by Liz Eeles
‘Has he indeed? How are things going with Mr Fairweather?’
‘I’m not sure. He’s been quite complimentary about me a couple of times and he smouldered a bit when he bumped into me outside Luna’s.’
‘Smouldered?’ snorts Zac. ‘What, like a cigarette that’s been dropped down the back of a sofa?’
‘Exactly like that.’
‘Was he complimentary about all of the hard work you’re putting in on his party?’
‘Kind of. He was more wowed by my sparkling personality.’ I grin but Zac says nothing and shoves a Jammie Dodger into his mouth, whole. While he’s crunching, I finish off the cornflakes, though I’m eating so fast I hardly taste them. ‘What time are you and Jasmine going out later?’
‘Eight o’clock,’ he replies, spraying biscuit crumbs everywhere. ‘Oops, sorry.’
As he brushes crumbs from my shoulder, hair flops across his face and I stroke my hand across his forehead to push it back. His tangled hair catches in my fingers and for a moment we’re caught together: best friends who are totally comfortable with each other. Only I don’t feel comfortable now. I feel awkward and embarrassed, as though I’m doing something wrong.
When I pull my fingers away, Zac turns and starts spooning coffee into his mug. ‘You’d better get off or you’ll definitely be late,’ he says, gruffly.
‘Shit, it’s almost nine o’clock!’ I run upstairs and am about to change out of my scruffy jeans into black leggings when I spot a flash of green at the back of my wardrobe. It’s the dress that I last wore to my job interview in Birmingham – the only dress I possess. I pull it from the wardrobe and smooth it out across my duvet. Jasmine wears dresses and I wear jeans or trousers; that’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember. But everything’s changing now. I’m changing. And Logan emailed last night to say he’d be calling into The Cosy Kettle at lunchtime. I step out of my jeans and pull the scratchy woollen dress over my head.
A few minutes later, I thunder back down the stairs and rush to the front door. ‘What are you doing today?’ I shout over my shoulder towards the kitchen, as I grab my jacket.
‘Lots of work,’ Zac shouts back. ‘And then tarting myself up for the do this evening.’
‘Jasmine will appreciate any tarting up you can manage,’ I call back, because that’s the kind of thing I’d usually say. But I still feel uneasy as I wrench open the front door and hurtle through it.
Thirteen
Flora gives me a hard stare when she spots me barrelling through the bookshop doorway. I almost take out a high display of Christmas-themed thrillers because I’m in such a rush.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ I’m puffing, having run all the way up the High Street, my open jacket flapping around me. ‘My mum called round unexpectedly first thing and by the time I’d sorted her out it was almost nine o’clock and I had to—’
‘Breathe, Becca!’ commands Flora, walking over and putting her hand on my shoulder. ‘It doesn’t matter that you’re a few minutes late. The Cosy Kettle doesn’t open until nine thirty so you’ve got plenty of time.’
‘OK.’ I breathe out heavily. ‘Thanks. I thought you were annoyed with me.’ I giggle, which is what I sometimes do if I’m in a flap and feeling self-conscious, even when laughter is totally inappropriate. My brain says, ‘Hey, what can you do to make your current situation even worse?’ and then does it. Thanks, brain.
Flora walks slowly around me and smiles. ‘I’m not annoyed at all. I was only staring because you look different. You look really nice actually. Becca in a dress! Wow. I never thought I’d see the day.’
Is wearing a dress overdoing it? I wonder, as I hurry into the café, switch on the coffee machine and start putting out the cakes that local baker John has delivered – they’re standing in stacked wooden crates smelling delicious. Maybe, but I need to start practising dressing up if I’m going to achieve my wish of becoming a Jasmine lookalike.
Regular customers keep commenting on my new look, and the book club stare at me and nudge each other when they wander in mid-morning. Stanley gives me a huge wink as he saunters up to the counter.
‘You’re looking pretty dope this morning, Beccs. I love the black tights and ankle boots combo.’
‘Thanks. What are you lot doing in today?’
‘It’s a free country, dude. Mary can’t make it because she’s up to her eyes in domestic detail but the rest of us are free spirits.’ He grabs an iced gingerbread man and plonks it on the counter. ‘That’s for Millie, who’s partial to a biscuit. It’ll keep her sweet. She reckons she doesn’t want cake this morning but she gets hangry when her sugar levels drop and it’s in all our interests to keep her topped up. The rest of us will have our usual drinks and cakes, ta, love.’
As I make their coffees, he leans against the counter and spins the gold hoop in his earlobe. ‘What have you done to this place?’ He stares around him and frowns. ‘It seems a bit different in here today.’
‘I’ve started thinning out the decorations so the place looks less like a fairy grotto.’
‘Where have those flashing rainbow lights gone?’
‘Back in their box while I get ready for the party which is getting quite close now.’
‘And the tinsel?’
‘That’s back in the box with the lights. It was over the top and a bit naff really. Don’t worry, I’m going to replace everything with more upmarket decorations.’
‘Upmarket?’ Stanley curls his lip. ‘It doesn’t feel as cosy in here as it did.’
‘The café’s mid-transformation at the moment. You’ll love it once it’s finished. Why don’t you go and sit down and I’ll bring your coffees over?’
Stanley grumps off to his seat, and Millicent applauds when I approach them with their drinks and cakes on a tray.
‘Well done on making an effort with your appearance,’ she says, as I set down fat slices of lemon drizzle cake, honey sponge and apple tart in front of them. It’s a teensy bit condescending, being congratulated for putting on a dress, but I take it in the spirit it was intended.
There’s a triple-layer red velvet sponge under a glass dome on the counter that’s calling out to me, and at half past eleven I opt for an early lunch and cut myself a slice. I don’t usually start my lunch with cake but it’s been a trying morning – as well as getting used to my scratchy wool dress, and handling the book club’s grumblings about the café’s new look, I can’t stop worrying about Mum, or thinking about Zac and Jasmine’s date this evening.
I’ve only taken one large sweet mouthful when Logan strides into the café. Damn it, he’s early! He scans the room, looking ridiculously handsome in tight jeans and a moss-green puffa jacket, and strides across when he spots me.
‘Hi, Becca. I know I said I’d nip in at twelve but I was in town earlier than expected. Is now all right to catch up about any replies to the invitations?’
I nod because Flora volunteered her partner, Daniel, to design the invitations, and he did such a good and swift job in his lunchbreak, I was able to email them out yesterday afternoon. Invitees were encouraged to round off their trip to the UK, hosted by Logan’s firm, with an upmarket evening of Christmas celebration, rather than heading straight for home.
‘Of course. We’ve had loads of replies already.’ I self-consciously check the corners of my mouth for crumbs. I reapplied my lipstick an hour ago but I bet I’ve eaten it off. ‘We’ve heard from almost twenty people so far and all but two have accepted.’
‘That’s great.’ Logan leans across the counter. ‘You’ve looking pretty special today, Becca. Nice dress.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply as, out of the corner of my eye I spot Stanley barrelling down on me. Great! Logan is paying me a compliment and for once I haven’t erupted into a blaze of blushing, but we’re about to be interrupted by Honeyford’s oldest eccentric.
I would say only eccentric, but there’s Luna with her crystals and dreamcatchers, and butcher Vernon has his moments. Last week he a
nnounced to a full café that he and his dog have full-blown conversations because he’s able to understand the language of barking.
‘You dropped this, hun,’ says Stanley, waving a beer mat at me. ‘When you were leaning over me with my coffee. I found it on the floor.’
It’s my Christmas wish list which I’ve been carrying around in my apron pocket like a good luck charm. My heart sinks as I remember number five: Secure a date with Logan. Fingers crossed, Stanley hasn’t read it.
‘Who’s this young dude, then?’ asks Stanley, as I grab the beer mat with a murmured thanks, and shove it into my pocket.
‘I’m Logan Fairweather. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Logan, you say? Interesting. What do you reckon to our gorgeous Becca, then?’
Oh, God. He has read it.
Stanley slips behind the counter and stands beside me. ‘She’s young, unmarried, with good childbearing hips and she makes a cracking cup of coffee. Plus, she’s actually wearing a dress today. What more could a thrusting young buck in the prime of life possibly wish for?’
My only wish right now is for the ground to swallow me up. Me and Stanley, who deserves to plummet to his doom for being so unutterably crass. Childbearing hips? He tries to be modern with his skinny jeans and yoof slang but scratch the surface and there’s a matchmaking octogenarian underneath.
‘Um, she certainly makes a great cup of coffee.’ Logan is smiling at me. ‘And I approve of the dress. It shows off your lovely legs, Becca.’
I give a faint smile back and make a big show of scrabbling under the counter for the list of people who are coming to the party. ‘Here are the people coming so far,’ I announce, waving the list in the air. ‘Why don’t we go and sit in the garden, Logan, while you go through it? I’ll make you a cappuccino.’
‘O-K,’ says Logan, slowly, pulling his jacket tighter around him. ‘Can I have a latte instead?’
‘No problem.’ I make the fastest latte ever while Stanley wanders back to the book club, who are huddled in a corner near the Christmas tree. ‘Oh, Stanley,’ I call across the café as he sits down and starts chatting, ‘Please don’t say anything about…’
Too late. They have their heads bent together, and Phyllis glances at me with a perfect ooh on her face. Not only are the Cosy Kettle Afternoon Book Club supporting me with my metamorphosis into a better person, they may have just entered the matchmaking business. I have a very bad feeling about this.
Outside, the garden is empty for the very good reason that it’s absolutely flipping freezing. The sky is pearly white and threatening snow and the garden is bleached of colour. A sharp wind is blowing through the bare branches of our apple tree and even the café’s adopted stray cat has taken shelter inside.
‘Aren’t you going to be chilly out here?’ asks Logan, sitting on one of the filigree iron chairs and wincing as cold leaches through the denim of his jeans.
‘No, I’m fine,’ I tell him, perching on the chair on the opposite side of the table. ‘I don’t tend to feel the cold.’
This is a big fat lie. I walk around at home swaddled in thick jumpers while Zac’s wandering round in T-shirts. But it’s said now and I’ll look a right idiot if I suddenly rush inside for my thick coat. Especially as I was the one who suggested coming out here in the first place, to get away from Stanley.
‘If you’re sure.’ Logan doesn’t look convinced but he scans the guest list and smiles broadly when I tell him that Geraldine has been in touch and the madrigal singers have agreed to perform at the party. He drinks his coffee, all wrapped up in his thick jacket, while I try to look interested, and warm.
By the time we start discussing what’s going to happen during the evening, my mouth is starting to seize up with the cold so I’ve taken to nodding vigorously at Logan’s suggestions – even though they seem increasingly over the top, and he keeps talking about ensuring the café has the right upmarket ambiance.
As he works his way down a checklist on his phone, he keeps mentioning how important the party is until my heart starts hammering with anxiety. He’s not the most soothing of people to be around.
At last he reaches the final point on his list – something to do with a dry ice machine wafting mist through the bookshop as people arrive – but he hesitates mid-sentence and shakes his head. ‘Are you sure you’re OK out here? Only you’ve started going a bit blue. Here, have my coat.’
He takes off his jacket and places it gently around my shoulders. The jacket is warm and smells all musky, like him.
‘M-m-might be a good idea to go in now actually,’ I stammer through my frozen lips.
‘You’re probably right,’ says Logan, putting his phone into his jeans pocket, ‘and it sounds as if things are in hand. So let’s call it a day before you turn into an ice sculpture, though I think you’d make a very fetching ice maiden.’
Is he flirting with me? I’m too frozen to the bone to care right now. My teeth have locked so tight, my mouth is stretched into a thin line, and the muscles in my neck are rigid.
I follow Logan through the back door and sigh with pleasure as I ram my bum up against the nearest radiator and a wave of heat envelops my nether regions.
‘It’s looking good in here. Far less festively rustic,’ says Logan, taking in the spaces where the fairy lights and tinsel used to be.
‘I’ve got some nicer decorations to put up over the next few days, before the party.’
‘That’s great. Not too many, though. It was a bit cluttered before. Less is more when you’re going for sophisticated and… hang on a minute.’ He pulls his ringing mobile from his pocket and frowns at the screen before rejecting the call.
‘Someone you’re avoiding?’
‘Just my flatmate, who’s being a bit…’ Logan suddenly rams his hands into his pockets and starts shifting from foot to foot. ‘Can I ask you something? I wouldn’t normally ask about this kind of thing but you seem to be quite a… sensitive person, with the blushing and everything.’
‘Mmm.’ I nod, rather gutted he’s bringing up my tendency to go beetroot red. I’d kind of convinced myself he’d never really noticed.
‘It’s about my flatmate, Liam. He’s always up for a laugh but he’s different these days. It’s hard to put my finger on it but he’s a bit miserable and quieter. Not his usual self.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure what’s wrong with him.’
‘Have you spoken to him about it?’
‘Spoken to him?’ Logan laughs as if the thought of communicating with his flatmate about emotions is preposterous. ‘Is that a good idea?’
‘I think so. He might be anxious or depressed or stressed.’
‘About what?’
‘I don’t know. He might tell you if you ask.’
Logan grimaces. ‘What if he is any of that stuff? What then?’
‘Let him talk, if he wants to. Maybe, underneath all the being up for a laugh, he’s quite a sensitive person too.’
‘I’ll have to choose the right time to tackle him about it.’ Logan stares into my eyes and gives a slow, sexy smile. ‘You’re a woman of many talents, Becca – café manager, party planner, and now counsellor too.’
‘I have my moments,’ I say, swallowing loudly.
Oh no, Stanley is homing in on us again. He wanders over, trying to look nonchalant, and stands in front of me.
‘How’s it going, Becca?’ he asks, placing his empty coffee cup on a table nearby. ‘I’ll have another drink when you get a chance. Oh, and I meant to ask, how did your date go last night?’
‘Date?’ I say, giving Stanley the evil eye.
‘Yeah, your hot date with Thor.’
Thor? I stare at Stanley in horror but he’s already turned to Logan.
‘Thor’s just asked her out. Is he a bodybuilder, Becca? Anyway, he has muscles to die for and he’s so handsome. Incredibly handsome. One of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen. So did your date with Thor go well then?’
‘It was fine,’ I mutter,
putting my cold arm through Logan’s and pulling him away. ‘I’ll sort you out with your coffee and everything else in a minute, Stanley.’
‘That old guy’s quite a character,’ says Logan, as I pull him through the café. ‘Is he gay?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Only he seems rather taken with your new boyfriend.’
‘He’s just looking out for me.’
‘I’m not surprised. Who wouldn’t? Well, thank you for the party update and the lovely coffee, and the chat. I hope to see you soon.’ Logan takes the jacket I hand over and winks at me before disappearing into the bookshop.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I hurry back to Stanley, who’s standing in the middle of the café.
‘What do you think you’re doing, saying that stuff to Logan?’
‘I’m pimping you out.’
‘You’re… what?’
‘I’m trying to secure you a romantic date with Logan and help make one of your Christmas wishes come true.’
I wipe my hands across my face, probably smearing make-up everywhere.
‘One, you shouldn’t have read my list, Stanley. Two, it’s not your place to interfere in my life like that. And three, that’s not what pimping out means. You’d better not use that term again until you’ve looked it up in the dictionary. You’ll get yourself into all sorts of trouble. Also, who the hell is Thor?’
‘Keep your hair on, Beccs. I was just making sure that Mr Fairweather knows he’s only one person in a long line of men wanting to go out with you.’
‘What line? What men? And why did you call my imaginary boyfriend Thor? You made it sound like I was going out with an idiot.’
‘I made it sound like you’re going out with a superhero who’s totally ripped. Logan will be so jealous.’
‘You think? And what about you?’ I turn towards Dick, who, along with the rest of the book club, is listening in, agog. ‘You’re Stanley’s best friend. Can’t you keep his more madcap ideas in check?’