Page 42 of A Wish for Jinnie
They sat together, Jo stroking Ken’s hand in gentle, circular motions. He didn’t stop her, and minutes ticked away with only the chatter of the excitable DJ piercing the silence. Finally Jo got up and switched on the kettle.
‘I won’t stay,’ said Ken. ‘It’s been lovely, as always, Jo, but I almost crossed a line tonight. And I’m sorry.’
Jo lobbed a tea bag into a mug. She kept her back to Ken, afraid he’d see the disappointment in her eyes. But she’d done the right thing. They’d teetered on the brink, yet managed to avoid a mistake they’d always regret.
‘You don’t have to go,’ she replied. ‘And you don’t have to apologise. Nothing happened. Everything’s fine.’ Although it would be best if Ken did go, and left her to deal with her inner turmoil.
Seeing him to the door, Jo kept her arms by her sides. ‘Don’t be a stranger!’ she trilled lightly.
In response, Ken raised her right hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘There’s no chance of that. Not having you in my life isn’t an option. As long as you want me around, that is.’
Jo promised that she’d see him soon, but that it was better to meet on the neutral ground of the café. Ken agreed, and he headed for home.
Sitting with her tea, Jo choked back a sob as Donna Summer’s ‘Love’s Unkind’ filled the room.Yes, it really, really was.
Chapter 39
‘Gran,you’ve got your finger over the camera … Right, now you’ve flipped it so I can only see the living room… OK, I think you’ve muted me…’ Cue mime to indicate problem with sound — ‘Ah, that’s better.’
For a woman so well-versed in social media, Wilma struggled with conducting a face-to-face conversation on her mobile phone. Jinnie had called her before she headed into work on Friday, knowing that her gran was an early to bed, early to rise creature.
‘Ach, I’m absolutely fine,’ Wilma huffed when Jinnie asked how she was feeling. ‘Couldnae be doing with any more nagging, so I went to see the doctor. Not Dr Ritchie, he retired last year. Shame, I used to enjoy sharing a wee snout with him back when there was none of that politically correct crap.’
The good old days — in Wilma’s eyes, anyway. Filling the consulting room with acrid plumes of smoke, doctor and patient puffing away in blissful harmony.
‘So this wee slip of a girl — only looked about twenty — gave me the old lecture about lookin’ after myself and said my blood pressure was too high. Aye, it would be when you’re telt to stick to one glass of wine a night and knock the fags on the head!’
Now on a week-long course of antibiotics to clear her chest, and armed with enough nicotine patches and gum to fill an entire shelf of Boots, Wilma was not a happy camper. But still a devious one. ‘Mind you, she didnae say what size glass, so I bought myself an extra-large one. And the odd wee roll-up won’t kill me.’
It probably won’t, thought Jinnie. She pictured Wilma receiving her one-hundredth-birthday telegram from the Queen, tweeting about it to her ardent followers, and posting selfies with a ciggie in one hand and a drink in the other.
‘When are you going to come and see me?’ asked Wilma. ‘It’s been a while since I last read your leaves. What was it last time?’
A wish coming true. Almost six weeks had passed since that reading. The next day Dhassim had come into her life and wisheshadcome true. Now Jinnie had the chance to make a real difference to someone’s life. Dhassim, however, had taken some persuading.
* * *
‘Hmm.I am not sure, Jinnie. It is a noble thought, but my WIFI is — how do you say? — on the blink again.’ Sure enough, said device now emitted only feeble flashes and pitiful whining sounds. If it conked out completely, would that be the end of the whole genie/wish thing?
Jinnie’s brainwave about Angela and her financial plight depended on Dhassim stepping up to the plate. That, and his bloody useless piece of kit doing what it was supposed to do.
‘I thought if Angela could win some money with a scratch card or something, that would solve her problems,’ she said. ‘Well, some of them, at least.’ A small windfall would help Jinnie too, but she didn’t want to wish for that. She was getting by, whereas Angela was sinking fast.
‘I’m not talking millions,’ she continued, as Dhassim squirted more WD40 and frowned. ‘Maybe 20K or so.’
‘I do not know what thisscratch cardis, or the 20K to which you refer.’ Dhassim gave his WIFI a vigorous shake, and it mewed like an abandoned kitten.
It was a quarter to nine, and Jinnie had the shop to open. She’d barely seen Sam since Monday, and she wasn’t working at the pub again until tomorrow evening. Was Sam avoiding her? He’d been out and about most of Wednesday, and had been extremely secretive about his whereabouts today. ‘Just stuff to deal with,’ he’d said, after taking a phone call. Whoever it was, Sam hadn’t wanted Jinnie to hear. He’d gone into the back room and closed the door firmly.
‘I have to go,’ Jinnie said, checking her keys were in her bag. ‘Be a good genie and get your WIFI working. I should be home by five at latest.’
Three hours and two customers later, Jinnie was bored out of her skull. She’d rejigged some displays, priced a box of items Sam had left out, and played several rounds of Candy Crush on her phone. She’d also called Hannah, and endured twenty minutes of squealing as her best friend described the ‘total hottie’ she’d met on the tram.
‘Honest, Jinnie, he’s like the double of that M & S model guy. You know the one; mean and moody and fills out underpants better than Beckham. Not that I’veseenSimon in his underpants, but give a girl some time!’
Jinnie hadn’t seen any man in a state of undress for some time. Well, apart from Dhassim stripped to the waist in his harem pants, and Archie sloping around their parents’ house in saggy Y-fronts looking for clean clothes. She doubted she would any time soon. Maybe she should ogle a few shots on the M & S website —
‘Been fighting them off with a stick again?’
