Page 20 of A Wish for Jinnie
I don’t see why you can’t come. Surely work can wait? You’re turning into a grumpy old git C?
Ed had used his time at home as an excuse, saying he had to catch up with stuff. It wasn’t strictly true, but a night with that lot would involve a fair amount of booze and other substances. He steered clear of the latter, but sinking a good few drinks was the only way to cope with their inane wittering.
The ‘grumpy old git’ comment made Ed smile; it reminded him of Jinnie talking about her first impressions of Ken. She’d been embarrassed at how wrong she was, and Ed enjoyed their easy banter behind the bar. He was still baffled by her cocktail-making prowess — surely no one could learnthatquickly? — but he was glad she was working there.
And he’d definitely see her when he returned for the holidays. Ed had booked off the whole festive period from work. He knew it was time for a change, but wasn’t sure what direction to take. Perhaps be his own boss, and find a partner who was more in tune with his needs. Whatevertheywere. Cheryl was like a primary-school band, all discords and skinned knees. He wanted something calmer, more soothing to the soul. Soaring violins. Gently-twanging harps. Tinkling bells.
Jinnie. Or was he reading too much into things?
* * *
As an olive branch,Ed had agreed to meet Cheryl for a quick coffee. He spotted her straightaway, sitting by the café window glued to her phone. He also clocked another male customer giving her the once-over. That wasn’t surprising. Cheryl, with her striking scarlet hair and porcelain complexion, stood out in a crowd. Very easy on the eye, but much harder on the ear.
‘Did you miss me?’ she cooed, leaning in for a kiss. Ed responded, noting that her admirer looked distinctly put out.
‘I’m still not sure I should forgive you for bailing,’ she murmured. ‘All work and no play makes Ed a very dull boy.’
Fetching them both cappuccinos, he sat and listened as Cheryl grumbled about Tony at work. She’d been reprimanded again for being late, and as a punishment — in her opinion — been assigned council meeting duty. ‘I’ll need bloody matchsticks to prop my eyes open,’ she whinged. ‘Boring doesn’t begin to cover it. All they do is drone on about budgets and cost-cutting and where the funding’s coming from for the latest community project. That little weasel Eric ought to do it, but he’s such a total arse-licker…’
On and on she ranted. Ed nodded at appropriate moments, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Staring at Cheryl’s constantly moving mouth, her face blurred and her features became those of Jinnie. Loose dark curls and lightly tanned skin, with hazel eyes that sparkled when she laughed. And that smattering of freckles across her nose…
‘Ed. Ed! Are you listening?’ Cheryl snapped her fingers in front of him, and Ed jolted back to the present. ‘Honestly, you abandon me all week, refuse to come to a party with me, then act as if I’m not even here.’ She folded her arms defensively, tossing her hair for good measure.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ mumbled Ed. ‘There’s just a lot on my mind with Mum, and work’s piled up over the past few days. I’ll make it up to you soon, promise.’ Now wasn’t the time to mention he’d be away over ChristmasandNew Year.
When Cheryl finally paused for breath, he gave her a quick update on Mags and pub life in general. He didn’t mention Jinnie, convincing himself it was only because he barely knew her. Which was true, but that didn’t explain why she kept occupying his thoughts.
‘Right, I’d best be off,’ announced Cheryl, draining her cup. ‘I promised Cal we’d do a supermarket run for booze and snacks, and we need to use my car because his failed its MOT.’ They kissed again, and Cheryl pulled him close. ‘I’ll try to behave, but don’t blame me if some hot bloke melts my defences,’ she whispered. ‘While the cat’s away, and all that.’ Off she skipped, leaving Ed with a half-empty cup and the feeling that maybe that wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.
Back at his flat, Ed cranked up all the radiators and put on an extra jumper. It was already mid-December, and the temperature had dropped dramatically. He made himself cheese on toast with a liberal splosh of Worcester sauce, and settled down at his desktop for a few hours’ work. His latest assignment was a series of brochures for an upmarket hotel chain, featuring everything from luxurious suites to in-house spa facilities. He scanned through a file of photos: opulent rooms with swathed four-poster beds; candlelit table settings with ice buckets and arty floral arrangements; impossibly beautiful people wearing fluffy white robes and satin eye masks, reclining on chaise longues.
An oozing wodge of cheese landed on the keyboard, and Ed cursed. Fetching some kitchen roll, he cleaned up the mess and closed the file. His heart wasn’t in it. And his head was most definitely somewhere else.
Chapter 23
‘Come in, come in,’urged Jo, desperate to shut the door before another Baltic blast penetrated the house. It had been snowing on and off for most of the day, although the long-term forecast said it would turn milder. A white Christmas looked unlikely.
‘Thanks, Jo.’ Ken shrugged off his heavy overcoat and scarf, hanging them on one of the pegs in the hallway. ‘Jeez, it’s bitter out there; the pavements are getting treacherous. I reckon it’ll be a quiet night at the pub. Folks will want to keep warm indoors.’
‘I doubt it,’ she replied, gesturing towards the kitchen. ‘The old diehards will be digging out their skis. A wee flurry or two won’t deter them from their pints and chasers.’
The kitchen was toasty warm, the radiator blasting out heat and Jo’s prized Aga adding to the feeling of cosiness. The table was set for two. Nothing fancy, just cutlery and paper napkins, as she’d decided lighting candles would be a step too far. A rich beef stew with dumplings was simmering away, and a bottle of red sat uncorked and breathing on the counter.
‘Smells incredible.’ Ken sniffed the air appreciatively, still rubbing his hands to counter the cold. ‘I’m glad I only had a cheese sandwich for lunch.’
He had messaged Jo that morning. She’d read the text immediately, convinced it would be a polite rejection. What had she been thinking, inviting a happily married man round for supper?
Probably too short notice, but I could be free this evening. Mags is out with a couple of friends, and Rose and Jamie are on duty. No worries if you’re busy. Ken
Jo’s fingers had hovered over the phone, torn betweenThat’s great! Drop by around 7andSorry, plans tonight, maybe another time.The former had won, but only because she’d given herself a stern talking-to. They were friends, double-underlined and typed in bold. Ken was having a really tough time, and in all the time she’d known him, he wasn’t one to confide in others. Apart from herself, and maybe Sam. He might not wear his heart on his sleeve, but Jo was perceptive enough to know that heart was battered and bruised.
‘So who is Mags out with?’ As far as Jo was aware, Mags and Ken were a tight-knit unit. Even before her diagnosis Mags had seemed to spend virtually all of her time in the pub, apart from the odd night out with Ken (and Ed). Then again, she might have a group of friends Jo knew nothing about. Perhaps she was in a book club, or they just liked to meet up for a drink or a bite to eat every now and again. Jo felt she was in no position to pass judgement on someone’s social circle. Or lack of one.
‘Lindsey and Ruth. They’re the wives of a couple of locals, both quite new to the area,’ said Ken, accepting a glass of red. ‘They’ve been really kind since — you know, and they’re good with Mags. Other friends going back years have found it harder to cope. Some have drifted away, always making excuses why they can’t visit. It’s almost as if they think Mags might be contagious.’
Jo put the plates in to warm, and produced a platter of deli meats, olives and cheeses to nibble on. ‘That’s awful, but people are strange when it comes to illness. It’s like folk who say they can’t stand visiting someone in hospital because they find the smell and the atmosphere upsetting. As if anyoneenjoysbeing in hospital!’ Jo speared an olive with vigour, indignant that Mags's so-called friends could be so thoughtless.
‘It is what it is.’ Ken sighed. ‘I told you before, I’m struggling to cope myself at times. I just want my Mags back, but I know that’s never going to happen. Sorry, I bet you’re wishing you’d invited someone more upbeat to eat with you.’
