by Jenny Kane
Jack spoke cautiously. ‘But you’re not. Are you?’
‘No. Not anymore. But I was, years ago, and lately, well, all this forever-suppressed stuff is coming out, and it seems to be preventing me from thinking straight.’
‘Bloody hell, Kit, you’re such an idiot.’
‘I know.’ Kit thumped down on the stool next to the sink. ‘Jack?’
‘Yes, honey?’
‘I do love Phil. I love you too though, but not like I did.’
‘I know that.’ Jack held her quivering body as Kit dissolved into the tears she’d held back all day. Through her sobs Kit said, ‘And I feel so guilty about being so self-centred when Scott is lying in that hospital bed.’
Amy came into the kitchen to ask for two toasted teacakes, but Jack put his finger to his lips. Instantly understanding, Amy quietly retreated, politely telling the customers in question that there was a small problem with the toaster. Perhaps they would like some fruit cake instead?
‘Kit,’ Jack eventually prised her away from his shoulder, ‘we’re here for Peg.’
‘I know. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be thinking about Scott.’
Jack passed her a tissue. ‘Why don’t you head off to the hospital now? Peggy will be pleased to see you, and it’ll put your own problems into perspective.’
‘Can you guys cope here?’
‘Of course we can. Go on. Go and tell them that Pickwicks is still standing.’ Without waiting for Kit to reply, Jack left her alone, while he told Amy that they would be two handed for the remainder of the afternoon.
‘Give them our love, won’t you.’ Amy called out a few moments later, as Kit pulled off her borrowed apron and grabbed her coat.
‘Of course,’ Kit headed to the door, turning as she got there, ‘and thank you. Both of you. See you tomorrow?’
‘Definitely,’ Amy smiled. Perhaps Kit wasn’t so bad. Tomorrow she’d try and find five minutes to talk to her properly. Maybe she’d ask her about her writing? Peggy said she wrote really good stuff.
Thirty-three
October 25th 2006
Jack carried the last tray of dirty cups and saucers into the kitchen, and passed them to Amy, who stacked them in the dishwasher.
‘Have you got the number for Home Hunters on you?’
‘Sure. What do you want it for?’ Amy stood up and punched the washing up machine into life.
‘Kit’s husband, Phil. I want to talk to him.’
Amy dried her hands across her apron and fetched her bag. ‘It’s in here somewhere.’ Rifling through the entire contents of her bag, she eventually found the business card she was looking for squashed next to a half-eaten packet of mints, crumpled and inexplicably damp. ‘Here you go.’
‘Thanks.’ Jack flicked the card between his fingers, ‘I may be about to help Kit out.’
‘Or?’
‘I may be about to drop her even further into the shit.’
‘Ah.’ Amy regarded him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
He beamed back at her, ‘You aren’t going to tell me to keep my nose out are you?’
‘Nope. But if you need someone to bandage your soon-to-be-broken nose, then come round later.’
Jack laughed as he hung up the last tea towel of the day and checked he’d secured the takings correctly. ‘I may well do that.’
Phil hadn’t sounded too thrilled with the prospect of meeting up after work, but then why would he be? Jack tapped the coaster his coffee should have been stood on against the edge of the table; he knew his charm wasn’t going to work this time, but he had to say something. He owed it to Kit. She’d bailed him out enough times over the years.
When Phil eventually appeared, twenty minutes late, Jack was reading an ancient Sunday supplement that someone had left on the table.
‘Sorry; last-minute call I couldn’t ignore.’ Phil sat down, keeping his coat on in a clear, “I’m not hanging around” gesture.
Noting the unspoken statement, Jack asked, ‘Drink?’
‘No. What do you want, Jack?’
Jack put his own mug down with a thump, ‘What I don’t want is my best friend and the man she loves, i.e. you, to be arguing because once upon a time I screwed up.’
‘You really are an arrogant bastard. What gives you the right to …?’
‘Nothing gives me the right. Not a thing,’ Jack raised his voice over Phil’s cracking temper, ‘except that I know that Kit loves you and the twins more than anything.’
‘More than you?’ Phil accused sharply.
‘Christ, yes!’ Jack snorted, ‘Don’t get infected by her insanity, Phil. This is all a confidence thing, or lack of. None of it is about how she feels about you. I don’t really think it’s about me either.’
‘Then what the hell is it about?’
‘Her. Everything around Kit seems changed to her. She thought she understood and accepted her past, Amy turns up and she begins to question it all. Not us, but herself. Her role in her own life.’
‘That’s all bollocks, Jack.’
‘No it isn’t. You know it isn’t.’ Jack got up from his seat, ‘I’m going to get you some tea, now sit down for a minute and think about it.’
When Jack returned with his pot of tea, Phil inclined his head in thanks, but sat silent. What Jack had said made no sense, but he had a nagging feeling that it was at least partially true.
Eventually, as he poured out his tea, Phil spoke, ‘One of the things I first loved about Kit was that she was the most illogical woman I’d ever met.’
‘Sounds about right.’ Jack couldn’t help but smile as Phil continued.
‘When we first got together, she said I’d saved her from a road to nowhere.’
Jack knew that that had been a long ago reference to his relationship with Kit, but simply said, ‘Talking Heads’
‘Sorry?’
‘Kit loved that song, “Road to Nowhere”, it was by Talking Heads.’
‘Ah, yes. You and your lyrics.’ Phil sipped his tea, ‘I made Kit a CD, you know. Thought it might help. I expect she told you.’
‘No. She hasn’t told me much lately. I bet she loved it.’
‘She did.’ Phil’s eyes twinkled as he recalled their wonderful evening together.
Sensing that he was beginning to win the argument, Jack pushed further, ‘You don’t want to give up on all that do you?’
‘Of course I don’t.’ Phil heaved a sigh as he put his cup down.
‘Phil?’
‘Yes?’
‘As I’m here, putting my life on the line by speaking out of turn, tell me, when are you going to give up the business?’
‘What?’ Phil was surprised by the sudden change of subject.
‘You’re bored.’
‘How the hell do you know that?’
‘That was something Kit did tell me.’
Phil studied the table, concentrating on the tan liquid shimmering in his mug, ‘I didn’t think she’d noticed.’
Jack sat up decisively, ‘It’s time you two had a proper talk to each other. Is Kit going back to the hospital tonight?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How about I babysit and you go out for dinner? Actually spend some time together as Kit and Phil, and not Mum and Dad.’
‘You?’ Phil was unable to keep the shock out of his voice.
‘Yes, me.’ Jack was affronted, ‘I have a niece and nephew about the same age as your two, I do know the drill. Anyway, I’m their godfather. I should spend more time with them.’
‘I’m not sure, Jack …’
‘Look Phil,’ Jack put down his empty mug, ‘call my mobile if you want. It’s a genuine offer. If not tonight, one night very soon.’
‘OK. Thanks. It’ll depend on Kit; and on Peggy of course.’
Jack pulled his jacket back on as he asked, ‘Heard anything new about Scott today?’
‘Not a thing. Each time I dialled the hospital the line was engaged. I’ll ask Kit w
hen I get home.’
‘You are going home then?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘Good.
Phil added, only semi-grudgingly, ‘Thanks, Jack.’
‘Any time.’
Phil pushed his chair back to go. ‘I still think you’re a shifty bastard though.’
Feeling as if they’d called a truce after years of uncertainty, Jack laughed as Phil downed the remains of his tea, ‘Oh I am, Phil. I am.’
Thirty-four
October 25th 2006
Kit looked guiltily at the takeaway boxes slowly heating in the oven. Since she’d been so mixed-up over Jack, as well as working all day at Pickwicks, she hadn’t cooked much at home beyond the twins’ beloved fish fingers and potato waffles for quite some time.
Glancing at her watch, Kit stood at the kitchen window watching for Phil. It was nearly eight o’clock already. Where was he? Surely he’d come home tonight? The twins had already had their bedtime stories and were tucked up for the night. Kit had told them that Daddy had a late meeting and that he’d see them in the morning. She hoped that was true.
The fresh notebook, with her novel in progress safely scribbled inside, sat by the kettle. Picking it up, Kit thumbed through the pages. Re-reading snatches of her work she felt a rush of satisfaction. Kit knew what she’d written was good, and she badly wanted to get back to it. Sitting at the kitchen table, Kit took up a pen and began to write.
… the influence he seemed to have over her was almost frightening. There was no real reason why she hung around. Yet something tangible, but beyond her grasp, made her need to be near him, despite everything he’d put her through …
Unobserved, Phil watched his wife for a minute; her head bent to her notebook, her hand moving swiftly across the page, studied concentration on her face.
‘Hello love. I brought Chinese.’
Kit jumped, and stood up quickly, uncertain. She pointed to the pizza in the oven.
Phil laughed. ‘Well, that’s a taste combination worth trying. Come on woman, get some wine out of the fridge!’
‘Phil?’ Kit felt confused. She hadn’t heard from him all day. She’d expected him to shout, or worse, continue his frosty silence.
‘It’s OK.’ He crossed the room and took her in his arms, ‘I’ve been talking, walking and thinking. I’m sorry I got so cross. Hurt pride, I’m afraid.’
‘You had every right to be cross. I messed up my explanations so badly. I’m sorry, Phil. I love you.’
‘I know you do, and I love you too.’ Phil took off his raincoat. ‘Now, let’s stop being soppy. I’m starving. Tell me how Scott and Peggy are today while I serve up this lot.’
By the time they’d discussed the lack of change in Scott, Kit had apologised several more times, and Phil had told her it was all over and to forget about it, they’d demolished the pizza and a good two-thirds of the chicken chow mein. Phil pushed back his plate. ‘I’m stuffed.’
‘Me too.’ Kit agreed as she scooped up a further forkful of food.
‘I saw Jack today.’
Kit hadn’t expected that, and almost choked on her mouthful of noodles. ‘You did? When? He was at the café all day.’
‘He called me after work. We went to Costa.’
‘But you hate Jack!’ Her mouth had dropped open, displaying her semi-masticated food, and Kit closed it hastily.
‘No, I don’t; I’m wary of Jack, but he knows that.’
Kit felt the relaxed dinner they’d just shared revolve in her stomach as her insides went into a spin cycle. What on earth had Jack said that had calmed Phil right down? ‘So?’
‘He offered to babysit the kids so that you and I could talk.’
‘Jack did?’
‘That was more or less my reaction.’ Phil put his hand over Kit’s, and cupped it gently, ‘I think it’s a good idea.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. We have things to talk about. Like, how come you can suddenly write at home, without a mug of coffee by your side?’
‘Blimey, so I did. I didn’t think about it. I just wrote,’ Kit smiled, ‘I guess Pickwicks feels more like a working stop than a coffee stop at the moment.’
Phil sounded decisive, ‘I’m going to ask Jack if he’ll look after the kids on Saturday night. OK?’
‘OK.’
‘As he said himself, it’s about time he proved to me he is worthy of the role of godfather.’ Phil began to collect up the empty food cartons, ‘Anyway, I’ve got something I want to talk to you about, properly, without child-induced distractions.’
‘Me too.’
‘Anything I should worry about?’
‘Absolutely not. Me?’
Phil shook his head, ‘Not a thing. I’m going to give Peggy one last call before bed.’
‘Then, can we listen to our new CD again?’ Kit fluttered her eyelids coquettishly at her husband, and the tension she’d felt at the mention of Jack slipped away.
As Amy was about to settle down in front of television for an evening of mindless nothing, the front door bell rang. She smiled; she’d been half expecting him.
‘Oh, rats, you’re dressed.’ Jack was leaning against the door frame, a burger box in one hand, and a bag full of beer cans in the other.’
‘Sorry, Jack, I thought you might pop round, and I didn’t want to inflict my PJs on you again.’
‘Idiot. You look great in your night-time gear. Do you remember those blue stripy ones you had?’ He gestured with his full bag of cans. ‘Beer?’
Amy decided against commenting about her student pyjamas, and took a tin as they headed to the living room.
‘Where are your room-mates tonight then?’ Jack flopped down onto the sofa and tucked into his dinner. ‘I’m beginning to think that they don’t exist.’ He waved his takeaway at her, ‘You don’t mind, do you? I’ve not been home yet, and I’m starving.’
‘They’re out clubbing or something, not my thing anymore I’m afraid.’ Amy waved towards the mayonnaise-dripping burger. ‘I’ll get you a plate for that, after all, it isn’t my sofa.’
‘Fair enough, thanks.’
‘So,’ Amy called through from the kitchen where she grabbed a glass for herself, a plate, and handful of mopping up kitchen roll for Jack, ‘I see your nose is intact, Phil didn’t punch you then?’
‘Nope. It went well, even if I do say so myself. At least, I think it did. It’s up to him and Kit now.’
‘Why did you feel you had to talk to him anyway?’
‘I owe Kit. She has stood by me through countless relationship, or, more specifically, non-relationship nightmares. I thought it high time I tried to help her.’ Jack brushed some crumbs off his lap, changing the subject. ‘How’s the job-hunting?’
‘What job-hunting? I can’t possibly leave Peggy in the lurch. I’ll start the search again once she can come back to work.’
‘That’s lovely of you, sweetheart, but how will you support yourself? Peggy probably won’t be able to pay you for more than your usual hours, you know.’
Amy felt a bit deflated. She’d been so busy getting on with things that she hadn’t considered the financial implications of what had happened. ‘Well, I guess I’ll have to spend a bit more of my savings than I planned.’
‘You don’t have to. I can help Kit, and you can get a new career.’
‘But you two aren’t being paid at all.’
‘I don’t need it, and Kit is making money from stories she’s already written. Anyway, I know they don’t flaunt it, but Phil earns a packet.’ Jack wiped his mouth on a piece of paper towel, and put his arm around Amy. ‘What do you want to do then, when you grow up?’
Amy rested comfortably against him. ‘No idea. But I’ll tell you this, Jack Brown, I’ve spent the past decade or so trying to prevent companies going under, there is no way on earth I am letting Pickwicks sink. It’s too special.’
He suddenly engulfed her in a bear-hug ‘I’m glad you came south, Amy. And that is somethin
g I didn’t think I’d say. It’s a special girl that can stop me clubbing with my mates.’
Amy felt a glow spread through her. Not only had Jack remembered her pyjamas, he was here, with her, when he could have gone out on the town. Totally ignoring the distant alarm bell that began to ring at the back of her head she said, ‘I’m glad too. Now, what crap shall we watch on the TV?’
‘Anything you want.’ Jack rearranged a cushion behind his back and settled himself into his seat, ‘Shall we go out tomorrow, a film perhaps?’
Amy’s grin spread across her face until it lit her eyes. ‘Why not?’
Thirty-five
October 26th 2006
‘Amy!’ Jack called over to the front door where Amy was locking up after another busy day at Pickwicks.
‘You bellowed?’ Amy took her cloth from her apron pocket and headed to the nearest table.
Busy cashing up the till, Jack didn’t look up as he spoke, ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve just had a call from a mate. He’s not well. Nothing like as bad as Scott, probably flu or something, but, well … can we postpone our cinema trip tonight? I feel I ought to go and see him. Do you mind?’
‘No, of course not. We’ll do it another time.’
Jack smiled, ‘Thanks Amy, you’re a star.’
Kit came through from the kitchen and collapsed onto her normal chair in the corner of the room. She was exhausted. It was not just lack of caffeine and unaccustomed hard physical work that made her shake, but a reaction to the phone call she’d just received from Peggy.
Amy, immediately understanding that Kit had news, dropped her cloth, sat on the chair opposite her, and waited.
‘He’s not permanently paralysed.’ Tears of relief prickled at the corners of Kit’s eyes.
Amy almost reached out to grab Kit’s hand, but thought better of it, and simply said, ‘That’s brilliant, more than brilliant, it’s …’
‘There’s a long way to go,’ Kit abruptly wiped her eyes on a napkin. ‘The muscles in Scott’s lower back have been very badly strained and bruised. It is going to take a very long time and an awful lot of physiotherapy before he’s walking freely again. He might always need a stick.’
‘Peggy must be over the moon.’