Angry that he’d left me wanting more.
Angry that I wanted him and he might not be on the menu.
It wasn’t some stalker-like tendency that made me decide to confront him. He hadn’t struck me as someone who would ghost the woman they’d been a knight-in-shining-armour for. He’d seemed made of something more than that, and although I wasn’t the best at reading people, I’d seen steel within him which was contrary to how I saw him right now.
I wanted answers.
There was a reason why I’d been successful with my restaurants so far. I was determined. Very little got in my way when I had set my mind to something and talking to Jack face-to-face was now the only thing I was focused on as I handed the kitchen over to my other chef.
“Any idea where Jack will be if he’s not at home?” I asked the kitchen staff in general.
“Probably at King’s Road Centre,” Poppy said, one of the sous chefs. “Third Tuesday of the month so he’ll be dishing up food.”
“What’s the King’s Road Centre?” I felt like a complete moron asking.
“Basically a soup kitchen but they offer other services too. Jack goes there pretty much every Sunday and makes casseroles and meals like that for the week. That’s why he asks you if you’re okay with him using up the leftovers or anything at end of date.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.
Poppy smiled at me. “He’s a good guy. I can text him if it’s something urgent.”
I shook my head, feeling confused. “Does he have a girlfriend?” I knew what they’d talk about afterwards and what my question implied, but asking that seemed more important than anything else.
Her laugh was loud. “I thought you two had started seeing each other! So no, unless it’s you. Do you know where King’s Road is?”
“Not far from Greenwich Village.”
She nodded. “He’ll be pleased to see you.”
I wasn’t sure about that.
* * *
King’s RoadCentre was set just off the main drag, the building in need of repair. Outside was a small congregation of men and women smoking cigarettes, all of who ignored me completely as I went inside. It was like a smallish church hall, a large room with smaller ones coming off it. Noticeboards were situated on the walls advertising where help could be sought and what times medical practitioners were on site, as well as a large map showing where people could find a bed for the night and explaining the rules around each place, what time you needed to be there for.
The room was pretty packed out, most tables full. I stayed close to the shadows, feeling completely out of my depth. When I left Eliot I had refuge in the form of my ex-husband to return to. I hadn’t needed an outside organisation to take of me other than just one night, plus I had a decent amount of savings from my father and alimony from my first marriage to fall back on. I’d only heard about places like this on the TV and in adverts asking for donations.
“Can I help you?” A small woman with blue hair appeared next to me.
“Maybe. I’m Simone Wood…”
“Jack’s boss. I’m Casey Flint one of the workers here.” She held out her hand. “Jack’s in the kitchen. I guess that’s where you’re used to seeing him though.” Her smile was genuine and full. She was pretty and I immediately felt a harsh pang in my stomach.
“Kind of. I… I… don’t actually know why I’m here.” My social awkwardness kicked in. I was out of my comfort zone, away from my restaurant and in a situation I had no idea how to predict. Jack could well be pissed that I was here in the first place – this wasn’t something he wanted me to know about else he’d have told me.
“Why don’t I tell you about the place? Then you can decide what to ask.” She led us to a room just off the main hall, flicking on the lights. There were tables and chairs, a little like a classroom.
I followed, sitting facing a window into the hall.
“We opened in the seventies and were funded by the churches in the area to help feed the homeless. Since then we’ve grown, we had to, because homelessness isn’t going to go away. I think we worked out that we see over a thousand people a week, giving them food, medical treatment, the opportunity to have a shower and services such as an address they can use for mail, basic skills classes, help with CV’s. And we give out backpacks with essentials in for a night on the streets.” Her expression was pained. I could tell this was her passion.
“Why do you do this job?”
She shrugged. “When I was a teenager one of my friends became homeless when she was kicked out by her dad. She spent a few nights on the street before a centre like this helped her. She ended up sleeping on the floor in my bedroom for a few months and is now doing really well – good job, two kids. But she told me some stories about what she saw and things that nearly happened to her that made me want to try to change things.” Casey looked out of the window.
I saw Jack with Lauren walk past. They were both smiling, Jack’s arm around his daughter’s shoulders. Someone said something to them and Lauren grabbed her dad’s hand and twirled him around. I remembered what it was like to dance with him and my chest hurt.
“Jack got involved because of his brother. Robert wouldn’t accept any help from his family. He’s got PTSD after what he’d seen in the army and our services just aren’t equipped to help him. Being inside four walls kills him if he’s there for any more than about fifteen minutes. Jack’s found three flats for him but every times Robert’s left them to live outside.”
