The Not So Perfect Plan to Save Friendship House

by Lilly Bartlett

  I hate to say it, but there were a few who could barely hide their excitement when they heard what happened. Granted, Mum’s judgey perfectionist streak would have rubbed some people up the wrong way – myself included – but cut us some slack. Don’t ask for details on the day we bury her. Car crash ghouls.

  How relieved I was once everyone around me finally knew. June told our mutual friends and everyone at the home, so that I didn’t have to keep repeating the same story. She rang those closest to us and posted on Facebook for everyone else. Once again, she gets my nomination for Friend of the Century.

  Dad gets up as usual at the crack of dawn on Saturday. It’s a half-workday for him, and he doesn’t need to ask what I want to do for breakfast. We always go out to the same caff when I’m home.

  He’s just paying the bill when he springs his question on me. ‘Want to come to the office?’

  ‘Your office?’ Just to clarify. He’s never asked me before.

  ‘No, the Prime Minister’s office. I thought you could advise the Cabinet about Middle East peace.’ Then he softens. ‘Your mum always worked with me on Saturday. There’s nobody else there.’

  I want to hug him, but he won’t appreciate that here, in front of all the other caff regulars. ‘Yeah, I’ll come. I could help you with the filing or something. What did Mum do there on Saturdays?’

  ‘Everything,’ he says. ‘She always did everything.’

  I remember when they opened the office. Up till then they’d worked out of the utility room at the back of the house. It meant timing client calls between the washing machine’s spin cycles and there were always building samples everywhere. That drove Mum mad, and unhappy Mum meant an unhappy Dad, so everyone was relieved when they moved to official premises where household chores didn’t interrupt business and Dad could have all the samples he wanted.

  Of course, Mum being Mum, they couldn’t just move in quietly like most people would have. There were balloons, colour-coordinated with the smart new shirts they got for everyone, and about a square metre of cake that spelled out ‘Congratulations’ in ornate icing hammers, saws, ladders, tape measures and screwdrivers. She even got the newspaper to do a feature about how they started from nothing and now look at them, one of the most successful building firms in the area with more than fifty employees.

  ‘I appreciate the company, Phoebe,’ Dad says as we pull up out front of the office. It looks nearly the same as usual. The company vans are parked in the fenced lock-up at the side and the low brick building is neat and functional. But the company sign is starting to peel. Dad will need to have it redone. I wonder if he’ll keep ‘Simon and Barb Stockton, Proprietors’ underneath. Since they’re not a plural now.

  ‘You probably have a lot of better things to do than hang around with the old man,’ Dad goes on. Then he hesitates. ‘Your mum was the one who always kept tabs on how you are, you know, with work and personally and all that. It’s not my area of expertise, but I hope you’re doing okay? I mean, you’re happy with your job and… everything else?’

  He looks like I’m going to slap him. Or worse, tell him something icky and personal. This must be killing him. To put him out of his misery I say, ‘I’m fine, Dad. Happy. Thanks.’

  And it’s true. I love my job. It’s the… everything else that probably needs some attention.

  If only I hadn’t messed things up with Nick. If Dad’s this uncomfortable just asking about it, imagine how I’d feel having to tell anyone about it. I will tell you, even though it’s mortifying, because otherwise you might agree with June when she says that things aren’t hopeless with me and Nick. Then hopefully we can all forget this whole stupid crush and I’ll live out my days as a spinster in the Happy Home for Ladies. It probably won’t be so bad.

  Chapter 9

  It only took a few weeks after he started for Nick and I to get flirty. It wasn’t obvious to others, I don’t think, but I noticed. And Nick must have too, because one afternoon he came into the kitchen while I was preparing lunch.

  I went tingly at the sight of him. He was still new to me, and although I was a keen student, I hadn’t learned every gesture, dimple and perfectly formed muscle of him yet. There was still so much to discover.

  ‘I have a proposal,’ he said. ‘I know how you love to eat.’ He noticed my quizzical expression. What was this, an intervention? ‘I mean that you love trying food. I’ve got an extra ticket to the Mad Hatter’s Supper Club. Have you heard of it?’

  Who hadn’t? It was the hottest reservation within a hundred miles. ‘But those tickets are impossible to get!’ June and I had been trying for almost a year.

  Nick was delighted by my reaction. ‘You can thank my friend Seth yourself. He got us a table and we’ve got an extra ticket. I thought you might like to take it?’

  The Mad Hatter’s meals were talked about in the same reverent tones as some of the hottest chefs in Paris, New York and London. I wouldn’t pass up the chance to actually taste one, and only a short drive away in little old Ipswich. The fact that Nick was asking me was the buttercream on the cake.

  Was it a date? Was it? It sounded close enough for me to hope so.

  ‘We’ll share a big taxi there and back so that we can drink,’ he said. ‘Seth and a few others are meeting us, since they’re local. Sorry for the short notice. It’s Thursday. That’s still all right?’

  Oh, no. Any day but Thursday. ‘This Thursday?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. You can come, though?’

  I smiled. ‘Of course, Thursday is fine. There’s literally nothing that would get in the way of going!’

  Not even an endoscopy.

  My GP had ordered it just to make sure I didn’t have anything scarier than an ulcer, which was pretty scary in itself. By then, antacids had become a major food group in my diet, so I knew I needed to find out once and for all. I just wished it didn’t have to be on the same day as my first date with Nick.

  June would need to go with me to the appointment, on account of the sedative they were using. I should have had just enough time to get back to Framlingham to change, let June do my hair and make-up and be gorgeous for when Nick picked me up.

  It shouldn’t be a problem, though I couldn’t risk telling him about the hospital appointment. Nick was just the type of thoughtful person who’d want to cancel rather than cause me any more stress. And then I might never get the chance again.

  At least the prospect of our date helped take my mind off the procedure itself. Until June and I walked into the hospital.

  ‘I don’t want to do this,’ I told her. ‘I really don’t.’

  She grabbed my hand. ‘It’ll be fine. They won’t find anything wrong.’

  ‘It’s not that so much as having them rooting around in me.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but you won’t feel anything with the sedatives. You’ve got to go through it and then you’ll know for sure that everything is okay.’

  ‘Except that something is still causing the trouble.’ I gave my name to the hospital receptionist and she sent us to the second floor. Her look of sympathy didn’t help matters.

  Briskly, June said, ‘Yes, well, we’ll just deal with that later. And look on the bright side. With all the worry, you probably dropped a few pounds. You’ll look great tonight for your date.’

  ‘June, really?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  The procedure itself wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. The sedative worked a treat. I felt fine. Nice and relaxed. That should have been my first clue that keeping the date was a bad idea.

  It took longer than I’d thought, though. They don’t just let you leave straightaway, so we were a little behind schedule getting back to my flat to get ready.

  But that was okay with me, because I felt fine. Did I mention that?

  The last words I remember June saying were ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ as the doorbell went.

  ‘That’s my ride!’ Mad Hatter’s Supper Club, here I come.

  Nick l
ooked gorgeous, and I mean gor-geous. I was used to seeing him in jeans and tee shirts or tracksuits, so I’m sure my mouth hung open when I opened the front door and got a look at him. He had on a smart jacket with super dark jeans, and a crisp button-down shirt with little blue flowers on it. He’d put something in his hair to make the waves even more wild than usual, and as he held the minibus door open for me, I got a whiff of a delicious citrus fragrance. It was going to be the best night of my life!

  Nick’s friends were already inside the minibus: a couple in the far back seat and two girls in the middle row. The door was high off the ground and I assumed my jeans were too tight because it wasn’t easy stretching my leg to step up into it.

  Nick introduced me around, but I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention. I didn’t remember any of their names.

  The ride was jolly and I could feel Nick staring at me. No wonder. June had curled the ends of my hair so it bounced around my shoulders, and I even had on make-up. I’d opted for nice jeans and a floaty top in the end because I didn’t want to look too prissy in a dress.

  The supper club was hidden in an old wharf building on the river. It looked so derelict from the outside that the taxi driver double-checked the address and even then, said he wouldn’t be responsible for dropping us off.

  ‘This is properly mysterious,’ one of the girls said as we made our way to an open door.

  ‘I’m really glad you’re here,’ Nick said. At first, I thought he was talking to the girl. But then he caught my eye. He meant me!

  The industrial lift creaked to the top floor and tipped us out into the shabbiest shabby chic space imaginable. The paint was blistering off all the ironwork and the wooden floor was bashed, dented and gouged from decades of deliveries from the ships. Long scaffolding board tables and mismatched chairs dotted the cavernous room, lit with dozens of dripping candles. All manner of industrial equipment filled the warehouse: winches mounted on chains in the ceiling, exposed pipes running along the walls and huge metal sorting bins pushed into the corners. The sleek open-plan kitchen was set up at the far end, where steam and smoke billowed up into the rafters high above. How fun would it be to snoop around that kitchen.

  Maybe later, though, since everyone was frantically getting service ready. I hated when people came into the kitchen when I was trying to get food on to plates.

  Three blokes were already sitting at our table. One of them shared out the last of a bottle of wine between the other glasses. ‘Seth, this is Phoebe,’ Nick introduced me to the wine topper-upper.

  Seth and Nick could have been differently coloured twins. Equally tall and muscly-shouldered, Seth’s hair was a pale blond, but as thick, wavy and moppish as Nick’s, and his eyes were the deepest blue. He had the same strong nose, though his eyebrows were more under control. Or at least pale enough not to look so caterpillary.

  ‘Are you brothers?’ I asked Nick.

  ‘No, but people usually think we are.’ Nick put an affectionate arm around his friend. ‘We’re like brothers, though. I love this guy.’

  ‘I’m really happy to meet you, Phoebe,’ Seth said, pulling me to him for a double-cheek kiss and knocking me a little off balance in his enthusiasm. ‘Please, come and sit down.’ He pulled the chair out beside him. ‘I’m not nearly as big a food expert as Nick says you are, but I’ve been dying to come here for months.’

  ‘Me too!’ Gratefully I took the seat he offered. That felt better. All the worry, and then the procedure, had really wiped me out. Just as well that this was a sit-down dinner. Seth and I smiled happily at each other.

  Over the laughter ringing out around the table, Seth asked Nick and me about the home. As we told stories about our residents, talking over each other and finishing each other’s sentences, it felt very coupley. I was sideways in my chair, facing Seth, and I could feel Nick sitting just behind me, giving off a sexy gravitational pull. If I leaned back, I could probably have rested my head on his chest. But I was a bit dizzy, so I didn’t, in case I missed.

  Blimey, Seth could not be a nicer bloke. It was easy to see why Nick loved him. I was starting to love him and we’d only just met. I loved everybody at the table.

  ‘Red or white?’ Nick asked, reaching around me for my wine glass. I definitely could have leaned into his chest. Or at least have latched on to his arm.

  I wasn’t supposed to drink after the sedative. Or drive, operate heavy machinery or sign any legally binding documents, according to the leaflet from the hospital.

  But it was only a drink, not a legally-binding contract or a forklift, so when Nick filled my glass with the musky red, I took a tiny sip. Just to taste it. Mmm.

  An amuse-bouche arrived for the table: marrow bones stuffed with pine-nutty deliciousness. ‘Oh my god, that’s good!’ I said, licking my fingers with delight as Nick laughed.

  ‘I’ve never met anyone who loves food as much as you do,’ he said.

  ‘I love a woman with a good appetite,’ Seth added. ‘Heroin-chic never did anything for me.’

  ‘That was so amazing!’ came a voice from across the table. We all looked over at their friend, one of the girls who took the taxi with us. ‘I could eat another ten.’

  ‘You’re such a glutton, Veronica,’ laughed Seth.

  Veronica’s face fell just before she turned back to her friend. The poor thing. She was obviously crushing on Seth. Nobody could eat ten marrow bones, for one thing. For another, her face had flamed bright red. I knew how she felt. I’d spent the past month around Nick looking like I’d had my head in a hot oven.

  By the time our starters arrived I was feeling fuzzier at the edges, but having such a good time listening to the conversation bouncing around the table. To be honest, I couldn’t follow it very closely. I was too busy trying to concentrate on what Nick and Seth were saying. I wasn’t completely sure what they were laughing at. It didn’t matter. Because I was having a fine time.

  I lifted my wine glass, but it was empty.

  Nick watched me sipping on air.

  I’ve replayed that night so many times, and always come to the same conclusion. I should have realised that I wasn’t thinking straight. There’s a reason the hospital prints those leaflets.

  So, when Seth told me how lovely I was, I lavishly returned the compliment. ‘I think you’re lovely too. Very, very lovely,’ I said. ‘In fact, you might be the loveliest person here.’ Then, just to show I didn’t really mean that, I said to the table, ‘No offence, everyone!’

  ‘Are you okay, Phoebe?’ Nick asked. When I reached for my glass, he put his hand on my arm.

  Normally that would have been oh so nice, but I knew what he was doing. He was trying to stop me from drinking the lovely wine. So that made it not nice. Not oh so nice at all. ‘You’re not my father, Nick.’ I didn’t go for more wine, though. ‘I was just telling Seth how lovely he is. And he was telling me how lovely I am.’

  If I’d wanted to make Nick jealous, it was working, though I was too whacked on sedatives and Shiraz to pay attention to the cold edge that crept into his voice. ‘Yeah, I heard you,’ he said. ‘You and Seth are the loveliest people here. Congratulations. I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ I said. I still cringe when I think of what an idiot I must have seemed.

  Pudding was served, and I know I had some of the chocolate mousse, because I found it all down my top the next day. But I’m jumping ahead. You wanted the whole story, minute by humiliating minute.

  By then we could have played skittles with all the empty wine bottles on the table, even though I didn’t think I’d drunk much myself.

  The next thing I remembered was being shaken awake at the table. ‘Mnuh?’ I jerked my head up with a snort.

  ‘You had a little nap, Phoebe,’ said Seth. Everyone else was carrying on like I hadn’t just been snoring in the middle of a restaurant.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I slurred. ‘Must have been all the food.’ I looked around for Nick, but he was sitting at the other
end of the table. He glanced over, but he didn’t move from his chair.

  ‘Everyone’s going on for a drink.’ Seth considered me with his gorgeous blue eyes. ‘I’m guessing you’re not up for that?’

  I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do less. But I was sharing a taxi with the others. I took a deep breath. ‘They’re my ride.’

  ‘I could drive you back if you like. I haven’t had anything to drink. My car’s not far.’

  ‘Would you really?’ I wasn’t even pretending to care about putting him out of his way. I was so tired. ‘I’d love that, thanks.’

  ‘You would?’

  I nodded. Did I guess then what was going to happen? I was definitely flattered by Seth’s attention and, let’s be honest, I wasn’t doing anything to put him off. Well, aside from accidentally falling asleep in my pudding, but he didn’t seem to mind that.

  Seth called down the table. ‘I’m just going to drive Phoebe home. I can meet you at the bar in an hour.’

  ‘Is that okay, Nick?’ I asked. At least I had the presence of mind to ask that.

  ‘You don’t have to ask my permission. I’m not your father.’

  I looked for the smile that would tell me he was joking, but his expression was tense. ‘I don’t need anyone’s permission, Nick,’ I said. ‘I asked because I came with you.’

  ‘And you’re going home with Seth.’

  ‘I’m not going home with him.’