скачать книгу бесплатно
I watch this brief exchange with interest. Not because the new boy, with his tall lanky frame, looks as if his brain has no idea what his arms and legs are doing, or that he doesn’t seem frightened by his tattooed rival. His close-cropped wavy black hair and mixed-race complexion don’t differentiate him from most of the other kids.
It’s his three-piece suit and the fatly knotted blue tie round his skinny neck.
And his briefcase, which he sets on the table between us.
‘I’m Joseph.’ He sticks his hand out for me to shake. His long-lashed brown eyes are the first to look directly at me all morning. ‘It’s your lucky day,’ he says. ‘You can cancel the other punters, because you’ve found your future employee.’
‘Well, I hope I have, but I’ll still need to ask you some questions, okay?’ Who told him to be so cocky in an interview? I glance at his file. Lives with his mum and older brother, who seems to be mixed up with one of the local gangs. ‘You’re seventeen?’
‘Yeah, but don’t let that fool you. I can do anything you can, and I’m really good.’
His suggestion is unmistakable.
That won’t do him any favours and the sooner he realises it, the better. Just to prove the point, I ask him if he can drive. No? What about buying alcohol legally? Are you registered to vote? No again? ‘Then you can’t quite do anything I can,’ I say, ‘so let’s stick to the interview, okay? Why would you like to do this training?’
There’s a scattering of hairs on his face where he’s been trying to shave, and his suit sleeves cover his knuckles. I bet he’s borrowed it from his big brother. He might have borrowed the razor too.
Joseph clears his throat. That doesn’t stop his voice from cracking. ‘I see the position as a stepping stone for my future as a CEO.’
‘A CEO… here?’ We both look around the pub. ‘That’s not really the position I’m recruiting for.’ Unless CEO stands for Chief Egg-on-toast Officer.
‘Well, then, what are you going to do for my career progression?’
‘It’s a six-month traineeship, so you’ll learn all aspects of working in a café. Working with colleagues, serving customers, making coffee and tea…’ I sort of run out of steam. It’s just a café, not Microsoft.
He sits forward in his chair. ‘Sales and marketing?’
I thought I might put up a few posters around the bus stops. ‘Sure.’
‘How ’bout customer complaint resolution?’
‘I expect so. Tell me, Joseph, what would you like to be a CEO of?’
‘A company with good benefits,’ he says right away.
‘Any particular kind?’
‘Definitely stock options. And a gold-plated pension.’
‘No, I mean any particular kind of company?’
‘I’d be happy at Apple. Or Xbox.’
I like that he’s dreaming big. My most ambitious goal at his age was getting a real pair of Dr. Martens. ‘Well, maybe you’ll get there. It would have been easier if you’d stayed in school, you know.’ He finished secondary school but doesn’t want to go on for college.
‘I like to think of myself as a student of life,’ he says. ‘Steve Jobs dropped out. So did Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg, and they all became CEOs.’
‘Mark Zuckerberg dropped out of Harvard,’ I point out. ‘If you get into Harvard, then you can feel free to drop out.’
‘That’s what my mum said.’
‘I think I’d like your mum.’
Who can blame Joseph for not wanting to be in school? Not everyone is a swot like I was. I only left at sixteen because I needed to help Mum and Dad with the bills. And I went back to graduate from Uni.
If it hadn’t been for the twins’ unplanned arrival scuppering the job plans I had after university, I’d be the one on the other side of the interview table now, trying to get a charity to hire me and probably sounding as naïve as Joseph does.
There but for the grace of god, and my in-laws…
Joseph’s heart seems to be in the right place, underneath the cocksure attitude. He needs a lot of help with his interview technique and he’ll have to learn that people aren’t just going to hand him a job as CEO because he asks for it.
He might not know a teabag from a tea towel, for all I know, but that’s the point, isn’t it? If he can already do the job, then he doesn’t need the training.
‘You’ve got the job if you want it,’ I tell him. ‘Congratulations. We’ll open in four weeks.’
His face splits into a beaming grin. ‘Yeah, that’s well good! Are you for reals?’
‘I’m for reals. You’ll need to come in for training and stuff before the opening.’ I consider my very first employee. My employee! ‘Can I ask you a question before you go? Your briefcase. You didn’t open it. What’s in there?’
Joseph takes a second to answer. ‘My lunch. Mum packed it for me.’
And just like that, the CEO-in-the-making becomes young Joseph again.
I’ve just finished putting away all the boxes piled near the bar when Dad turns up with Auntie Rose wheeling the babies in the pushchair. ‘I’m glad the ramp works!’ I shout to them as they come through the door. We just had it installed last week and it’s only about three inches high, but it means Dad can come through in his wheelchair without having to pop a wheelie.
‘I’ve actually hired someone!’ I tell them.
‘Wayhey!’ Dad whoops, meeting me halfway for a hug. ‘You’re on your way now, me girl. Mind the wheels. This deserves a proper stand-up job.’ Slowly he lifts himself from his wheelchair so I can throw my arms around him.
The twins stop their babbling to stare. They’re not used to seeing my dad standing, and especially not without the crutches he uses to walk. ‘Look at them,’ I say. ‘Astounded.’
‘It’s a bloomin’ miracle, me angels.’
What a difference a generation makes. When Dad first came down with the multiple sclerosis that keeps him mostly in the chair these days, I was fourteen and mortified at having a disabled family member.
Typical teenager, thinking about myself instead of Dad, whose whole life changed in a matter of months. He’d had tingles in his arms and legs for a while but assumed it was from driving round in his cab every day. He might not have said anything if his vision hadn’t started going funny, and the disease had already taken hold by the time he got the diagnosis. He stayed out of the wheelchair for a few more years – a few more years than he should have, really, but he’s stubborn like that. Now he uses it most of the time, and it’s completely normal for Oscar and Grace.
He sits down again. ‘Let ’em loose, Rose. Emma, love, Kelly’s right behind us with fish and chips.’
His announcement makes my mouth start watering. It’s one of the advantages of having a fishmonger for a best friend. Kelly’s worked a deal with the local chippy who fries up her leftover fillets sometimes. She throws the owners a few free portions of fresh fish to cook her tea for her, and they throw in the chips.
‘Mum’s gone to work?’ I ask, reaching for my babies. I might have fantasies about child-free baths and cups of tea that I actually get to finish, but a few hours away from them starts the longing that pulls from my gut and makes me feel breathless.
That was a rhetorical question about Mum anyway. She cleans every weekday afternoon and evening. They’re mostly commercial office contracts, with a few houses whose owners she liked enough to keep as clients over the years.
Just in case Daniel wants some fish too, I ring his mobile but it goes straight through to voicemail. He’s probably in the Underground on his way home. I know Kelly. She’ll have a portion for him when he gets here.
My best friend comes through the door, as usual, with about as much grace as a tipper truck. Kelly’s not a big woman. She just makes big entrances. That sometimes tricks people into assuming she’s tough, so they’re not always as considerate as they could be. A perfect example is when her family decided she should be the one to take over the fish van instead of her sisters. They just assumed she’d do it, like a sixteen-year-old would naturally want to give up any chance of living a life that’s wider than her local market.
‘I figured you needed this after dealing with the little bleeders all day,’ she says, clearing one of the booths to make room for our meal.
Kell takes a different view than me of the hoodies who hang around the market where she works. I can understand why, when she sometimes gets caught up in their skirmishes. She’d like to fillet them and I’m trying to save them.
‘I’ve hired one of the little bleeders,’ I tell her. ‘You should see him, Kell, he’s adorable. He wants to be a CEO.’
‘Just watch the till. Rose, I got you extra chips.’
‘That’s kind, but I really shouldn’t,’ Auntie Rose says, looking up from where her hand is already elbow-deep in the carrier bag. ‘I’m watching me girlish figure.’
Auntie Rose pats her hip with her free hand as she chews on a chip. She’s a generously proportioned lady, in stark contrast to her sister, my Gran, who was always skinny like Mum. She’s got the same smiling eyes and sharp mind, though. Except when she wanders.
That’s why our doors are all locked from the inside and why we can’t leave her alone anymore. For years, she’s had little strokes that make her mind skip sometimes, which was okay when she stayed in the neighbourhood. But we had to take drastic measures after she turned up on the A12 with no idea how to get back home.
She’s pretty relaxed about being incarcerated. She and Dad do everything together these days and she’s as much a help to him as he is a minder for her. At least Mum doesn’t have to worry about either of them when she’s at work.
By the time we lock up the pub we’re full of fish, salt and vinegar. Daniel’s portion is soaking through the bag under the sleeping twins’ pushchair. His phone keeps going straight to voicemail.
‘Are you worried about him?’ Kell asks, walking beside me.
‘No, not worried,’ I say, rubbing the phone in my pocket. ‘More like disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, Kell. I don’t begrudge him having a night out. Lord knows, I wish I could do it any time I wanted too. It’s just that, I feel like–’
‘He’s having his cake and eating it, the bastard,’ she finishes for me. ‘I’d be pissed off too.’
‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Kell. I didn’t say pissed off. I said disappointed.’
‘Really? Not pissed off when he gets to have these gorgeous children, the perfect family, plus you to look after it all while he goes out on the lash whenever he feels like it. Why does he get to be the only one? Shouldn’t you get to do it too? I say hand the twins over to Daniel for a few hours and let him be the one to sit at home covered in sick, being jealous of you while you dance on the tables.’
‘Kell, when have I ever in my life danced on a table?’ She is right, though. He should be the responsible parent for once. At least for a few hours. ‘You know what? I will.’
‘Tomorrow. Do it tomorrow,’ she says. ‘We’ll go out.’
‘I can’t tomorrow. I’m not sure what Daniel has on after work.’
‘You mean like he didn’t know what you had on tonight, yet just assumed you’d be there to look after the twins? Have I got that right?’ Her stare challenges me to disagree.
‘Fine, tomorrow night then. I’ll tell Daniel.’
Chapter 4 (#u05098df4-1b55-59c7-a878-a8a046e56c89)
Daniel was home by eight o’clock. Not out on the lash, just working late with a dead phone. But I’ve avoided Kelly’s questions anyway. She’s been too prickly about him lately. Besides, I’m supposed to be having fun tonight, not whinging about my marriage.
It’s crowded as usual at the Cock and Crown, with Uncle Colin and Uncle Barbara pulling pints behind the bar. The vicar is tinkling sing-a-long show tunes on the piano and we’ve squeezed on to the end of a table where a couple around our age are either on their first date together or having a job interview. It’s kind of hard to tell. So far there’s no sign of a CV, but he just asked her where she thinks she’ll be in a year.
‘What’s that for?’ asks Kell.
‘What’s what for?’
‘That sigh?’
‘Oh, did I? Just happy to be here, I guess.’
The pub has been my home from home literally since I was born. Every picture, poster and random piece of football memorabilia on the walls is familiar, and I could sing most of the jukebox songs in my sleep. Like the green swirly carpet, they haven’t been updated since the eighties.
Uncle Colin took over the business from old Fred nearly twenty years ago when he retired without an interested heir or successor. Colin had paid his dues behind the bar for years by then. The only consistent thing about Fred’s managerial style was his bad mood. It seemed to be a trait he carried home too, judging by how few people turned up at his funeral, even with the free beer on offer.
Mum and Dad had their wedding party here. Uncle Barbara did too (before he started wearing dresses, when he was still Uncle Mark). And I used to fall asleep in Mum’s arms transfixed by the blinking lights on the fruit machines.
This is exactly the kind of atmosphere I want the café to have – where people will feel a connection. They can stroll in with friends or on their own and always find someone for a conversation or at least a smile.
Not that most of the punters in here are what you’d call fans of the café culture. Somehow, I can’t picture Uncle Colin or the vicar sipping skinny soy lattes from dainty cups. And the men downing pints along the bar probably won’t trade their ales for Assam tea. But the atmosphere. That’s what I want.
‘Feckin’ hell, will you watch it!’ Kelly shouts at a shaven-headed man who’s just jostled the pint in her hand.
Without the language, ideally.
‘So, how’s Daniel doing?’ she asks.
I check my phone. ‘Twelve minutes since the last text. I guess he figured out how to open the talc.’ Just as I say it, my phone buzzes in my hand.
Sorry! Does it matter which twin gets which onesie? Dx
I sigh again. This time it’s not from happiness.
They have their own clothes. Get one from each of their drawers. x
Which drawer is which? Dx
I turn my phone for Kell to read. ‘Bloody hell,’ she says, snatching it.
Figure it out and stop bloody texting, Daniel!
She presses send.
‘He’ll think that’s from me.’
‘Puhlease, when do you ever swear? You’ve got to put your phone away. It’s up as loud as it can go. You’ll hear it ring. Because you know it will,’ she murmurs.
I tuck it into my bag. ‘Is Calvin meeting us?’
I watch the bashful smile sweep across her face. A boyfriend has never had that effect on her before. No one would accuse Kell of being a romantic. Where I’ve always jumped head first into the deep end, she wades around with the water around her knees. Sometimes she doesn’t even bother getting wet.
‘Nah, it’s just you and me tonight,’ she says. ‘I can see him any time I want. Who knows when I’ll get you to myself again?’
‘That’s not fair, Kell. I see you almost every day.’
‘Not like this, sans children, like the old days.’
She’s right. We hardly ever get to talk now without the children. Which means we hardly ever finish a conversation. Sometimes we don’t even get to start them. Dancing on tables. Hah! Falling asleep under them, more like. I’m yawning into my beer and it’s not yet 9 p.m. It’s not exactly like the old days, and don’t think I don’t miss them too. I can’t remember the last time I felt like my normal self. I might look like any other twenty-something woman sitting in the pub with her best friend. I’ve even got make-up on and my top has no visible stains. But it’s a façade. My head is back at our house worrying about whether Daniel will remember not to pull down the blinds all the way in the twins’ bedroom or that Oscar sleeps with a blanket but Grace doesn’t. I can’t stop thinking about them. And Daniel’s texts aren’t helping.
