by Liz Eeles
Zac is working from home today and is only just getting up as I set off for work. But we’ve arranged to meet in the pub at lunchtime for a drink, which is why I bump into him outside the Pheasant and Fox, four hours later.
‘Hey, you. That’s good timing,’ he says, holding open the door of the old coaching inn so I can go in first. ‘How was your morning?’ he shouts, as we’re hit by a blast of warm air and loud conversation.
‘Manic. How was yours?’ I ask, making my way to the bar which is twinkling with fairy lights.
‘Wonderfully peaceful and I got loads done. This working from home thing is great, especially as I’m only ever twenty seconds away from the chocolate digestives in the fridge.’
‘I hope you’ve left me some.’
Zac narrows his eyes. ‘There weren’t that many left to begin with. But I’ll buy you a drink to make up for it.’
Five minutes later, we’re sitting in a corner, surrounded by gleaming horse brasses on the stone walls and within spitting distance of a roaring log fire.
‘Crikey,’ says Zac, pulling off his hat and pushing his hands through his tawny-brown hair. ‘It’s like a sauna in here.’ He takes off his glasses that have steamed up and wipes them on the bottom of his grey V-neck jumper.
‘You’ll scratch them if you do that. Mum’s glasses are criss-crossed with scratches because she wipes them with whatever comes to hand.’
‘They’re fine.’ Zac pulls his jumper over his head, puts his glasses back on and blinks at me from behind the frames.
‘Wow, you’ve got real guns these days,’ I say, nodding at his muscly arms.
He self-consciously tugs at the short sleeves of his T-shirt and smiles. ‘All the work at the gym isn’t a complete waste of time, then. You could always come along.’
‘I could but I’ve already told you that me and Lycra don’t mix. Plus I don’t like sweating, or weights, or exercise.’
Zac grins while I marvel at how relaxed I feel in his company, when the romantic stakes aren’t high. With him, I can be laid-back and funny and confident, but put me within ten paces of Logan Fairweather and I morph into a mute nervous wreck. However, not for much longer.
‘Have you got a pen?’ I ask, ferreting about in my handbag.
‘Not on my person, no.’ Zac takes a huge gulp of his orange juice and lemonade. ‘Why do you need one?’
‘What you said last night about my Christmas wish was true. I need to make it happen rather than expect it to just happen by magic. Anyway, I’m not sure I’d get much magic for ten pence.’
‘I forgot that was all you dropped into the water, you cheapskate.’
My fingers close around a ballpoint pen and I pull it from my bag, triumphantly.
‘Result! Now all I need is something to write on.’
There’s nothing in my bag to make notes on except a Boots receipt and a leaflet for the local deli that’s so glossy my pen slides off without making a mark.
‘What about this?’ Zac pushes a beer mat across the table. It’s perfect when I turn it over. ‘So what exactly are you doing?’
‘I’m writing a list of mini wishes that, when I make them happen, will help to make my main Christmas wish come true.’
‘Of course you are.’ Zac grins and sits back in his chair with his arms folded. He watches closely as I write Christmas Wish Action Plan at the top of the beer mat and start sucking the end of my pen. ‘So what do you want to change?’
‘Everything.’ When Zac raises his eyebrows at me, I scrunch up my nose. ‘OK, not everything, but lots. I want to become a better version of myself, without all the fear and the angst and the screwing things up. And this is what I need to do to make my wish come true.’
I narrow my eyes and think hard before scrawling down a list:
1. Be more assertive and confident, particularly as regards café
2. Impress Flora with business acumen
3. Make parents proud of me
4. Conquer fear of public speaking
5. Secure date with Logan
Number five is a stretch but, what the hell, I’m aiming high. With Logan in mind, I think of a final one to add to the list:
6. Make myself look more like Jasmine
‘Can I see your mini wish list?’ asks Zac, leaning across the table.
I scoop the beer mat into my lap. ‘You’ll only take the mick.’
‘Of course I will. That’s what I do. But let’s have a look anyway.’
Against my better judgement, I hand it over and he scans down the numbered points.
‘Conquer fear of public speaking? That’s a bit left field. You don’t do any public speaking.’
‘My point exactly. I don’t do it because I’d probably hyperventilate to the point of unconsciousness. But it’s the kind of thing I need to be better at if I’m going to be a good manager of The Cosy Kettle, or chief executive of Microsoft.’ I wave my hand when Zac raises an eyebrow. ‘Whatever. Who knows when I might need to make a speech at an event?’
‘What event?’
‘It doesn’t matter what event. I just need to be able to do it.’
‘O-K,’ says Zac, slowly. ‘I can see that being a bit more assertive generally might be good but a lot of these wishes depend on what other people think of you, Becca – like your parents and Flora. Is that a good idea?’ He frowns. ‘And I see that Logan gets his very own wish.’
‘Why do I get the feeling that you don’t approve?’
‘I don’t not approve. I like him well enough. I just don’t know if he’s right for you. And why do you want to look like your sister?’
‘You’ve obviously never met her.’
‘No, but that’s not the point.’
‘The point is I don’t want to look exactly like Jasmine. I just want to look a bit more… polished.’
‘Polished?’ snorts Zac. ‘What, like a table?’
‘Yes, Zac. Exactly like a table.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Look at me, though. I still dress like I’m at university but now I’m the manager of a café and I ought to look like it. So people like that rude customer take me more seriously.’
Zac winces as ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ starts blasting out of the jukebox and leans across the table towards me. ‘OK, but how are you going to bring about this ambitious transformation?’
Good question, seeing as any moves towards amending my personality and appearance have failed miserably in the past. But things have changed. I’m working again, this time in a job that I love, I’m keen to start dating again after last year’s messy break-up with Charlie and, more to the point, I don’t want to spend the next quarter of a century chucking obstacles in my own way. I want to be relaxed and happy and accepted by the people I love.
‘I’m going to achieve this by working my way through the mini wish list and ticking off every single one,’ I tell him. ‘It’s do that or spend the rest of my life like I am now.’
‘Would that really be so awful?’
‘Yes, it would! I don’t want to spend my life being fragile and shy and anxious.’
‘Or Logan-less,’ murmurs Zac so quietly I’m not sure that’s what he said at all.
‘So will you help me with some encouragement rather than teasing me mercilessly? This means a lot to me, Zac.’
Zac puts down his drink and breathes out slowly. ‘Then it means a lot to me, too.’
He reaches across the table to give me a high five, and when he smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkles as though he smiles a lot. Which he does.
‘What would I do without you, Zac?’
Fear suddenly clutches my heart at the thought of ever being without him: steady, strong Zac who smiles his way through life.
‘You’d drive another housemate mad with your out-of-tune singing and woeful cookery skills,’ says Zac, pulling his hand away.
‘Harsh. I haven’t set the smoke alarm off for at least a week.’
‘A week of relative peace. Bliss.’ Zac downs the last o
f his pint and frowns at Chris Rea, who’s still belting out of the jukebox. ‘I’d better head for home because I’ve got a conference call before two o’clock. What’s happening with tea tonight?’
‘I thought I’d cook spag bol to celebrate the start of my new braver life, if you’re up for that? Then you can put your feet up and mash mince pies into your face while I slosh an obscene amount of whisky into our hot chocolates.’
Zac grins. ‘Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you’re not perfect just the way you are.’
He starts weaving his way through the pub towards the door while I put the scrawled-on beer mat into my handbag. Then I follow him, out into the frosty air.
Deciding on your mini wishes while sitting in a cosy pub with your best mate is easy-peasy. Anything seems possible when Christmas songs are playing, a log fire is burning and a peaceful evening with your feet up stretches ahead of you.
Achieving your goal of being more assertive in The Cosy Kettle is another thing entirely when you’re rushed off your feet by a post-lunchtime surge of customers – and are currently being harangued by the afternoon book club. It’s not an official book club day – meetings to discuss the latest novel under review are now held once a week – but members seem to be in the café all the time at the moment.
‘You took ages,’ moans Millicent, destabilising the tray I’m carrying when she grabs her latte and plonks it on the table in front of her.
‘Yeah, none of us are getting any younger. We could have croaked by the time you got over here,’ grumbles Stanley.
‘Leave the poor girl alone.’ Phyllis gives me a thumbs-up from her wheelchair. ‘Can’t you see she’s busy?’
‘Urgh.’ Dick has taken a sip of his espresso and screws his face into a grimace. ‘There’s sugar in my coffee.’
‘You always have sugar in your coffee, Dick. You get me to stir it in at the counter so it’s ready to drink.’
‘Not any more. Sugar’s not good for my teeth.’
‘For the three teeth that are still your own,’ murmurs Stanley. ‘Be a good girl and get Dick another espresso, Beccs.’
When I glance at the queue building up by the till, wish number one comes to mind: Be more assertive and confident, particularly as regards the café. Here goes. ‘I will in a minute when I’ve served the people at the counter,’ I say, decisively.
‘We’re regular customers and should come first,’ booms Millicent, who’s in a right old mood this afternoon. She’s already complained that there’s no marmalade cake left and claimed that the lemon drizzle slices are dry, although they’re not. I had one with my lunch and it was delicious.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can but I need to serve a few other customers first.’
‘Those other customers are strangers who won’t ever come here again.’
‘They certainly won’t unless I serve them. They’ve been waiting quite a while.’
‘Are you saying they’re more important than us, your regular clientele?’ grumps Millicent as the woman at the head of the queue starts tapping her long fingernails on the counter.
‘No, I’m not saying…’
‘Only that’s how it sounds.’
‘I didn’t mean it to sound like that but I need to serve some people before the queue gets any longer,’ I say, calmly and pretty damn assertively, actually.
‘So how long does Dick have to wait for his coffee?’
‘I won’t be long. Just a few minutes.’
‘A few minutes? That’s not on when Dick is a regular customer who—’
‘Oh, please!’ I blurt out. ‘Stop wanging on for one minute and I’ll be back with Dick’s sugar-free espresso before you know it.’
Oh dear. That’s the trouble with trying to be assertive when you’re basically a wuss. It so easily tips over into being downright rude. The members of the book club are staring at me with their mouths open and I feel my cheeks begin to burn.
‘Sorry. So sorry.’ I rush over to the queue, and start serving coffee and cake at top speed. Flora wouldn’t approve of me being snappy with customers, even when it’s the book club gang and they’re being annoying. I feel as if I’ve fallen at the first hurdle.
When I take over a mega-sized sugar-free espresso for Dick a while later, they carry on discussing the thriller they’ve been reading without even glancing at me. This being a different person business is not going to be easy.
An hour later, the rush has died away and the only people left in the café are me and the book club. I wander over and make a big deal of wiping the table next to them free of crumbs.
‘Sorry about earlier,’ I say, quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude, Millicent.’
‘Hmm,’ she snorts, putting her nose in the air. ‘I was only giving my opinion and I most definitely do not “wang on”, whatever that means.’
‘No, you don’t and I’m sorry.’
‘So what’s going on, Becca?’ asks Phyllis, closing her fingers around my arm. Her thin wedding band glints gold next to her arthritis-swollen knuckles.
‘Nothing’s going on. Not really.’
‘Have you fallen out with that good-looking young man of yours?’
‘Which young man?’ I ask in a bit of a panic, hoping the book club haven’t cottoned on to my Logan crush.
‘The tall man with curly brown hair and a lovely smile.’
‘Oh, you mean Zac.’ Phew. ‘No, we haven’t fallen out, and he’s not my young man. He’s just a friend.’
‘But you live together.’
‘Platonically, Phyllis. We’re good friends from university.’
What is it with people assuming that Zac and I are a couple? Just because we share a house, it doesn’t mean that we’re sharing a bed. That would be weird.
‘So what’s the matter with you today? You’re definitely not yourself.’
‘I wish.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means… oh, it doesn’t matter. Honestly, just ignore me.’ I shove my cloth into the pocket of my apron.
‘Come on, Becca. What does it mean?’ asks Mary, pushing cake crumbs into her baby son Callum’s mouth. He starts gumming them and dribbling. ‘Is it something we can help with?’
‘Not unless you’re skilled in personality transplants.’
‘You’re talking in riddles,’ says Stanley. ‘So what’s your actual prob, hun?’
I sigh and perch on the edge of the table. ‘It’s not a problem. Not really. I’m just trying to… adjust the sort of person I am and be a bit… better.’
‘Is this because of that plonker who disrespected you on Tuesday?’ asks Stanley.
‘Kind of. Not entirely. It’s a culmination of lots of things really which have led me to want to be a bit… better at being me.’
‘Ah, you’re trying to reinvent yourself. I used to do that all the time but then I had Callum and I’ve been too knackered ever since to even try.’ Mary stifles a yawn. ‘Everyone’s tried to do it.’
Millicent doesn’t look convinced. ‘Do what? Be a different person? Some of us are very happy with ourselves just the way we are, thank you very much.’
‘Lucky you,’ I say, piling the club’s empty cups and saucers onto a tray.
‘You don’t need to change, Becca,’ insists Phyllis. Which is lovely, but then she spoils it by adding: ‘The world isn’t only for confident and successful people. Sensitive, panicky people who find life difficult also have a place.’
‘But that’s just it. I’m fed up with finding life difficult and I want to change.’
‘So have you got a plan?’ asks Mary, who seems particularly au fait with the concept of self-transformation.
‘I have a—’ I swallow. ‘A kind of wish list plan. Yes.’
‘And a deadline?’
‘Christmas.’
‘This Christmas?’ Mary pushes out her bottom lip. ‘Ambitious.’
‘You definitely need our help if you’re on a festive deadline,’ pipes up Stanley. �
��The afternoon book club relish a challenge, and our support can be like our present to you. Rest assured, Becca, we will make your Christmas wishes come true.’
‘Honestly, Stanley, just a card would be lovely. Everything’s being taken care of so there’s no need to get involved.’
But Stanley is already rubbing his hands together in glee. ‘Don’t be silly. We’d love to be involved ’cos you’re part of The Cosy Kettle gang. You’re in the hood, girl. You’re fam.’
Millicent sighs. ‘Good grief, Stanley. Don’t you ever talk in normal sentences any more?’
‘Just keeping up with the yoof, Millie.’
‘So what do you want to change about yourself, Becca?’ asks Dick, running his hand over his long white beard. ‘You seem like a lovely young girl to me.’
‘Thank you, Dick. That’s very kind.’
I put my hand in my apron pocket and run my fingers along the beer mat that I’m carrying around like a talisman. There’s no way I’m showing them the list – not when Secure date with Logan is number five. It’s awkward enough already when he comes into the café.
‘I’d just like to be a bit more assertive,’ I tell them.
‘Is that what you were attempting to do when you accused me of “wanging on”?’ sniffs Millicent. ‘If so, you could certainly do with some practice in that area. But is that it? You just want to be more assertive?’
‘That, and more confident generally, in life and in the café. Just a bit different in how I dress and behave. Nothing major.’
Though it is quite major, actually. Last night, next to the wishing well with Zac in the moonlight, anything seemed possible. Your dearest wish is a complete personality and body overhaul? No problem. However, in the cold light of day, it all seems rather more radical and unobtainable. But it will happen. It has to.
‘Well, I can tell you for nothing to lose the head-to-toe black,’ says Millicent, running her eyes over me. ‘It’s a harsh colour that does nothing for your pale complexion. It drains you, and the baggy stuff you wear looks like a sack. That rather short, severe hairstyle you had was awful, too. I’m so glad you’re growing it out, but it’s a shame you haven’t ditched the dye. Why on earth do you want blue hair? Honestly, young people today!’