Page 112 of The Happy Hour
Wendy came out of the shop ten minutes later, staring at them with a mix of feigned irritation and barely disguised glee.
‘You’re scaring the customers away,’ she said. ‘Nobody is going to come into the shop while you’re re-enacting a Richard Curtis finale on the doorstep.’
They pulled apart, but Ash kept his arms around her waist.
‘Sorry, Wendy,’ he said, not sounding sorry at all.
‘Ash is great at film re-enactments.’ Jess grinned. ‘Hasn’t he told you?’
Ash coughed out a laugh.
‘I’m very glad to have you back,’ Wendy said. ‘But just to manage my expectations, are you planning on kissing out here for the rest of the day, and taking up all my best colleague’s time?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ash said, turning to Jess. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you could help me in the shop for a bit, then, when you get bored, spend some time wandering around the market, catching up with everyone, and then we could go to mine when I finish at four thirty?’
‘I can see that working so well,’ Wendy said dryly, but she stood back to let them both into the shop ahead of her. Jess retrieved the coffee carrier from the floor. ‘I’m not paying you though, Ash.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Ash said.
Wendy straightened an hourglass on a shelf and narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m going to keep a close eye on you, and you’re not allowed to be in here alone together. Any coffee runs – that’s down to one of you.’
‘Understood,’ Jess said.
‘Yes, boss.’ Ash squeezed Jess’s hand. ‘Shall I go and get us some lunch?’
‘Wonderful idea,’ Wendy said. ‘Something carb- and fat-laden for me, please.’
He gave her a quick salute, kissed Jess on the cheek and left.
When he’d gone, she gazed out at the market, the stalls full of brightly coloured, enticing objects: hats and bracelets and art prints and trinkets that you didn’t even know existed until you turned up here, and then, after a few minutes with a stallholder, a slick demonstration given or impassioned story woven, you realised you couldn’t live without.
‘He couldn’t give up your hour, then?’ Wendy said lightly.
‘Apparently not.’ Jess turned to her boss. ‘Maybe there were still some of Olga’s hats he hadn’t tried on.’
Wendy laughed. ‘I think he’s picked his favourite thing in this market, and it isn’t one of Olga’s hats.’ She tapped the counter and strode into the storeroom. The radio filled thespace with an upbeat pop song.
Jess stayed by the window, looking out at the stalls and the customers, waiting for Ash to come back with their lunch. She was counting down the minutes to four thirty, when they could escape together and go back to her flat, start making up for all the time they’d lost. It wasn’t just one, happy hour she had to look forward to with him: she had him for good, and she wasn’t going to take a single second for granted.
Epilogue
What about someone who remembers the name of everyone they ever met?
Nobody can do that. That’s genuine superpower territory, nothing subtle about it.
A person that can stop a toddler screaming just by smiling at them?
That’s a good one, but is it actually possible?
Just watched it happen, right now, on the boat.
But how do you know that person does it every time? Hang on – you’re still on the boat?
There was a delay at Canary Wharf. Five more minutes to Greenwich, then I’ll run, promise. I love you. x
I love you too. See you soon. xxxx
