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Authors: Rebecca Smith
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pulling out her salsa-stained chequebook with its embarrassing NatWest otters and weasels. John Vir pulled a wad of crisp twenties out of his back pocket. He had a little gilt money clip, and peeled off thirty notes.
They loaded up the van. The space between the two rows of back seats was filled with boxes and sacks, on the top was a layer of packets of crisps, all the Monster Munch and Hula Hoops and Skips and everything that his customers would want in the next week.
âLooks quite comfortable,â joked Lucy, as they put the last few twelve-packs on top.
He pictured them lying there. He had to stop himself from taking her and pushing her down on to that soft bed of packets. He was that close.
Chapter 19
John Vir unloaded her boxes from the back of the van and stacked them up in the doorway of the Bluebird.
âI can bring them inside for you,â he offered.
âNo, theyâre fine here, butâ â she realised that he had never, ever been inside the café before â âif youâd like a cup of tea â¦â then Paul appeared and began to carry the boxes inside.
âThanks,â he said. âSee you.â John Vir turned and left.
âPaul!â she said, annoyed. âI was going to ask him, he might have wanted to come in. Whatâs that?â
Somebody had shoved a note through the door.
âI thought I might have heard someone. I was upstairs. There werenât any customers, so I locked up ⦠There might have been someone knocking.â
âBut you didnât think to answer.â
âNot really.â
She unfolded the note, her face crumpled.
âCAT UNDER PLANT IN FRONT GARDENâ.
She was biting her lip. Fennel.
âWhatâs wrong?â
She handed him the note.
âStay here,â said Paul, but of course they went together. Lucy thought, âThis is my punishment,â and then hated herself for thinking about John Vir and not Fennel. There was a bulkylooking Safewayâs bag poking out from under the morning glory.
âI canât look,â thought Lucy, but of course she would have to. She had lost a cat before. She remembered the damp fur that had lost its shine, the beloved body gone stiff, paws frozen.
Paul knelt and gently parted the tangle of fronds. Blue trumpets sounded a silent blast. There was a copy of the
Next Directory
inside the bag. A CATalogue.
Lucy looked for something to order Fennel to show her how much she was loved, perhaps a navy blazer or a black jumper to lie on, some curtains to rip or an armchair to scratch.
âWhat about a pair of tights to catch her claws in?â Paul suggested.
âAn armchair or a sofa would be better. Up to £1,000 instant credit.â
âHmm.â
Chapter 20
When Lucy lay in bed, trying to get to sleep, Gilbertâs voice would ring in her ears.
âWould you like me to wipe down the tables, Lucy? Itâs no trouble â¦â and âWould you like me to fill up the salt pots, Lucy? Itâs no trouble. I could do the pepper pots too â¦â and âWould you like me to wipe down the counter for you, Lucy? Itâs no trouble.â It drove her crazy that he always used her name in such a ponderous way. She had also noticed, and it was a Southampton thing, that tables and counters were always wiped
down,
things fried
up,
or dusted
off
. In Southampton nothing was just plain
done
. Perhaps she had been here for too long.
She would lie for what seemed like hours watching light beams from passing cars sweep around the ceiling. Paul usually seemed to be asleep, or to be doing a pretty good impression of someone being asleep. Sometimes she would whisper, âPaul â Paul â are you asleep?â and sometimes when she did this he was instantly awake and would hold her. When he didnât answer she would sometimes kiss him on the shoulder blade or place one of her hands on his thigh and beam him messages of love, or
They loaded up the van. The space between the two rows of back seats was filled with boxes and sacks, on the top was a layer of packets of crisps, all the Monster Munch and Hula Hoops and Skips and everything that his customers would want in the next week.
âLooks quite comfortable,â joked Lucy, as they put the last few twelve-packs on top.
He pictured them lying there. He had to stop himself from taking her and pushing her down on to that soft bed of packets. He was that close.
Chapter 19
John Vir unloaded her boxes from the back of the van and stacked them up in the doorway of the Bluebird.
âI can bring them inside for you,â he offered.
âNo, theyâre fine here, butâ â she realised that he had never, ever been inside the café before â âif youâd like a cup of tea â¦â then Paul appeared and began to carry the boxes inside.
âThanks,â he said. âSee you.â John Vir turned and left.
âPaul!â she said, annoyed. âI was going to ask him, he might have wanted to come in. Whatâs that?â
Somebody had shoved a note through the door.
âI thought I might have heard someone. I was upstairs. There werenât any customers, so I locked up ⦠There might have been someone knocking.â
âBut you didnât think to answer.â
âNot really.â
She unfolded the note, her face crumpled.
âCAT UNDER PLANT IN FRONT GARDENâ.
She was biting her lip. Fennel.
âWhatâs wrong?â
She handed him the note.
âStay here,â said Paul, but of course they went together. Lucy thought, âThis is my punishment,â and then hated herself for thinking about John Vir and not Fennel. There was a bulkylooking Safewayâs bag poking out from under the morning glory.
âI canât look,â thought Lucy, but of course she would have to. She had lost a cat before. She remembered the damp fur that had lost its shine, the beloved body gone stiff, paws frozen.
Paul knelt and gently parted the tangle of fronds. Blue trumpets sounded a silent blast. There was a copy of the
Next Directory
inside the bag. A CATalogue.
Lucy looked for something to order Fennel to show her how much she was loved, perhaps a navy blazer or a black jumper to lie on, some curtains to rip or an armchair to scratch.
âWhat about a pair of tights to catch her claws in?â Paul suggested.
âAn armchair or a sofa would be better. Up to £1,000 instant credit.â
âHmm.â
Chapter 20
When Lucy lay in bed, trying to get to sleep, Gilbertâs voice would ring in her ears.
âWould you like me to wipe down the tables, Lucy? Itâs no trouble â¦â and âWould you like me to fill up the salt pots, Lucy? Itâs no trouble. I could do the pepper pots too â¦â and âWould you like me to wipe down the counter for you, Lucy? Itâs no trouble.â It drove her crazy that he always used her name in such a ponderous way. She had also noticed, and it was a Southampton thing, that tables and counters were always wiped
down,
things fried
up,
or dusted
off
. In Southampton nothing was just plain
done
. Perhaps she had been here for too long.
She would lie for what seemed like hours watching light beams from passing cars sweep around the ceiling. Paul usually seemed to be asleep, or to be doing a pretty good impression of someone being asleep. Sometimes she would whisper, âPaul â Paul â are you asleep?â and sometimes when she did this he was instantly awake and would hold her. When he didnât answer she would sometimes kiss him on the shoulder blade or place one of her hands on his thigh and beam him messages of love, or
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