinned. “Don’t know about lives, but hopefully some livelihoods.”
“How are you doing that then, Super Shark?”
“We’re buying a brewery that’s in trouble. Merging it with ours will save quite a few jobs and help us out here with our grants.” It’s just his job, it’s just his job, she reminded herself.
“Fine. The less of you corporates there are the better for us craft brewers. But did you hear that Fenby & Clegg got taken over by a US competitor last week?” Brewing Times had been all over it happening again as another craft brewer was swept up by a corporate giant. Bang went their authenticity.
“I did.” He didn’t seem as appalled as her. “As things get more automated Jen, jobs become redundant and fewer employees in a foreign plant put the international grants at risk.”
“Oh, so it’s really about the cash the countries will give you?” He had the good grace to wince at that.
“Grants, Jen, and it works both ways; companies can afford to come to a country, and people get employed. But they have to sustain the employment numbers. Branching into the crafts beers does that.” What? He condoned buying into the craft beer market?!
“No, Yakob, it’s completely wrong,” she insisted. “Craft beer is about being independent, it’s anti-corporate. It can’t be that if they’ve sneaked their way in. They should look somewhere else for their numbers.”
“Nobody’s sneaking,” he said with a laugh.
“Right,” she scoffed “and they’d have ‘Artisan’s Beer by Enormous Corporate’ clear and up front on the label, would they?”
“Well, no, but in the small print.”
“Exactly. Sneaking!” Jen felt like she’d won the argument. But Yakob was still up for discussing it. Fine. She was enjoying the debate.
“Jen, you’re looking at this wrong, it’s about giving people a range of beers and keeping people in jobs.” He seemed up for the discussion too, he certainly wasn’t in any way abashed by her attacking his job.
Jen shook her head, “That’s just spin, Yakob. You’ll never convince me the macro-brewers are some kind of hero. Corporate brewers should leave the craft brewers alone. It’s unethical.” That might be over-egging the pudding, but she felt strongly about this. “Your bosses know it too but proceed anyway.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Some thought passed across Yakob’s face, but he let it go, seeing that Jen’s stern expression wasn’t about to budge. It left him looking slightly sad. Well, the thought of corporates muscling into the craft beer market left her feeling rather volatile.
“It’s wrong for the corporates to take ownership of those beers, Yakob. Corporate beers are long established and bland.”
“So, you’re saying corporate brewers can’t have new beers? That’s ridiculous.” Was she getting him a little riled? Ha! She had him on the run.
“Sure, they can have new beers, but they should make their own, like those other beers Kronegaard have but don’t get seen elsewhere. They should use those rather than taking ownership of someone else’s work. Craft beer is about authenticity, recipes that have stories; how the brewer came to put the ingredients together, what inspired them. Your bosses might not know what I’m talking about, but you do Yakob, don’t pretend you don’t – think of the stories behind the beer flavours you and your Morfar made together. You can’t have that legacy, if you just buy someone’s work.” Het up or not, Jen was finding this rather exhilarating, discussing the industry as an equal with an insider. Lydia never bothered fighting the opposing corner when Jen was spoiling for a rant.
For a second he was stumped by
that, but rallied. “You’re over thinking it. The customer doesn’t care.”
“That’s what we’re trying to change. The customer does actually care, many just don’t know it yet. It’s the corporates that don’t care. That’s why I hate them,” she rounded off with a flourish.
The wind seemed to be taken out of him. “You hate them? They bother you that much?”
“Totally.” Well probably not that much. Hate was a big word. But she was making a point. That’s what hyperbole was for.
“Wow.” Yakob was looking slightly wide-eyed across the pixels.
Jen shrugged. “Well, I guess it was the way I was brought up. My dad was quite outspoken on the subject.” She’d enjoyed this sparring. It felt … sparky.
Yakob nodded, the atmosphere between them calming again. “I guess families can have that effect.” He looked away at something she couldn’t see. From what she could see, the room behind him looked pretty plush. “Have you got a good view from the room there, Yakob?” she asked changing the subject. Sydney would be on her bucket list.
He looked back at her then with a smile. “The entire harbour. It’s magnificent, but this view,” he nodded towards her, “is pretty special too.” Awww. He suddenly checked his watch, “I have to go, but I’ll be back next week. Can I come and see how it’s going?”
“Spying?”
“Yup. I’ll definitely be delving around for your hidden secrets.” Oh God, she felt things clench in her nether regions.
They began to say their goodbyes and instinctively Jen touched his face on the screen with the tip of her finger. It took her a second to be aware of it and how it must look to him, but also to spot he was doing the exact same thing. It made her breath hitch. Hanging up, missing his face already, Jen stood for a long while after with the phone clutched to her chest, slowing her breathing. This wasn’t a holiday blip, this wasn’t her being a fool. They obviously had a genuine connection. They had common interests and could discuss things. Everything about him was genuine, from his enthusiasm to the way he looked at her. And he was coming to see her, so if she needed more incentive to get this place shipshape, there it was. She considered how she was feeling and knew for sure Lydia was right. The way he made her feel, and the way Robert didn’t, was enough to confirm there was a hard conversation that was long overdue and a hideous ring to be placed firmly back in its box.
Probably the Best Kiss in the World Page 21