by Gracie Leigh
At least not today.
“I’d better get back to work,” Sam said. “You can stay if you want? I’ll be done this afternoon.”
“I can’t,” Eddie said regretfully, because the idea of venturing out into the real world was kind of a drag. “I’ve got uni, and then rehearsals all evening.”
“Rehearsals?”
“For the summer proms.” Sam was apparently mystified. Eddie giggled and touched his cheek, smoothing away some of the lines of fatigue. “I scored a chair in the first violin section, so I’m going to be pretty busy with rehearsals until the concerts at the end of term.”
“No more time for drunken threesomes, eh?”
“I’m sure I can squeeze you in, but no…I’ve got to behave myself for a few weeks. This stuff is important to me.”
“I know. Me and Dylan heard you playing last night. I never realised you were so good.”
“How did you— Never mind. And I’m not that good. It’s taken me years to get this far. The orchestra leader is three years younger than me.”
“So? Bet she can’t take two dicks.”
“Sam!” Eddie hit him again, but couldn’t help laughing. The night she’d spent with him and Dylan might have been sordid to some, but she felt cleansed by the experience—alive—even with the hangover having a party in her wine-addled brain. “I’ve got to go.”
Sam stood. “Me too. Call you later?”
Eddie smiled. “Why not?”
Sam didn’t call her that night, but he was waiting outside her flat the following morning when she left for her breakfast shift at the café.
“What’s this?” she asked, hoping her face didn’t show how pleased she was to see him. “A personal escort?”
“As far as the café door, yes.”
“You’re not coming in?” Eddie had yet to make sense of the schedule Sam and his grandfather kept, and who she was working with on any particular day was a constant surprise.
“Nah, not today. I’m going to see my nan, and then I’ve got a hospital appointment, and then I’ve gotta drive Dylan to the airport.”
“Hospital? Everything okay?”
Sam shrugged. “Just a check up. Pain in the arse, if you ask me.”
“Keeps you healthy, though, right?”
“If you say so.”
Eddie let it go. Since the embarrassing incident with Sam’s insulin pen, she’d noticed him slipping away from time to time, and stopping in the middle of the day to eat food that he clearly didn’t want. But he never talked about his diabetes. Never mentioned it. And Eddie had learned to do the same.
Sam walked her to the café, and then got in his car, disappearing into the misty morning in a haze of exhaust fumes. Eddie watched him go and imagined him screeching to a halt in front of her parents’ home. Dear Lord, it would probably finish Mum off. Not that Eddie cared much about that. Her relationship with her mother had always been distant at best. She wondered what Sam’s mother was like. He never talked about his family back in Leeds. Not even—
“You working today, missy, or what?”
Eddie sighed and turned to face Mr. Nowak. “Keep your hair on. I’m coming.”
She tore herself away from the window and got down to work, and before she knew it, it was midday and time to head out. It was only as she was getting off the bus outside the orchestra rehearsal venue that she remembered that she’d neglected to ask Sam where Dylan was going.
A strange foreboding tickled Eddie’s gut as she unpacked her violin and took her prized chair in the first section. I hope he’s not gone too long.
Zurich on business. I’ll be back at the end of the month xx
Eddie read Dylan’s message for a third time and did the maths. The end of the month was a few weeks away, and coincided with the end of the summer term. Before her father’s troubles, she’d had grand plans for three months of traveling and partying. Now, she’d be working full time at the café, giving Sam and his grandfather a taste of summer for themselves.
If she could persuade either of them to take more than one day off at a time, a feat she’d yet to accomplish.
She tapped out a reply to Dylan’s message. Wanna hang out when you get back? We still haven’t had lunch.
No reply was forthcoming, and rather than stare at a blank screen, Eddie put her phone away. And, of course, it vibrated the moment she zipped up her bag. Every goddamn time.
She set her violin case back on her chair and retrieved the phone from her bag, tense with anticipation, though she couldn’t say why. But it wasn’t Dylan, it was Sam, and the odd nerves in her belly turned to glee. Wanna come over after work?
As if Eddie would ever say no. As if she could. She shot back a reply—I’ll be there—and chucked the phone in her bag. If Sam was after what she hoped he was, then she had a date with a hot shower and a razor before she was going anywhere else.
She dashed for the bus and took a seat at the back. Home was forty minutes away on this route, and she busied herself with her phone, flitting between researching the last section of her end-of-term essay, and stalking Sam and Dylan on Facebook, something she’d been meaning to do for ages. Huh. Amazing what a job and a full course load does to your social media time.
But the Facebook stalking turned out to be pointless. Both Sam and Dylan had meaningless profiles that they hadn’t updated in months. Sam’s had no activity at all, and Dylan’s held only posts and photos other people—mainly girls—had tagged him in. Typical men.
The bus pulled up at the Vauxhall stop. Eddie jumped off and dashed for home as it began to rain. She was so intent on getting the Stradivarius inside that she didn’t pay attention to the shiny Jaguar parked outside. An oversight she regretted the moment she opened her front door.
“Eddie!”
Dear God. No. “Mum? What are you doing here?”
Ellsie Dean rose from where she’d been holding court with Martha on the couch. “I came to see you, of course.”
“Why?” Eddie said flatly. “You’ve never bothered before.”
“Edwina. I will not have you speak to me that way. Are you not going to ask how I am?”
Yeah, ’cause it’s all about you. Eddie suppressed a sigh and dumped her stuff by the coffee table, shooting Martha an apologetic wince. “Fine. How are you, Mum?”
“Well, I’d be better if your father would stop ruining everything. That’s why I’m here—to get you to talk some sense into him.”
“Sense?”
“Yes, Edwina. He came home last night and told me he’s selling the houses—all of them, and that he expects me to move into rented accommodation.”
“Is that it?” Truth be told, Eddie was surprised the Dean family’s property hadn’t already been auctioned to the highest bidder. Not that she’d taken much interest, because the longer she worked at the café, saved her money, and paid her own way, the more detached she felt from the only life she’d ever known. “It’s not the end of the world, Mum. Daddy’s not going to put you out on the streets, is he?”
“I’d rather be on the streets than live in the house he wants to move us to. It doesn’t even have a proper garage.”
“You only have one car. Dad told me he’s already sold the Aston and the Porsche.”
“That’s hardly the point.”
“Then what is the point?” Eddie snapped. “Because if you’ve come here to bleat about not having enough money for your daily trip to Fortnum and Mason, you can sod right off.”
“Edwina!” Eddie’s mother took a step towards her. “That’s enough. I know the last few months have been…difficult, but I will not have you speaking to me like that.”
Eddie picked up her things, dimly aware of Martha silently fleeing the room. “Then you should’ve paid me a visit when this all happened. Because I’m over it now, Mum, and I really don’t care how Dad’s business troubles are affecting your life.”
“Perhaps you’ll care more when your father and I stop paying for you to live the high
life in the city.”
Eddie stopped on her way to her bedroom. She whirled around. “Are you fucking serious? Since when was it ever you and Dad paying for anything? You haven’t worked a day in your life.”
“Your father and I are still married, young lady. And we make financial decisions together.”
Together. Eddie laughed, couldn’t help it. “Mother, if that was true, then you’d know that Dad cut me off months ago. I pay my own way, in everything—even my tuition next term. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got shit to do. So get the fuck out of my house.”
It was an hour before Eddie heard the front door finally open and close. A moment later, Martha knocked on her bedroom door. “Eddie? Are you okay? Can I come in?”
Sighing, Eddie dragged herself from her bed and opened the door. “Has she gone?”
“Yes. But she told me to tell you to buck your ideas up.”
“Bitch. You should’ve left her to it.”
“I was going to leave you both to it, but you flounced out before I could even shut my bedroom door, and someone had to get rid of her.”
Eddie grimaced. “I’m so sorry. You’ve been dealing with so much of my shit lately.”
Martha raised an eyebrow. “Your shit? You know you’re starting to talk like Sam and Dylan, don’t you?”
“How do you know what they sound like? You only spent ten minutes with them.”
“More like twenty. They came in for a drink.”
“A drink?” Eddie’s hazy memories of that night came up blank. “Was it fun?”
“Um, yes…it was.” Martha’s cheeks coloured. “Well, anyway. My point is that the longer you work at the café, the more you’re starting to sound like you belong there.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Eddie’s defensive hackles rose. “Or would it be better if I grew up to be my bloody mother?”
Martha flinched. “Actually, I was going to say that it’s a good thing. Sam didn’t say much the other night, but Dylan was lovely, and I had a great time at the café. So much so, that I stopped by this morning and had Sam’s grandfather cook me breakfast.”
“Oh.” Eddie anger cooled as abruptly as it had arrived. And then came guilt…and shame, and plenty of it. “I’m sorry. I guess I just assumed you were going to say what I’d have said way back when before any of this happened. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay, Eddie, honestly.”
“No, it’s not,” Eddie insisted. “I was a dick, and that’s the last thing you deserve after all you’ve done for me.”
Martha shrugged and let it go. “I really do like the café, though. And the people. And you never told me Sam had such hot friends.”
“You mean Dylan?”
“Hell yes.” Martha finally ventured into Eddie’s room and sat in the bed. “He was so charming too. Do you know if he’s single?”
“Erm…” Eddie flailed for words. As far as she knew, Dylan was single, but Martha had never had a boyfriend, and as far as Eddie knew, was a virgin. The Dylan that Eddie knew would eat her for breakfast. “He’s seeing a few people, I think. I don’t know him that well.”
Well enough to fuck him…
Stop it.
Eddie silenced the horny devil on her shoulder and fixed Martha with the easiest smile she could manage. “Anyway, enough about me. What are you doing tonight? Do you want to go out?”
“Out?” Martha frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to be saving money?”
She had Eddie there. “Okaaay, how about staying in with a DVD, some wine, and a bag of chips? On me, of course.”
“Buy me a saveloy, and you’re on.”
Eddie giggled, but as they left the flat and raided the nearest chip shop, she realised that she couldn’t remember ever doing something so ordinary with Martha. For so long, their lives had been dominated by keeping up appearances, that they’d forgotten how good the simple things were.
They sat on the sofa in their pyjamas, eating soggy chips, washed down with cheap wine, and after an hour of a tacky rom-com, both fell asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
“For goodness sake!” Eddie cursed and hung up the phone as Sam’s voicemail kicked in for the tenth time that morning. What the hell was he playing at?
Like you don't know…
Eddie growled and set the offending phone face down on her desk, trying to ignore the guilt and worry that had gnawed away at her since she’d woken up to a single message from Sam, asking her if she’d got lost on her way to his place the previous night.
Of course she’d replied right way, admitting that she’d drunk too much wine with Martha and fallen asleep, forgetting all about her plan to meet Sam, but she’d received no response, even though WhatsApp was telling her that Sam had read the message three hours ago.
Damn him. On any other day, Eddie would’ve stopped by the café, apologised in person for standing him up, all the while telling him what a prat he was for ignoring her, but that wasn’t going to happen today. She had back-to-back classes, followed by a last minute cramming session for her end of term exams.
And with those exams starting in forty-eight hours, Eddie didn’t have time for Sam Nowak’s bruised ego.
At the front of the classroom, the lecturer stood from his desk and signalled for quiet. Eddie stifled a sigh, and put her phone on her bag. Of course, it was entirely possible that Sam was busy, rushed off his feet at the café—and, it wasn’t like he stayed in regular contact any other day of the week—but his silence now stung.
Seriously. It wouldn’t kill him to fucking acknowledge me.
And it was that indignant anger that Eddie clung to for the rest of the day, digging into it whenever she checked her phone and found that Sam still hadn’t replied to her messages, or returned the dozen calls she’d made.
At the end of the day, she had half a mind to go straight home, bin off her evening shift, and shut the door on the world. But pride stopped her. It was Wednesday, the one evening of the week that she worked with Sam, and she’d be damned if she let him drive her away.
At six o’clock, she got off the bus in Vauxhall and plastered on her best nonchalant smile. She made her way to the café and breezed in like she didn’t have a care in the world. But instead of a quiet café, manned only by a hopefully conciliatory Sam, she found it full of people in suits, and Mr. Nowak, with Sam nowhere to be seen.
Eddie dumped her stuff and hurried to the counter, assuming that Mr. Nowak needed help serving the bizarre influx of men who looked like they belonged in her father’s office. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Have they run out of teabags in Canary Wharf?”
“What?” Mr. Nowak snapped. “Don’t talk in riddles at me, woman.”
“I wasn’t. I’m just not used to seeing so many people in here at this time of day.”
Mr. Nowak merely grunted and went back to stirring his huge pots of stew. Taken aback by his surly welcome, Eddie left him without daring to ask when Sam was taking over, and went into the kitchen to fetch a box of tea-lights.
By the fridge, she found yet another suited man who was measuring the width of the kitchen. Eddie frowned, and unease prickled her skin. Sam hadn’t mentioned the café having any work done, and if she remembered correctly, it had been completely refurbished a year ago. “What are you doing?”
The suited man spared her a fleeting glance. “Preparing the listing.”
“The listing?” Eddie’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip. “A listing for what?”
“For whatever publication my bosses choose to advertise the sale, though I don’t think this place will be on the market long. It’s prime real estate in this borough. This building will be high rise flats in no time.”
The man went back to his business, apparently unconcerned with Eddie’s deteriorating mental state as the weight of his words sank in. Oh my God. They’re selling the café.
A cacophony of emotions hit Eddie all at once—none of them pleasant—but panic raced ahead of the outrage and
sadness. She’d banked her whole summer on her job at the café…her home, and her survival at uni. And more than that, what about Sam? He’d told her often that he’d only come to London to support his grandparents. Without the café to run, would he stay?
Stop getting ahead of yourself. Mr. Nowak could be buying another place down the road for all you know. Just ask him.
Eddie took a deep breath and strode out of the kitchen, but Mr. Nowak was busy with the suits, and his stern glare kept Eddie at bay. Trying to kerb her rising anxiety, she set up the café for its regular influx of elderly diners at lightning speed, pausing only to water the clutch of spider plants at the back of the room, which was where she was when Sam finally made an appearance.
Relieved, Eddie set her watering can down and took a step forward, but Sam’s answering scowl stilled her, and put the grouchy impatience she’d endured from Mr. Nowak in the shade.
Sam went straight to his grandfather and turned his back on Eddie while they talked to the men in suits. Eddie tried not to eavesdrop, but it was impossible. And the more she heard, the more horrified she became.
The suits finally left a few minutes before the café’s evening clientele usually began to arrive. Mr. Nowak departed too, and Sam disappeared upstairs, leaving Eddie to greet them alone. She sat them at their favourite tables and poured wine, and then belatedly realised that she had no idea what she’d be serving them for dinner.
At the counter, peering into Mr. Nowak’s huge pots and pans, she was none the wiser. If Sam didn’t come down soon, she’d be forced to slop it into bowls and hope the elderly men knew their Polish peasant food better than she did.
“Put the lids back on those pan. The food will get cold.”
Eddie jumped a mile. “I was just trying to figure out what it was, seeing as it seemed like I’d be serving it on my own.”
“When has that ever happened? You think you’re so important that we’d leave you to run the place singlehanded?”
Eddie flinched, stung by Sam’s biting tone. “That’s not what I meant.”