The Mount Street Socialwas full of early evening diners taking advantage of the two courses for thirty offer. It was a Thursday, therefore a fairly big night in Theatre Land, not that we were that close to the West End, but it brought people out to eat.
“You okay, Simone?” Hayley, one of my front of house team said, giving me a look which suggested I didn’t look okay.
“Fine.” I wasn’t ready to explain what had happened. I wasn’t sure if I could.
I headed up the stairs to where the private room was for corporate events and parties, and the staff area, so I could get changed given that one of the kitchen staff who was pulling a double was using the apartment. I wasn’t down to be on shift here tonight, but it would lighten the load on Jack and the rest of the staff.
Five minutes later, and I was in the kitchen, taking the checks and picking up the steak orders. I didn’t need to speak to anyone, not when we were this busy. Everyone’s concentration had to be on the heat, what we were cooking, the volume of bodies in a tight area, presenting a show for the diners who could watch how they’re food was being made.
“You look pale.” Jack stood next to me, chopping something that didn’t need chopping. It was an excuse to be close enough so he could speak without the others overhearing. “Have you eaten?”
I shook my head. “Not since about one.”
“There’s pork belly and colcannon mash in the back. Go get it. We’ll talk later.”
His grin wasn’t there. Instead his eyes said it all. Concern. Worry.
I wanted to cry and I hadn’t cried for nearly as long as I hadn’t had sex.
“Table six. Can you cover it?”
“Always.”
That was him. An always guy.
We worked in silence, pretty much side by side after everyone else had left. There wasn’t any need for either of us to be here this late, the jobs we were doing could be done in the morning by the staff on the early shift, which wasn’t Jack.
I think I understood what he was doing. He was creating time until I was ready to talk. Given that talking to someone about how I felt wasn’t something I was especially good at, having had several years of needing to rely on myself pretty much, we could be here for some time.
All the while, Jack’s mood soured. His frustration was vocal in the way he placed down the pans and bottles and spices. His mouth was set firm and straight and his lack of eye contact knocked me off-kilter more than an unsharpened knife.
“I think we should go home.” My words broke the silence that had held for at least half an hour.
He turned to me, hands empty. “Are you getting back together with your ex?”
I froze, dropping the wooden spoon I’d been brandishing. “What?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, Sim. You’ve been not right since you got here and I figured… shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
I laughed, mainly because I wasn’t sure what else to do. The idea that I’d ever get back together with Phillip was pretty much pure comedy. “No, Jack. No. Never. It’s been something else.”
“What? I mean, I know it’s none of my business. I’d like it to be my business but I get…”
The prep room suddenly seemed too big. It took too long to get to him. This mountain of a man with his broad shoulders and four-day scruff looked as if his world had been tipped on its axis because of me. He was bothered about me and what he meant. I couldn’t remember what that was like.
I had to hold on to his shoulders to boost myself up to be able to kiss him. His hands went straight to my ass and he scooped me up, strong arms lifting me so I could put my legs around his waist. He was a rock beneath my hands, strong and stable and I didn’t think about where he was taking us, just that I needed to go with him.
The flat above Mount Street was accessible through the staff room, the door rarely locked unless someone was actually living there. I didn’t mind staff staying over when they needed somewhere closer to sleep, like earlier, or the use of a bathroom that was better than the small staff one that we had.
Awareness that we were in the flat was just about there as most of my senses were lost in whatever Jack was doing. He found the bedroom, not bothering with the lights, and placed me down on the unmade bed.
We were both work-dirty, the remnants of dealing with food all evening still clinging to us but it didn’t matter. Unlike with Eliot, I wasn’t about to be judged; unlike with Phillip, I didn’t have arm-candy standards to uphold.
“I can keep trying to kiss the sad out of you, but I’d like to know what’s happened.” He was lying over me, his arms holding him up. All I could see was the swirling intensity that his eyes held.
“It’s nothing to do with Phillip. I went to Toad Hall to check on the place – I wanted to get some pictures so I could start speaking to local artists about displaying their work there. Someone had tampered with the lock and broken in. They’d vandalised the tiles in the kitchen.” I held onto his arms, watching his expression, trying to read his mood.
Fear was there. It had been for a long time. Predicting someone’s behaviour was something I struggled with until I knew them well. Phillip had been easy because his moods were so stable. Eliot had been different. He had turned without warning, especially after we were married.
