Читать книгу Notting Hill in the Snow - Jules Wake - Страница 10

The Daily Grind was a smallish independent coffee shop that had opened not long after I’d moved to the area and had once been a regular haunt. This was the first time I’d been in here in months.

I was grateful that Nate had stopped outside to take a call as I ignored the small elastic ping in the vicinity of my heart when I looked over at the small table in the corner. Instead I hurried towards a table on the opposite side of the room, unwrapping myself from my layers as I went to hang my coat up at one of a bank of fancy cast iron coat hooks on the rustic panelled walls. This was posh Borrowers territory. The walls and floors were made from reclaimed scaffolding planks, the furniture had been upcycled and given a stylish, polished gleam, shining under the new hipster bare lightbulb lighting. A distinct retro feel had been achieved with the wooden tables and chairs, all of which were slightly different Ercol designs from over the years, so bore enough similarity to create a cohesive, homogenous overall look.

‘Viola! Haven’t seen you for a long time,’ Sally called, wiping her hands on her barista apron. I approached the counter with a little skip in my step, feeling more than welcome.

‘Hello you. What are you doing in this neck of the woods? Back for a visit?’

I bit my lip, a little ashamed. When Paul had left, I couldn’t bear to come back but I should have done because Sally was lovely and I should have told her what had happened. Did I confess now I’d never left or lie and say I’d moved back? Now I’d walked in, I remembered how much I’d loved the place. Time to make new memories here. The ones with Paul had scabbed over a long time ago and the scars were almost gone.

‘I still live here. Sorry, Paul and I split up and …’ I lifted my shoulders in a helpless shrug.

Paul had been gone for eight months. We’d lived together for the grand total of sixteen months; it struck me, under Sally’s sympathetic gaze, there seemed some symmetry in that. The short story, he had an affair with someone else; the long story, more complicated, picked over too many times during gin-fuelled evenings of rage and despair until one day I woke up, not so very long ago, and it didn’t hurt any more.

‘Oh, hon, I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, I’m glad to see you today,’ said Sally. ‘What can I get you? Flat Americano? Or a cappuccino?’

‘You still remember.’

‘Of course I do; you were one of our favourite customers. I still have that little book of poetry you gave me, the Carol Ann Duffy one about the wives. Gosh, how many Christmases ago? Two? Three?’

‘At least three, but I do know I’ve missed your cappuccinos. I’ll have one of those.’

‘And anything to eat? We’ve got the most gorgeous lime and courgette cake.’ Despite her cheery words, there was a mournful twist to her mouth.

‘Sounds interesting,’ I said. ‘And very healthy.’ I narrowed my eyes. ‘Should cake be healthy? Don’t you have any of that delicious coffee and walnut cake you used to make?’

‘A girl after my own heart,’ she said, immediately straightening up. ‘And yes, we do … bloody fat-free muffins. Get yourself a table and I’ll bring it over.’ Sally’s eyes slid to the old table.

‘I’ll go over there,’ I said, pointing to where I’d already hung my coat up. ‘And someone’s coming to join me.’

Nate ambled in ten minutes later, after I’d exhausted reading my Facebook feed, just ahead of the scrum of mums that trailed in behind him. I tried to look at his handsome features dispassionately. Married and with a child. I needed to quash those silly fluttery feelings hard and fast. Difficult when some stubborn part of me insisted on taking surreptitious peeps at those warm brown eyes and the wide, generous mouth with the slight twist of one lip.

‘Hey, Nate,’ said Sally, as soon as he stepped over the threshold as she passed by him on her way to my table with my order. ‘Your usual?’

‘Yes, please.’ He spotted me in the corner.

‘In or out?’

He tilted his head my way, indicating my table. ‘In, today.’

Sally’s eyes widened with sudden smiling interest. ‘You two know each other?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Not really.’

We both spoke at the same time in quick denial.

‘But we keep bumping into each other,’ said Nate cheerfully. ‘Viola’s just been handed the dubious honour of doing this year’s nativity play.’

‘Er … shouldn’t that be the dubious honour of helping you do the nativity play?’ I was determined to keep it businesslike. No flirty banter.

‘Well, there’s—’

‘Holy fuck,’ breathed Sally, looking horrified.

‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’ I asked. Surely it couldn’t be any worse than it already was?

‘Nothing. Nothing,’ she said, pulling a ‘God help you’ face.

‘Thanks, Sally,’ said Nate dryly.

‘Good luck,’ said Sally. ‘It’s a wonderful school and Mrs Roberts is an amazing head. She’s transformed the place. She has very … high standards.’

From behind the counter, Sally’s small blonde assistant snorted. ‘She’s a crazy woman. One of those super-heads that’s determined to make her school the best one in the area. Talk about competitive.’

‘And that’s a good thing for the children,’ said Sally a touch defensively. ‘My daughter’s there.’

‘That’s not what you said when she sent the chair of the PTA in, demanding that we provide all the coffee for the summer fete last year.’

‘It was for a good cause,’ said Sally.

‘So are our profits,’ retorted the other woman.

I glanced at Nate, my eyes widening with apprehension. ‘You were about to say?’

He grimaced. ‘I said I’d help because Grace wanted me to come into school and I –’ his lips curved in a rueful smile ‘– and I thought this would be a nice easy gig. A couple of hours once a week, but that was when Mrs Davies was in charge. I didn’t sign up for full-on producing and directing.’

‘Neither did I. I thought I’d be helping with some musical arrangements.’

We both lapsed into silence.

‘Have you told her about the star of Bethlehem, the year before?’ Sally butted in, bringing Nate’s coffee over. ‘Full-on pyrotechnics. Looked incredible. Although I did worry when I saw the caretaker on standby with two fire extinguishers.’

We both glared at her and she backed away hurriedly.

‘What are we going to do?’ I broke the silence, putting my elbow on the table and resting my chin in my palm.

‘Isn’t there anyone else at the Opera House that could help … someone –’ he lifted his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt at tact ‘– you know, with the script or something?’

‘I don’t think anyone could help with that script.’

He shot me a quick amused smile before tapping his steepled fingers against his lower lip, drawing my gaze to his mouth. Very sexy mouth.

I waved my hands, cross with myself for noticing that totally inappropriate fact, as if to push the thought away. But of course, like a particularly pernicious thorn, it had embedded itself. He has a wife, Viola.

‘I’m going to be tied up all weekend … Do you think you could have a go at writing the next scene? You’re the artistic one and we need something by Monday.’

I eyed him, feeling less than charitable towards him. ‘What with me only working on Saturday night, you mean?’

He frowned. ‘No, that’s not what I meant at all. I’ll help with other things but I’m not a writer; believe me, I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I rely on facts, logic and what I can see and touch. Music is artistic, creative, isn’t it?’

‘Actually, no, it’s quite mathematical, actually. But, like you say, we need something by Monday. I’ll have a go … but I’m not promising miracles.’

‘I’ll see if I can round up some more parent helpers and I’ll help where I can. Why don’t I give you my mobile number? You can call me if there’s a problem. I am a governor, so –’ he gave a self-deprecating laugh ‘– I have some clout, apparently.’

We swapped numbers, in a grown-up, businesslike fashion. I didn’t think I’d be swapping any flirty texts with him any time soon. The little tentative butterfly wing quivers of excitement that had fluttered earlier in my stomach had been well and truly swatted by his businesslike attitude.

‘One thing we do need to do, and quickly, is to let the parents know what they need to provide, costume-wise, as soon as possible. Everyone is very busy at this time of year and, as Grace mentioned, it really is a faff for parents to have to go out hunting for things. Elaine, my wife, was extremely stressed last year at having to find the right colour leggings and T-shirt.’ He winced. ‘You’ve seen the cast list.’

I had indeed, although my mind was otherwise distracted. At last the wife had a name. Elaine sounded like a cool blonde.

‘Grace is a crocodile; I’m guessing that’s green leggings and T-shirt,’ said Nate with a frown. He looked at his watch, again with a little shake of his head. ‘I, for one, certainly won’t have time to go and buy that sort of thing, and neither will her mother. Work is full-on at the moment.’

I looked at his smart suit and the expensive watch on his wrist, the one that he’d looked at for a third time. Wife. Nanny. Suddenly I felt a little bit sorry for Grace.

‘And I guess that is very important,’ I said with sudden bite. ‘What is it you do?’

If he said brain-surgeon I’d give him a pass.

‘I’m a lawyer.’

Of all the jobs he could have said.

Paul was a lawyer and I still had the sour taste of the cold, precise way he’d drawn up lists of our possessions, allocating ownership where it was due before dismantling our relationship once and for all. He gave me a six-page document … right before he dumped me.