Page 36 of The Happy Hour
She almost bumped into a woman carrying a potted plant, apologised and stepped out of her way, then nearly walked straight into a lamppost.
‘Fuck,’ she muttered.
Today had not gone as she had expected, and now her mind felt almost as cluttered as Felicity’s hallway. She inhaled the welcome scents of the market’s food stalls, and realised that she had yet another thing to add to her to-do list. Her urge to run away and live by herself was even stronger than usual, but today had been a harsh reminder that that wasn’t always the solution. People were complicated, always demandingsomething,but – in some cases at least – being alone, relying on nobody but yourself, refusing to let other people in, could have some alarming repercussions.
Chapter Thirteen
You must come across some sights, as a postman,’ Jess said, the moment Terence walked through the door. She was making what could loosely be described as a stir-fry in the flat’s tiny kitchen. It was so easy to buy food from the market on her way home, but she would never have a hope of moving to her own place one day if she spent her entire salary on gyozas and stone-baked pizzas.
‘You must come across some things, working in one of London’s tourist hotspots,’ Terence parried, dumping his rucksack on a chair. ‘Celebrities. Buskers. Weirdos.’ He shuddered.
‘Everyone’s weird.’ Jess stirred her onion, mushroom and red pepper round the frying pan, and hoped the addition of diced chicken breast would make it more appealing. That was another thing about the market – it threw her cooking inadequacies into a stark light. ‘You can’t call people weirdos.’
‘Some are weirder than others.’ Terence took a beer out of the fridge. ‘Want one?’
‘They’re yours.’
‘Which is why I’mofferingyou one. You don’t have to accept.’
‘No – I’d love one, thank you.’
Terence opened the bottles with the shark-fin opener that lived on the fridge, and handed her one. She took it and they clinked, then both took a long sip. The bubbles danced in Jess’s mouth, cool and refreshing.
When she’d made it back to No Vase Like Home after the shock of seeing Felicity’s house, Wendy had already had her bag over her shoulder, waiting for Jess to return so she could keep an appointment with a local company who made unusual ceramic bowls. There hadn’t even been time for Jess to give her the highlights. She’d been alone in the shop all afternoon – apart from a bunch of customers, most of whom didn’t buy anything – then she’d locked up and come home.
Her disquiet needed an outlet, and Terence was all she had.
‘Do you want to share my stir-fry?’ she asked him.
He was leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone. He looked at her paltry vegetables frying in the pan, and the chicken breast she hadn’t even diced yet. He sighed, then opened the fridge and took out a large broccoli floret and a packet of bacon.
‘Only if we make it more interesting,’ he said. ‘And shouldn’t you have done the chicken first?’
‘Probably. I haven’t been that focused,’ Jess admitted. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I reckon we can make something passable. I’ll do the chicken separately.’
They worked alongside each other, chopping and stirring, adding seasoning. Jess’s nervous energy began to dissipate.
‘Why did you ask about my job?’ Terence said, once the chicken was sizzling gently. ‘And I do – I see all sorts. Nasty arguments and people coming to the door in hardly any clothes; dogs snarling, children screaming. Sometimes, when I post letters with red reminder stamps on them, the house owner opens the door and tries to give them back, so they can pretend they never got them.’
‘Denial.’ Jess nodded. ‘I bet that’s a big one.’
‘Not as frequent as the bloody dogs. They try to rip my trousers sometimes. It’s a cliché because it’s true. Who’s denying what, anyway?’
‘Oh, a... customer, at the shop.’ Jess suddenly thought that Terence might have Felicity’s street on his round, and it wouldn’t be fair to betray her confidence. She wanted to talk to Wendy because she thought she’d be able to help, but telling Terence identifiable details felt like overstepping a line. ‘But it’s fine,’ she went on. ‘No problem. Tell me about your strangest encounter of all time.’
Terence laughed. ‘It’s not as exciting as you think it is.’
‘But you see naked people.’
‘That’s your idea of excitement?’ He raised an eyebrow, and she blushed. ‘It’s not all six-packs and smooth skin, let me tell you. I wish I could un-see most of it.’
‘Do lots of people live on their own?’
‘I suppose so,’ Terence said, after a moment. ‘I go to lots of places where the letters are addressed to a single name, where the same person always answers the door. Peopledolive on their own, though. Young guys and gals who haven’t settled down yet, old folk who have lost their other half, middle-aged people who’ve decided they prefer the solitude. You and I rub along all right, don’t we? But we’re only living together because London rent is off the charts, so I couldn’t afford this place on my own, and you couldn’t afford anywhere by yourself, either. We’ve been brought together by necessity.’
‘But we make a good stir-fry between us.’ Jess felt comforted by his matter-of-fact observations.
