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I looked over to him once again. Shovelling the last morsels of pancake into his mouth. Nodding at something Angela was explaining. He noticed me, looking. Instinct diverted my eyes down to the counter but, realising I no longer had to worry about the little things, I raised my eyes again to meet his, which were still fixed on me. I smiled the smallest of smiles and he mirrored my expression as he chewed his food with a vague grin on his face.
‘Esther? Hello?’ Bernie’s voice sliced through my thoughts. ‘You gonna clear table six, or what?’
‘Yes. Sorry,’ I said, snapping out of contemplation mode. I’d just started stacking the plates onto a tray and washing down the plastic, gingham table cover when, out of nowhere, I heard the last thing I was ever expecting to hear.
‘Mrs Delaney? Is that you?’ A familiar voice sounded out across the diner. I hadn’t been called by that name in almost two years. Everyone at the counter looked my way. I froze, my eyes widened and I turned.
Chapter Six (#ulink_37cec6d3-b901-5640-b57e-117ec259a430)
Stood before me, as though collaged into my New York existence, were Sandra and David Rutherford. I’d taught their daughter about four years ago. Isabella struggled with English throughout her secondary education, meaning we’d all sat through a number of parent/teacher conferences to discuss solutions. Now I thought about it, they were the sort of couple who were always tanned from some expensive, foreign getaway. This year, it seemed, they’d chosen to trip off to Manhattan for a few weeks. There they stood, at the till, ordering takeaway coffees from Bernie.
Sandra hadn’t asked for a restyle at the hairdresser’s in the last five years; she had the same mousey, shoulder-length bob she wore back when I knew her in England. She still favoured loose, baggy tops around three sizes too big and her smile was just as placid. She never could quite bring herself to reveal her teeth. In that respect, David was her opposite. His teeth hung too far over his bottom lip making his face lopsided, goofy.
Hi …’ I managed but that’s all I managed. I stumbled forward. The tray of crockery slid from my hands. I heard the shatter. I saw their mouths drop open but couldn’t react myself. The world hazed. A toxic green cloud fell over me and the last thing I remember is reaching out for the back of a chair before everything went dark. Mona later relayed, many times over to anyone who would listen, that I’d missed the chair and fallen hard to the floor. Both Alan and Jack, realising I was going to faint, tried to get to me in time and failed.
The first thing I was aware of after the blankness was the sound of Jack, Walt and Alan discussing how to wake me up … followed by the sharp scent of bourbon.
‘Will this work?’ asked Alan.
‘Guaranteed. If it worked in Nam, it’ll work here,’ Walt replied.
‘She fell so hard,’ Jack said. Their voices were backed by a chorus of chattering customers. All of whom, I could hear, were gossiping about me: the ‘little lady who’d taken a fall’. They didn’t hear me beg but every cell in my body screamed for a way out. Don’t wake me. Please. Let me stay here. Somewhere between this world and the next. Where I don’t have to answer questions. Don’t have to avoid your eye. Or remember. What he did to her. What I did to him …
Then, there was a sting as something strong and alcoholic wafted up my nostrils. My eyes jolted open.
‘Easy, easy…’ said Alan. Squinting up at the three concerned faces staring down at me, I tried to sit up. That was a mistake. I cried out with the pain. ‘Give yourself a second, I know you’re tough but you took quite a fall,’ Alan added. I offered him a feeble smile for talking to me as he would a child who’d braved an injection at the doctor’s.
‘Is my head big?’ I croaked. ‘It feels too big.’
‘You’ve got a bit of a bump but otherwise your head is pretty much the size it should be,’ Jack said. ‘Can you sit up now?’
‘I think so,’ I replied, and, with less grace than I would’ve liked, I did.
Alan smiled. ‘You’re having quite a week.’
‘Yes. I wrote my dissertation on being a magnet for trouble. I’m OK,’ I said as they helped me up into a chair. I put a hand to my head. Dizzy and bruised, not to mention mortified, I sat as still as I could in the hope the room would stop spinning. The Rutherfords stood just yards away, red-faced at being the root cause of this ruckus. ‘I’m so sorry to have frightened you,’ I called over to them. They inched closer.
‘We didn’t mean to shock you,’ said Sandra, taking her time over every word, as though any utterance might send me into another faint.
‘You didn’t. Not at all,’ I lied. ‘I’ve just, I haven’t been eating properly or looking after myself. Seeing you was just an added surprise my body wasn’t expecting. You mustn’t blame yourselves.’ I flashed them my most convincing smile.
‘I almost didn’t recognise you in that uniform,’ said David. ‘Given up teaching, have you?’
‘No, er yes.’ I was conscious of the regulars watching, and listening. ‘I … I decided to take a break. You know, from the responsibilities of teaching.’
‘Oh. After… I mean we heard about –’ Sandra began.
‘Yes,’ I interrupted. ‘Fresh start.’ Sandra nodded. David looked as vacant as ever. ‘So, you in New York for long?’ I asked, hoping the answer was something along the lines of ‘we’re just on our way to the airport to catch a flight home’.
‘Coupla weeks,’ David said. ‘Just on our way to the Empire State Building but we read about this place and thought we’d give it a quick look. It’s rather something, isn’t it?’
‘It is. Life’s simpler in the fifties.’ I smiled. David pointed a finger at me and laughed, then an awkward silence fell over us. ‘How’s Isabella?’ I asked, desperate to fill the silence with something. Sandra understood me but David could start blabbing on about the late Mr and Mrs Delaney in front of the whole diner gang at any moment.
David beamed. ‘Oh, she’s fantastic. She got a graduate position in the city and is busy working her way up the banking ladder.’
‘Banking,’ I repeated. ‘Can be quite stressful during a recession, I believe.’ It had been for him. But Mrs Delaney was always there. Ready to sprawl and relieve the pressure.
‘She seems to be coping.’ Sandra smiled. Silence again. I had to get these two out the door sharpish.
‘Well, sorry about the whole fainting thing. I really need to slow down.’ I strained out a laugh though my whole head pulsed when I did so. ‘I hope you enjoy the Empire State Building. The view up there will be quite spectacular today.’
‘Yes. Thanks. And er. Sorry. I mean. I hope you’re OK,’ said Sandra. I nodded. And with that they picked up their takeaway coffees, waving goodbye.
The second they left I knew there’d be pressure to explain. Bernie hobbled over, weighing up how to respond to the havoc I’d wreaked. Mona, Alan, Walt, Angela and Jack were all looking at me; even Lucia had ducked out of the kitchen. I was surrounded by faces that begged for answers. The thought of telling my story however, even excerpts from it, made me want to throw up. Or maybe that was just the first signs of a concussion.
‘Suppose I better start clearing up the mess I made. Sorry, Bernie.’ Perhaps I could distract them by being industrious.
‘Don’t worry ’bout that,’ he replied. Of all the responses Bernie had considered in the last minute, he seemed to have landed on pity. ‘You should go home. Rest up.’
‘You mean I’ve caused enough damage for one day?’ I tried to smile.
‘You clearly need a break and it’s not like the world is going to end if you don’t wait on customers this afternoon,’ he said in the softest tone I’d ever heard him use.
‘Thanks. I know you must have … questions …’ I pressed down on the table in an attempt to stand but it was still too soon and I had to sit again.
‘We wouldn’t dream of pryin’,’ said Mona, the corners of her mouth twitching. ‘But you can probably tell the story better tomorrow anyway, when you haven’t had a knock to the head.’
I sighed. Mona’s maternal instinct only just trumped her love for gossip.
‘You can barely stand,’ said Jack.
‘I can see you home,’ Alan offered.
‘Oh, Alan, that’s not necessary.’ I smiled so hard at him I probably looked like a game-show host. ‘Walking home a woman who’s fainted is hardly police business.’
‘Well, I do have a hearing to get to… but you shouldn’t walk back alone, Esther.’
‘Maybe Jack could see you home,’ Mona suggested with an almost untraceable smirk. Angela looked at Jack and pursed her lips. I glared at Mona for meddling yet again.
‘No, no, no. I’m fine,’ I said. Angela was so beautiful it was unthinkable that she should be insecure but, being a kid, she was. I could see it in the thin smile she’d forced onto her face. A smile she’d borrowed from me. She was quiet for a few moments and then, looking down at me, shook her head.
‘Esther, you’re not fine. I’d come with you but I have to get to work. Jack can walk you home.’
‘But –’ I began.
‘No. You need help,’ Angela insisted. She nodded at Jack, pecked him on the cheek and squeezed my arm on her way out.
‘Look. I… I don’t want to …’ I looked up at Jack. ‘It’s kind, but you don’t need to go to the trouble of walking me home. I don’t live far.’ In my weakened state the last thing I needed was to be left alone, unsupervised, with Jack.
‘Yes, you live nearby. Which is why it’s no trouble,’ he said.
I sighed and shook my head.
‘Stop being so stubborn and let the man see you home,’ said Mona.
‘Alright, alright.’ I closed my eyes. Peril lurked in some quiet corner of this situation. I could feel its stale, over-familiar breath on the back of my neck but didn’t have the strength for an argument. With my head hung low I rose from my seat. ‘I’m sorry about the mess, Bernie.’
‘Forget about it,’ was all he would say on the matter.
The walk home was slower than expected. In the diner the air-conditioning kept me cool but out in the street there was no escape from the humidity. On more than one occasion, given the blow I’d taken, I was convinced I’d wind up unconscious on the ground again.
‘Sorry,’ I said to Jack who was walking close beside me. ‘This is going to take all day at this rate.’ I leant against a nearby scaffolding pole.
‘Just take it at your own pace,’ he replied then looked at me, his face alight with an idea. ‘In fact …’ and without another word he picked me up. I let out a sharp yelp of surprise and wrapped my arms around his neck. We looked at each other.
‘You can’t carry me like this all the way to my place. I weigh a tonne,’ I said.
‘You do not weigh a tonne,’ he laughed at the suggestion. ‘You’re practically in miniature.’ I wanted to react to this with a playful punch to the stomach – that’s the kind of thing you can do to someone you’ve met a whole three times in your life right? – but I’d neither the strength nor the angle. I settled for raising an eyebrow.
Jack began walking towards my room on Clinton Street as per my directions. Having his arms around me, well, it’d been a long time since anyone had put their arms around me like that. After what’d happened with Mr Delaney, I never expected to crave closeness. Not to a man, anyway. But I couldn’t deny the truth. At least, not in my own head. Some days my arms ached for the warmth of someone else’s. To, just for a moment, know I wasn’t on my own. That I didn’t need to be on guard because I was safe where I was. In quiet moments, I’d started to daydream about losing myself in the warmth of somebody else’s body. In the warmth of Jack’s body.
With this in mind I should’ve felt soothed by Jack’s embrace but the position was far too intimate for two people so unavailable to one another. Grooms carried brides over thresholds like this, and the proximity of his body to mine amplified my awkwardness. The whole time he was holding me I didn’t know where to put my head. If I kept it upright my face was too close to his. Our lips and noses brushing by each other. Then there was a moment of eye contact before nervousness got the better of me and I looked away. Leaning my head against his chest didn’t work either. There was something personal about the gesture. It didn’t feel like an OK thing to do knowing he was involved with someone else. So I alternated between the two arrangements. Switching the instant one of them became too intense.
Within ten minutes we reached my building. He lowered me back to street level. I held a hand against my head, trying to stay steady.
‘You sure you don’t want me to carry you up the stairs?’ He was dead serious.
I smiled. ‘You’ve been very chivalrous, but I think carrying me up the stairs would be bordering on showing off.’ He laughed while I thought about what I’d want to happen next if I let him carry me upstairs.
‘As I’ve carried you all this way, have I earned the right to ask you one question and get a straight answer?’
‘Alright. But you’ve got one question so use it wisely.’
That gave him pause. He opened his mouth and closed it again before posing his question.
‘I couldn’t help noticing that couple called you Mrs Delaney.’ He looked at me, his eyes expectant. As though that statement alone was enough to prompt me into spilling my story.
‘What’s the question?’
‘Are you…married?’ he asked. I looked at the ground. Tears swelled but I fought them. I took a deep breath, stared back at him. His frown had returned. He looked sorry for even asking the question.
‘No. I was once. But I’m not anymore.’ There. That wasn’t a lie. Not the whole truth but not a lie.
‘I’m sorry. I…’ He scratched his forehead dead in the centre. ‘I got married too. When I was younger. It didn’t work out. Makes it difficult to trust new people. And that, well, that can get pretty lonely.’ He took a step towards me.
‘Well,’ I said, part pleased by his assumption, part wishing I had the guts to tell him something closer to the truth, ‘I suppose everybody’s loved and lost,’ and then added, ‘I’m sort of trying to stop acting like I’m the first person in history to have it happen to them.’
‘I didn’t realise.’ He bowed his head. ‘God. I shouldn’t have called you…’ He took another step forward.
‘A psycho?’ I shuffled on the spot.
He opened his mouth to say something but the words stuck in his throat. Staring into each other’s eyes, we cut through our awkwardness with short, nervous laughter.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve had some bad…’ He stopped and pushed a hand through his hair. ‘Please, just forget I said that.’
‘Yeah. Sure.’ I gave him a frail smile. ‘Thanks for getting me home.’ Turning then, I walked up the steps to the front door, fumbled for my keys.
‘So I’ll see you around. In the diner maybe,’ he called, stood at the bottom of the steps with his hands in his pockets. He looked so humble, not at all like someone who was about to get their big break in the movies.
‘Yeah. Well, you and Angela are going to the hop, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, er…yes.’ He glanced down at the pavement.
‘Guess I’ll see you then, if not before.’ I gave him a nod and scurried inside, pushing the door shut behind me. Leaning back against it, I let out a heavy sigh. My head throbbed, my mind flitting back to the moments I’d spent in Jack’s arms. Best not to get dejected or anxious about how overpowering the need to be close to him now was. He was with Angela and that was for the best. For everyone. Yes, I’d been lonely the past couple of years. Being on my own hadn’t proved as easy as I thought but what was the alternative? Getting close to someone? Losing myself a second time? No. If I let that happen again, I may never find my way back.
Chapter Seven (#ulink_f9cd6c17-0e9a-5c41-a5a1-4057c808b78f)
An assembly line of familiar faces awaited at the diner the next day, including Jack and Angela. All of them in earlier than usual, guaranteeing a front row seat at the counter.
‘Mornin’,’ Mona said with obvious weight.
‘Good morning.’ I smiled. ‘Anybody need their order taking?’
‘Yes. I’ve got an order here for an explanation about what happened yesterday.’ Mona put her head on one side, and leaned in towards me.
‘Can’t I at least get a cup of coffee down me before the interrogation begins?’ I yawned. I’d been awake most of the night with my throbbing head.
Mona laughed. ‘Not sure I can stretch to that, it’s been bad enough waitin’ this long. You really gonna make us speculate any longer? C’mon.’
‘It’s a dull story. I warn you now. Total anti-climax.’
Oh Esther, you liar.
‘Let us be the judge of that.’ Mona rested on a high stool stood behind the counter and looked at me, waiting. I took a deep breath and thought about what to say. Where to begin. How little I could get away with telling them.
‘You were a teacher,’ said Walt. I looked at him, picked up a coffee jug and topped up his drink before answering.
‘I used to teach literature. Back in England.’
‘That explains the crossword clues.’ I shook my head. For Walt, that was the most significant enigma of all when it came to me. A waitress who read for pleasure was a species completely beyond his imagination.
‘You got me stumped, Esther,’ said Mona. ‘If you can teach about Shakespeare what in the world are you doin’ sweeping floors and makin’ milkshakes? If I could teach about books I wouldn’t be here. You can be sure of that.’
‘What’s wrong with this place?’ asked Bernie from his perch at the end of the counter.
‘Nothin’,’ said Mona. ‘I just love comin’ home with achin’ feet and smellin’ of bacon fat. Loved it every day for the past thirteen years.’ Bernie’s left eye twitched but he didn’t say any more on the subject. Mona turned back to me with an expectant hand on her hip. ‘Well?’ I looked at Jack. He caught my eye but then looked down into his coffee, stirring in some more milk.
‘Well, teaching, like a lot of things, isn’t the charmed life you might imagine.’ That’s right, Esther. Focus on the professional. Keep it surface. ‘People think all you have to do is talk for a few hours and revel in the long holidays but there’s a lot of pressure. At least there was back in England.’
