‘What’s up?’ he asks as I stare at the brown stream of liquid pouring into the takeaway cup.
‘All good,’ I say, moving my mouth as little as possible, almost as if talking will release a flood of emotion.
I put his drink in front of him and he cocks his head to the side. ‘It’s not. Tell me?’
I glance towards my parents, who are eating in silence, and then nod towards the kitchen. When we’re in there, he leans against the countertop waiting for me to speak.
‘I surprised my parents with afternoon tea.’
I need to keep busy, not stand and moan, so I grab the kitchen spray from under the sink. It’s wet. That’s all I need. I stick my head in the cupboard. Thankfully, there are no puddles of water.I run my hand around the floor of the cupboard and across the pipes, then rub my fingers to make sure. No. I’m all good.
‘It looked lovely. I’d have wolfed it down. What’s the problem?’
‘Oh, it wasn’t in their schedule, so they don’t have time for it.’ I pull a face, screwing up my nose like a petulant child.
And bang on cue, Dad’s voice floats in from the café.
‘Ellie. We have to get going or we’re going to be late.’
I shrug my shoulders in resignation at Greg and we both go back out into the café. Mum and Dad are standing by the counter waiting to say goodbye.
‘I see you’re trying some marketing,’ Dad says, nodding towards the laminated A4 sheet. ‘I don’t think relying on all this internet stuff is the way to go.’ He waves dismissively towards the QR codes on the bottom of the sheet that Reeni has set up for me linking the café to its social media accounts.
‘Actually, they’re known to work well in getting customers to respond to businesses and raising awareness,’ says Greg, discreetly touching my arm. He takes a subtle step towards Dad. ‘It’s a proven way to get the word out.’
‘And you are?’ Dad’s eyes narrow as he looks Greg up and down.
‘Oh, sorry,’ says Greg, offering his hand, which Dad takes. ‘I’m digital brand and marketing director for Phoenix Consulting. So, I know Ellie’s on the right track. It’s about getting the algorithms to work for you.’ He gives me a quick smile then goes back to sweet-talking Dad. ‘If you post at the right times, with the right hashtags, it all helps. Then if the content is varied and relevant, it engages people.’
Hearing Greg defend me tips a tiny smile onto my lips.
‘And you have money to waste on consultants now, do you?’ Dad glares at me.
‘Oh no. Ellie and I are …’ Greg stalls and Dad clocks his hesitation, ‘… friends. I’m not charging her.’
I watch Dad take in Greg’s smart suit trousers, crisp white shirt and navy tie, and his look softens. He always thought unless you wear a suit to work, you’re not doing a ‘proper’ job.
‘Friends, you say?’
Greg ignores Dad’s query and continues his algorithms spiel.
‘All this hashtag stuff confuses me,’ says Mum, giving me a kind smile. ‘Is everything OK though? It is a little empty in here.’
‘It’s all great, Mum, promise.’
The look I get says she’s not sure she believes me, but true to form, she doesn’t push the issue and simply nods before heading off to the toilet.
I tune back into Greg talking. ‘… great photographer. You only have to look at what she has on the walls.’
Dad has his back to me and his voice has lowered and I have to strain to hear him.
‘I always did think she was talented in that field.’ Dad gestures towards the photos. ‘Great composition and contrast. Especially that one.’
Something stabs at my chest at the photo he’s singled out. He’s pointing directly towards the monochrome photo of a battered, neglected beach hut with a single seagull standing on its concrete veranda. The only colour is the yellow of the hut and it pops against the black and white of the background.
‘Absolutely,’ Greg says. ‘Ellie’s going to get the ball rolling by taking one of her own to put up on social media.’
Am I?
