“If it’s cold when it gets to me, I’ll need another one.” The woman breaks through the wall of memory, but I don’t react. Only huff my apologies and place the plate carefully before her, ensuring Jack clocks my attentiveness: the slight tilt to my head as I ask her if I can bring her any sauces, the docile, bovine smile as she demands mayonnaise without a word of thanks.
I’m grateful for the chance to collect myself. I nod to Jack that I’ll be there in a second and turn away toward the counter.
His appearance here is unexpected. I’d been sure he would message. I left a carefully penned note on the ottoman in the sitting room, imploring him to reach out should he need me. I hadn’t expected it to be so soon, though. In person no less. I don’t even need to mentally trawl the “How to Tell if He’s into You” article. This speaks for itself.
Last night was exhausting, but worth it. I spent far too long at Jack’s—first looking unsuccessfully for any crumbs of Alice and then cleaning up his mess from the last two weeks. It was worse than it hadseemed. Broken bottles, wine on the carpet. Something that looked suspiciously like a little patch of vomit on the sofa. I scrubbed and wiped and disposed of it all and relished every second. Relished the thought of Jack coming down the next morning and seeing evidence of my presence. His guardian angel, come to pull him from the depths of the hell he’d found himself in.
I pressed hard on our similarities in the note:
Morning, hope you’re not feeling too awful. I hope you don’t mind—I had a bit of a clear-up. Here any time you need to talk. Remember, I know what you’re going through. Perhaps better than most. X
I hoped it would remind him that we are in the same camp. Remind him what drew us together. The simple fact is this: Wearethe same. We have both lost someone very dear to us, and yet we found each other—a small cleft of light in the darkness. That sort of connection is not to be sniffed at. It was just the same with Freddie. It’s going to take more than a misunderstanding at a restaurant to drive us apart.
I return to the woman with the mayonnaise. She’s wearing an oversized cardigan that I quite like the look of. I might get a cardigan. It feels like the sort of thing Alice would have worn. Every maternal figure in my life, barring my actual mother—the school nurses, even Fiona—have worn cardigans. Maybe I’ll go and have a look for one this afternoon. It fits nicely with the aesthetic that I’m building in my head: a woman who is endearingly uncool, swathed in bangles and oversized cardigans and possibly glasses. A woman I will have to become.
Finally, I turn toward Jack. We’re too busy, really, for me to take a break, but Mick will understand that I am in pursuit of love, and nothing is so important as that. And if he doesn’t, I’ll turn on the waterworks.
Jack starts apologizing as soon as I reach him, but I shush him and steer him toward one of the last empty tables, delighting in the easy contact with his arm. He sits heavily, head drifting into his hands.
“Iris, I’m so sorry that you saw me like that last night. I know it’s a problem, and I’ve got to get a handle on it. I’m so grateful you came over. It was the wake-up call I needed.”
He lifts his head like he’s trying to gauge how the apology has landed. I consider, for one wild moment, utilizing the power in this tiny move. Making him beg for my forgiveness, as I was tempted to do in the wake of that disastrous dinner. But I am bigger than that: I relax my face into a smile, brows pulled together in sympathy.
“Don’t mention it. Honestly. I’m just pleased I could help.” Cool and calm, yet genuinely invested in his recovery.
“I’m going to start going to meetings again. I slipped up, but I need to take better care of myself. So that I can be better. For you,” he adds softly, and my stomach gives a delightful little swoop. “Can we start over? Pretend last night—and the dinner—never happened?”
“Of course. Don’t even mention it.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Iris.”
I don’t, either, but false displays of modesty are always a good idea when one is paid a compliment, so I adopt one of Marcie’s later expressions: eyes lowered, bashful.
When I raise them again, I catch Mick flashing me an irritated look across the café. I don’t want to risk his ire when we have so recently reached an armistice, so I press my hand on top of Jack’s.
“We’re really busy, so I should get back to work.”Leave them wanting more.
“Of course. I’m sorry I interrupted. I’ll message you?”
He frames it as a question. I give him a genuine smile. “I’d like that.”
He stands. “I’m going to have a nap, then go to a meeting. Had to take a sick day today. This can’t happen again. Iwillget it under control.”
“I know you will,” I say, ever supportive, and he presses a hand to my shoulder, just like last night.
“See you soon, Iris.”
For the rest of the day, I approach my job with such enthusiasm that Mick holds me back at the end of my shift.
“I don’t know what’s happened, but that’s the fire I want to see every day, Iris. Well done.”
With his praise still ringing in my ears, I skip out. I buy myself a cardigan from TK Maxx and slip it on to walk home in. It suits this new version of me well. My roots are growing out, too, and I’m considering changing to something different. Something that better represents who I am now. Mousy, perhaps. Or ashy. Unobtrusively sweet, just as I intend to be.
Mum eyes me suspiciously when I enter the house. It’s alarming how much better she looks. Clear-eyed where Jack was misted. Her skin looks brighter, too. No longer sallow and waxy. She’s got some color. Must be the new man. Or the news of Dad’s divorce.
“What’s got you in such a good mood?” she asks from the doorway of the sitting room.
“I’m just pleased to be here. Don’t need a reason, do I?” I say, and, for her benefit, I give her one of my new, special smiles. She takes a small step backward and her hand closes into a tight fist.
