“We’ll give you a hand,” Alice said, as she watered some potted hydrangeas outside Re:Love. Jen had her eye on some of them. She had an idea of extending the flowery industrial look they’d created in Re:Love into her own arch. There was something about continuity between the two shops that appealed to her.
Jen looked at the two knackered tyres in her hands. There were loads more to go if she wanted the yard available for nice days. “That’s OK, I’ve got it. I need the exercise and you’ve already loaned me the Bongo.” Piling the dirty tyres into the Capri would have required ten times as many trips to the dump. The old car engines were staying at least, she had plans for those.
“Come on, Jen. Max and I can carry some out.”
“Really, I’m fine. It’s all under control.” She needed to do it herself – she wanted the exhaustion. Plus she could do with stronger arm muscles; lugging the bigger sacks of ingredients was more demanding than she’d anticipated.
Alice put down her watering can abruptly and placed her hands on her hips.
“For fuck’s sake, Jen, relax the control and let people help. Let them share. I promise the benefits are way more than you’ve ever dared let yourself imagine, and then you can really be living the dream.” Alice never swore. Her crossness drew Jen up short. It hadn’t really dawned on her that people wanted to help. She’d always assumed it was a bother for others, or she’d be beholden to them. Or they had some other motive. Jakob had helped her by giving her the tanks, but she hadn’t asked for them and he’d been wooing her, hadn’t he? Or playing her.
Jakob was another subject the exhaustion was supposed to be stymieing. It was hard though. No matter how many times she aired her room or washed her sheets, the ghost of his aftershave still lingered. For once she wished her nose wasn’t so sensitive. She didn’t want to think about him, but the brewery and her home currently being the sum of her world made it difficult, as he’d been in both. She couldn’t help it. To be honest, she wasn’t even angry anymore, just disappointed. The previous week’s Brewing Times had announced the Australian acquisition deal with a huge nod to its saving many jobs and the previous owners gave a lovely quote saying how to all intents and purposes it was business as usual for them. That rather took the indignation out of her. Now, with a little distance Jen had conceded he probably wasn’t laughing at her behind her back – she simply didn’t believe he was like that – but she still couldn’t move on from him concealing who he was. That part still had her gutted.
She considered what Alice was saying, as she stared at the ground, trying to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth. It helped her focus her thoughts on non-Jakob things and the tyres were making her biceps and shoulders burn. She couldn’t put them down – that would make her look like she was struggling. Alice was glaring at her, waiting for a response. How hard could it be to accept?
“I know, Alice. I know. And I will. Just not yet. There’ll be lots to do soon and you’ll be the first people I ask.” She could ask Alice if she had hydrangeas in the same cornflower blue as her new signage. There, that was an ask. But not just yet …
Alice shook her head angrily and returned to her flowers, muttering something Jen couldn’t quite hear. She loaded the tyres quickly and scurried back into the workshop and the next stack.
Jen glanced at the post pile, on the shelf by the door, half of which was Charlie’s un-diverted letters, the other hers from home, grabbed on exit and unceremoniously dumped on entry at the brewery. She usually perused them with a strong coffee. The latest Brewing Times sat on the top and she grabbed that to avoid the letters and hide from the tyres a little while. Unfurling it, she came face to face with Jakob. Now they bloody wrote about him! She could have done with that earlier and she could have done without seeing him now.
It was a professionally shot corporate photograph, formal and posed, but it still took her breath away. She managed a small smile for his hair having stuck to its informal principles. She read the headline a couple of times just to be sure she’d got it right. Krone-Juul Departure Shocks Industry. Jen’s eyes scanned the story quickly, as it detailed Jakob having handed over control of his division with immediate effect and without public comment. Kronegaard weren’t commenting, the family weren’t commenting, no one was commenting and that was really annoying as Jen needed more. She tried to overlook the parts where the paper detailed how well-respected he was in the industry and how well he’d done over the years building the company and their profits. Brewing Times were baffled apparently and speculated whether there was some trouble within the dynasty. She slid the paper aside, hoping his family was behind him and not against him. It had always been clear he adored his family; his boat had various sleek silver frames of blond group shots on show. She didn’t want to think that anything she’d said might have set him at odds with them. She already knew what that felt like what with Lydia not speaking to her, and being without one’s family totally wasn’t something she’d wish on anyone.
Avoiding those thoughts, Jen looked at the post instead. The top one was familiar. Suspecting she really shouldn’t, not right now, not without that coffee, she opened it and felt her stomach drop to her feet. Jen gazed semi-stunned around the room, the credit card bill hanging in her hand by her side. She’d done a lot, but there was still so much left to do. Making this a public venue required additional outlays. The feature wall had two cans of cornflower emulsion on order for it. The gorgeous brass beer taps were booked to be installed at the end of the week, but she still had some form of bar to source. She needed an industrial dishwasher and a gazillion glasses to go in it, all to go into the old office, which was now also her pump room. And then there was the small matter of furniture. She planned to make some kind of banquet seating in the inspection pits in the floor because she liked them as a feature and couldn’t afford to fill them. The engines would go down there too, with some reinforced glass on top to make low tables. But the rest of the room needed tables and chairs. Suddenly, faced with what she’d already spent on kit and the beer and the bottles and the lack of money coming in, it all became overwhelming and Jen’s heart was belting out of her chest.
Shaking somewhat, she walked zombie-like back out of the door and into Re:Love. Alice and Max broke off the smooch they were having across the counter and stared Jen.
Three little words. That was all it would take. Three little words she hadn’t used in her adult life. After a couple of failed attempts, she finally choked them out.
“I need help.”
Chapter 35
Dreamy blue, Alice had called it. Jen was regretting it, the blue, not the rest of the room. Gazing at the finished space, Jen kept getting teary looking at the fruits of their labour. After another two and a half weeks of crazy-hard work, it was even better than she’d mood-boarded. Max’s salvage had produced all sorts of treasures, now beautifully arranged against the backdrop of the Dreamy Blue rear wall. She’d be paying her off for a long time, but thankfully they’d come to an agreement involving reducing the rent by half for a period. Jen’s half.
The bar was a magnificent old counter Max had salvaged from a derelict pub. A fabulously ornate old gilt picture-frame surrounded the blackboard with all the available beers and their descriptions chalked onto it, and hung above the row of taps. The front of the workshop was filled with old tables and mismatching seats Jen had found in Max’s stash of orphan chairs. Max had relished shifting her stagnant stock, keenly repurposing it into items Jen needed; there were various suitcase tables around the room for starters, and deep seats made from old chests of drawers. The loos had been spruced too; no small blessing given Charlie’s cleaning skills. Both now boasted a fine Victorian bowl with high wall mounted cistern. Alice had discounted her an array of hydrangeas, all placed in planters Max had made from dented milk churns. The old toilet was fully hydrangea’d up too, out in the yard, which now boasted basic benches and round tables made from old cable spools. An old enamel bath had even been fixed upright
to the outer wall, to make a seat.
Alice had sweet-talked an art-student into painting a white and silver mural of Ninkasi in the yard, telling Jen brewsters should stick together. Finally, a long length of chain, found under all the removed rubbish, hung, fixed to the brick walls, separating the public and brewing areas. Jen couldn’t have people messing with her magic. So it might not have be the sleek urban-chic venue, inspired by a Copenhagen houseboat she’d initially dreamt of, but this revised concept still said hyggelig and – crucially – was a fraction of the cost. Jen was pragmatic when it came to budget slashing.
But, it had been a stupid idea choosing that blue. What had she been thinking? At time of purchase, she’d told herself it was just a colour she happened to like. Whenever she looked at it now, Jen could only think of a pair eyes of the same hue. So much for sealing him away in a mental box, never to think of him again. On that front she had been failing so hard. She’d photograph every new or completed item in the brewery, wanting to send it to him as running commentary of her progress, but then she’d remember he wasn’t part of her journey anymore and would sadly post it to Instagram instead, like some virtual baby-book. She was even getting followers. Meanwhile, neither the internet nor the papers had further news on what had happened at Kronegaard, which felt more and more ominous. Aside from the clipped newspaper photo she’d pinned to the office noticeboard intending it to wish him well in some good vibes way, he’d vanished off the face of the planet again.
“Where do you want the kegs?” Jen spun away from the dreamy wall to face the gruff voice. Jim Arbuthnot was rolling a metal barrel towards her. He’d been fairly confounded to find her on his doorstep asking if he wanted the inaugural open-mic beer slot, but it hadn’t taken them long to agree on a profit split and he’d got to work on his brew pronto, his mistrust of brewsters miraculously evaporating. Now he was involved, he’d even been willing to offer a hand in the final set up of the tap beers. She suspected he enjoyed having something to do beyond his allotment, and for her part, Jen was finding it easier with the assistance.
Asking for help hadn’t proved the disaster she’d feared. It didn’t come naturally to her, but she was forcing herself and it appeared to be paying off. She sort of needed to give up control to stay in control. Amazing. Who knew?
Tonight however, the proof would be in the pudding. Tonight she was opening the door to the public – the full arch door, because the weather was glorious and she wanted everyone to see what was going on inside. She had fantasies of the whole town coming – Lord knew she’d put out enough flyers – and people would be spilling out into the street with their half pint glasses, tasting her beers. That was the dream. But she’d also be happy with just a few. Jim, freshly showered, smelling better and wearing a freebie Attison’s t-shirt was insisting the entire allotment committee were coming, so that would be five at least. She just needed the word of mouth to start. Otherwise she and her cash flow were royally stuffed.
And Lydia. She was desperate for her to be part of tonight. This was Jen’s baby, her dream, (her disaster if it didn’t work), and she wanted her sister – and silent partner – to be there to see it.
The silence had finally become intolerable – a whole six weeks. Defeated, Jen had accepted that Lydia had proved her point; she could manage on her own. In spite of regular phone checking, there’d been no calls from the police, hospital or Lydia’s employers. It may not have sat well with Jen, who suddenly felt parentally redundant, but she couldn’t say it wasn’t true. And on top of all that, sitting alone in the sofa one night, almost catatonic in her loneliness, Jen had had to admit that she missed her sister beyond measure. The tears slowly dripping into the barely untouched Ben & Jerry’s had led her there. The following morning she’d posted Lydia one of the Opening Night invites she’d made for local dignitaries, as an olive branch. She hadn’t heard anything back of course, but it would be typical Lydia to want the drama of sweeping in. If it meant having her back in her life, Jen could grant her that. For now though all she could do was cross her fingers and hope she’d show.
Jen pointed Jim in the direction of the pump room, and turning back found a figure in the doorway. A broad-shouldered figure, carrying a small bunch of flowers.
Ah. Here was one invite she hadn’t sent, but knew she needed to face. She shouldn’t have left it so long, but she’d been a wuss, neatly hidden under the guise of being ridonculously busy. He appeared to converse with someone outside the door, before nodding then taking a breath and moving towards her.
“You did it, then. I should have known it would look this good.” Considering he’d never been convinced by any notion of the entire venture, this was praise indeed from Robert. “I underestimated your determination.”
She faced him with a smile. A genuine one. It was good to see him. It was good to see him not broken. That took the edge off her guilt.
“Thank you,” she said, deciding it was a compliment and happy to take them where she could get them. She waved him to the nearest chair and offered him a drink. She was back a few minutes later, two half pints in hand, confident that tap number one was functioning perfectly.
“This is a new one I’m launching tonight.” He took a sip and nodded his approval. “It’s called Heartsong.”
The expression on his face said the name didn’t mean anything to him, but that was OK, it didn’t have to. It meant enough to Jen. She was disgustingly proud of it and having done more research, was submitting samples to all the competitions she was remotely eligible for, in all the relevant categories. She was going to blow her own trumpet and build her brand.
“I … um I wanted to see you. See how you were.”
“I’m fine. Thank you. I’m sorry I haven’t called, but …” She waved her hands vaguely at the room. Yep, still a wuss. She could do better than that. “I am sorry. Really. I should have checked how you were. I never meant to hurt you, Robert.” He nodded fractionally, apparently uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Mumsie was heartbroken. She’d signed you up for the beginner’s bridge league and onto two WI committees.” Jen couldn’t honestly say she was sorry about that. “And the girls can’t even say your name. They were obviously looking forward to having you as a sister.” Well, that was a different kettle of fish and Robert clearly had the wrong end of the stick, but she chose not to put him right. What was the point? Better he feel he had the full support of his family.
“I’ve been doing some soul-searching, Jen. Some of the things you said up at the house, well, they suggested I needed to revise my thinking.” He looked her in the face now and she saw his usual earnestness. It was endearing as it always had been, but Jen recognised that in terms of raw chemistry, Lydia had been spot on all along; there was none there. “You should have your business, I see it’s important to you. And you are talented at the brewing, I should have acknowledged and supported that.”
“It doesn’t matter, Robert, but thank you.” Jen was finding the conversation rather awkward. It wasn’t helped by Jim’s loud whistling from the backroom. “Please don’t worry about it.”
“Well, that’s kind of you, but I wanted to say we could make plans together, give you the chance to realise your dream and then later we–”
Jen stopped him with a light hand on his knee and a small shake of her head. It seemed the kindest thing to do. She knew what he was here to ask, and she knew she could no more settle for it now, than she felt the need for its steadiness. She wasn’t the same person who’d seen similarity as being better than sparks. She might have neither on her horizon, but she knew now she wouldn’t, couldn’t, settle for less. There weren’t, and never had been, any sparks between her and him.
“I can’t see it working, Robert. Not in the long run. It’s not enough to be suited in terms of manner. I think people might need to be suited in their dreams and needs. I think, for both of us, there could be someone more suited out there.” A shot of hurt crossed his face as he took her words person
ally. “Just think Robert, there’s a sporty woman out there, who’d love to run with you in the mornings and live against the golf course and play some holes with you after you come home from work.” His eyes suddenly took on a wistful look, which egged her on. “That would never be me. The golf club or other local clubs, is where you should be looking. You have so much to offer, you’re a steal, but I’m not the right girl to steal you.” He blushed a little.
“I daresay,” she continued, “with connections in the club and being competitive already, such a woman would be an ideal ally for Celia too, on the charity work and bridge front.” OK, so it was probably mean stitching this woman up before she’d even come into Robert’s life, but Jen needed to seal this deal. He was certainly nodding. If she wasn’t mistaken he might already be mentally perusing the membership list in his head. “I honestly believe Robert, that’s the woman who your Great Granny’s ring was meant for.” Poor thing. Jen would surely drop a rung on the ladder to hell for that one.
He looked at the flowers, then extended them to her. “Have these as a good luck gesture then.” She accepted them graciously, recognising Alice’s work. She’d picked the exact same flowers of her first bunch from Jakob. Meddling bint. There would be words …
“Won’t you come to the opening tonight, Robert?” She looked at her watch. There was less than an hour until action stations. A quick glance around the room said she was ready, but still she instantly nearly peed in her pants. “I’d like to have you here, and who knows who you might meet.”
“Well, Mumsie’s outside and there’s a club meeting at nine, but we could stay for early doors, make it look like the place is bouncing.” Yeah, Jen was pretty sure no one would look at Celia in her twin-set and think the place was bouncing, but bodies were bodies and not to be sniffed at.
“JEN!” Alice came charging through the door, closely followed by Max, looking serious as ever and a harassed-looking young man she’d never laid eyes on. Oh please god, don’t let this be some misguided intervention. She had the Robert thing sorted. “Jen, Lydia’s missing.”
Probably the Best Kiss in the World Page 28