‘Yeah, definitely. No question. Took her for a bite to eat the other night, then asked her to a movie and everything.’
‘Shhhh!’ I hiss menacingly at the pair of them.
‘And Angie turned him down? Why?’
‘On account of this other guy who she was seeing, but she’s not any more. So you see, now there’s no problem.’
‘Oh. That’s romantic!’ Madge sighs. ‘Why can’t something like that ever happen to me? One fella out the door and another one already on standby!’
OK, this is getting far too loud for my liking and now other customers in the queue are starting to earwig in. The only plus is that it’s so noisy and clattery in here, Jack can’t have heard. At least, not yet. If the pair of them shut up now, I might … MIGHT … just come through this and live to tell the tale.
‘So, when he gets to the top of the queue …’ Sarah’s saying bossily.
‘Excuse me, when who gets to the top of the queue?’ says a middle-aged woman sitting beside Madge, with a pile of shopping bags at her feet, who’s sipping elegantly on a peppermint tea. ‘I’m sorry, but this is all just so intriguing and I have to know. Who exactly are you all talking about?’
‘The guy at the very end. Over by the door,’ Madge helpfully tells her. ‘Looks a bit like Simon Pegg.’ Jesus, she even points him out for maximum mortification.
‘Shut up, the lot of you, or he’ll hear!’ I hiss at the lot of them, but it’s a big waste of time. Now they all just start yakking over me, like I’m not even here.
‘He’s a detective sergeant,’ Sarah tells them both proudly.
‘Oooh, lovely. Always handy to know a Guard,’ middle-aged woman says.
‘Guards? Where?’ says a youngish guy with a buzz-crop haircut and a pile of tattoos, who’s now at the top of the queue.
‘It’s OK, apparently he’s only here ’cos he fancies Angie,’ says Madge. ‘He’s not here in an official capacity, in case you were worried.’
‘In that case, can I get my Americano to go?’ says buzz-crop guy, a bit worriedly.
‘Certainly, sir. Now can I serve anyone else?’ I ask, my voice about three registers higher than normal, in a desperate attempt to change the subject, but it’s no use.
‘He’s lovely and tall, isn’t he?’ middle-aged lady says, pointing, actually pointing, Jack out now, in case there was any doubt about who the lot of them were gossiping about. ‘Always much preferred taller men myself.’
‘So what are you going to say when he gets to you?’ Madge wants to know.
‘I don’t know what. Because the chances are I’ll have run out of here in the next four seconds if you lot don’t keep quiet!’
‘Just tell him that you’re now available for movie dates any time at all in the near future,’ Sarah says bossily. ‘Just say the words in that order, or if you don’t I’ll bloody well do it for you!’
‘Good idea!’ says middle-aged lady. ‘A night at the pictures just sounds so romantic, and maybe dinner afterwards?’
‘Can I please point out that I’m wearing a hairnet and my uniform?’ I hiss at this fecking Greek chorus the lot of them have turned into. ‘Hardly much of a turn-on, now is it?’
‘If he really likes you, he’ll be well able to see past the hairnet,’ says a young mum at the counter, with one kid in a stroller and another with his nose pressed up against the counter top demanding chocolate.
‘And you know, he did already ask you out, so he’s hardly going to turn you down, now that it’s your turn!’
OK, there’s just no way Jack can’t have heard that. I throw a surreptitious glance down to the back of queue, but … Shit! Suddenly catch his eye and he waves. Then he mouths up at me, ‘Like the hairnet, by the way!’
Feckfeckfeckfeckfeck! He did hear!
‘You should definitely tell him you’ll go to the movies with him,’ young mum is saying now, as the whole shagging queue behind her start to tune in for a right good listen. ‘Good men don’t just grow on trees, you know.’
‘And she won’t be young for ever!’ middle-aged lady chimes in agreement.
Look back down to Jack, who’s grinning, actually grinning, like he’s getting a great kick out of all my discomfort.
‘Is that him?’ says a teenage guy behind young mum, pointing back to Jack. ‘Because he can swap places with me if he wants. Get to you that bit quicker. Anyone mind?’ he politely asks the queue behind him, who say nothing, just nod and smile. No doubt enjoying the fecking side-show.
And now for the first time since this whole bowel-witheringly mortifying episode started, I’m dimly aware that the place has suddenly gone v. quiet.
Next thing, Jack is striding confidently up to the top of the queue and smiling a warm thank you at the teenager, who immediately switches places with him.
‘Hi,’ he grins cheekily across the counter at me.
‘Hi.’
‘Don’t think I’ve ever been so royally entertained while standing in a queue before.’
‘Eh, yeah, sorry about that,’ I mutter, am sure by now flushing like a forest fire.
‘So …’ says young mum, who’s right beside both of us, looking eagerly from Jack to me, ‘don’t you have something to say to this gorgeous guy?’
‘Yeah, go on!’ says a voice from a table at the back of the shop. ‘We’re all waiting here! Put us out of our misery!’
Mortified, awful, stilted silence, then Madge pipes up from her barstool, ‘Jesus, Angie, if you don’t, I’ll bloody do it for you!’
Loud burst of laughter from the queue while I make a mental note to strangle her later.
And now it’s like every eye in the whole place focused on me and me alone.
No getting out of this.
Deep breath. Go for it.
‘Jack,’ say in a wobbly voice I barely recognise as my own, while beads of perspiration roll down my ribcage, ‘I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it to the movies with you the other night …’
‘But?’ he says, and when I look into his eyes, I realise he’s teasing me. He’s standing tall now, arms folded, twinkling down at me, loving every second of this. Challenging me to go on. ‘You were saying, Angie?’ he asks innocently. ‘Do please go on. I’m all ears here. As are all of these good people.’
‘But … if there was any chance you were free to go another night … then …’
‘Then what?’
‘Then that would be lovely!’
Then he leans over the counter and in an exaggerated gesture like something straight out of a romantic comedy, he takes my hand and kisses it tenderly.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he says to the room, utterly confident, not a nerve in his body, ‘I’m absolutely delighted to announce that this gorgeous young lady and I will finally be going on a date sometime soon. Stay tuned for further developments!’
Wild applause suddenly breaks out when he leans across the counter again and this time kisses me smack full on the lips.
And that was it.
That’s how I got my Hollywood ending.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sunday
And in a few hours’ time, Jean would be on her way back to Cape Town. No getting out of it and certainly no putting it off any longer. She’d specifically asked/pleaded for a low-key exit from the others; no tearful airport goodbye scenes, no hand-wringing in the departures hall … Nothing at all. She just wanted to slip quietly away under the radar and be done with it. Mind you, poor old Angie kept ringing her mobile every half-hour, tearfully wondering if she’d changed her mind and if there was anything at all that could be done to persuade her to stay, but Jean wasn’t for turning.
Friday night had been so wonderful, though, she thought, shoving the last of the clothes she’d borrowed from her flatmate, Paige, into the depths of her suitcase and neatly zipping it shut. It had been beyond price to hang out with Angie, Mags, Jeff and Sarah again, just like old times. Like nothing had ever happened to drive them apart. No recrim
inations, no guilt-trips, just a gang of old mates reconnecting. Amazing. Just like she’d imagined it would be, all those long lovely days and nights back in Cape Town.
Better, in fact. Far better.
She glanced at the digital clock by the beside table in her hotel room. Just gone two in the afternoon. Good. She still had piles of time to get to the airport – hours, in fact; her connecting flight to London wasn’t till much later on that night. But she might as well get there good and early and just while the time away till she left. She’d purposely kept herself busy all morning; the busier she was, she figured, the less time she had to think. Even made a point of going back to Byrne & Sacetti earlier on, just to stick her head in and, if at all possible, to see Joyce, the co-owner, and Sacetti himself. To explain.
And was so glad she had. Not only did she get to see the lovely, unchanged Joyce, but was astonished to find how many of the old staff she’d worked with were still there. She’d even been given a warm round of applause when she came into the staff locker room, and could happily have stayed there for hours, just catching up with old friends, old faces, remembering old times. Marvelling that someone like her could possibly have been so missed. Would have been unthinkable to her just a few short days ago.
‘I wish to God you’d change your mind about going back to Cape Town!’ Joyce had hugged her warmly as they were saying one final goodbye. ‘I could really do with having you back here again. You were like my right hand in here. Place was never the same after you left, you know. Far less fun, for starters!’
Jean laughed and thanked her, but reassured her that her mind was made up.
‘That your final answer?’ Joyce had asked. ‘Or do I see you wavering even just a tiny bit? Go on, I’ll even throw in a pay rise!’
‘Final answer,’ Jean had grinned, grateful and touched beyond words at the kindness of the offer.
She’d dearly loved to have gone back to her old street off the South Circular Road, just to say hello to Mrs Butterly and some of the old neighbours who’d always been so brilliant to her. But knew it was out of the question; for starters, it was the weekend and the chances of Simon being around were high. Last thing she wanted was for him to see her or hear about her visit and feel like he was being staked out.
She’d tried her best with him and got precisely nowhere, and it was ten to twelve now: time to check out and leave. And even though it felt so wrong, even though every nerve-ending in her body was screaming at her that she should rightfully stay, she knew it was out of the question. She just couldn’t bring herself to live in the same town as him, knowing that he cursed the very sight of her. How could she possibly hang around with mutual pals, knowing that she might so easily bump into him at any minute? Knowing that everything she either said or did would surely get back to him and vice versa? Complete non-starter. She’d made her bed, nothing for her now but to lie in it. She’d done it before and somehow she’d have to find the strength to do it again.
One last and final check of her hotel room to make sure she’d left nothing behind, then she slammed the door shut behind her and went down to reception to check out. Don’t allow yourself to sink under, she told herself sternly, just get to the airport quickly as you can and, remember, mission accomplished. You came here to make peace with everyone and you almost succeeded.
Even more amazingly, instead of accusations and guilt being lobbed at her, she’d met with nothing but warmth, kindness and a genuine feeling that she was forgiven. That she was still loved. Missed, even.
Well, by everyone except one person. And, she reminded herself, with her leaving the country tonight, there was very little more she could do about that now, was there?
She checked out and was just wheeling her little carry-on bag through reception for the last time when out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar face that suddenly made her stop in her tracks.
The world kept spinning on its axis, guests kept brushing past her in a rush either to check in or else get the hell out of there, but all she could do was stand stock-still, rooted to the spot.
No mistake. Definitely him. He stood up the minute he saw her coming and for a long, long time, they both just looked across the busy foyer at each other, as the normal Sunday afternoon business of a city-centre hotel went on all round them. She swallowed, willing her legs not to buckle from under her, and next thing he was over beside her. Looking intently down at her, in that same way that never failed to make her melt.
‘It’s you.’
‘It’s me.’
‘But, I don’t understand … what are you doing here?’
Simon took her by the elbow and gently steered her to a quiet corner where he sat her down, then slid into the chair opposite.
‘I … well … the truth is that I don’t really know the answer to that one,’ was his uncertain opener, green eyes boring into the back of hers. ‘At least, not yet I don’t. All I knew was that … well, I knew you were leaving today and … thought, maybe you’d like a lift to the airport?’
‘Be lovely, thanks.’
Ten minutes later, she’d checked out and was sitting in the passenger seat of Simon’s car, just like she had so many times before. Silence for a long time while he just looked directly ahead, totally focused on the road.
‘You know, Simon …’ she eventually said.
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ve hours to kill before my flight. How do you fancy a walk, maybe? If you had time, that is. Maybe we could go to … you know, where we used to? With the thing by the place …?’
He turned to look at her.
‘All right then,’ he nodded. ‘Sure. Why not? Let’s go to where we used to. With the thing by the place.’
Ten minutes later, they were at Pigeon House Pier by Sandymount Strand, a gorgeous, perpetually deserted beach where they’d walked together so often in the past.
‘You know, I’m glad we’re doing this before I go,’ she told him simply, as they strolled down the beach and towards the water’s edge. ‘And I’m glad you called to the hotel. I’m just … I’m glad, that’s all.’
‘Me too.’
Then he looked over at her for ages, like what he was about to say was tough for him beyond belief.
‘Because the thing is, Jean …’
‘Yeah …?’ She found her stomach clenching, just sensing that something big was coming.
‘Well, in spite of everything that was said the other night, and in spite of what’s happened, I really felt that I should come. I couldn’t just let you leave without seeing you. Even if it may be for the last time.’
Her heart leaped at that. And even if it didn’t exactly sound like she’d been forgiven, at least he was starting to thaw. A bit. Maybe. Which was better than nothing. Back in Cape Town, she could possibly even school herself to live with that.
They strolled on side by side for a good while in silence, like there was so much to say between them that it was impossible to even know where to begin. Jean remembering back to all the times they’d done this walk before, arms wrapped around each other, laughing, skitting, messing, loving each other’s company. Loving each other, full stop.
‘You know,’ she eventually said, more to break the awkwardness between them than anything else, ‘back in Cape Town, I’m often reminded of the beach here.’
‘You are?’
‘Yeah, sure. I often go walking along the Waterfront, near the hotel where I work. It’s by far my favourite part of the place and even on the bad days, somehow the sea air and just the sight of the Waterfront itself never fails to lift me out of myself. If that makes any sense.’
He nodded like he understood.
‘So what’s Cape Town like, then?’
‘Oh, you’d love it. You’d have great fun trying out all the restaurants and tapas bars and just strolling around enjoying the buzz of the place. It’s one of those cities that’s big and beautiful and bustling …’ She trailed off here, though. Thinking, I’ll be back there this time
tomorrow. And all of this will be just a dim and distant memory.
‘Look, can I ask you something that’s been on my mind?’ he said, interrupting her thoughts.
‘Sure, go ahead.’
‘Well … why Cape Town? I mean, of all places? It just seems so very far away, that’s all.’
‘Well, to be perfectly honest, I think that was the main attraction when I first got there. You know I can still remember not long after I first arrived, taking this boat trip out to Robben Island.’
‘Where they held Mandela?’
‘Yeah,’ she nodded, then added dryly, ‘well, in Cape Town, you kind of have to see Robben Island, it’s a bit clichéd, but it’s almost expected of new visitors. Like the South African equivalent of drinking Guinness, or kissing the Blarney Stone. Or else getting sloshed out of your mind and throwing up in Temple Bar.’
He smiled a tiny bit at that. Encouraging.
‘Thing is, though,’ she went on, ‘I remember just about everyone else in our tour group going on and on about how appalled they were at the conditions there. Marvelling at everything that poor old Mandela had to put up with for twenty-seven long years, in a cell barely big enough to fit a child’s mattress. And it was weird, but all I could think was … not me. You could lock me up in here, I figured, and all I’d feel was safe. If anything, you’d have been doing me a favour. Then I overheard this American tourist saying how lonely Mandela must have been, cooped up here for all those years. And of course everyone in our tour party nodded in agreement, but I just wanted to screech at them that they’d got it all wrong. Because that’s the deceptive thing about loneliness. You’d think it would be a bitter feeling, but it’s not. As a matter of fact, it’s kind of addictive once you get used to it.’
They’d stopped walking now and Simon was standing opposite her, drinking in her every word.
‘And …’ Jean went on, voice breaking a bit as she stared out at the tide, stared anywhere except back at him, ‘… before we took the ferry back from Robben Island, I remember looking back out across the sea towards the V & A Waterfront in the distance and all I could feel was just this incredible deep sense of security, if that makes the slightest bit of sense. I thought, just look at me now. I’m at the southernmost tip of the world. No one could or ever would find me here. I figured it was a bit like Tiffany’s in New York and that nothing bad could ever happen to me, as long as I stayed there. Safe, out of harm’s way. And after a while, it became almost like a daily little affirmation I’d say to myself. No one could or ever would find me here.’
Me and You Page 34