by Jenny Kane
‘I think this one has to be our first choice, don’t you?’
Scott passed Peggy one of the two sets of café details he had printed out. ‘It’s far enough away to not take trade from Pickwicks, but not so far away that we’ll be travelling miles between the two.’
Peggy rested her feet on the coffee table in front of the sofa they sat on and flicked her way through the pages she’d read many times before on the computer screen. ‘The rent is about right as well. Shall we?’
Scott put his much longer legs up next to his wife’s. ‘I think we should.’
A mixture of excitement and nerves shot through Peggy. ‘We can make this work – can’t we?’
‘We can. We’ll have to work damn hard though.’
‘That’ll hardly be a change for us then, will it!’ Peggy picked up her mug of hot chocolate and cuddled into Scott’s side. ‘Megan certainly seemed pleased. I know she said she’d have to talk to Nick, but she’ll say yes, won’t she?’
‘I’m sure she will. Megan is a fabulous waitress, but she deserves more of a challenge. It’ll be hard to replace her at Pickwicks, mind.’
‘We said that about Amy though, didn’t we, and we found Megan. I’ve already got my eyes on a couple of the younger regulars for future waiting staff. In the short term, while we’re setting the new place up, I wondered about asking Kit’s daughter if she’d like a part-time job.’
Scott beamed his bright white smile. ‘That’s a fabulous idea! I bet Helena could use the money if she’s saving up for university.’
Leaning forward, Scott scooped up a couple of the tablets he’d had to take every evening to keep his lower muscles moving. Knocking the medicine back with a glass of water, he caught Peggy looking at him. ‘What?’
‘Every now and then I can’t believe we’ve made it his far, not after I nearly lost you.’
Scott pulled his wife up off the sofa, ‘I’m here. We made it. Together, and we’ll do this together as well. We’ll get the new café set up, make an extra income, and then we can kick Plan C into life.’
Peggy hugged Scott tightly. ‘Plan C?’
‘Yes, Plan A was opening Pickwicks, Plan B is Pickwicks 2, or whatever we call it, and Plan C is buying a bungalow we can retire to.’
‘Now that is a plan I like!’
‘A five-year plan, OK? Pickwicks 2 this year, and retirement in five years, in time for your sixtieth birthday, and before my legs decide they really don’t want to do stairs anymore.’
A cloud passed over Peggy’s face, but Scott kissed it away. ‘It’s OK, love, we will do this. Life won’t floor us ever again.’
Chapter Four
Sunday 5th June
Waking in his hotel room bed, Jack’s first thought was that out of all of his friends, it was Amy he should visit first. The appointment to see his potential restaurant wasn’t until the following morning, so he had the whole day to carry an olive branch to Amy and then Kit – not to mention Rob, Phil, and Paul if he had time.
‘But what do I say to her,’ he asked the ceiling, ‘after I’ve bought Amy a black coffee, how do I explain that I left her in the lurch again because I found seeing her happy difficult? That makes me an awful friend.’
Punching the over-plump pillow with his fist, Jack threw back the duvet and sat up. ‘You are an awful friend. You’ve proved that over and over again. It would serve you right if Amy called your bluff and told you to sod off.’
It was only eight o’clock in the morning. There was no point in going straight to Amy’s house, she and Paul wouldn’t be up yet and, anyway, he had the sudden need for a proper dose of fresh air. It was time to get his mind straight.
‘Right, Jack, are you listening? You are going to grab a coffee, get dressed, and go to Kew. If walking around the Gardens doesn’t clear your head, then nothing will.’
Jack’s next thought was that, even though he was in London again, he hadn’t spent the best part of the previous evening in a nightclub, and consequently hadn’t woken up in a stranger’s bed that morning. This was progress. ‘Perhaps I’m growing up at last. Maybe if I told Amy that I haven’t come back and immediately screwed a man a fraction of my age she’d be proud of me.’
Even as he said the words he realised what an idiot he was. ‘Enough! Enough of being a fortysomething teenager.’
Having gobbled down his breakfast at a speed that was guaranteed to give him indigestion, Jack made a beeline for Hounslow East Tube station, and headed towards Kew Gardens. Full of determination that this return to London was the move that would see the start of a new life, a better life, Jack looked affectionately along the road at the pub-like sign which hung outside his old bookshop, Reading Nature.
When he’d first purchased the shop with his grandfather’s money, it had never occurred to Jack that he’d want to sell it one day. He’d instantly loved it, with its single bay window, and its Victorian feel. As he walked past now, he could see what a positive effect Phil and Rob were having on the place without him. For a split second Jack felt a twinge of regret, but he knew in his heart that, although it had taken him a long time to find what he wanted to do, he’d been born to be a chef. His head was so full of plans and ideas for his restaurant that he couldn’t imagine working with books now. He was happy for Reading Nature to be in such good hands.
As he strolled past the bookshop Jack’s head, always full of snippets of songs, was suddenly alive with Dionne Warwick’s classic, ‘Walk on By’. Immediately he was cross with himself. He must not do that anymore. He knew his comparison of every situation to a pop lyric made him seem flippant even when he was trying to be sincere. Jack winced as he thought back to how he’d used songs to tell both Kit and Amy he couldn’t be with them before he’d had the courage to admit to his sexuality; even to himself. Although, cutting himself a little slack, he thought, if I hadn’t sent Amy that mixtape then she would never have moved to London in the first place. Still, I really, really must not do that anymore!
The morning after he had slept with Gareth, a whole compilation worth of songs had lined themselves up in his brain, all of which summed up the situation he found himself up in or the way he felt about it. And before common sense had the chance to kick in, Jack was blurting out lines from George Michael’s ‘Fastlove’.
The look Gareth had given him was an equal mix of hurt and anger, and in that moment Jack had finally seen what Kit and Amy had been telling him for years. He couldn’t keep expressing himself without thinking, not saying what he truly meant, or someone was going to punch him, either through rage or out of sheer frustration.
There and then, Jack had promised himself he wouldn’t do the ‘song thing’, as Kit called it, ever again – but he’d only been back in London a day and he was doing it again. This has to stop. It was high time he started using his own words to explain his emotions; he just had the feeling it was going to be a lot harder than it sounded.
Turning through the gates of Kew Gardens, Jack headed toward the Terrace Coffee Shop. He stopped and stared at the café for a while before going inside to place his order. This was where he’d first met Amy again, after she’d returned from living in Scotland.
She’d lived up there for over a decade, having exiled herself largely as a result of the way he’d treated her, and she’d only come back south after he’d sent her a letter explaining why he’d walked out on their relationship – together with, in typical Jack fashion, a tape full of music that summed up his feelings about her. Even now, after so much time had passed, Jack couldn’t believe how well Amy had welcomed him back into her life. She’d always been wonderful, especially considering how thoughtlessly he’d treated her.
Sitting outside in the early morning sunshine with an insanely strong double espresso, Jack’s mind swirled with both regret and practicality. He knew if he was going to build a better life, a new one where he never hurt anyone, or was hurt by anyone, ever again, then he’d have to come to peace with his own guilt over the way he’d treate
d Amy and Kit. They might have forgiven him, but he hadn’t forgiven himself.
‘So,’ he muttered under his breath as the sun’s rays beat down on his outstretched legs, ‘the new me is going to open a restaurant, be a better friend, take no one for granted, remain single as I am a danger to young men everywhere and,’ he took a deep sigh, ‘probably piss Peggy and Scott off massively in the process, making me no better than the man I was before. Damn! But I can’t see what else to do.’
Putting his empty cup down on the table, Jack looked up in time to see an attractive man talking to a group of eager small children on a patch of grass not too far from the café. Smartly dressed, with a good-quality camera hanging around his neck, the man was crouched on the grass so he was at eye level with the children. He was smiling broadly, and whatever it was he was saying to his young charges, they were obviously finding it hilarious.
It was unusual to see a man of that age – Jack surmised he was late twenties – in trousers and not jeans, outside of work. Jack found himself looking at the scene more closely, and grinning along with the children. He’d have laid money on the man having received a public school education. The way he held himself, the neat cut of his dark brown hair, and the tone of his voice gave his background away. Guess I could be wrong, but I bet I’m not. Contradicting his decision to keep away from all forms of emotional entanglement, Jack found himself thinking that he’d quite like that, but he wasn’t sure if ‘that’ meant a man who could make him laugh – or a child of his own.
Rupert felt a rush of contentment as he began his solo Sunday lunchtime walk around Kew Gardens. He still couldn’t get over how lucky he’d been to get the job at Reading Nature. It had been pure chance. He had entered the shop one day to buy a book on wildlife photography, and walked straight into a conversation between the owners about needing new staff.
This morning’s lesson, teaching a group of local children about the magic of Kew in the summertime, had been great fun and as satisfying as usual. When Phil and Rob had first explained what sort of assistant they were looking for, Rupert wasn’t sure he’d have the confidence to share his knowledge of nature and photography with the general public. However, teaching small groups about the joy of natural history had quickly become the favourite part of his job.
Even though it took up every Sunday morning, the enthusiasm of the local children who formed Reading Nature’s Kids Club, and their love of tracking squirrels, learning about trees, and spotting birds was boundless. The sense of reward he felt each time he made a child giggle as he pointed out the difference between different sorts of tits was priceless.
Rupert hadn’t told his family about his new job as the liaison officer between Reading Nature and Kew Gardens. He knew his mother would be pleased for him, but his father, a wealthy City trader, hadn’t forgiven his only son for not following in his footsteps, or at least not finding a profession he could show off about to his associates at the antiquated Gentlemen’s Club he attended.
Since studying Law at university, a degree that he had undertaken at his father’s insistence, Rupert had gone from one minor job to another until he’d finally stood up to his father and said that a career in the legal profession was not for him. The meeting in his father’s study had been short and unpleasant, and Rupert couldn’t see how the rift it had caused between them could ever be healed.
His father – always a father and never a dad – refused to understand how Rupert could be content to have no real ambitions in life. It was true that he hadn’t cared for anything in particular, not until he’d taken a photography course on a whim and fallen in love with the art form.
‘Photography,’ his father had declared, in a voice that was laced with prejudice and would brook no argument, ‘is the province of pointless arty types, eternal students, and time-wasters.’
Rupert had always been private about all aspects of his life, and shared very little with anyone, but now he was a virtual recluse outside of working hours. He was almost sure his mother suspected that his lack of ex-girlfriends indicated he was gay, although he’d never told her about his one brief boyfriend, which was an experience he was trying hard to forget. If she did know, his mother would never say anything, for although she loved his father, she was very much in his shadow. Rupert was convinced she’d never be able to handle his reaction to having a homosexual son. She was almost as bad as Rupert himself when it came to not being able to stand up to his father and his antiquated attitudes. No, much better to remain celibate and not put his mother in a position of having to take sides between her husband and her only child.
Rupert also suspected that Rob and Phil assumed he was gay. He was grateful that they respected his privacy, and hadn’t asked him anything about his sexual preferences.
A slight movement to his right caught Rupert’s attention as he paced softly through the quietest parts of the gardens. A robin was perched on the edge of a branch, almost within touching distance. Moving slowly, in almost total silence, Rupert lifted his camera and hoped that the bird wouldn’t move as he prepared to take a shot. The national photography competition he intended to enter would be closing soon, and he still hadn’t got the dream shot he wanted. Maybe this would be it?
Chapter Five
Monday 6th June
Jack knew he’d taken the coward’s way out the day before. Despite all his good intentions when he’d woken up on Sunday morning, he hadn’t gone to see Amy or Kit.
He had told himself it was because he wanted to view the outside of his potential restaurant and go through the financial proposal he had to present to his accountant. The cold light of Monday morning saw Jack being more honest with himself. He hadn’t gone to see Amy because, as it was the weekend, Paul would probably have been there. For his first meeting with Amy in years, even though he and Paul were pretty good friends in their own right, he wanted to see her alone. And he hadn’t gone to visit Kit because he’d promised himself he’d go and explain himself to Amy first.
As Jack walked toward the Home Hunters office, hoping Amy would be able to spare an hour or so for a coffee stop like they used to in the old days, he practiced what he was going to say in his head.
Right: you do not tell her you left because you found it difficult to see her so happy with Paul when you were so unhappy yourself. Otherwise you tell her the truth – well, almost the truth.
Tell her that you’ve missed her, that you needed to take time away from the place where Toby broke your heart, and that one place you visited just led to another, and somehow rather than months passing, years went by.
With a bubble of happy excitement growing inside him at the prospect of seeing Amy again, Jack squashed down the anxiety that his presence would not be warmly received this time, and pushed open the door to the Home Hunters office.
Jack leaned against the stone wall outside the office and tried to breathe normally.
Amy hadn’t been there. Her PA, a very attractive young woman who’d introduced herself as Lauren, had said Amy was having an antenatal check at the doctors today.
An antenatal check!
Amy was pregnant!
Of all the scenarios he’d pictured; of all the reactions he’d imagined he’d have to face on his return, Amy being pregnant hadn’t crossed his mind. She was in her forties, for goodness’ sake!
Once upon a time Jack had wondered if he and Amy would have kids together. It had only been a fleeting thought, perhaps, but if he was going to be anyone’s father, Amy would have been their mother.
Jack’s head started to crowd with visions of the man in the park surrounded by happy children, Kit’s twins playing with him when they were younger, how his niece and nephew loved spending time with Uncle Jack...
He was pulled out of his self-pity by a sound from across the other side of the street. A young mother, pushing a pram, was dragging a screaming toddler along after her. She looked exhausted, and about ready to lie on the ground and start screaming herself.
OK, life,
thanks for the reality check!
As soon as he walked through the door and found himself standing in the foyer of the empty Italian restaurant, Jack knew it was the right place for him. Politely asking the estate agent if he could wander around on his own for a while, Jack moved slowly through the main dining area, taking in the faded tablecloths, the dated artwork, and the tatty chair covers.
Immediately he replaced his regrets over not having children with images of new furnishings, modern paintings, and potential colour schemes. The whole place needed a refit, to lift it from the budget restaurant it had been to the luxurious place he intended to campaign for a Michelin star from.
Pushing open the swing-back kitchen door, Jack found a smile spreading over his face. Compact, but not cramped, the kitchen was everything he’d hoped for. Two sets of twin sinks lined one wall, an industrial-sized dishwasher and freezer stood next to each other opposite them, and a large square free-standing preparation area waited in the middle of the space, with a utensil rack hanging above it. A vegetable cupboard, storage larder for fresh and packaged ingredients, and spaces to hang saucepans and their culinary preparation companions, all sat waiting to be filled.
It would need a lot of work. A hell of a lot of work. It would also cost Jack all the remaining money from his inheritance. For the first time in his life, he was going to have to really work for a living. But then, for the first time in his life, Jack wanted to do just that.
Heading up the narrow stairway that was separated from the back of the kitchen by a tiny hallway, Jack investigated the flat which would become his home if he took the place on.
Spacious, it covered the entire area of the bistro below. Jack converted the space in his head. With its two bedrooms, living room, dining area, kitchen, bathroom and small study, it was more than big enough for a single man.