Page 19 of The Happy Hour
‘OK.’ Jess took a breath. ‘Bye, then.’
‘Bye, Jess.’ He strode away from her.
‘Midday next week?’ she called, needing to cement it in place.
Ash turned around. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and the lightness in his eyes had gone, as if he’d pulled down a shutter. But his smile, when it came, filled her up.
‘We can get to know each other an hour at a time,’ he called back.
‘Works for me.’
She watched him walk away, then made her own way out of the park, her pace slower. She admitted to herself how glad she was that he’d turned up; that he’d decided she was worth his time. Being with him made her feel giddy, but it also left her with the heavy weight of satisfaction, like a flower, laden with petals, blossoming inside her.
They may only have had an hour together, but it was one of the best things she’d done all week.
Chapter Seven
As he left the bustling cheerfulness of the park behind, bypassing the centre of Greenwich with its beeping horns and narrow pavements in favour of the leafier, quieter streets, Ash didn’t know what to think. Had it been a good idea, meeting up with Jess? Had his original instinct, to miss their coffee date altogether, been the right one?
If he’d been rating his own performance at being an approachable, warm human being, then he would have given himself six out of ten, and that was only because he had a tendency to be generous. What idiot put their hands over the eyes of a woman they’d only met the week before and asked them to recall every aspect of the view? He was lucky she hadn’t walked away, or threatened to put her ex-policeman friend Roger on to him.
It wasn’t fair of him. He’d known that last week when he’d approached her, leaving Roger to take charge of the young guy who’d stolen the watch. He should have just left, not let himself be pulled into her orbit. She’d looked so strong and open, though, and beautiful, with those clear, dark eyes and wavy brown hair to match, and the thought of leaving right then and going where he needed to – with adrenaline still in his veins from chasing the thief, mingling with shame at the way he’d frozen – felt impossible.
So instead he’d gone up to her, spoken to her, found himself laughing, feeling lighter than he had done in a long while. Then she’d surprised him by agreeing to go for coffee, and after they’d sat opposite each other at that intimate table, andshe’d laughed at his pigeon story, which had been almost worth the abject humiliation for the way it had broken through any awkwardness between them, the idea that he could spend more time with her had been too much to resist. They’d hatched another plan –he’dsuggested it, even though he couldn’t be the best company right now.
He stepped off the pavement, looking up and then swiftly moving back when a taxi rounded the corner, golden light glowing, offering him an exit. But he couldn’t: he had made promises. He was already an hour late; he couldn’t bail altogether. So he crossed the road and walked up the hill, uneven paving stones beneath his feet, a row of tall trees in full spring foliage shielding the park from view.
His palms felt dusty from the muffin, and beneath that was the usual prickle of sweat he got every time he came here, no matter how much he rationalised with himself.
The white door was unassuming, a brass plaque announcing its name on the brick wall next to the frame, which was surrounded by a climbing rose that, Peggy had told him last week, was due to flower any day. The thought of her small talk and her humour, her way of making everything seem less monumental, was the one thing that made him feel calmer.
He didn’t need to knock, so he just pushed open the door and walked into the airy reception space, with its curved white desk and a slight smell of antiseptic in the air.
He was told to take a seat, that Peggy would be along any moment, so he sat on one of the white leather benches. The magazines splayed out on the glass coffee table were the current editions which, more than anything else, told him this place was expensive; that it had the funds to keep its distractions up-to-date.
He took out his phone, expecting a notification, some indication that he hadn’t invented the last hour. There was a message, but it wasn’t from Jess – they hadn’t even exchanged numbers. It was from Mack, his neighbour:
Supplement missing in today’s paper. That newsagent is getting sloppy. M.
Ash rolled his eyes. He mostly got on with the older man and didn’t begrudge their Sunday mornings, although, if he dropped off the paper and didn’t stay for coffee, he could be with Jess earlier next week – earlier even than midday. Would she be able to get away for longer? What had started as a favour for the man who lived opposite him had become something of a burden, and wasn’t that the story of his life at the moment?
‘Ash Faulkner, as I live and breathe.’
Ash looked up, his smile automatic.
Peggy was, he thought, around the same age as him – late twenties or early thirties – with reddish-gold hair held back in a ponytail, blue eyes, and the air of someone who was born to look after other people. It didn’t say Peggy on her name badge, but that’s how she’d introduced herself, and how he thought of her. The first time they’d met he’d found her concern stifling, but at week four it was a comfort to know that she’d be here, a gatekeeper between him and what he had to face.
‘Peggy.’ He shoved his phone in his pocket. ‘How are you?’
‘Can’t complain with this weather.’ She pulled a stool across and sat opposite him. ‘I’m glad you’re here. After you called earlier, I thought “late” meant you weren’t coming at all.’
He rubbed his jaw. ‘It was tempting, but I... I had something to do. Before this. Thanks for letting me come now.’
She nodded. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah, it’s good.’
‘You were seeing Jess again. The woman from last week?’
