Eva snorted. “Do me a favor,” she retorted. “If I wasn’t trapped in that god-awful office I wouldn’t give her the time of day. I wouldn’t trust her with the lead in my pencil.”
Matt took a gulp of his drink. It was all too much for him. As if he was in a bad sci-fi film and he’d just discovered that his past had been some idealized, yet hologram, reality.
“So…” he began slowly, “let me get this right. Was she really chucking me because I lied to her? Or because it was you I’d told? Or was that just some excuse? Who am I kidding—the other bloke was there in her house, in a dressing gown!”
Eva became serious. “Matt, listen. She fancied you. She liked you. Really, she did.”
“So, why chuck me?”
Eva sighed. “She uses everyone. She doesn’t have relationships, she has temporary dependencies.”
“But why did she want me in the first place?” Matt asked, almost to himself. “I mean what on earth could I have possibly given her that she couldn’t get elsewhere? I mean that bloke she’s with—he’s a man. He must be about twenty years older than me.”
Suddenly, Eva grabbed his arm and pointed: “Quick, table.” She darted for it, beating two blokes and an Alsatian. Impressive. Matt sat down next to her. Right, where was he?
“I bet that bloke doesn’t get zits,” he moaned. “Why was she with me when she can get a man twice her age who doesn’t get zits?”
“It’s hard to explain. She has issues.”
Matt looked at Eva. “Who was he?”
“Oh, just our boss.”
“Your boss?”
“You see? Issues.”
Matt got the next drinks in. After which, with some persuasion and alcohol, he found out a little bit about Jennifer’s issues. It turned out that the boss she’d spent the past week bedding had just announced his engagement to one of the other girls in the office—and she had once nicked one of Jennifer’s boyfriends.
“Are you the other girl?” he asked in a hushed voice.
“No! Piss off!” exclaimed Eva. “Do I look like a complete loser?”
“No.” He shook his head firmly.
It took Katie half an hour to find Sukie. The café closed for an hour on Saturday afternoons before the restaurant opened up in the evening. It gave them time to clear up, have a breather and then change shifts.
“Oh no,” she whispered, sitting next to Sukie on the back stairs. “Bad news?”
Sukie sniffed and put her mobile away. “Isn’t it always?” She wiped her face with her hand. “Same old same old.”
“No it isn’t always,” said Katie gently. “You’ve just had a run of bad luck.”
Sukie let out an angry laugh. “My whole career is a run of bad luck.”
Katie nodded. “Tell me about it,” she muttered.
Sukie looked at her. “Oh don’t give me that,” she shot. Katie blinked at her in surprise. “You’re riding high,” Sukie said. “You’re manager of a restaurant that’s just got a review in Time Out—everything you’ve ever wanted. And all you had to do to get your dream job was…” She pretended to think for a moment, “Oh wait! Absolutely nothing. What a surprise! You didn’t even have to go for a bloody job interview. You just insulted everyone and guess what? The job was yours! They should write a book about you. What Katie Did Next? Nothing! Big, fat, round nothing. And she still got exactly what she wanted.” Katie felt too winded to speak. “While I go to crappy audition after crappy audition,” continued Sukie, “selling my soul for one crappy part, your ideal job trots over to you like a bloody lapdog and rolls over on its back.” Katie refused to blink. “Even the bloke of your dreams lands on your sodding lap.”
Katie swallowed.
“Yup,” continued Sukie. “Even after you get asked out by this man—something us mere mortals can only imagine happening—you don’t even complete one single date with him. Then you don’t even phone the poor bastard to say sorry and he still comes back begging for more! Even though he’s now engaged to someone else—an old friend of yours no less—you still get off with him. Because this way you haven’t had to take any risks and that’s all that matters. That’s right, as long as everyone else in the equation has everything to lose, except you. And you still think you’re unlucky.”
“I-I-I,” Katie mumbled, her voice hoarse. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Katie, it’s always like that.”
“What does that mean?”
“Have you any idea how much you hurt people?”
Katie could barely speak. She shook her head.
“Just the other night you had the bare-faced cheek to ask to borrow Jon’s laptop to write a book when he was going through hell writing his. What kind of friend is that? Do you have any idea how shitty that made him feel? How would you like it if he tried to become a restaurateur while you were in the depths of despair because you weren’t one?”
“I didn’t think,” she whispered.
“You never do. Not about anyone else anyway. But don’t worry. I told him not to panic because there was absolutely no way you’d finish a book.”
“Of course not. I can’t write—”
“Oh it had nothing to do with writing. I knew you wouldn’t because that would mean you’d have to stick your neck out; take a risk and face the terrifying possibility of failure—and unlike Jon or me or Dan or even Geraldine, you are physically incapable of doing that. So, Katie, please don’t tell me that your life is a run of bad luck.”
Katie heard Sukie get up and walk back through the kitchen into the café. Two minutes later, she heard Sukie come back. Oh thank God. She turned round and looked up. Sukie was unable to look her in the eye. She put her hand on her hip.
“As Dan’s away today,” she said hotly, “it turns out I have to ask you if I can go early.”
“Yes, of course,” mumbled Katie.
All was excitement in the Big Brother household as someone was going to be voted out within the next hour. Hugh turned up the volume. He checked his watch. He still had forty-five minutes before he had to be at the pub. If Maxine was here, she’d be making him clean up the kitchen but sod that. He’d do it tomorrow. The satisfaction of a home-made loaf of bread was worth an untidy kitchen. Shame it tasted of brick, but he’d do it better next time, and anyway, tonight wasn’t anything special. Someone’s birthday. Maxine was going to be there so he wanted to be late, but not so late that it looked like he’d done it on purpose. The moment the adverts started he ran into the shower. He was back on his bed in his towel as the adverts finished.
By the time he had his aftershave on he was deeply regretting not phoning in with his vote for who he had wanted to stay in the Big Brother household. It would only have taken two seconds of his time and now that stupid bint was staying in and the lad he liked was out. He watched as the loser, with only an hour’s warning, was pushed out of the house, waving to all the lucky ones he was leaving behind. The doors shut behind him and he was forced to walk up the white fluorescent stairs, up, up and up to the waiting crowd and camera.
It was like dying and going to heaven, thought Hugh. Sudden nothingness. No more judgments. No more chances. Was heaven going to be a tabloid frenzy? Was St. Peter going to be a pregnant TV babe who cuddled you and told you you did really well with the time you’d been given, even though you’d made an arse of yourself, hadn’t helped those worse off than you, hadn’t tried hard enough in your trials and had ignored all your opportunities?
He looked at his watch. He had to go. Shit. He’d so much rather stay at home. He turned off the telly, picked up the birthday gift, switched off all the lights and shut his front door behind him.
Later, as dusk made its shy entrance, Matt and Eva left the pub together. She gave him a friendly punch on the arm.
“So, are you feeling a bit better?” she asked. “No broken heart?”
“No,” he grinned, holding his arm where she’d punched it. “Just a broken arm.”
“Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t know my own strength sometimes.”
“Thanks for…you know,” he said.
“No problem,” she said. “Any time you need to chat about it, just call me. I understand. Really.”
Matt wanted to ask why, and then realized he could find out next time. This thought kept helping him every time he remembered the man laughing behind Jennifer and the door slamming in his face. He walked home at a slow pace while day turned into night, trying to make sense of all this new information.
Around the same time, Dan parked his car and he and Geraldine made their slow way up to her flat. They were exhausted. That morning his mother had told them both how jealous she was that they could just go out and choose everything they’d ever hope to need in their life together. In her day it had been so different. She and his father had had to scrimp and save and go without for decades to make the sort of collection he and Gerry were about to achieve in one afternoon.
Dan’s feet and head ached as he trailed up the stairs behind Gerry. Maybe that was why marriages used to last longer, he thought as he followed her into her flat. People were too busy scrimping and saving to row over naked lady vases and grotesque teapots.
Meanwhile, Katie made her way back to the flat, absolutely shattered from a busy Saturday in the café without Dan. She was still in shock from Sukie’s outburst and she could barely stand up straight, she was so worn out. She just needed to get to bed. Maybe she was coming down with something.
Chapter 25
KATIE HAD ABSOLUTELY NO QUALMS ABOUT PHONING IN SICK ON Sunday morning. In fact, she felt she had no choice. Yes, she had had close to no sleep last night, but, more importantly, she was unable to face Sukie or Dan. She didn’t care what they thought about her taking time off, or rather, she cared less about it than she did about having to face them. Next Friday they were having their first summer party, and all the people who had helped make the café what it was were invited, including all their regulars, partners and friends, and of course, local journalists. She had to be able to face them all by then.
She just didn’t want to get up, she realized, as she lay in bed after calling in sick at the café, and then calling Dan on his mobile. She really did feel sickened, truly sickened to the stomach, by everything. By herself, by her actions and by her life.
She hadn’t had to face Jon last night because he had been ensconced in his room. So she had taken a bottle of wine and drunk herself into depression in bed, while watching crap TV. Every time she’d thought about what Sukie had said she’d started crying again. At first, she’d cried because of the venom in Sukie’s voice and the injustice of how wrong her best friend could be about her. Then, gradually, it got much worse and she started crying because she realized that maybe Sukie was right. And then she started re-evaluating everything and looking at it all through Sukie’s eyes for the first time. It did not make easy viewing.
It was true, she had never taken a risk in her life. She had used flimsy excuses to pretend it was more complicated—and somehow more special—than that. But the truth was all too obvious to her now. There were so many holes in her argument, it didn’t hold enough water to wet a flea. OK, so she hadn’t known what career to invest Great-Aunt Edna’s money in. So why hadn’t she thought to put it into the amazing property market? She could have put it toward a deposit for a London pad and made a fortune by now. Great-Aunt Edna would have been proud to see her do that with her money. She now realized that that was exactly what Jon was doing, while at the same time risking his life’s dream by trying to write his books. Jon’s parents were, in effect, giving him his inheritance by buying him a property. No wonder he was sometimes less than phlegmatic with her when she treated the flat disrespectfully. There was that time, when she’d just moved in, when she’d spilt perfume on the bathroom floor and not bothered to wipe it up till the evening. The stain was still there now. She hid her head in her pillow at how irreverent she’d been when he’d tried to confront her about it.
The truth was that she had used her job as a waitress to hide the fact that she was just a lazy, selfish coward. No more, no less. She had no more reason to wait for divine intervention to tell her what risk to take than anyone else in this world. And she was surrounded by risk-takers. Which was why they had all been able to see through her self-denial. Yes, the only person who hadn’t been able to see it all was herself. Everyone else could see it as plain as day—that was why she was always having to defend her position to them.
Which led on to her next happy thought. Had they all discussed it behind her back? Had Jon and Sukie moaned about it to each other?
Then her mind turned to Hugh and Maxine—had they taken risks? Or were they cowards like her? She moved her head on to a cool bit of pillow to think properly about it.
Yes. They had taken the biggest risk one can take—they had risked setting up home together. And then, even more bravely, Maxine had risked losing it all. Oh dear God, it had come to this; respecting Maxine.
And what about Dan? Yes; he had risked everything—first in his city career and now with the café. In fact, in taking on the café, he had risked an entire decade of career—his entire past was riding on the success of the café. How terrifying must that be? She held her breath as she re-saw their working relationship through this new all-too-clear lens. There she’d been, all hoity-toity answering-back, all Miss Know-it-all, when really she knew nothing.
She shut her eyes against the painful sunlight coming through her thin curtains.
And what about Sukie? What sort of risks did she take? Katie put herself in Sukie’s shoes, going to auditions, having to take time off work only to have to come back and face everyone again when she failed to get the part. And Geraldine, was she a risk-taker? Yep, the ultimate, Katie realized. She was risking her heart being broken again by the same man. And her own big sister, Bea? Risking giving birth to a child with that chin. More importantly, risking her very life—baby Edward had been born a month early and was put in intensive care for four weeks. Bea had had to stay in hospital for ten days while her body recovered after a three-day-long labor followed by emergency caesarean. She still walked funny. What about Great-Aunt Edna? Here was a woman who had risked being made a social pariah in her youth by following a career, and who was willing to give her savings—all she had to show for her entire life’s work—toward helping her, Katie Simmonds. Why? Katie wondered what she must look like to her great-aunt. She who had everything life had to offer—money, support, education; and what had she achieved? Nothing. The generosity of her aunt’s gesture suddenly became awe-inspiring and heart-breaking. She was unworthy.
Everyone, Katie now realized, absolutely everyone in the whole wide world was braver than she was. Those morning commuters selling their souls for the price of a mortgage, even Alec buying a café and dealing with bolshie staff every single day (no wonder he’d got out)—all of them, every single one of them was braver than her.
How could she ever face the world again?
She turned over and looked at her bedside clock. Maybe she’d just lie here until everyone she knew had died. Shouldn’t take more than about a hundred years.
Was this a nervous breakdown, she wondered suddenly, the thought waking her up more efficiently than any alarm clock. The sound of Jon’s morning noises from the bathroom seeped into her consciousness. Oh God, Jon. Brave, brave Jon, courageously writing his life away. He started singing Oh What a Beautiful Morning and she winced.
What did you do if you had a breakdown? (After phoning in sick, of course.) She had no idea. Should she smoke, get drunk, overeat and watch television all day? No, she didn’t like smoking, felt sick already and couldn’t bear daytime TV. Was that all a good sign? Or a bad sign? What the hell was the next step?
She curled up tighter into a fetal position. It was at times like these that she wished she could take off her own head as easily as taking off her clothes. She groaned. This must be a breakdown. She wanted to hide under her duvet and stay there forever, or at
least until dinner.
Dinner. There was no food in the flat. She’d have to go out and get some in—but that would mean getting washed and then deciding what to wear for the entire day, even though she didn’t know what the weather would be like later, then dressing and then being in a supermarket surrounded by people and then making decisions about what to eat…
So many decisions. The world was full of them. Small risks as well as big risks.
Of all the days for this to happen, Sunday was the worst. Sundays were crap. It was crap having to work Sunday and crap having the day off on a Sunday. And Sunday evening was the worst of all because, whether you worked on a Sunday or not, the evening air was laden with the doom of a working week ahead of you.
Ultimately Sukie was right, she concluded, as a great gaping ache of despair opened inside her. She would only ever be a waitress. She wasn’t ever going to be a proper restaurant manager, or a writer, or an educational psychologist or a film producer or anything else. She was always going to be a waitress. And there was a very good reason she was a waitress. Because she preferred taking other people’s orders to making up her own mind.
She looked across to her bedside table and her eyes alighted on the phone. Aha. Of course. The one solution that would light her way through this blackest of moments. The method to pull herself up from this pit of melancholy. She watched her own arm stretch away from her, as if it was disembodied, toward the phone. She saw herself pick it up and with great concentration dial the number correctly first time. The dialling tone soothed her until the fourth one, when the awful thought that there might be no answer kicked her in the gut. Suddenly, there was a click.
“Hello?” came the voice, clear and authoritative, yet soft.
Katie almost cried with relief. She was going to be OK. The rescue plane had seen her flare. She croaked into the phone, wiping her eyes.
“Hello Mum,” she whispered. “Can I pop home for a day or two?”
The Waitress Page 32