Page 6 of A Wish For Jo
Jo set about fixing his coffee and Harvey tried to recall when he'd last eaten. Last night: a round of toast with the mould trimmed off, smeared with the remnants of a jar of meat paste.
'A cheese and onion bake, please.'
Jo nodded, removing one from the heated display and popping it on to a plate. 'Take a seat and I'll bring these over.'
Harvey sat down at the table he'd occupied before. The only other customers were an elderly couple sharing a pot of tea and scones with jam and cream. They glanced over, raising their teacups in a welcoming gesture.
'Here you go.' Jo placed his food and drink in front of him, frowning at a dusting of sugar her assistant had failed to wipe away. 'Let me fetch a cloth.’
'It's fine.' Harvey swiped the offending granules into a paper napkin and handed it over.
'So, at the risk of sounding nosy, what brings you to Cranley?' Jo's tone was light, her hazel eyes curious, but not in a probing, spill-the-beans way.
'I needed a change of scenery,' replied Harvey. He broke off a corner of the pastry and popped it into his mouth. It was a big step up from mouldy bread and meat paste that resembled bathroom grouting.
'OK. Well, we're a friendly bunch, so just shout if you need anything.' Jo returned to the counter, leaving Harvey to sip his coffee and contemplate his lack of friends. He doubted anyone here would welcome him with open arms if they knew the truth. Or at least, the version that clung to him like a shroud…
CHAPTER7
Three wishes.Jo lay back in the bath, the scent of lime and coconut permeating the air. Aaliyah was downstairs playing Candy Crush on Jo's phone, and a half hour's soak in the tub was a much-needed escape from her badgering.
'I've been here, like, two weeks and you haven't come up with a single wish!' Aaliyah's squawk was accompanied by a look of disbelief.Squawk is about right, thought Jo. Aaliyah reminded her of an exotic bird, released from its cage and determined to make its presence felt.
How do you decide what to wish for?Jo envied people who reeled off lists as readily as Jo rolled out puff pastry. Top ten movies? Top ten books? Jo's mind drew a blank every time. She loved movies, books and TV shows, but coming up with more than one or two favourites was beyond her.
Adjusting the inflatable pillow under her neck, Jo wondered how Jinnie had chosen her wishes. Had they randomly popped into her head, or been steered by her genie, Dhassim? Aaliyah didn't appear inclined to make any suggestions, though. She simply huffed and twiddled with her WIFI, when she wasn't raiding Jo's dressing table or bathroom cabinet.
Closing her eyes, and applying a masque that promised to soothe, lift and smooth out wrinkles, Jo crinkled her brow. That would do little to aid the anti-wrinkle treatment, but hey, she'd earned every single one. Badges of honour. Lines of duty. Wait, that was the name of a favourite TV show, wasn't it?
‘Jo! Jo!' Aaliyah's strident tone pierced Jo's ears, making her wish (here we go again) that she'd inserted earplugs as well as the bath plug.
Jo squealed as the door opened and Aaliyah marched in. 'Haven't you heard of knocking?' She wrapped her arms around her upper half, grateful for the bubbles affording her a semblance of decency. 'You can't just barge in!'
'Calm your jets, pet. You've got all the same bits as me, just bigger.'
Feeling her breasts, a generous 38D, through the soapy water, Jo agreed that she was more generously endowed in that respect. However, she suspected her genie sidekick meant other parts of her anatomy. She'd be lucky to squeeze one leg into the skin tight jeans Aaliyah had picked out from Alison Gale's boutique.
Aaliyah had first appeared sporting a sequinned crop top and turquoise harem pants which screamed ‘genie', but didn't exactly lend themselves to the sleepy streets of Cranley. Admittedly, some young women dressed in scanty outfits regardless of the temperature. Jo had seen them in The Jekyll and Hyde pub, with more flesh on display than a butcher's window. Luckily, Aaliyah fitted into some of Jo's more youthful tops, and Jo had ordered her a bunch of cheap undies and other bits from H&M.
'What do you want?' Jo frowned at the intruder, her feelings of zen-like calm evaporating as quickly as the bubbles. She grabbed the loofah and positioned it across her chest.
'I'm bored.' Aaliyah's expression reminded Jo of a toddler in need of a nap, and she prayed she wouldn't be subjected to a full-blown tantrum. 'There's nowt to do here, and you're no fun. All you do is work in a boring café and take stupid baths, and watch boring programmes about stupid cakes.’
Jo flinched. Yes, she loved the showAll Rise,and had often dreamt of taking part. She’d applied during every year of its five-year run, but been rejected over and over again. Was she really so boring, or simply not camera-friendly? But most of the contestants were just ordinary folk united by a passion for baking. Last year's winner had been a seventeen-year-old boy from Dorset, who'd reduced the nation to tears with his story of being bullied. Baking amazing cakes meant nothing when your peers judged you by your prowess on the football pitch or your ability to chat up girls.
'I'm sorry I'm so boring, Aaliyah, but there's plenty to do around here. As you’re a non-paying house guest, you could do some cleaning or tackle the ironing pile.'
Aaliyah raised a groomed eyebrow. 'I said I was bored, which means I want to do something interesting. That doesn't include scraping muck off your manky windows or using that horrible steamy thing to flatten clothes. It's bad enough that I have to work in the café and get all that yucky dough under me fingernails.'
Shooing Aaliyah out of the bathroom, Jo wrapped herself in a fluffy towel from the heated rail and perched on the edge of the bath. The water gurgled down the plughole, echoing Jo's sense of despondency.
She massaged the remnants of the masque into her skin, using a damp flannel to remove the residue. She peered in the mirror — her eyesight seemed to deteriorate daily, which at least meant lines were less visible — and added a song to her list of favourites. 'Blurred Lines' always got her bopping around the kitchen, even if the video made her cringe. Actually, the lyrics made her cringe, but she loved the tune. Did you have to analyse everything to the nth degree these days? Many songs from the past wouldn't stand up to present-day political correctness, but that didn't make them less enjoyable.
How can I stop Aaliyah's incessant moaning?Probably the only way was to come up with the first wish. Jo gazed at her feet, mottled pink and in need of a pedicure. Lots of bits of her could do with some TLC, but who cared? Certainly not her loyal customers, whose main concern was the lightness of her pastry or the gooeyness of her cakes. Jo's beauty routine consisted of a scrub with a flannel, a dab of tinted moisturiser and a quick lick of mascara. Unlike Aaliyah, who layered on make-up with expert ease, all of it purloined from Jo’s meagre collection.
Jo grabbed a tube of body lotion and massaged some into her neglected tootsies. She'd never had a professional massage or any kind of beauty treatment in her life. Should she wish for an escape to some exotic location where she could be plucked, waxed, buffed and polished, all against a backdrop of shimmering sand and glittering ocean, with delicious cocktails and hot servers on tap?
Jo sighed, pulled on her bathrobe and went into the bedroom. There was no sign of Aaliyah, thankfully. No doubt she was holed up in her bedroom — Jo's spare room, which had previously doubled up as an office — listening to music on the ancient iPod Jo had unearthed from a drawer. She dismissed the idea of wishing for a decadent holiday. She had no desire to venture further than her native Scotland, and anyway, she had enough money to pay her own way if she changed her mind.
