‘Oh dear,’ Nelly says, flouncing into the café.
It’s the early hours of the morning. Dark outside. The smell of bacon and eggs lay heavily in the air.
‘Well, this is a first.’ Nelly looks around him apprehensively, dragging one finger across a Formica table. The place is immaculate. It may be a greasy spoon, but Jack keeps his tables clean and a floor you could eat off.
‘You, girl, have me popping up in all the most off-the-grid places. I’ve never had one of my gowns end up at a meat market before.’ He glances around him and places one finger on his long nose as though deep in thought. ‘It would make a wild place for a photoshoot,’ he mutters.
‘It was on the way home,’ I say, still feeling miserable.
‘You fancy a coffee, mate?’ Minty says. He’s standing at the counter.
Nelly’s eyes narrow. ‘With a tot of something spicy?’
Minty and Jack look blank.
Jack examines his stockpile of condiments. ‘I could do you a spot of sriracha in the mug, but it’s your funeral.’
‘Hmm, thanks, but…’ Nelly slides his backside onto the leather bench, whips out a flask. ‘I always come prepared.’ He turns his attention back to me. ‘So what happened?’
I sink my head into my hands. ‘It was a disaster.’
Nelly shrugs. ‘I figured. Brought you these.’ He slides a portfolio case onto the shiny red tabletop, flips it open and draws out his posh blue stationery. ‘You tried. I tried. You get the sayonara written, I’ll drop it off.’
‘Sorted,’ I say feebly.
‘Sorted,’ he confirms. ‘And… did anyone ask you about the dress?’
I shake my head feebly, failing to tell him that some woman had asked me if it was the fashion to wear dresses hooked up into your garter belt. I had left in a hurry! ‘No,’ I say simply.
‘Philistines,’ he states, equally simply. ‘Well, these are yours.’ He pulls my work clothes out from his bag. ‘Sorry, darling.’ Nelly ruffles my hair. ‘The man’s just not ready for love.’
‘I wasn’t…’ I protest.
‘Oh, but you so were. Shame.’ Nelly sighs. ‘It would have been a great match. Made in heaven. Marco just loves places like this. It’s his kind of hot sauce if you like.’
‘Coffee for you,’ Minty says, sliding a mug across the table towards Nelly.
‘Great.’ Nelly twists the neck of his flask and adds a slug of whisky. ‘Now you,’ Nelly says, fixing me with his deep brown eyes. ‘Get your clothes off.’
And surprisingly, although this is one of the most beautiful gowns I have ever worn, will most likely ever wear in my entire life, I can’t wait to get the thing off.
The next day, I can barely get out of bed let alone go to work. So, I feel a sense of satisfaction that my letter of resignation will be winding its way into the world without me.
‘What can I do?’ Minty asks, standing in the doorway to my room, wiping his hands on the apron I got him last Christmas.
‘Nothing,’ I say, throwing a pillow over the back of my head and burrowing into my mattress.
‘I’ll call the doctor,’ he says.
I don’t need a medic. All I really need is space in which I can feel foolish. ‘Seriously, Minty, I’m fine.’
He comes into the room, tiptoeing across the carpet, and lays one hand over my forehead. ‘You’re not hot. Then again…’ he pauses, mulling something over in his brain. ‘I think it has to go in the ear. That’s where you get the best readings.’
‘Nobody is sticking a finger in my ear,’ I say firmly. ‘Anyway, that’s taking a temperature with a thermometer, not with your hands.’
‘Ah, right,’ Minty says. ‘I always thought that was a bit unhygienic.’ He glances suspiciously at his own hands. ‘Oh, and by the way, you’ve had phone calls.’ Uninvited, Minty takes up a pew, sinking down at the edge of my bed.
Phone calls? I cringe. Could it be Marco? I don’t want to talk to Marco. He’s probably ringing to ask me where his stapler is. ‘Was it work?’ I ask, simply unable to not pick that wound. Even talking about him sets my whole body reeling.
