Page 20 of The Happy Hour
‘That’s right.’ He couldn’t remember what he’d told Peggy about their coffee, how much of his feelings had spilled out. His thoughts always felt scrambled after leaving here, and last week had been no different.
‘You like her.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘I’m going to be here every Sunday for the foreseeable, so it made sense to find some kind of... connection, instead of just drifting about.’ He thought of what Jess had said about him greeting everyone at the market. It was second nature to him – talking to people, finding out the reason behind their stall, how long it had taken them to turn a passion project into a business.
‘And how was it?’ Peggy turned when there were voices down the corridor, then, as if realising they weren’t for her, gave him her full attention.
‘I like being with her,’ he admitted. ‘I was late because I’d convinced myself I shouldn’t see her, then I changed my mind and it was rushed... awkward. She wasn’t happy with me to begin with, understandably. But I don’t know if I should force her to spend time with me right now.’ He gestured to the neat waiting area.
‘You’re forcing her, are you? Snuck some handcuffs out of your pocket? Put a gun to her head? She has no agency in your meetings at all, then?’
‘You know what I mean. I haven’t told her about this.’
‘You’ve known her a week.’ Peggy’s voice was softer. ‘Life stories can come further down the line.’
‘You think it’s OK, then?’ He hadn’t expected her to condone it, and he hadn’t expected to care so much about her opinion. He’d only known her a couple of weeks longer than he’d known Jess.
‘This is a hard time for you,’ Peggy said. ‘Whatever you need to do to get you through, as long as it’s not harmful to you or anyone else, you should do it. I can’t see how a drink in the sunshine can be hurting her, even if itiswith you.’ She smiled, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. ‘Do you want a coffee now?’
‘I’d love one,’ Ash said. ‘Thanks, Peggy.’
‘All part of the service.’ She disappeared through a door, leaving him with a copy ofCountry Lifeto flick through, the bold headlines reminding him of Jess’s side gig. Could he ask her to make him a print, something related to this situation, to give him the courage that he couldn’t dredge up from anywhere?Before you can embracethe future, you have to face down your past.Or:The hardest journey starts with a single step.That one was a classic, but saying it silently to himself didn’t make him feel any better.
Peggy came back with a porcelain mug, the cappuccino froth visible above the rim. ‘I told John I had a real-life occupational psychologist coming in today,’ she said. John, Ash knew from his first visit, was Peggy’s husband.
‘Did you also tell him that I can barely sort through my own thoughts right now, let alone anyone else’s?’ His smile was wry, but he worried that he’d sounded self-pitying. And hedidfeel sorry for himself, alongside knowing that he needed to man up and get on with it. ‘Sorry, Peg.’
‘No apology needed.’ She flapped her hand dismissively. ‘John said, and I think you’ll like this, “it’s much easier to make sense of other people’s shit than your own.” That’s pretty much a universal statement, don’t you think?’
Ash laughed. ‘I do. Jess would love it, too.’
‘Would she now?’ Peggy raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you seeing her again, then?’
‘Next Sunday.’ He felt a spark of something pure and bright as he admitted it. It cut through the murkiness he’d been drowning in since stepping through the white door. ‘We’re going to have another hour together.’
‘Another hour,’ Peggy mused. ‘Must be serious, then.’
‘It feels good,’ Ash said simply.
Peggy looked at him, and the dread started to creep in. The mug felt unsafe in his sweaty grip. ‘Are you going in, then?’ she asked gently.
‘In a minute.’ His voice came out gravelly. It was the fourth week, and so far he hadn’t made it beyond reception, despite psyching himself up. Last week he’d told himself it was because of what had happened with Braden and Roger, Jess and the stolen watch. This week, he had zero excuses.
‘Take your time.’ Peggy patted his knee, then got up. ‘You have all the time in the world.’ She told him she’d be back, then walked away down the corridor.
Ash stayed seated, clutching his mug like a lifeline, the heat of the coffee spreading through the porcelain and into his hands. The problem was, they both knew that he didn’t have all the time in the world. In fact, he didn’t think he had much time at all, and every moment he sat here was another moment that slipped away, where he wasn’t facing down his past or embracing his future. He was stuck in limbo, dealing with absolutely nothing at all.
Chapter Eight
Jess spent the whole of Monday thinking about what Ash had said about people being at the heart of the market. Ash, who was an occupational psychologist, whose business it was to get inside other people’s heads. His work days consisted of looking at employees’ behaviour and trying to get the best productivity out of them while also giving them maximum job satisfaction and support (she’d looked it up, obviously). What did he think of her distrust of ornamental hares and her Jekyll-and-Hyde side project, where she enjoyed creating the mean quotes as much as the uplifting ones?
He smiled easily, laughed readily, and his eyes could, she thought idly while tidying the shop’s stock of coloured tissue paper, convey an entire essay’s worth of emotions. But there were also moments when he’d brought down the shutters, kept everything inside, his jaw tight. Already, she couldn’t wait to see him again, to find that place right in the centre, the part of Ash she didn’t think he showed to many people.
What would he think of what she was doing now? Her attempt to let go of her reservations about Lola’s music video and allow her personal and work lives to collide? She wondered if he’d think she was brave, or if he’d think she was too sensitive for even worrying about it.
The Tuesday version of the market was a lot quieter than at the weekends, and was infused with a calm that Jess usually only found in the early mornings, when she opened up the shop. The smell of fresh coffee won out over exhaust fumes, and a bell was ringing somewhere, over and over, as if it had got stuck at its tipping point.
‘I don’t recognise any of these people,’ Lola whispered as they edged up the side of the market, peering at the stallholders.
