Page 93 of The Happy Hour
Peggy took out her purse and pulled out a credit card.
‘Hang on!’ Wendy hurried out of the storeroom. She had a smudge of something – possibly ink – on her cheek, and Jess resisted the urge to wipe it off.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘I honestly didn’t mean to overhear, but this is a very small shop. Hello, Margaret.’
‘Hey.’ Peggy was back to wary.
‘What’s wrong, Wendy?’ Jess asked.
‘Didn’t you hear what Margaret said?’ Wendy’s tone had softened, but she was speaking quickly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not wrong, am I?’ Wendy said to the nurse. ‘You said,He was a lot stronger than he thought...You madethings bearable.Notmake. It was all past tense.’
Jess’s breath stalled. She held the card reader out, and waited while Peggy tapped her card against it, the ping of ownership filling the space.
‘Ash wasn’t there on Sunday, was he?’ Jess said, when Peggy didn’t answer Wendy. ‘I told him he shouldn’t feel responsible, that if he didn’t want to see his dad, if it was so hard for him, then he should give himself a pass. But the way he spoke about it, the way he walked out – I never thought he’d listen to me.’
Peggy pressed her lips together, as if she was desperately trying to stop her mouth from forming words.
‘Oh my God!’ Jess laughed. ‘So then why hasn’t he been in touch? Why haven’t we been able to talk through everything?’ She held Peggy’s receipt out, and the other woman took it, her eyes full of sympathy.
‘That wasn’t my first thought,’ Wendy said quietly. She squeezed Jess’s shoulder, but she was looking at Peggy, and Jess couldn’t stop her gaze flicking between the two of them.
‘What do you mean?’
Wendy sighed. ‘My first thought was that Ash wasn’t there on Sunday because there was no need for him to be.’
Jess frowned. ‘But I...’ she started, and then, like a heavy stone dropping onto her heart, realisation dawned: the reason why Ash had been ghosting her, had bailed on Mack, had been absent in a way that felt too big for everything they’d shared. ‘Because his dad died,’ she whispered. Her throat was thick. How had that not occurred to her before now? She stared at Wendy, then Peggy. ‘Did Ash’s dad die?’
Neither of them spoke. Peggy dropped her gaze to the countertop. It was all the confirmation Jess needed.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Usually, Ash felt calm in his flat. He didn’t mind spending time on his own, with a book or a film or his thoughts. He wasn’t the kind of person who craved company all the time, like his brother Dylan. But right now, being alone – with onlythe ticking of the clock above the tiny kitchen table to break thequiet – felt like a slow, solitary road to self-destruction.
He walked over to the coffee machine, saw that the jug was empty, and wondered if eleven on a Sunday morning was too early to open a beer. But he’d taken that route on Tuesday and it hadn’t ended well.
Nico Lombardo was dead. The man who Ash had thought about even when he hadn’t wanted to, when he was only a hazy memory of a big laugh and arms that had hugged him tightly, and a bitter feeling of being left behind. But now that laugh and those arms were gone for good, and Ash couldn’t wrap his head around it. The senselessness of it, along with his anger, were bubbles inflating inside his chest, and if he didn’t get them out somehow, they would keep growing until they broke him apart.
In his old life – the life of a fortnight ago – he would be on his way to Greenwich now, looking forward to chatting to Olga or Susie, anticipation building at the thought of seeing Jess. His anger had died almost as soon as he’d left her flat that Thursday, replaced by guilt at what he’d said to her; how, in the moment, he’d found the perfect, cruel words to push her away, when part of him had only wanted to bring her closer. But the phone call from Peggy the next day had changed things, and though his fingers had hovered over Jess’s messages a hundred times, and he’d watched her name appear on the screen as she rang him, he hadn’t known what to say.
Right now, he wasn’t fit to spend time with anyone. He’d gone to work on Monday and, within an hour, his boss had come into his office, sat opposite him at his desk, and signed him off for a week, minimum. If he went to stay with his mum, he’d just make it worse for her. She wouldn’t want to talk about Nico, would rather not waste any more time or emotions on him, and Ash didn’t think he could sit there amongst everything that wasn’t being said.
There had been paperwork and phone calls from the hospice; so much to sort out. A funeral, here in England, that Ash already knew he’d go to, even if he was the only one. He wondered how many people Nico had been in touch with in Italy, if they would have a send-off more suited to the outgoing man he’d been.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table and, closing the fridge, he went to look at the message. It was from Peggy.
I’m so sorry, Ash, but Jess knows. I wasn’t careful enough with my words, and her boss guessed. Are you doing all right?
It explained why he’d had more calls from Jess over the last couple of days. They’d tailed off a few days after their argument, but now they were back, and he still hadn’t answered them. How could he ask her to support him when she had thought he was doing the wrong thing visiting his dad? He sent a reply:
It’s fine, honestly. How was she? I’m OK. Missing your chickpea and lemon curd sandwich right about now.
You never tried it! Jess misses you. She looked pretty cut up when she realised. You could talk to her, you know. Failing that, you can talk to me.
