Chapter Fourteen
Owen
Payton had toldme in a text that my body wasn’t what she would’ve expected of a book store owner. If she’d seen me this morning, she would’ve known straight away I was either a librarian or had some form of nerdy profession as I was rocking the whole geek look. My glasses were thick rimmed and prominent; I wore chinos, a light blue shirt and a brown tank top. Had I still been at school there was a good chance I would’ve had my head pushed down a toilet while it was being flushed—that was the action this look would’ve inspired, had I not also been six foot four and built like a redwood tree.
It was early morning, but London was its usual busy self with plenty of people in suits looking tired and rushed. One of things I loved about what I did was that I was able to set my own agenda. I decided what time I started work and what happened during the course of my day. Sure, there were emergencies where I had to get up at three in the morning because one of the stores had been broken into or there was a staffing issue and I needed to resolve it, but Cases was my baby and my main livelihood so I rarely minded.
Today was different. It was a Friday, so the busiest part of my week had ended: Fridays were usually quieter and more relaxed, but today I felt apprehensive.
I hadn’t seen Dave since the mediation, and even then I hadn’t seen him to talk to. He’d been a constant in my life since I was a teenager and although I was aware relationships ended—mine and Amber’s being the prime example—I had expected him to be in touch before now. He’d messaged me on Wednesday during an acoustic set from a band I was pretty sure would be selling out arenas in a couple of years, and asked if I wanted to meet him for breakfast on Friday. Breakfast seemed to be the go to meal for social occasions as you were guaranteed to make it on time, mostly.
We met in a small café down a side street near St Paul’s Cathedral that specialised in Fairtrade coffee and gluten free everything. Dave had celiac disease, so places that did gluten free were well known to me.
He looked tired and lean, as if he’d lost weight in the past couple of months but his grin was still the same.
“Morning,” he said, folding his paper and putting it to one side. “You look like a librarian.”
“I tried,” I said, sitting down opposite. “You look like shit.”
He eyed me. “Yeah. Not been sleeping that well.”
“Or eating.”
“That too.”
“Why?” I knew the answer, or at least I thought I did.
“I’ve screwed up.” He looked majorly pissed off with himself. “Order your coffee, then I’ll start by apologising.”
I headed to the counter, needing a strong black and a something filling as I’d barely eaten the night before; I’d left rugby practice to go to an event at one of the publishing houses. There had been canapés and other silly dickwad pieces of food but nothing substantial, so a full English breakfast was definitely on my list of things to eat. And maybe a lemon muffin. And possibly waffles.
“What do you need to apologise for?” I said, sitting back down with a large mug of caffeine.
“Fuck, Owen, you can try to make this easy for me.”
I laughed quietly, adding a drop of cream.
“Fine. I’m sorry about going legal on you. The store and all. I don’t want to sell my share; I’ve no reason to,” he said, shaking his head. “I just needed a way to keep in touch with your mum.”
“I figured as much and so did she,” I said, nearly burning my mouth with the coffee.
“It didn’t work. I left her at least a dozen voicemails asking her to meet so we could talk but she didn’t respond or return any of my calls.,” He looked downcast and genuinely sad. I thought about how I would feel if Payton stopped speaking to me and realised that not much else would matter anymore. That was a thought to continue with later. “What’s she told you?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Absolutely jack fucking shit apart from something about not living together. It all sounds like a bit of a mid-life crisis.”
“It’s my fault.”
“I doubt it.” I gestured to the girl at the counter for more coffee for both of us. “But tell me why you think it is.”
Dave pushed a hand through his hair and looked pained. He was a good man, a busy, successful one, but a good man. Between him and my father, I had decent role models growing up, particularly when it came to treating women. “I should’ve asked her to move it with me. I should’ve been more romantic. You know the books she reads—the modern romance stuff…”
“Mum reads that?” I was surprised. I’d only ever seen her with classics or literary fiction, although I knew Payton liked romance novels.
Dave nodded. “She started to read paragraphs out, you can imagine which sections, and I think it gave her ideas.”
“Do I need to know anymore?”
“Probably not, but I should’ve realised she wanted more attention. Flowers, dates, gestures. I hadn’t been putting the effort in and we were just a habit. But she’s a habit I’d like back,” he said, looking up at me hopefully.
