Page 62 of The Happy Hour
‘I didn’t think she’d get rid of anything. You were wonderful.’
He shrugged. ‘I had a few techniques I could call on. And she loves you, Jess. She looks up to you.’
‘Are you OK?’ She laced her fingers through his. ‘You know that I’m here, that I’ll help if I can.’
‘Thank you.’ He swallowed. ‘But nobody can help with this. And what we have, what we’re doing – that’s what matters. Getting to spend Sunday mornings with you.’
Jess wanted him to open up to her, wanted to force him to talk about it, but they were always running out of time. ‘Two hours next week?’ she said instead.
‘It’s a risk,’ he replied, mock-solemn. ‘Mack might turn on me, but I’ll try and work something out, OK?’
‘OK.’ She wanted more time with him. She would need to use his own tactics, coax the truth out of him slowly, just like he was doing with Felicity. ‘You’ll let me know when you can come?’
‘Of course. I need to head off in this direction, so...’
‘Sure. Bye, then.’
‘Bye, Jess.’ He cupped her cheek and pressed his lips against hers, and she couldn’t help thinking that it felt a little desperate, that there was something raw and untethered about his kiss. She was drunk on the feel of him, reluctant to let go, his hand warm and firm against her jaw.
They broke apart and he turned and walked away. Jess watched him until he was out of sight.
As she returned to the market, her rhythmic footsteps seemed to tap out a phrase:He’s. Mine. He’s. Mine.It was as if all of his smiles, his deep laugh, turning up in the doorway of No Vase Like Home with coffee every Sunday, and even – perhaps especially – that moment in Felicity’s garden, where he’d clung to her like she was his life raft, every one was a new link in a chain, and those links had banded together, tyingthemtogether in a way that was impossible to break. As she reached the alley where they’d kissed like teenagers the weekend before and the heavens opened properly, she realised that, whatever they had together, whatever these hours turned into, she wouldn’t be able to let Ash go, even if she wanted to.
Chapter Twenty-One
He almost didn’t go. He almost walked down to the jetty beyond theCutty Sark, got on the boat and went home. He wanted to go back to the market and find Jess, but then he’d have to give her an explanation that went beyond burrowing into her like she was his security blanket, and muttering a lame excuse about it not being relevant to what they had.
It wasn’t Felicity and the terrible state she’d got herself into – though of course it wasn’t easy to see someone so broken. He actually felt like he’d helped a little, that he’d shown her it was OK to work through it slowly, that she could get there, however long it took. That was the key with so much of what he did: being careful, letting them find the answer or come to a realisation in their own time. He was the trail of spotlights that lit up a pathway in the dark, switching on whenever someone approached, guiding them to the end. But they needed to do the walking, travel down that path, themselves.
No, what had got to him, threatened to undo all his careful composure, was what Felicity had said about her husband. She could have been talking about Nico Lombardo, not her ex.
It made him wonder howhewas broken, because if hoarding was her way of coping, then what was his? Was it working too hard, spending too much time alone in his flat? Was his inability to find any empathy for his dad, even though he was dying, proof that he was fucked up? He’d told himself that seeing Jess, finding that connection with her, was healthy; a sign that, now his dad was here and he’d committed to seeing him, he was working through things, healing himself. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
He stopped at the end of the path, staring at the white door and the brass plaque that readCherry BlossomLodge. It conjured up a memory of the bench in the park, Jess and him laughing about Diamanté the demon dog, which he supposed was the point: it sounded more hopeful than the reality you got once you stepped over the threshold.
He cared too much about Jess. He had, less than half an hour before, clung onto her in sheer desperation. He wasn’t sure that the amount of time he spent thinking about her, the overwhelming way her touch and her words affected him, was that healthy, after all.
‘Hey, you.’ Peggy was standing in the open doorway, staring at him. ‘You look like hell, and I don’t know if it’s just because you’re drowned. I should take pity and come out there, but it’s pissing it down, so you’ll have to come to me.’
Ash felt the tightness in his neck loosen a fraction. He hadn’t even noticed how hard it was raining. He walked up the path, trying to conjure up some courage.
‘Difficult day with Jess?’ Peggy hurried to the desk and returned with a towel so he could dry his face and hair.
‘We’ve been helping one of her friends.’ He kept it vague because Peggy lived in Greenwich, and he wasn’t sure if the rest of the area was as tight-knit as the market. ‘She’s struggling right now, so Jess and I are supporting her. So it was... But I mean, it’s never hard seeing Jess.’
Peggy frowned. ‘Are you sure you should be adding that to your day? Not being with Jess, but whatever is going on with her friend.’
He sat heavily in a chair. ‘I can help, though.’
‘You need to help yourself right now.’
He let himself remember Jess stroking his hair, how he’d felt ridiculous – like one of Felicity’s cats – and also unbelievably calmed. ‘I am getting help,’ he said. ‘Being with Jess helps.’
Peggy looked unsure, but – unusually for her – she didn’t push him. ‘Now, I have some Jammie Dodgers, or we’ve got piccalilli and Nutella on sourdough. What do you fancy?’ She tapped her chin thoughtfully and Ash laughed.
‘Peggy, you’re one of the most delightful people I’ve ever met, but you are also a monster.’
‘I like to show my dark side occasionally,’ she said. ‘Keep things edgy.’
