The Five-Year Plan: The utterly heart-warming and feel good rom com of 2020

by Carla Burgess

  ‘No one’s free to go to the café, so why don’t you give them a call and I’ll send Martin the photographer down to take a few shots of the window. He’s moaning, saying he needs to be somewhere else, but it will only take him a couple of minutes. It’s only down the bloody road after all.’ Phil rolls his eyes. He’s not a fan of Martin, but neither am I for that matter. He has an air of being too handsome and important to work on the Hawksley Gazette, and spends most of his time with the sports editor talking about football.

  ‘Okay, do we have a contact name?’

  ‘Hold on, I’ll just get it.’ He goes back to his desk and retrieves a sticky note from his monitor. ‘Frankie de Campo. He’s the manager. I said I’d try to send someone but I didn’t promise, so you can just smooth that over by telling him about your ankle. Get the number from their website.’

  ‘Okay.’ I pick up my phone to make the call, pleased that I get to do the interview after all. The phone’s answered on the second ring by a male voice.

  ‘Yeah?’

  I’m so surprised by the abruptness of the tone that I think I must have rung the wrong number. ‘Hello, is that Frothy Coffee Café?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Hi, this is Orla Kennedy from the Hawksley Gazette. Can I speak to Frankie de Campo please?’

  ‘Yeah, hold on, I’ll just get him.’

  I cringe slightly. That’s no way to answer a business telephone. Luckily, the actual manager has a much better telephone manner and I’m able to ask him a few questions about the broken window. I hesitate, wondering if I should tell him that whoever answered the phone in the first instance should never be allowed to answer the phone again. I can’t believe it would be my sexy coffee guy. He’s always so polite when he serves me in the morning.

  ‘Can I just ask who answered the phone to me?’ I say as we’re wrapping up the interview.

  ‘Oh yes, sorry about him. That’s my son, Fabio. He’s useless on the phone but easy on the eye so I keep him on anyway.’ Franko laughs heartily. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Miss Kennedy.’

  ‘And for yours, Mr de Campo. Bye now.’

  I ring off and read over my notes. The window was broken at three o’clock this morning, and the whole family was woken by the security alarm going off. It’s not the most exciting story in the world, but it’s the latest in a spate of windows being broken in the past few months. It’s probably just local yobbos, coming back from the pub and looking for a bit of fun. Annoying for the business owners though.

  ‘How was the café story?’

  ‘Oh alright. He was nice and didn’t mind me not being there in person. He said the window guy’s there already so I don’t know how good Martin’s photograph will be.’

  ‘I’m just going to make the lazy git go anyway,’ Phil mutters darkly.

  I laugh and turn back to the computer. ‘How long do you want this then? A quarter? Or less?’

  ‘Write a quarter, but be mindful it will probably get cut to just a few lines.’

  ‘Okey-dokey. There have been a few shop windows broken recently though. If we get any more, we could print a map showing when and where they’re being broken. See if there’s a pattern.’

  Phil gives me a look. ‘Calm down, Sherlock. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We know it’s mindless vandalism, nothing more.’

  ‘Oh. Well I just thought we could spice things up a bit.’

  ‘Keep your spice to yourself, girl.’ Phil laughs and mutters something about phantom window breakers to himself, then laughs some more.

  ‘You may laugh,’ I say, wryly, ‘but there could be more to this than meets the eye.’

  ‘Oh yeah! Right!’ Phil jeers. ‘Like what? A protection racket?’

  ‘Oooh yeah!’ I say, my eyes getting big with excitement. ‘Maybe the de Campos are actually mafia, and they’ve done their window as a cover-up to convince the other shop owners that they need protecting.’

  ‘What kind of protection racket advertises themselves as protectors by getting their own window smashed in?’

  ‘They haven’t got it up and running yet, obviously. They’ll do more shops one by one and when the shop owners are scared and cowering, that’s when they’ll move in.’

  Phil stares at me, deadpan, until I stop talking. ‘Finished now? I’m fairly sure that accusing the de Campos of being mafia just because they have an Italian name is racist. And also, why wouldn’t the shop owners just get metal shutters to protect their windows, instead of paying into a racket?’

  ‘Ooooh! Maybe it’s the shutter company—’

  ‘Stop with the conspiracy theories, Orla. There’s no way of making this story more interesting, so don’t bother. Just give it a couple of inches and move on with your day.’

  ‘Huh, okay, boss.’ Laughing, I turn back to my computer. ‘You know, the person who answered the phone was quite abrupt. When I asked who it was, Frankie said it was his son, Fabio. I think that might be my sexy coffee guy!’

  Phil laughs. ‘Fabio? Great name for an Italian Stallion. Why are you looking so disapproving?’

  ‘He was so crap on the phone! I was going to say whoever it was should be sacked on the spot, but I couldn’t really when it was his son.’

  ‘Is Sexy Coffee Guy Italian?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Ah well, there you go then. You’ve yielded a name. Congratulations! Fabio the Sexy Coffee Guy.’

  ‘Woohoo!’ I say in a flat voice. ‘Fabio the Ignoramus. Fabio the Rude.’

  Phil splutters into his coffee cup. ‘My, my, what exacting standards you have, Miss Kennedy. Is that one of your stipulations in a man? Must have good sense of humour and great telephone manner.’

  I giggle. ‘Well, a girl has to have standards.’

  Phil laughs again and slurps some more coffee. ‘Just get writing.’

  It’s frustrating being stuck in the office all day. Usually I get to go out somewhere, even if it’s just to the sandwich shop for lunch, but today I brought my own sandwiches so I sit at my desk, watching the clouds roll across the sky. It looks blustery and fresh out, and seeing the people walking up and down the high street with their shopping bags makes me long to feel the wind on my face. I’ve been stuck inside too long. So when it’s time to go home, instead of phoning a taxi straight away, I limp into the town centre instead. It’s probably not a great place to get a taxi seeing as it’s pedestrianised, but I want to see some life other than that inside my flat or the office. It’s not hugely busy, but there are enough people about to give it a buzz.

  And then I see him: Fabio, the handsome coffee man, riding past on a bicycle. It’s such a surprise that I stop and stare, his crappy telephone manner forgotten. He rides slowly, weaving in and out of the groups of people walking by, occasionally ringing his bell to warn them he’s coming. He looks so happy and smiley, that I think it must have been someone else on the phone before. A man calls out to him and he waves, then stops his bike so he can talk to him. Realising I’m gawping at him in a slightly disturbing way, I pretend to rummage in my bag and then peer at him surreptitiously from the corner of my eye. I don’t usually get to see his bottom half, hidden as it usually is behind the café counter, but he’s wearing tight black jeans that make his backside look …

  ‘Hi, Orla!’

  I jump so much that I almost drop my crutch. Luckily, Aiden catches it before it falls to the pavement. He grins down at me and I can’t help but smile back. The wind is blowing his long curly hair around his head like some kind of crazy windmill.

  ‘Hi! What are you doing here?’ The jolt of pleasure I get at seeing Aiden takes me by surprise, and I feel my cheeks heat.

  ‘I’ve just been into the camera shop.’ He inclines his head towards the shop I’m standing directly outside of. Its window display is filled with all kinds of photography equipment I’d never even noticed before. Aiden explains he’s looking for a specific kind of lens for his camera but they haven’t got one in, despite saying they had when he’d ph
oned earlier.

  ‘Can you order it?’

  ‘I have done, but they can’t get it until Friday. It’s so annoying. Are you in a hurry to get somewhere or do you have time for a coffee?’

  ‘Yes, if you like.’

  ‘Great! Here, give me your bag.’ He takes my bag from my shoulder and walks next to me up the street, chatting about a fox that appeared last night and walked right up to his camera. ‘Shall we go in here?’ he says, as we reach Frothy Coffee. The window is now fixed and there is no sign of the earlier damage. I tell Aiden about it as we go inside and find a table.

  ‘I come in here all the time,’ I say when Aiden comes back to the table with the coffee, ‘but I don’t think I’ve ever sat at a table. I just get a takeaway coffee on my way to work.’

  ‘Reusable coffee cup, I hope?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good!’ He grins. ‘I come in here occasionally when I’m in town. They make good coffee.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree, leaning forwards and lowering my voice conspiratorially. ‘And there’s a very handsome man that usually works in here. He perks me up no end in the morning.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He rests his chin on his hand and looks at me, a spark of amusement in his eye. ‘Ah, you see, I’ve not noticed a handsome man, but there is sometimes a very pretty girl that serves me at lunchtime.’

  ‘Really?’ Maintaining eye contact, I lift an eyebrow and smile at him. ‘Maybe my handsome coffee man goes on his break when you’re in.’

  ‘Maybe so. Or maybe I just don’t notice him because he’s not my type.’ He laughs lightly as he pours milk into his coffee, stirring it round with a teaspoon. ‘Perhaps we should meet one lunchtime and check them out together.’

  ‘I like your thinking.’ I smile at him before taking a sip from my coffee. ‘Ooh, I’ve missed this,’ I say, closing my eyes to savour the taste. ‘The instant stuff at work is no comparison.’

  ‘Was today your first day back in the office?’

  ‘Yes, and it was okay. I’m fed up of being stuck inside though. I could have come here to conduct the interview this morning but had to do it on the telephone instead.’ I glance round to see if Mr de Campo is in evidence anywhere, but there’s only a couple of girls serving today. ‘I feel a bit bad now I’m actually here. Maybe I could have made it earlier after all.’

  Aiden shakes his head. ‘I doubt you should be here now, to be honest. You need to rest it as much as possible. Give it a few more days and I’m sure it will improve.’

  I smile at him. ‘Have the otters appeared?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ he says, looking disappointed. ‘I was talking to a girl from the otter watch this morning and she thinks it’s still early so I’ve rung my friend that I told you about. You know, the one with the sensory forest?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I told Phil about that. He said we’d be interested in covering it.’

  ‘Yeah? Great. I’m going down tomorrow to see how he’s getting on so I’ll let you know more after that.’

  We chat for a while longer and then he offers me a lift home.

  ‘You’re such a gentleman,’ I say, as he takes my bag and then holds the door open for me to walk through. ‘Thank you so much.’

  He looks slightly confused, like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. ‘No bother. I’m parked in the library car park.’

  Outside, the blustery wind has ushered in grey clouds that spit great dollops of rain at us. They’re so large and the wind is so fierce that they sting my face. Aiden turns the collar up on his jacket and I feel bad that he has to walk slowly because of me. He shows no sign of minding though, and chats amiably as we make our slow way up the high street and through the alleyway that leads to the library. Aiden unlocks the passenger door and opens it for me before lifting me inside. I want to protest that I don’t need lifting in and out, but I know that I do. The truck is too high for me with my damaged ankle.

  ‘I’m glad I’m not you tonight,’ I say, as Aiden climbs into the driver’s seat. In the time it’s taken for Aiden to walk round the truck to the driver’s side, the rain has intensified so much that it hammers violently on the truck roof and I have to shout over its machine-gun roar. Aiden leans forward and peers up through the windscreen.

  ‘Ah, it will pass, most likely,’ he says, switching on the engine. The truck judders into life and the windscreen wipers slap backwards and forwards as Aiden drives out of the car park. The sky has got so dark, he has to switch on the head lights.

  ‘Thanks for the lift,’ I say. ‘I’m glad I didn’t have to wait for a taxi in this.’

  He shrugs. ‘Just call me if you ever need a lift.’

  ‘You could be working.’

  ‘I spend hours and hours waiting for something to happen. If I nip out for half an hour, what’s the difference?’

  ‘But that might be the very moment that something happens.’

  ‘So what? I’ll never know about it, will I? I can’t think like that or I’d never do anything. Besides, I have camera traps set about the place anyway, so I’ve pretty much covered all the bases.’

  The rain eases slightly as he turns into my street and pulls up in the car park outside my flat. My window looks dark and miserable, but there’s a light on in Katie’s on the floor above. Somehow it makes the dark façade of the 1960s building look a little less stark and unwelcoming.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ I ask as Aiden comes round to lift me down from his truck. My heart quickens slightly as his arms go around me and I laugh self-consciously.

  ‘No, I’d best be getting back.’ He smiles as he sets me down on the floor. ‘But I can meet you for lunch on Friday, if you like? I’ve got to come into town to collect my lens.’

  ‘Okay. One o’clock?’

  ‘That’ll be great. I’ll wait outside your office for you.’

  ‘You know where it is?’ I ask doubtfully.

  ‘Sure, I do.’ He retrieves my crutch from the back seat and hands it to me. ‘See you Friday.’

  Chapter 7

  It’s Friday lunchtime, and Aiden is waiting for me outside work as promised. He’s wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt over a white T-shirt and blue jeans. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him again all morning. I’m surprised by how quickly I’ve come to regard him as a friend during the last week. It’s exciting to have a new friend.

  It’s another drizzly day and his curly hair is huge and fuzzy with the extra moisture. I can’t laugh at him though, because I know my hair would be exactly the same without all the product I’ve slathered on top of it. I’m wearing a bright yellow raincoat and his face lights when he sees me as though the sight of me has cheered him up.

  ‘Nice coat!’ he says.

  ‘Thanks. It’d be no good for watching wildlife though, would it?’

  ‘Probably not. It matches your personality though. Sunny and bright.’

  I laugh. ‘Really? Is that how you see me?’

  ‘Of course. You’re a very happy person.’

  ‘And you can tell that how, exactly? I’m always moaning about my ankle when I see you.’

  He laughs. ‘Ah, no you’re fine. I can just tell that you have a naturally sunny disposition. It’s a mystery to me why you want to be a newspaper reporter, dealing with doom and gloom all the time. I’m a bit worried it will wear you down and make you cynical. How have you been anyway? You seem to be moving a little easier.’

  ‘Yes, it feels like it’s getting better. I can actually put some weight on it now. I’m still using the crutch though, just in case I overdo it.’

  ‘Good idea. So, are you ready to see your handsome coffee man?’ He quirks an eyebrow as he shoots me a searching look.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll be there?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never been in at lunchtime. Do you think she’ll be there?’

  ‘I think so. She usually is.’ He holds the door open for me and we join the queue for the counter. Aiden
lets me go first and sure enough, behind the counter, stands Fabio. Sexy Coffee Guy. He’s looking hotter than ever and I feel my face start to flush, mostly, I’m sure, because Aiden is with me and knows I fancy him.

  ‘Is that him?’ I hear Aiden’s low voice in my ear.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Humph.’

  ‘Humph? What’s humph meant to mean?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ He straightens up, arranging his face into a more innocent expression.

  ‘Tell me!’ I hiss, poking him in the side.

  ‘Hey! No, it’s just that he’s a little dark and brooding for you.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the dark broodiness that I like.’

  ‘Yeah but you’re like … and then he’s like …’

  ‘What? I’m like what?’ I stare at him, offended.

  ‘Sunny and happy and bright. If you were one of the Mr Men, you’d be Mr Happy. Or Little Miss Sunshine, rather. But him? No. He’d be Mr Mean and Moody. Mr Miserable. Mr Nasty.’

  ‘Any more names you’d like to give him?’ I give him a look and turn my back on him.

  ‘Mr Stabby,’ he says into my ear.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Mr Drug Dealer.’

  ‘He doesn’t look like a drug dealer. Anyway, what does a drug dealer look like?’ I hiss.

  ‘Like him. He’s my drug dealer.’

  ‘Aiden!’ I start to laugh. ‘You don’t have a drug dealer. Do you?’ I glance back at him, suddenly unsure.

  ‘No, I’m joking, but look at him.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’

  ‘Has he smiled once in all the time he’s been serving?’

  ‘He usually smiles at me.’

  ‘Tenner says he won’t today. Look how surly he is. He hates his job, and he hates all the customers, and that includes you, Little Miss Happy. He hates you and that yellow raincoat. He wants the world to be black. As black as his soul.’

  ‘Will you stop? Geez.’

  Aiden chuckles in my ear.

  I pout a little and raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Where’s your girl then?’

  ‘Operating the coffee machine along the back wall.’

  I stretch a little to see her. ‘Don’t look!’ Aiden hisses, making me giggle. The girl is oblivious to everything other than her coffee machine. She’s small and blonde with a cute snub nose. ‘Hmm!’ I say, tilting my head to one side.