I see him over her shoulder, and everything around me drops out of focus.
He’s wiping down a table to my right, his back to me. He’s wearing a fitted pink T-shirt and navy shorts and is taller than I remember – about a foot taller than me. His blond hair is longer and darker than in my dreams, but that stubborn wave still runs through it. I edge away from Olly’s buggy to get a better view. His forearms are tanned and there’s a black tattoo poking out of the cuff of his sleeve and winding its way around his toned bicep. He definitely didn’t have that seventeen years ago. I’m trying not to stare, but it’s impossible. Even though I can’t see his face, every part of me knows I’m looking straight at my past.
He bends to pick up a Crunchie wrapper that’s dancing along the floor in the breeze, and fingers that all these years later I can still remember running down the profile of my face grabthe sweet paper. A tremor shoots through my hand and I curl it into a fist and jam it in my hoodie pocket. His dirty blond hair flops across his forehead, hiding one of his eyebrows. The colour matches the stubble grazing his jaw, hiding the dimple I know sits right in the middle of his chin. A customer says something to him and he answers with an easy laugh, the mellow pitch filling my ears.
‘Is that Jackson?’ Reeni hisses, her mouth so close to my ear that her lips brush my skin. ‘I thought he was living in Australia?’
Having finished his conversation, Jackson turns and for a split second, I swear his eyes meet mine. Fear surges through me, fuelling my flight reaction. Run. Now. My heart hammers against my ribs, pinning me in place. I’m desperate to move my feet, but I can’t drag my eyes away from his. And then, as if he hasn’t seen me at all, he turns away, distracted by another customer.
My nails dig into Reeni’s arm until she yelps. ‘I need to get out of here.’
‘Shouldn’t you say something?’
For a split second, I pause. Should I? The urge to hear him say my name is overwhelming. Olly squeals as someone with a huge ice cream walks past us and jerks me to my senses.
‘Are you insane? No.’ Before I can change my mind, I grab the handles of Olly’s buggy and spin it around. ‘We’ll get ice cream somewhere else.’
I force my feet to move but can’t help taking one last look over my shoulder in Jackson’s direction before the view is swallowed up by new customers and I’m left with the lingering feeling that the one thing I’ve tried so hard to leave behind has just caught up with me.
Chapter Two
My phone alarm is due to go off at 6 a.m., but it’s quarter to five and I’m already wide awake. It’s the third day in a row I’ve woken up ridiculously early with a tightness to my chest as if I’ve pedalled my bike too hard up a hill.
The sun is coming up and the sliver of light breaking through the gap in the curtains is dazzling. I turn over onto my side to change the view and stare instead at my phone and a half-filled glass of water on the bedside table. I’ve replayed my encounter with Jackson countless times, and in each version, I don’t run away. I’ve tried out different things to say, but I can’t come up with any scenario where everything ends well. They all start off fine, as if the last seventeen years never happened, and he gives me the same smile that used to melt my insides. We chat about what’s been happening in our lives, like two old friends would do, and then as I reach out to touch him, the light goes out of his hazel-brown eyes and they harden. He wants to know whyI’d ghosted him. In every version, I open my mouth to reply, but there’s silence. It’s as if my tongue has been cut out and the harder I try to speak, the more distressing the silence becomes. And then he walks away from me in disgust, just as I deserve.
‘It’s quiet in here today, love,’ says Lil, my Friday afternoon regular. She’s sitting in her normal seat by the window. I put down her pot of English Breakfast tea and slice of lemon cheesecake and then look around. Apart from Lil and the one table occupied outside, we’re empty.
‘Maybe it’ll pick up later. The weather is lovely,’ I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. I’m sick of trotting out my hope that the weather is the answer to all my prayers.
I leave Lil to her tea and sudoku and head back towards the kitchen. The afternoon sun is streaming in through the windows, but even through my squint I glimpse someone tall walking across the front of the café towards the beach and my insides jolt. I haven’t seen Jackson since the encounter on the green and I’m still on high alert. I’ve avoided going anywhere near the beach and Reeni’s not seen him either, even though she’s been keeping a lookout. Maybe he’s gone back to Australia?
My toastie maker beeps. I’d thought about trying out new and inventive toasted sandwiches, but now I can smell the melted cheese and onion, I’m happy I’ve stuck to what I know.
I do have a hatch in the till area which opens directly onto the outside seated area. In past summers when we’ve been heaving, I used to put the plates up on the ledge and call out names for people to collect their orders. Now Jill or I take them out to the tables ourselves.
With both tables served, Jill leans against the wall and clears her throat. ‘Not getting any busier, is it?’
‘Is the Camper Café still on the green?’ I’ve tried my best tonot ask about the rival café, even though it’s never been far from my thoughts, but I can’t help myself.
‘It was there when I came to work and already had a line of customers. They’re getting busier every time I see them.’ She casts a glance around our café. ‘I’ve seen a few of our regulars using it.’
I scowl so hard I can feel the lines pinch my forehead. ‘Alright. You don’t have to rub it in.’
Jill smooths down her apron, picking off an imaginary bit of food, and guilt floods through me. My fingers close around the pot nearest to me and it spins from my grasp, sending straws rolling across the countertop and onto the floor. Jill stoops to collect them up and I take the opportunity of her disappearing below my sight line to rub my eyes hard.
‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. We’re in the perfect spot. Our food’s good and our coffee is fantastic. I don’t know what else to do.’
I look around me. The Beach House is a beautiful, white wooden plank building with coastal-blue window frames and doors. It sits on its own patch of beach, about a seven-minute walk from Thorbridge Village. The outside area has picnic tables, each with its own coloured umbrella, and the boundary is a series of waist-high wooden stakes with thick knotted nautical rope looped between them. There’s a tiny living space at the back of the café comprising a living room/kitchen, one bedroom, and a bathroom with a shower. And the best bit about it all is, because I did it all up and not the landlord, the rent is reasonable and, when I was busier, affordable. A few months ago, I held barbecue nights which were a huge hit, but the last couple I tried fell flat. Now, I don’t have the funds to waste on food no one eats, so the barbecue’s been pushed to the side and is covered in a tarpaulin and several layers of gritty sand.
‘Afternoon.’ Greg’s cheerful voice slices through the quiet and Jill drops the straws all over the floor again.
His baby-blue eyes twinkle as he smiles and makes his way over to us. He’s had a haircut and his chocolate-brown hair is short all over and suits him. It’s been a few days since I’ve seen him, but that’s not unusual. We’ve a casual relationship. If we fancy a takeaway, a film and some company, then we hook up, although recently he’s been popping into the café a little more.
‘I had a few minutes till my next appointment, so I thought I’d drop in and grab a coffee,’ he says.
‘Looks like you’ve already got one,’ I spit out, eyeing the cup he’s carrying with the Camper Café’s colourful logo splashed all over it. ‘How could you?’
‘What?’ Greg’s brow furrows.
