‘Smug lil’ git, arent ya! I’ll get you, you … buffoon! Next time, you’s can fix your own ruddy dongle!’
Rebecca was jolted awake by a deep voice, and a large crash. Her kindle, propped up on a pillow, pitched forward and smacked her straight in the face. Cursing, she flung it to the side, her back against the pillows, heart hammering, listening for whatever it was that woke her.
‘Awww shit!’ Her startled ears could make out the Yorkshire twang in the voice this time, and her heart started pumping again as realisation set in. It’s just my unwanted lodge guest. She squinted at her bedside clock. It’s 3.45 a.m. I have to be up in a few hours, and this gobshite is just rolling in. Not a good start to our enforced living arrangement.
‘Bloody Hans.’ She grumbled her way out of bed, shuffling around the room. She’d sent him a text earlier, basically asking him why he hated her and wanted to destroy her, but the big lump had never replied. Too busy with his new little bestie, probably. She heard an odd series of knocks. It sounded like someone was knocking on the interior door. Great.
She headed straight down the stairs, only stopping to put her slippers on, and opened the door slowly. It opened inward, and as soon as she pulled down the latch, the door swung towards her, bringing with it a huge lump of something that smelled like it had been marinated in alcohol. He dropped backwards onto the stairs like a sack of potatoes.
‘Eugh, you stink!’ She pinched her nose, stepping over him gently. She was feeling a little drunk on the fumes, and felt an icy blast. I knew it, he’s left the flipping door open. I can see the snow falling outside, the door wide open, the key still in the lock. What a total twonk. She padded over in her slippers, cupping her boobs to prevent her nipples from shrivelling up and blowing away like tiny frozen peas. Getting to the door, she looked outside, but saw nothing except staggered footprints and tracks heading towards the scene of crime. Hans’s handiwork no doubt. If he wasn’t a first-time expectant father, he would be in a whole heap of rolling pin related revenge right now. ‘What did you drink, besides everything?’
‘I’ll get him, you know. He won’t get the better of Luke Sommersby. Lukey boy will win!’ He raised his hand in the air, managing to half punch himself in the face and not even noticing. ‘For Frank!’
Rebecca looked down at the body that was currently sprawled out on the stairs up to the lodge. He was singing to himself now, a garbled version of ‘Eye of the Tiger’, with punching movements. At least, I think they’re pretend punches. He could be having some sort of dance party by himself. He turned his head and looked up at her, eyes bloodshot, a lazy, slow grin spreading across his face languidly.
‘Hey! Re-bakie! There you are. Got any of them croissants?’ He slurred out croissants like quix-sants, and then started talking about all the flavours of the food he’d scoffed that afternoon. ‘You should do cakes! Big cakes, with—’ he raised one hand and made a sprinkling motion with it ‘—stuff on it, you know?’
Rebecca was already thoroughly fed up, knackered and freezing. Planting her feet closer to him to get a good grip of his arm, she got ready to pull the stupid dolt up. He looked down at her feet, which was when she belatedly realised they were clad in her unicorn slippers. He laughed, bopping one of them on the horn with his finger. Or trying to anyway. He more jabbed her leg.
‘Ha ha! Cute. Can you help me stand up? I need to pee.’
‘Lovely. Of course that’s something I want to be involved in.’
He looked at her again, his eyes unfocused, his head tilting further back to the stairs behind him as he tried to focus on well, one of her, at least. Rebecca was pretty sure he was staring at more than one of her with his beer googles on.
‘Come on.’ She grabbed his arms as best she could whilst he was still waving them around and gave him a gentle tug. He didn’t move, just lay there, laughing to himself. Rebecca rolled her eyes and planted her feet firmly on the ground again, digging her toes into her slippers like little diggers.
‘Come … nnggggg … on!’ Heaving with all her might, she still only just managed to lift his back off the stairs.
‘For God’s sake, what did you drink? You’re like a ton of lead!’ Trying again, she went to plant her feet a bit further apart, only to be kicked in the knee by him trying to get up, taking her off balance. Not surprising really when he was flailing like a tortoise on its back.
‘Lead! You can’t drink l … oooo, saucy!’ He giggled again, catching her as she crashed into his body, headbutting him for good measure. His head was flung back onto the corner of the stair, making a small thud against the carpet. ‘Oww, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!’ He grabbed at her to steady them both, and before Rebecca could even process what was happening, her face was inches from his, and his arms were around her tight, his grip now as solid as a rock. His hands were also however, planted squarely on her bottom. He literally has my butt cheeks in his hands. I can feel the heat coming through the flannel material.
He lay back again, wincing at the pain no doubt caused by her collapsing onto him, but then he looked right at her, his piercing green eyes flicking all over the features of her face, his hands squeezing the globes of her backside still.
‘Shall we try this again?’ she asked reluctantly. She knew she should be mortified, angry even, but in all honesty, it was the most action she’d had in a while that wasn’t either a dream or a romantic scene from one of her favourite books. The thought was so depressing. She motioned to lift herself off him, but he held her firm.
‘Just give me a minute, okay? Ev’finks spinnning. Feel a bit sick. You’re really pretty, you’snow that?’ His eyelids were fluttering now, his dark lashes longer and more noticeable than Rebecca had first realised. He sighed heavily, treating her to a good dose of spirit-laden breath. Wow, a girl could get drunk just off the fumes he was expelling. ‘I want to make fings alright, you know? These things have to be sorted, they have to be, don’t they? Sometimes you just have to try, right? When things are bad, and the frozen chips are gone.’ Rebecca had no idea what he was spouting on about, but he was looking intently at her. Waiting for an answer to a question he hadn’t even asked, or at least, not in a coherent way. She’d half suspected when he’d arrived that his chips were down, but she didn’t want a drunken confessional dragging her into it. She looked down at him, and realised that she could do one of two things. She could utterly crush him and tell him that there was no point in trying anything or bothering with anyone. People went away when everything fell apart anyway, no one wants to see the ugly aftermath. Love doesn’t conquer all, it buggers off and pleases itself. There was no meaning of life, it was just a case of survival.
Or, she could cut the poor super dork a break, and maybe even get some more sleep. Looking down at him, she smiled at him kindly, speaking to him in her nicest voice. The real one, not the customer version.
‘You do, you’re right. You should absolutely go do all of that, but not tonight, eh? It’s been a long day for you. A good night’s sleep is just the ticket.’ She reached back and slowly tugged his hands off her behind, placing them in her hands. ‘Now come on, upppp!’
She pulled back with all her batter-whipping strength, standing up and finally bringing Luke to a standing position with her. He teetered a little, Rebecca pushing gently on his chest to steady him. Huh, she felt a muscle. Maybe his office had a gym. She turned him around, pushing him gently towards the stairs. She daren’t put his arm over her shoulders – one wrong move and they would both be down them arse over tit. Instead she opted for half pushing him, half dragging him up the stairs. All the while he was muttering about somebody being stubborn, and how he was going to help. Seemingly whether they wanted it or not. Another poor sod who was having their life meddled with. All this was whilst he was singing a medley of various testosterone-soaked hits from the 1980s. Mostly the high-pitched ones, naturally. She managed to get him up to her place, quickly closing the door at the top to prevent any further tumbles. Turning round, she started to talk to him, but he’d gone.
‘Luke?’ she called out, feeling weird shouting a man’s name in her home. Nothing. She was about to call again when she heard the clang of a belt buckle, a zip, and then the distinct tinkle of running water. In desperate hope, she ran past the empty guest room to the bathroom, but flicking the light on, she found the room empty.
‘Luke!’ She shouted again, louder and more frantic this time, running from room to room to find them all empty.
‘If I lay heeerreee, if I just llllaaayy hereeee, would you lie with meeee and just forget the worlddddd!’
Oh my Lord, what the hell is he doing? I love that song too. Drunken berk. She ran, racing to the sound of him butchering one of her favourite tunes, and she found him. In her bedroom. More importantly, in her bed. He was lying across her duvet, in a pair of black boxer shorts, trying to pull her hand stitched comforter over him. Another smell hit her too, and her nose slowly turned her head in horror, till she saw the bin next to her desk. Right next to his discarded trousers.
‘Luke! What the holy hell are you doing! You pee’d in my bin, and this is my bed!’ Stomping over to him, she leaned forward and gave him a hard shove. He rolled a little, and she got a flash of bulge as he tried to right himself. ‘You stupid drunken git! Get out!’
‘Get out, get out whilst you still cannnnn!’ He immediately started to sing again, pretending to play the drums whilst he did his best James Bay crooning expression. ‘Oooo oooo oooo!’
‘Luke!’ She tried again, fists balled at her sides now, her face feeling flushed and hot. Bulge. Her brain was so angry, it was just firing random words at her. Nice. Angry. Urine. Eugh, moment gone. He flumped down under her comforter again, exhausted from flailing around, and looked across at her bleary eyed.
‘What …?’ His eyelids were drooping now, and in another second, it was clear he was out for the count. A loud snore erupted from him as his body relaxed visibly before her. She hoped to heaven the man had no pee left in him. Looking at him, almost peaceful in sleep, lying amongst her belongings, looking a bit familiar in them himself, she wondered for a moment … which scatter cushion she was going to use to smother him to death with. If she used the sequined one, it would leave a trace, but the bowed one …
‘I’ll make it better, promise. Hang in there. For me.’ For a man unconscious and full of drink that he obviously wasn’t used to, those words came out as clear as a bell. She looked down as his face, handsome in sleep but obviously troubled. Maybe she could put up with him for a little bit. At that moment, Luke turned onto his side, farted loudly, and started to snore like a baby piglet. Maybe not.
‘Thanks Hans, mate. Just peachy dude, cheers. Bloody hell.’ She looked gingerly at her bin, but made no move to clean it up. No way am I touching a bucket full of pee. Suddenly glad that her bin was solid plastic, rather than the wicker pee fountain it could have been, she checked on Luke. His head was off to one side, still looking her way as she stood at the side of the bed. I just know he’s going to wake up with a cricked neck, and as much as that pleases me, I can’t leave him like that. Kneeling on the bed, she gently turned his head and rolled his body towards her, so that he didn’t choke on his vomit if he yacked, or pull his neck muscles. Reaching behind him, she moved a little closer to put a pillow under his head and cover him over properly. His clothes and hair were damp from the snowfall, and she didn’t want him to catch cold. When she finally pulled back, his eyes were open, and he was watching her.
‘Sorry,’ she said softly, though quite why she was apologising she had no idea. She should have left him to fart himself into oblivion. ‘I was just tucking you in.’
He smiled, a luscious, happy, smile, with just a hint of sadness in his eyes. Basically, he looked like Clark Kent in puppy form. Sheesh. She smiled back, despite her best efforts to stay being a snarky cow. It actually feels nice to look after someone else.
‘Thanks.’ His face dropped into a comical frown, his lip jutting out in a childlike way. ‘You’s fink we can do it, don’t you?’
‘Your big plan?’ she guessed wildly, and he nodded once. ‘Of course you can. Now get some sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?’
He nodded, and was almost asleep by the time she left the room. Almost, but he said something first that stopped her in her tracks.
‘I know you. I don’t know where from, but I’ll remem-ember. I remember your face.’ Rebecca could feel her heart pause in her chest, as though it held its own breath, waiting to hear what he said. Does he know? Did Hans tell him? Surely not.
She stood there, frozen in time, waiting for him to say something, say anything, just so she could take a breath again. ‘Luke?’ All she got in reply were soft snores, accompanied by the beating drums in her ears, and the tingle in her feet, urging her to run. I can’t stay now. I can’t be here. It’s been five years, and I finally thought I was okay. As okay as I can manage, as scarred as I am.
*
Baking was easy for Rebecca. The principles of it, anyway. The love and talent she had for it now was down to the usual formula too, in part. Work hard at something, love it, and you will get better. Do it once. Do it again. Fail. Get. Back. Up. Adjust, adapt and try again. Keep on trucking. It’s the human race at its best. We humans find something we love, and we surround ourselves in it. We sacrifice, we push ourselves to achieve, and we cheer others on as they hit their goal. It didn’t all have to be trail blazing. It didn’t have to be anything special. Something as simple as a cup of coffee, a cupcake could turn a bad day around. People needed the little things. Good food, a great book that felt like a shot of romance in the arm, a hug from someone you love. All little things that added up to those feelings of connection, of being part of something bigger than a simple batch of sweet goods. Rebecca knew that now, working here. Baking was her solace, her way of still feeling useful. Detached, but still there. Hans said it was hiding, but what did he know? He hadn’t failed. Not many were in Rebecca’s league of big fat fails.
Baking was safe and always there. It expected nothing from her. You put the oven on, sourced the best raw ingredients, followed the recipe, it ended the same way every time. Routine, with an expected outcome. Like a tick list. You made a list of goals, and then worked towards them. Worked till the day was completed, and you could tick that box, cross the item off that list. It sounded a little hollow even in her own head that morning. All she wanted to do was go into the café, keep busy.
She’d been up for hours, not even trying to sleep after the first hour of tossing and turning on the sofa. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of facing Luke and his questions. Hans must have known it would be like this. Adding the final egg to the mixture, she mixed it together by hand, the bowl balanced on one hip. She didn’t even need any more cupcakes, but she couldn’t stop her hands from making more. It helped to distract her from the massive urge to flee. She added peppermint extract and folded it into the mixture, gnawing on the insides of her lip as she tried to calm herself down.
Her mother had taught her how to bake, years ago. Before the obsession with success had taken hold of Rebecca – and her mother. Rebecca could still remember dragging her little stool to the countertop to help her, her little cherry-patterned pinafore apron matching her mother’s. This was her favourite recipe, peppermint cupcakes with mojito frosting. They’d designed it together, adding the mojito when she got older and baking was one thing they still enjoyed together; she made them whenever something bad happened. Now, she was making them because she knew something bad was coming, and she couldn’t do a thing to stop it. She stirred a little faster.
Last night. Her old friend anxiety whispered in her ear softly, provoking a reaction like being slapped in the face with a breeze block. What am I going to say to him when he wakes up? Will he bring it up? Hans had a lot to answer for, the brave little bastard. What was he thinking, saddling her with a stranger, and a geeky, all-knowing, all-seeing man child at that? Luke was going to keep digging, she could see the frustration in his cute drunken expression last night as he struggled to place her face. She worked that bit faster at the mixture, to shake the anxiety off and try to focus on her task again.
‘Bec … Rebecca?’ A weak little voice limped into her awareness, and she jumped, ditching the bowl on the countertop and raising her wooden spoon in front of her, like a wizard wielding a wand. A gob of batter fell to the floor, making a loud ‘splat’ sound. Luke was in the doorway, or rather, was lying against it pathetically, his knuckles white as they gripped the corner of the door. ‘What are you doing down here?’ It came out as a little whine, and Rebecca found herself feeling a bit sorry for him. Before she remembered. He had to go. She ventured forward to look closer at her uninvited houseguest.
He looked rough. As in bear’s arse rough. His stubble was quite dark now, casting a deep shadow on his face. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair had that tousled look, as though someone had grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. It reminded her of a toy she had as a kid, a little hairy gonk thing that said ‘yabber yabber’ when you shook it. Same annoying whine too.
‘I’m baking, I couldn’t sleep.’ She didn’t ask what he was doing up. His liver probably woke him up in protest. I just want you to go.
‘You bake a lot, don’t you? Did I wake you?’ Did you wake me? Are you kidding? She rolled her eyes and started to spoon the mixture into the cupcake cases, working methodically as she tried to stop her hands from shaking.
‘I think you know the answer to that,’ she started, trying to ignore the butterflies kickboxing in her stomach. ‘I don’t know what you think you know about me, but—’
‘I get it, you don’t want houseguests coming home late, it was a one-off. It’s way out of character for me, I can assure you of that. I apologise. It won’t happen again.’ He stumbled over and very gently lowered himself onto one of the stools, moving forward at a sloth like leisurely pace till his left cheek touched the tabletop. ‘Ohhh, that’s nice and cold. Mmmmm.’
Rebecca threw a tea towel over his head and put the trays of cupcakes into the oven, flicking the timer on.
‘Ow, that hurt,’ he moaned from under the towel, his voice muffled and dull.
‘Aww poor baby,’ she pouted before she could stop herself. I can’t bring myself to look at him, even with the tea towel covering his knowing face.
He lifted his head up, looking like a drooling shepherd in a pub nativity play nightmare.
‘Sorry for waking you. Hans and I kind of tied one on, you know?’ Putting the cupcakes in the oven, she set her chicken timer and waited, listening to the ticking in the silence. He squinted a little as he looked right at her.
‘I know, I had to put you to bed.’ Signalling the end of the conversation, she sprayed the surfaces down and started scrubbing. She concentrated on the monotonous motion to steady her. She always got like this, when someone noticed, spoke about the competition or looked at her a beat too long. Just thinking about it made her feel exhausted once more, and yearning for the sanctity of her duvet. Once the cupcakes are out cooling, I intend to get some sleep, frost them in the morning. The normal person’s definition of morning, anyway. Duvet. Damn. She got a flashback of the bin and winced. ‘Also, you will have to get my room cleaned. Sheets, and the bin, of course. I was happy to take the sofa yesterday, but tonight, I am back in one of the beds, either way.’
One flick of her eyes towards him, and she could tell. He had no idea what she was going on about. He looked bewildered.
‘The bin?’ she ventured. Nothing. Just a gormless, rather scary-looking shepherd with stubble stared back. ‘You came into my room, peed in my bin and then passed out on my bed.’
His face went slack, his jaw practically swinging loose. Relief washed over her. If he didn’t remember that … He knew less than Jon Snow. Luke didn’t know her, or her past. Either that, or Hans had told him with beer-lubricated lips, and then he pickled that knowledge with alcohol.
‘I didn’t,’ he said eventually, feebly from his sloth position on the countertop. ‘Did I?’ His Yorkshire accent grew thicker as he started to mutter and curse under his breath. If her mother were here, she’d be mortified. The last time Rebecca had said ‘nowt’ to her mother when she had asked what was wrong, it had been hell. All week her irate mother had sent her interviews of sporting people having ridiculous accent meltdowns on TV. To be fair, the French Joey Barton clip had creased her, Hans, and Holly up for weeks.
‘I am so sorry. I don’t drink that much, as a rule.’ It took a minute for her to realise the tea towel was still mumbling.
‘Good rule,’ she quipped grumpily, thinking of the pee bucket in her room, next to her lovely, warm and usually man-free bed. ‘You had a good night though?’ She kept it light, but really she wished she could take her wooden spoon and go digging in his hungover brain. Hopefully one of the brain cells he had killed last night contained Hans’s little Rebecca bulletin.
He nodded feebly at her, his brows furrowing and un-furrowing like aerobic caterpillars. ‘From what I can remember. I am sorry, I won’t do that again. I do appreciate you putting me up. I’ll go clean.’
Ready for him, Rebecca reached under the countertop, grabbing a roll of bin bags and some gloves. ‘Here.’
His face softened as he looked at her, and she couldn’t help but smile at him. Damn it. This is piss in a bin guy, Becks. Knock it off. ‘I’ll be coming back up in ten. I need some shut eye before we open.’ Oh crap. I dropped a ‘we’ then myself accidentally, but I can’t take it back now. Too obvious. I can see it though, floating in the air between us. I need to pluck it out of the air, stuff it back in and force out an I. I will open. This is temporary, having 00-drunkie under this roof. She made a mental note to call Hans as soon as the hour was suitable for ringing a friend, to bollock him. Holly’s pregnant and bored too, so I bet she’ll give him a good ribbing for me.
Luke, moving for the first time as though he was human, came towards her around the countertop, reaching for the items she was offering him. She felt his fingers close around her hand, just for a second, before he withdrew. Slowly, like his fingers were saying hello to hers. She didn’t totally pull hers away either. Sleep deprivation was making her cuckoo.
‘I am sorry, for last night. And this morning, I suppose. I know it must have been a lot for Hans to ask, you putting up with me and everything. I do appreciate it though. It was a bit of a spur of the moment thing. I didn’t even realise what it involved, really.’ He looked around him and out of the window. The view was looking rather spectacular this morning, with the light trickling over the mountains, showing the fresh, untouched powder. He stopped talking, transfixed. Rebecca found herself looking at that powder, remembering how it felt the first time she had been the one to ski through that pure white canvas.
‘Living here must be amazing,’ he said, almost wistfully. She nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to answer. The chicken timer went off, and the moment was broken. He jumped as though a grenade had gone off behind him, his knees bending in reflex. Rebecca had never been more grateful to an inanimate object in her life. Well, nearly. She was a single girl after all. The nights were long, lonely, and full of battery-powered distractions. She didn’t answer, and after a moment she could see his shadow move towards the interior stairs. She took her phone out of her apron pocket and went to tap out an expletive-filled text to Hans, but he’d beaten her to it. She put the phone on the counter as she read the first few words.
I know you don’t like any of this, but he’s a friend. He needs help, and I know you understand that. Please try to remember that. Don’t hate me. Holly is typing this for me, because I am a drunken dickhead who tried to call you with the remote control. I am in big trouble.
She didn’t need to read anymore. I don’t want to know anything else. Denial is a powerful bedfellow, and I fancy snuggling up with it just that little bit longer. She knew what Hans was like. He was the biggest lug with the loudest voice, and the biggest heart too. As unlikely as his friendship was with Luke, who looked like Kevin Hart beside the Rock when the two friends were stood together, she knew it mattered to him. Hans made a family around him, and you were in it whether you wanted to be or not. She would just have to put up with it. Once they were ready, she left the cakes on the cooling trays, closed everything down, and headed upstairs, where she faceplanted straight onto the couch and promptly fell asleep, exhausted. Her phone stayed right where it was, abandoned on the countertop.
*
Hans and the Yorkshire pee fountain stayed clear of the café all day, leaving Rebecca alone to process the recent events, and the feelings it was pushing out of her usually cold, cold heart. Her bedroom alarm clock had awoken her for work from across the hall a few hours later. Next to her, Luke had written a note, telling her he was taking himself into town to see Hans for the day. Her sheets were gone from her bed, and she didn’t see anything in the washer but his clothes, whirling around and making themselves at home. She checked her laundry basket in a panic, but thankfully he hadn’t thought to wash her smalls with his. The bin was missing, and the carpet had been cleaned, the windows opened for ventilation. Looking around her room, she was relieved that nothing gave her away. None of this place did, the only photos she had up here were of her, Hans, and Holly, and some of the other crew from town. Rare nights out that she got dragged on over the years. The opposite of her old self. Six years ago, she was a different person. Everyone said that, it wasn’t unusual. The human body grows new cells over years, so the body changes. People are all different, changed when age and gravity start to take hold, and their life choices leave the consequences for all to see on their faces. It ran a little deeper than that for Rebecca though.
Six short years ago, Rebecca was at the top of her game, happy and in love with her life. Her mother was proud of her. She told all the neighbours, the church, the Costa crew of ladies she lunched with about Rebecca’s achievements. ‘My daughter,’ she’d say, a smile beaming from her face. Now she said it in hushed tones, as though being a baker and café manager was the worst thing in the world. Anyone would think Rebecca was robbing old folks’ handbags for a living the way her mother behaved.
She’d texted already that day – a Facebook memory she insisted on torturing Rebecca with. Why did people do that? Send people photos of good times, dogs long dead, neighbours they don’t speak to anymore?
This memory was a real humdinger, Rebecca beaming at the camera, her mother clapping her in the background, bright eyed and wrapped in splendour. The screenshot of the article the photo was attached to swam before her eyes as she thought of that day. Mother, why the hell did you send me this, today of all days. The caption underneath said it all. This year, baby. This year.
Rebecca shoved her phone in the drawer beside her and got on with her day. She didn’t need to answer. She’d already told her mother that she was entering the competition. She wouldn’t find out for a while that it was a lie. Her annual disappointment would be right on schedule.
Rebecca managed to have a good day, making it to closing time without any more annoying housemates, customers or messages from her mother. The resort was coming to life, and having something to do really helped her to switch off her brain and engage with the stuff she could control. She was just heading to the doors to lock up, when Luke appeared at the other side. He peered in through the glass like a wary zoo visitor approaches a dark glass cage.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as he entered, shopping bags in his hands, closing the door behind him with his foot. ‘You think I might bite?’ He looked at her, puzzled. ‘You looked like you were trying to suss out what mood I was in.’
He smiled, but it was tight, and he didn’t make eye contact. Fine with me.
‘I just thought I’d give you a little space, after my behaviour.’
‘It’s fine, we’ve all gotten drunk and urinated in strange places.’ She knew she had to think of Hans and put up with him, but she couldn’t resist the little quip.
He raised one eyebrow, but she didn’t elaborate. A girl needed her secrets, and telling him about her own lightweight ways wasn’t going to happen. He pulled a dark grey backpack off his back, taking off his coat straight after. His cheeks were flushed from coming into the warmth of the café, and it made his eyes sparkle. Even she had to admit, although her houseguest was the worst possible person to share her home with, he was quite easy on the eyes on closer inspection.
‘You finished for the night?’ he asked, looking around at all the empty tables, chairs stacked on top.
‘Yep.’ Clicking off the lights, she plunged them into the dim glow from the lighting outside. ‘Lights out.’ Inside the café, it was all wood and high ceilings. She loved this café like it was her very own. One day, maybe it would be, or she could buy one somewhere else. Her mother would kill her, but still … It would mean she could live in the Alps forever, or on some other corner of the earth, just her. ‘You have any plans for tonight?’ she added, curious.
He gave her a sheepish look, and took a bottle of wine and a wrapped plastic bag out of one of his bags.
‘Well …’ He wiggled the bottle at her. ‘I thought we could have a meal. I’ll cook, to say sorry for last night and to thank you for putting me up. I do appreciate it, I know you like to be alone.’
His presumption wasn’t wrong, but it still irked her. She felt a little judged, and that automatically brought out her snark.
‘It’s only temporary, so I’m sure I can endure it. The toilet training needs to improve though, or all bets are off.’
He reached back into the backpack, and pulled out a baby’s nappy. ‘Got it covered. Hans gave me one.’
‘Bollocks,’ she said, starting to laugh. ‘I was going to rib you myself later.’ He visibly relaxed in front of her and put the nappy back into the bag. ‘Okay Marco Pierre White, you go and make a start. I’ll lock up.’
She took her time cleaning down the rest of the work surfaces, enjoying the silence of the space. Once she was done, she headed to the bottom of the stairs, listening in on what Luke was up to. She checked herself out in the oven door, pulling a face at her red cheeks and slightly dishevelled hair. She gave up and scraping the worst clumps of hair back into her bobble, she listened in again, trying to time her entrance. Luke was murdering some song off the radio, and she could hear things being banged around in the kitchen. Taking out her phone, she kept one ear on the door and logged into Facebook.
Her page loaded, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by how different she was to the person that originally set up this profile. Her photo looked like a different person altogether, living a different life. I want to give her a huge shake, and tell her to wise up. To do better, do things differently. She brought up her friends list, and scrolled through for what she was looking for. Hans, and his friends list.
‘Rebecca?’ Luke called from upstairs. ‘Where’s the pepper?’
She jumped, almost dropping her phone. She felt guilty, but he didn’t know, did he? It was what people did these days, checked people out online. She was hardly hacking MI6.
‘It’s on the top of the microwave! In a pink pot!’
Further shuffling from upstairs. She could hear him walk across the kitchen, his steps coming to a soft halt. It felt strange to hear someone moving about. It felt like forever since Hans and Holly had left.
‘Do you know that these are breasts?’ he shouted down, amusement curling his words. ‘The pots?’
Does he think I walk around in the dark?
‘Yes, I bought them. Cute, aren’t they!’ She’d bought her mother a matching ‘pair’. Suffice to say, she’d never seen them in the background anywhere when she FaceTimed her parents. Logging back out of Facebook after deleting her search from the history to stop herself being tempted again, she headed up the stairs to the flat.
‘Cute, sure,’ he drawled as she entered. He was shaking a boob-shaped pepper pot over a huge pair of steaks that were sizzling in her favourite griddle pan. It smelled amazing, and Rebecca’s treacherous stomach started to get a bit vocal. ‘Just surprised me. Would you like some wine?’
Throwing a raised brow in his direction as she headed to the cabinet where her last two crappy wine glasses sat, she grabbed them and headed over to him.
‘Does a bear do his business in the woods?’ She held out the glasses to him, grateful that they were actually clean and streak-free. He probably already thought she was a bit mad but she found herself caring, just a little, about what he might think about her living arrangements. He laughed and filled both of their glasses up.
‘I set us up to eat in the lounge, if that’s okay?’ He took a slow, deep sip of his wine, closing his eyes and letting his head roll back. ‘Ah, better now.’ He tapped his chest once, twice gently with an open palm. Rebecca drank from her own glass, trying not to laugh. She failed and he turned to look at her.
‘What?’
‘Did you really need that wine? What’s with the little taps?’
His cheeks went bright red, which was both a dead giveaway and almost adorable.
‘Oh, that. It’s just a thing I do sometimes.’
‘Crack cocaine is a thing people do sometimes, doesn’t mean it’s a good thing. Looks like a therapy move to me.’ She didn’t wait to hear his answer, taking her wine through into her small, neat living room and plonking herself down on her crappy little sofa.
‘Maybe it is,’ he called from the kitchen, in between the sound of a knife scraping the chopping board and his humming along to the latest song she’d never heard. ‘Maybe not. You ready for this culinary delight?’
He came in, a tea towel hanging off his trousers like a waiter, two plates full of food in his arms. ‘The French have nothing on this. Feast your eyes!’
He put the plates down on the coffee table, which he had thrown a clean white bath towel over, and looked at her like a child with a crayon drawing to his adoring parent. Full of excitement and nervous energy. Anyone would think he was serving the Royals afternoon tea, not steak, chips, and salad to a fed-up baker with a sarcasm problem. He was openly grinning at her, waiting for a gold star. She smiled back as best she could, feeling awkward, and sat forward in her seat to fully appreciate the meal. It did look lovely, and her stomach was gurgling in anticipation, rather loudly. Her body betrayed her once again on the food front.
‘Thanks, this looks amazing.’ His grin widened even further, taking it to Joker proportions, and he passed her one of the plates. The one without the chip in it. She looked across, and he was eating his meal from it, taking a seat on the other side of the couch. It wasn’t very big in the first place, and they were practically sitting on top of each other, but it wasn’t totally awful. Rebecca flicked the TV on and he grabbed the remote from her, flicking the channel over.
‘Hey!’ She jabbed him in the hand with the fork. ‘Off the clicker!’
‘Clicker? Loser.’ He laughed in her face, easily holding the remote control out of her reach whilst shovelling a chunky piece of fresh tomato into his smug mouth. ‘These,’ he waggled them at her, ‘are called buttons.’
She snorted, almost coughing up a piece of lettuce in the process. ‘Buttons! Oooo, where’s Cinders? It’s a clicker mate, you press the button, it clicks.’
‘Yes! Button, you said it yourself. Buttons you press. Not click.’
‘Yeah, well, button off Yoda, and give me it back. It’s my TV.’
He pulled a face at her and scrolled through the channels.
‘It says “property of Hans” on the back of the TV. It’s labelled. A few bits are, actually. What’s that about?’
Rebecca rolled her eyes. ‘I used to label my stuff with one of those machine labellers, fridge stuff, my shampoo. He’s a hairy dude, he used to cost me a fiver every time he had a shower. He bought the cheap stuff and used mine.’ She lunged for the remote again, almost losing her plate in the process. He swerved her and sat back, tucking into his food.
‘That explains that then. Still, Hans said that there’s a good film on, I thought we could watch it.’ He looked across at her. ‘Unless you have plans?’ He looked around him, as though a suitor was going to ride up the stairs any second on a tall white steed.
‘Er no,’ she said to her steak, ‘no plans tonight.’ That would cover her for now, but what about the next night? ‘Truth is, it’s a busy time here so my social calendar takes a hit.’ Too far. ‘I still go out, obviously.’
‘Ah yes, we have that dinner, don’t we, Saturday night?’
He was focused back on the television now, but Rebecca hadn’t moved.
‘Dinner?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, munching away as he made himself at home. They sounded like a bloody married couple now. ‘Holly and Hans’s place, they’re having a few friends over. After the baby shower.’
Fuuuddgggeeeee nuggets. The baby shower. Arghhh! She’d forgotten, and she hadn’t been shopping yet, or got them a baby gift. And she didn’t know about the dinner after either.
‘Oh, that. Yeah, of course.’ She flapped her hand nonchalantly. It was her day off tomorrow, Hans was coming in to work. She could escape into town and get what she needed. Ring Holly and get the skinny on what Saturday was all about, and why she needed to be tied to the train track too. The baby shower was fine, she loved Holly, but a dinner? What for? Would she and Luke have to arrive together?
‘Yeah, I figured we could go together, share a ride?’ She could feel his eyes on her, and she nodded, forcing her fork to pick up more food. ‘Great, I’m glad. I hate these things normally. I avoid them, if I’m honest.’
Rebecca groaned gratefully. ‘God, me too. I mean, I love them both obviously, but their friends and everyone? It’s a lot.’ She reached for her wine, taking a gulp to push down the tide of social dread she felt wash over her. Glugging it down noisily, she took a breath, and he rushed into the silence.
‘It is a lot! When he invited me here for the shower, well – I mean I was never going to come. I never do when he invites me over, but then I saw the invitation on the fridge, and I just went for it. Booked a ticket, packed a bag. I mean, I never do that. If you knew me …’ He flicked the remote control around in his hand, gesturing wildly. ‘I mean, really knew me, you’d laugh. You really would. Dad …’ He deflated, and his conversation tapered off to a whisper. ‘It’s just not me, that’s all. So, I’m just glad that we’re going together, we can brave it and then come back here and drink enough wine to recover.’ He blushed then, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘I mean, if you want to drink wine. You might have plans for after.’
There it was again, the plans thing.
‘You have a lot of plans, back home?’ Deflection was a woman’s best weapon. That and her brain.
He winced, sitting back before answering her. The TV was on, but the volume was low. The menu screen listed some movies Rebecca had never seen before. Now they were facing each other, their legs tucked up beneath them, plates in their laps. Their knees touched, but neither made a move to pull back. Not wanting to drop the steak in their laps, probably. She was enjoying it a lot more than she thought she would; given his murdering of the top ten and level of noise coming from the kitchen, she’d half expected an inedible mess. He swallowed a mouthful of food, and Rebecca watched his jaw flex with the movements. The more she looked at him, the hotter he looked. He licked his lips, and she found herself copying him. She tried to squint at the wine bottle on the coffee table in front of them, to check the proof. She must be getting squiffy.
‘No, not really. I worked a lot.’ The blood drained from his face. ‘Oh shit, work. I haven’t even checked my emails yet today.’ He went to get his phone out of his pocket, tipping the wine in his hand straight over himself, and his mostly empty plate. When it hit the ceramic, it bounced up, all over Rebecca, and her food. Squealing like a pair of schoolgirls high on sugar, the two of them jumped up, dropping everything they still held to the floor and leaving the pair of them standing on the sofa, wet through and smelling like steak.
‘You idiot!’
‘Jesus, I’m sorry! I was reaching for my phone!’
‘Yeah, well, I didn’t think you were reaching for Excalibur, did I, you total klutz!’ She looked down at her fabric sofa, the one Hans had bought her one Christmas by way of a bonus. It was grey fabric, plain but nice enough. She’d bought some mustard-yellow cushions in town, to jazz it up, but now everything was ruined. ‘Look at my sofa.’ She reached down and pulled a piece of meat from one of the cushions. ‘And my tea. That steak was lovely.’
‘Really?’
‘Not the thing to focus on, furniture bomber. What are we going to do now?’
Looking down around him, a piece of lettuce astride his socked foot, he winced. ‘I’m going to get my credit card out, and pay for this fixing.’
Rebecca looked at him, one hand on her hip and one hand on the back of her couch to steady herself. ‘Credit card? For who, the cleaning fairies? Last time I checked, they dealt in cash or toddler teeth. Go look in the long cupboard in the kitchen, there’s a mop bucket and a dustpan and brush in there. I’ll get some cleaner for the couch.’ It was red wine, so she didn’t hold out that much hope, but she wanted to get out of her clothes. Looking at him, she realised he probably felt the same. ‘Sorry, we should probably go shower first.’
His eyes widened, and she pressed her lips together. ‘I mean separately, of course. You go first, I’ll wait till you’ve done.’ He looked like he wanted to argue, so she moved first. Which wasn’t that easy, given that she was standing on cushions, covered in junk and bits. Taking a small step forward, she toppled a little, and his arm was around her middle in an instant, pulling her tight to him and squashing a piece of tomato that was hanging out on his top between them.
‘Careful,’ he said, close to her cheek. ‘The glass. Stay there, till I get it cleaned up. Don’t move. You go shower first, okay?’ He was oddly masculine, and for a second she thought he was going to ask her to braid her hair and head to the Red Room. His knitted tank top ruined the daydream a little, but she went with it. He steadied her, and not letting go, he stood down, avoiding the shards. Leaning forward slightly, he looked around him, mentally and audibly mapping out his path. Turning back to her to give her an all clear, he then leaned forward a bit more. His head was hovering near her stomach, poised. ‘You ready?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, and before she got so much as a pinkie off the fabric, he hoisted her right up over one shoulder, and crab walked to the hall. He didn’t stop there either, heading straight to her bedroom, her slightly panicked hands grabbing at his bottom to try and stop her head from moving like a windscreen wiper. ‘Hey! I can walk now, thanks.’ He opened her bedroom door, and when they were both inside, he whirled her around in his arms, and put her gently to her feet. She couldn’t see him very well, since her hair had come loose and was now around her head like a lion’s mane. Scraping it back behind her ears, she puffed a bit of fringe out of her eyeline.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he started. ‘I’m sorry that I’m saying sorry, yet again. I must be your worst nightmare. I swear, in my flat, I have a nice place. I’ve lived there a year now, and only had one minor house fire. Well …’ He was still holding her around the waist, and seemed oblivious to the fact. She didn’t know why she hadn’t brought it up either. Trauma perhaps? Shock? She’d felt something. It was probably her stomach mourning the loss of that meal. ‘It was pretty minor. There was a singed rug over the balcony incident.’
‘Really? What happened?’ She could feel her lips twitching. He really was a geek. He was adorable with his glasses on, his face all pinched up at the memory.
‘Well, I pulled my tea out of the oven, and it was on fire, so I dropped it on the rug. Then the rug caught fire, and I just grabbed it and, well, I ran out onto the balcony and threw it over the side.’
He moved a hand away from her waist to illustrate his story, imitating himself throwing a flaming rug out into the night. She laughed, but it stopped in her throat when he put his hand back where it was. She could feel the heat from him. He seemed to notice it too, because he looked down at his hand.
‘The thing was, the neighbour had a lot of pots out, and some clean washing. The whole lot went up, she ended up moving out for a while, it was a whole thing.’
He squeezed his hand tighter, just for a second, and then released her. Looking into her eyes, he gave her a shy little smile. ‘Anyway, no fires here. I’ll go clean up, shout me when you’ve done.’
He left the room, leaving her standing there staring after him. A moment later, the radio started playing again, and she half smiled as he started to sing. Heading for the shower, she realised that she hadn’t thought about competitions or failures for a few hours. It felt pretty good. Maybe Saturday wouldn’t be so bad after all. Bearable even.