Heavenly Heirs

by Fox Brison

  She said something to him, something that made him smile and his reply made her laugh, a golden tinkling that sounded like the angels in heaven were singing. Dropping her pencil she bent to pick it up, giving me a view I would have been quite happy to admire all day long. I shook my head to clear the fuzzy feeling enveloping me. I needed to focus on my job, my very new and very important job. I could not be thinking of this waitress in that way, it was so wrong on so many levels.

  But it felt so right.

  Coffee was definitely the order of the day and maybe one of those delicious smelling bacon sandwiches; I wouldn’t embarrass myself by sniffing the air, I didn’t need to, the smell of frying rashers easily diffused through the café and I watched enviously as the teenager at the table in front of me got his first. Thick slices of white bread, the crust dark brown, a scrumptious contrast to the soft core and dark pink bacon within.

  Could anything be more perfect?

  It reminded me of when I was eight years old and I smiled at the happy memory invading my normally austere thoughts. I’d return home for the weekend from boarding school and be left in the care of Marta, our German housekeeper. Marta was a goddess in the kitchen, and for three years I spent every weekend at the large oaken table watching her work. I learnt many things from her, things that I’d forgotten about. She instilled an early sense of decency and pride in my work, both of which flew out of the window along with integrity and respect the longer I’d remained with the family firm. She was patiently encouraging, praising my efforts with schoolwork and attempts at baking the perfect Victoria sandwich cake. Her ears were always open and her mouth firmly closed; I could tell her anything and knew she’d never judge and would never tell tales to my parents.

  She also taught me how to speak German. Talking in a different language helped curtail my stuttering a damn sight more than years of speech therapists and badgering from my mother ever did.

  I smiled again as the olfactory memory diffused back into the past and I continued with my surveillance.

  “It’s no wonder you’re always skint,” I heard the younger waitress, who was sporting a rather vile purple and pink hairdo, say with a mock scowl. Even if my gaydar was a little rusty I think I was safe in saying she was a lesbian. Not my type, but I could appreciate why Hannah would be salivating right about now, she was really working the butch vibe. I also saw some tattoos poking up from beneath the collar of her shirt, another winner for Hannah. She clearly worked out and was much taller, at least five inches, than my target.

  Rachel McTavers.

  Rachel defended her decision. “Yes, well, a tea and sausage sarnie won’t break the bank, not this week anyways, Jessie.” Rachel looked towards the dishevelled man who sat at the table to the left of me. “I saw George putting a board out this morning saying we’re going to have a white Christmas. Ruth will be excited… snowmen, snowball fights, sledging. Ted over there? No snowman for him. No, it’ll be frostbite and hypothermia if he can’t find anywhere warm and dry to spend the night. A sausage sarmie? That’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, is it?”

  “You’re too good sometimes. Tell you what, I’ll split the cost.”

  “You don’t have to-”

  “Nah, I know, but you have this whole Mother Theresa thing going on that makes me wanna give a little back. You go and see what Ms Hottie wants, I’ll see to Ted the Tinker.”

  “Thanks, Jessie.” I hid my eyes as she walked over, swerving between tables to avoid knocking customers’ heads.

  Ms Hottie eh? I smiled inwardly.

  “One coffee. Black. Have you decided what you want to eat yet?”

  “Yes,” I answered swiftly. You. “Um… ye… yes.” I was blushing, I was sure I was blushing. “Um, a b… bacon sandwich.” The stutter was inevitable; Rachel McTavers made me nervous in both a good and bad way, but what was with the um? I never say um. Um is for tweenies and premier league footballers, not an Oxford graduate.

  “You can’t resist, right?” she said knowingly.

  Jesus, had I been that transparent? Was she flirting? “Excuse me?” That was better. No stammer and perfect tones.

  She appeared puzzled by my brusqueness. “Once you smell the bacon frying you can’t resist having one.”

  “Quite. However, all I can smell now is stale sweat and wet dog.” I glanced at her ‘friend’ and she quickly blocked my view with a protective step to the right.

  “Ketchup? Brown sauce?” Her good mood instantly vanished. Shit.

  “Brown sauce please.” And that was that.

  She was gone.

  I observed Rachel McTavers whilst my sandwich was being prepared. She had such an easy way about her, laughing and teasing with the regular customers and her colleague, Jessie. Her hips swayed to an old seventies song on the radio… Heaven must be missing an angel…

  I couldn’t think of a more apt accompaniment.

  Five minutes later and my breakfast was served on a small white plate. I hurriedly said thank you, but she merely nodded her head and turned away abruptly before I could engage her in conversation. I took a small nibble from the edge of my sandwich and sighed. Yes, I’d already managed to alienate her and it was only a quarter to ten in the morning. I was sooo good at this part of the job, as good as a blind assassin hunting his prey in a crowded room.

  I plotted my next few moves carefully. After checking Accuweather (showers were due to start at lunchtime) I left my umbrella so returning later in the day would not seem suspicious, and as the café might be quieter then, I could conceivably engage her in conversation – after all, she did think that I was hot.

  I sat in my car outside the café for about an hour after I left, my camera clicking at appropriate points and my laptop burning my lap as I searched for more information about Rachel McTavers. The hobo left shortly after I did and headed towards an alley five or six shops down; a paper bag with grease marks on the bottom and a grey cardboard cup holder with four cups gripped as if he held a Waterford crystal vase.

  Hmm.

  He couldn’t afford a sandwich and cup of tea and yet now here he was passing out brunch to his friends? I felt awful for my snarky comment in the café. Christ, not so long ago I’d woken up on my sofa smelling just as bad, only I had the luxury of getting into a hot shower. I couldn’t tell you why I said what I said, except Rachel McTavers made me feel vulnerable and it scared me.

  I snapped a couple of more photos and headed back to the office, leaving my self-analysis outside of Eli’s Café where it belonged.

  Chapter 8

  Rachel

  Wednesday December 7th, 2016.

  “Little Miss Hottie left a good tip,” Jessie said from the cash register.

  “That’s not all she left,” I muttered under my breath. She’d left a bad taste in my mouth.

  “It was enough to pay for Ted the Tinker’s breakfast.”

  “Really?” I was shocked.

  “Yeah, and I’m not sure if she also meant to leave this.” ‘This’ was a small yellow post it note with sorry scrawled in tiny cursive letters on it. “I know weird, right? You can ask her about it when she comes back.”

  “Comes back?” I doubted she’d be back, sorry or otherwise.

  “She left her brolly.” Jessie waved the expensive Hermes umbrella like she was a prize fighter showing off his newly won world championship belt.

  “Oh. Good.” I looked disinterested even though my heart skipped a few beats. The note was sweet, unlike Ted who had, to be honest, whiffed a fair bit. She had nice eyes too. Amber ones. I’d never seen amber eyes before, except on a cat. They were striking. Well they certainly hit me, anyway. I wonder if they’re contacts? I thought. Mmm. She had a feline grace about her, like a lioness, or panther… Jessie continued to prattle on, even though I’d tuned her out to think about Ms Hottie’s eyes.

  I tuned back in but I really wished I hadn’t. “Come on, Rach. You’ve been celibate for what, five years?”

  Damn. Jessie may be
my closest friend, but she still liked to push when she knew fine well I wish she wouldn’t. And even though I hated to admit it, she kind of had a point.

  Actually there was no kind of about it.

  I usually brushed aside her well-meaning attempts to get me a life; not today, however. No, today for some reason I took the bait. “It’s nearer seven,” I answered softly. Nearly seven years since Ruth became my entire focus, seven years since she lost her parents and I lost Louise and Tommy, the only family I’d ever known.

  “So?” Jessie interrupted.

  Would I like a girlfriend? Maybe. One day.

  Would I like to get laid, her other favourite question? I thought of Ms Hottie.

  Definitely maybe.

  “So I can window shop,” I replied with a chuckle, “but I’ll need all my numbers to come up to afford something so high end. Ms Hottie’s what, River Island? I’m Primark. Actually I’m Poundland during a closing down sale.”

  “River Island? You’re having a roar. Have you seen this brolly? She’s more like Prada. Nothing off the peg for that one, all designer I reckon.”

  “Yeah you’re probably right. Her shoes looked like they cost more than I pay in rent each month. Which reminds me,” I quickly swiped and checked the state of my bank account. Not overdrawn and the rent had been paid so I did a little fist pump; score!

  “I’ve been thinking-”

  “I thought I recognised the look,” I interrupted, “you looked like you were both constipated and in pain. I should have realised you were simply thinking. I don’t have to run out for syrup of figs now, thank god.”

  “Oh ha, ha.” But my bantering insult was not to dissuade her, damn it. “Look, why don’t I babysit for your little darling and you can go out for that drink with Tori.” Jessie, god love her, thought she was doing me a favour. The thing is most evenings all I was fit for was vegging on the sofa with a cup of tea and a good lesbian romance. Sure it wasn’t real, pure escapism in fact, I mean seriously, how many rich and high powered lesbians do you know end up with the salt of the earth help?

  I could count on one hand the amount of times I’d left Ruth to go on a date. The last time I’d fallen asleep at the bar, totally embarrassing myself. And as for going out with Tori, one of Jessie’s gym buddies and best friends… thanks but no thanks.

  “Jessie,” I touched her arm and softened my voice. “I know your heart’s in the right place, but I’m fine as I am. I’m happy and I don’t need the drama of the lesbian merry go round.”

  “Tori fancies you rotten.”

  “Jessie, it’s never going to happen. Ever.”

  “But, Rache,” she practically whined, “it’ll do you good!”

  “So would a million quid but that’s not going to happen either,” I retorted. “No. More. Set ups. Capiche?”

  “Capiche,” she reluctantly conceded defeat. “So no drama, but how about a night out? Just you and me. It’s ages since we’ve let loose together. Mrs J will watch Ruth. Oh come on, Rache, you know you want to. This Friday… let’s show this town what it’s been missing.”

  I groaned. I had given Jessie the proverbial inch by entering into this conversation and she wasn’t going to relent until she got her twenty-six miles. “Fine.”

  “Oh my god! Really?”

  “Yes, but I mean it, Jess, no hook ups. Christ, it’s been so long I think I’ve forgotten what to do and where to put– oh, erm… Eli…”

  “Customers need serving, girls,” he said with a suggestive twinkle indicating he’d heard what I’d just said.

  “Where’s a sink hole when you really need one,” I muttered as I grabbed my notebook and rushed to the nearest table to hide my utter mortification.

  ***

  Five hours later and my feet were killing me. I smiled as Jessie arrived with Ruth. It was peeing down, so Jessie borrowed her dad’s car to go the ten minutes around the corner to collect her from school. The bell above the door rang again and Ms Hottie followed almost on their coat tails.

  Ruth gawked.

  I couldn’t blame her, I did the same thing, although Ruth’s gaze was for a very different reason than my own. I don’t think she’d ever seen someone so glamorous before. Honestly? Hottie looked like she’d just stepped off the pages of Hello magazine. “Mummy, look,” Ruth pulled on my t-shirt and I dragged my eyes away from…

  Ms Hottie is too common, Ms Mesmerising suits her far better…

  … and looked down at my child’s eager face. She held a new reading book aloft, a perfect imitation of Jessie with the umbrella. Although Ruth had an excuse, she was seven. Jessie had none such and was now hiding in the kitchen, leaving me to mind the store.

  I shook my head.

  Treacherous wench.

  “Oh well done, pupsy, you’ve gone up a level,” I congratulated her and she preened.

  “Yep and I got ten out of ten on my spellings.” If her chest stood out anymore it would rival Ms Anderson’s.

  “A veritable genius,” a warm voice added to the mix. Ms Hottie. Damn. Seriously, those eyes....

  “Miss Harrison gave me this,” Ruth handed me a plain brown envelope. “She says I should be tested.”

  Ms Hottie took a step back, her eyes wide. “Tested?”

  “She’s not contagious,” I explained with a slight chuckle. “They want to put her in a special programme at school. I’m reluctant because I want her to have a normal childhood.” Fine, I was oversharing, but hey I’d gone into very proud Mummy mode.

  “I see, yes I understand. I think it’s wonderful that teachers are receiving the specialist training required to identify children with learning difficulties at a much earlier age.”

  What now? Excuse me? Is she suggesting that my daughter is… is… “Ruth is being tested for the gifted programme. Her IQ is off the charts and she has the reading age of a child six years older.”

  “Oh…” Ms Tactless 2016 come and get your prize.

  A bitch slap.

  At this rate she was going to have more monikers than Prince Phillip.

  “Why don’t you take a seat, I’ll be right over to take your order,” I said slightly more curtly than was perhaps called for.

  “I drawed-”

  “Drew,” I quickly corrected with a grimace. Here I was talking up my daughter’s intelligence and she makes a rudimentary grammatical error that she hadn’t made in over two years. Ooh you little bugger! She winked at me! Ruth was so sharp I worried she’d cut herself one of these days.

  “Drew a picture for Mrs Jessop.” She handed me a rolled up sheet of A5 paper. I removed the elastic band and unfurled it, turning it first one way and then the other. Nope. My daughter might be an intellectual giant, but she missed out on the McTaver’s artistic gene. She didn’t seem too bothered, her attention was now focussed on Ms Anal Retentive who’d sat at the same table as this morning.

  “Go and sit down, sweetie, Aunt Jessie will be out with your milk and toast in a minute.” I shooed Ruth to an empty place and went over to Ms Judgemental. “I believe this is yours?” I handed over the Hermes brolly.

  “Thanks. It’s a filthy day out there.”

  “It surely is.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, “and it doesn’t look like stopping anytime soon.”

  “No, it’s been a horrendous autumn for rain,” I cringed. Slow down there Don Juan, she’ll be throwing herself at your feet if you’re not careful.

  “I don’t know if it’s just me, but ever since the Met Office started giving storms names, I’m convinced they’re arriving with more regularity than a London bus.”

  I chuckled. So Ms Hottie has a sense of humour. “Can I get you something to eat or drink? You might want to sit this shower out.” We both stared outside where the rain was now sheeting down.

  “I would love a cup of coffee, it’s been a very long day.” She rubbed the back of her neck and I imagined standing behind her working my fingers into those tight, broad shoulders, slowly kneading the muscles as I
lowered my head to her neck, moving her hair to one side and kissing the exposed skin, her incredibly soft skin which smelt of... mmm… apple blossom…

  The bang of her laptop woke me from my daydream and I flushed; I was still standing next to her table with a vacant expression on my face. What the hell must she think of me? I hurried to the counter to fetch her coffee and see where Jessie was with Ruth’s milk and toast. When I returned I stuttered to a stop. Ruth was sitting next to Ms Hottie showing off her latest reading book.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” I said as I hurried over. “C’mon Ruth, back to your table.”

  “Perhaps you should teach your child that it’s rude to trouble people when they are working. Especially at your place of employment. I’m assuming she’s your child?”

  Was this woman lecturing me on the finer points of social etiquette? Ms Discourteous herself? “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.” I was fuming, even though, technically speaking, she was right. Eli was really good about letting Ruth come into the café after school, and thankfully most of the people who came in didn’t own a heart of stone and loved her, so it had never been an issue before.

  Ruth touched Ms Heartless’ arm (and yes I’m sticking with that one) and the woman opened her eyes wide. “It’s a pretty jacket,” she said and noticing the horror on her new superheroes face added, “don’t worry my hands are clean. Mummy makes me wash them after I’ve been to the toilet.”

  Sink hole now, please God, just a small one. I quickly shooed Ruth back to her own table, again, and warned her not to move or she wold be in seriously trouble when we got home.

  Because as crap as this job could be (hey it was minimum wage and everyone, customers and employees alike, could have bad days) it was better than trying to survive on fresh air.