Page 70 of Never Tell Secrets
“How many would you like?” she asked.
“How many can you make?”
A lot. That was how many pancakes Ada could make.
I slumped in my chair, looking at my carb stuffed stomach. “It’s been a long time since I ate like that. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. And the rest?” She nodded at the warm oven where four pancakes I couldn’t finish sat waiting.
“Do you have a tray and a cloche to keep them warm?” She nodded and set about making up a tray for me, complete with a tiny jug of syrup. I stood, taking the tray. “Alfie’s in his office?”
“I presume so.” She eyed the tray and then me. “You’re a sweet girl, Lola. I hope that you two can be happy, one way or another.”
We said our good nights and I went off in search of Alfie. Once again, I only managed to get lost once before I found his office, the faint clicking of computer keys giving his presence away.
I tried lifting the tray onto one arm so I could knock but it was way too heavy. I hovered for a moment before resorting to plan B. I gave the door three hard kicks, loud enough to break him out of work mode. The door swung open and his look of rage turned to one of shock.
“Did you just kick my door?”
“My hands were full. I brought you pancakes.” I walked in, setting them down on his desk. “Eat.”
“Lola, I have work to finish.”
I folded my arms. “Humour me.”
After a moment, he gave in, returning to sit at his desk. “Sit with me?”
I nodded, sliding onto a corner of the desk as he dug in. He closed his eyes as the syrup hit his tongue. “It’s good right? Ada makes awesome pancakes.”
“That she does. She used to make these for me when I was a child.” We sat in silence as he ate. He lifted the fork with the air of a man exhausted but starving. It was painful to watch.
“You’re going to kill yourself working like this.”
“It’s no more than my father worked,” he said, lifting another forkful to his mouth.
“And what caused his heart attack?”
“A genetic heart condition,” he answered and I arched an eyebrow, waiting, “exacerbated by stress and exhaustion.”Yeah, that’s what I thought.
“You can’t share this load with anyone?”
“No, I can’t.”
“You mean, you won’t.”
“Lola, you know why I do this.”
“Yeah, to punish yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. How long are you going to keep that up for?” I knew he wasn’t going to answer me, which made me wonder why I’d bothered asking the question. I sighed, guilt hitting me for giving him more stress when he was already overloaded with it, but dammit, he’d done this to himself. “Whatever, it’s none of my business anyway.”
“It could be, if you wanted it to be.” No, it couldn’t. Despite how much I wanted him, how much he seemed to have changed, it seemed impossible that I could move past what he’d done to me and be with him again. It seemed impossible too that I could ever be a part of his life when so much of it was a life I didn’t want. I didn’t want to watch him work himself to death.
“What was tonight about, Alfie? The romantic live orchestra. I get you taking me to the club, you needed me to help you with your ghosts, you wanted to let me in, maybe you thought all that rampant sex might put me in the mood and we couldreconnect. But what was tonight? I don’t get it.”
“It was just a date,” he shrugged, pushing the final forkful of pancake into his mouth and moving the plate to the side, “like normal people do.”
“You aren’t normal.”
“I’m trying to be.”Trying. He was trying too hard. Couldn’t he see that wasn’t what I wanted?
