Читать книгу Being Shelley - Qarnita Loxton - Страница 9

Thursday, 15 February

‘Where’ve you been?’ Di hissed, her words escaping through a fake side smile as I slid in behind the marble-topped counter that curved against the back wall of the shop. Our accountant knows, but I still haven’t told Di or Jerry exactly how much it cost – they would freak. When you stand outside the shop, the oversize rose-gold lettering of Coffee & Cream on the glass store front seems to float over the counter in a perfect arch. I think it just about calls women in. It would call me if I were out shopping. The counter shows off the Astoria espresso machine (the one I can’t work) and the three custom rose-gold-and-ceramic cake stands I commissioned from Urchin Art. Deep glass bowls of chocolate balls stand guard at each end. I wanted to display bottles of champagne on the open shop-facing shelves below the counter so that the trifecta of coffee, cake and champagne would be visible from outside the shop, but we don’t have a liquor licence, so that killed that idea. Instead, I filled the shelves with cream-coloured handmade soaps and bath goodies. I hoped the whole scene said, Relax, come in and spoil yourself. That counter is my pride, my own design. I give myself a hundred-and-ten per cent.

‘It’s only been half an hour …’ We didn’t have a clock on any of the walls of the shop; I didn’t want a shopper to be aware of the time, like in the casinos. I think I left at twelve-thirty. I swung my arm up to activate the screen on my Apple Watch. It was five past two. ‘Not that long.’

‘It’s been over an hour. You said you were only going to get a quick half-hour mini-mani at Sorbet. The courier guy’s been – again – and delivered four more boxes. I nearly sent him away – I thought you were done shopping? And you do realise that I can see you in Poetry and in The Pause Room? Just because there is a passage and escalators between us and them doesn’t make you invisible in there. I rang you, but you didn’t answer.’ Di was cross, but this has become normal in the four months since we opened Coffee & Cream. I’d started feeling like her kid. Today, her voice sounded precisely like when she was cross and talking to one of her girls – pitch too high, ready to crack like a thin slab of peanut brittle. I could understand why her girls sometimes roll their eyes at her – she is nearly always right and there is nothing else to do – but I didn’t dare. I don’t have any divorced-child guilt to trade on like they do.

‘Keep your panties on. I couldn’t answer with my nails getting done, could I? It’s not that busy,’ I said, looking around the shop. I hadn’t meant to take so long, but I haven’t had my nails done in yonks, and I ended up choosing Matador Red Gelish at the last minute, which took longer than the ordinary file and paint I was used to. Two of the four round tables in front of the counter had a single woman nursing a cappuccino, and two other women were working their way around the sides of the store, staring at the little stories I’d created with each collection of gifts. Happy days! One woman was clutching three rose-gold soy candles.

‘I only looked in Poetry for a minute while I waited for the Wellness Warehouse smoothies I ordered for us. Here, untwist yourself.’ I held out the takeaway cup as a peace offering.

‘You know we can do without advertising for other places.’ Di narrowed her eyes at me. She was never easily swayed. It had been hard work to convince her to do Coffee & Cream with me: a shop selling the kind of gifts and small décor bits that I loved to buy, with a few tables where customers could have the coffee that Di loved to make. She had been bored doing admin work with Owen, and I was bored being a mommy and not working. Coffee & Cream would make us both happy, I’d said. I’d sold her on it. Let me do the finance (I meant Jerry and Jerry’s accountant would do it) and the shopping and the decorating. You run the coffee side. We bought in cakes and pasticceri from Trecastelli in Blouberg. We didn’t serve any other food; I’d wanted to in the beginning, but the cost of staff and the space needed for a full kitchen was more than the savings I had. We weren’t making any money yet, and we’d expected that – we were both prepared for that – but Di was under more pressure to make money sooner. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but I know she used a big chunk of her divorce settlement for this, so she needed Coffee & Cream to be a success. I had Jerry as a safety net, she reasoned. Di didn’t see that it was still my own money, worked for and saved from the proceeds of my interior design business. I needed it to work as much as she did. If I lost those savings, I would be completely financially dependent on Jerry, and I’d never wanted that. I took the risk; I believed in the idea of opening Coffee & Cream with my best friend rather than running around on my own like I did as an interior decorator. Di didn’t see that. She just saw Jerry backing me.

Truthfully, I hadn’t been prepared.

Not for the changes in our friendship or for the sheer number of hours that the shop ate out of my life. It felt like every waking hour was spent either thinking about Coffee & Cream or being in it. I’m sure it didn’t seem so hard to have a business twenty years ago. Di said I’d gone soft.

‘I was doing research in Poetry and in The Pause Room. I wanted to see what gifts they have,’ I lied. ‘What’s biting you on the bum? Beauty is here?’ I looked around for our dishwasher-slash-waitress-slash-shop-assistant who was always reliable and willing to work, and whose name fortunately matched her face. Nothing ugly in the shop, was my motto.

‘Beauty’s gone to the toilet and Cynthia is two hours late – she didn’t even message this time. I suspect it’s another afternoon at Coffee & Cream with no coffee,’ said Di, her eyes angry. Staff issues and shift schedules were the bane of her existence, since she had taken on the task of that admin. ‘You need to practise some more, learn to work the machine properly.’ Her staffing frustrations were directed at me.

‘Or we could fire Cynthia’s ass and hire another barista?’ I said, deflecting. I hated the coffee-making thing. ‘You not here this afternoon?’

‘Good luck – part-time baristas who are also prepared to help in the shop are not that easy to come by. And I told you at the beginning of the week that I’d be out yesterday and today. Remember? Alan and Anna are away for two nights of mid-week Valentine’s so we swopped our days. Because you were late, I’m going to be late.’ Di zipped her lips into a thin line.

‘I’m sorry, Di. I should’ve remembered,’ I said. I felt bad. Between scheduling kids and staff, her whole life was planned on a spreadsheet of where she was supposed to be and whom she was supposed to spend time with. I don’t know how she does it. I can’t imagine being single with kids and living under the eyes of your ex and his new wife on the other side of the garden. Especially an ex and his wife still in the honeymoon phase. Kill me quick. ‘I didn’t mean to have my head so far up my own ass. I got carried away looking in the shops and didn’t realise the time. I’m sorry – you go already.’

Di nodded, but it didn’t look like my apology fixed anything. I’d let her down. That’s all bases covered today.

MomFail.

WifeFail.

FriendFail.

The trifecta of MeFail.