‘Fabulous idea,’ says Dad, his voice dripping in enthusiasm. ‘Give everyone something to aim at. They’ll have to be excellent to match her photos. She has such a lovely spot here and she’s done it up so well it’d be great to see it busy.’
My mouth drops open. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him be sofull of praise for me. How can he say things like that to a stranger but not to my face?
‘That young man is very smart. Is he your boyfriend?’ Mum says quietly in my ear.
‘No. Just a friend.’ I’m not about to explain the concept of booty calls to my mum.
‘A friend that’s quite sweet on you by the looks of things,’ says Mum with a raised eyebrow. ‘You could do worse.’
I shake my head at her, but my brain is whirring. Greg is still talking to Dad in glowing terms and Dad looks like he’s lapping it up. I study them. Greg is such a nice bloke, reliable, genuine, and we do have good fun when we get together. And Reeni is right, I need to put my Jackson hang-up to bed once and for all. And by the looks of it, Dad might actually approve of Greg.
‘Maybe,’ I mutter to Mum, and she lets out a little giggle.
Greg and I stand side by side with our hands raised in goodbye as Dad’s car drives away from us.
‘Thanks for that,’ I say as we walk back into the building. ‘Dad’s never been keen on me running a café. I think he’s waiting for it to all fall apart.’
‘I don’t think that’s true. He’s probably worried. That’s parents for you.’ He squeezes my arm in support. ‘I reckon he thought you were a marketing genius by the time I’d bamboozled him with some technical-sounding words.’
I snort. ‘I doubt that. No one’s even entered the competition yet.’
‘They will. And he was very complimentary about your photos. Don’t be so hard on him.’
I give Greg a sceptical look, but don’t have the energy to argue. ‘What were you doing telling him I was going to take the first photo?’
I climb up on the till stool. He sits next to me and picks up hiscoffee and takes a slurp. I wince inside. I’ve always hated the way he’s noisy when he drinks.
‘You’ll inspire people by putting up one of your own,’ he says.
I think about the council letter I’ve written complaining about Milo’s café, which now has a stamp. I don’t need to put myself out there to inspire people. I need the Camper Café moved to give me half a chance to survive. And if I can do it anonymously, all the better.
‘If people see an entry, it’ll encourage them to do the same. Your photos have real depth and meaning. There’s something emotional about them.’ His phone vibrates and he pulls it out of his trouser pocket and opens an email.
I look around me at the large seaside photos which adorn the walls. They’re a mixture of black, white and colour and I can remember taking every one of them. They’re a bit of me on my café walls.
‘Someone’s rescheduled my conference call.’ Greg’s voice intrudes on my memories.
We walk to the door and I can feel his hand inches from mine. I have the urge to reach out and touch him, but don’t. He pauses and I think he’s going to reach for me before he moves away and a spark of disappointment flicks through me at the rejection.
He clears his throat and pulls at his tie uncomfortably. ‘I’d better dash. See you soon, yes?’
I nod and watch as his tall frame walks away. Now I’ve decided I need to take charge of my life, I’m impatient to move on. If he’s not going to ask me out, maybe I need to ask him?
Seventeen Years Ago
Six weeks pregnant.
I fling my school bag off my shoulder onto the floor and plonk onto a kitchen chair. Mum has her back to me, washing up at the sink. I stare blankly as she scrubs several spotty mugs in white foamy water before placing them on the drainer.
‘Have you thought what you’re going to do?’ Her voice shatters the quiet.
‘About what?’ I know exactly what she’s talking about, but I haven’t even been able to talk about it with Jackson yet.
Mum swings around wiping her hands on a red-and-white stripey tea towel. ‘The sooner you make the decision, the sooner we can get it organised.’ She’s rubbing the yellow fabric of her T-shirt between her finger and thumb, something I know she does when Dad is shouting at her.
‘I don’t think, I mean, I haven’t decided.’ I try to swallow. ‘I need to talk to Jackson about it.’ I know the exact solution Mum’s talking about.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She pulls out the chair opposite me to sit. ‘This is about your life. What’s best for you. It isn’t some fairy tale.’
