His face relaxes into a smile and relief floods through me. I haven’t ruined our friendship. He’s not going to run away from me. His forgiveness is quiet and unconditional and feels like sunlight warming a frozen corner of my soul. I’m about to reach for his hand when the familiar sound of a car drives past on the road, slowing down to pull into the front of The Beach House, and the moment we’re sitting in shatters.
‘That’s Greg.’ My tone is urgent and I edge along the bench a tiny bit away from Jackson.
He tilts one eyebrow at me. ‘The boyfriend who isn’t a boyfriend?’
I don’t answer because even I haven’t got a clue where I stand right now. And more to the point where I want to stand.
‘Can you, I mean, is it OK if …’ I bite my lip, my insides churning.
He frowns, confused at the wall that’s shot up between us. ‘You want me to go?’
‘If he finds you here, he won’t like it.’ I screw my eyes shut. I’ve upset Greg so much lately and he doesn’t deserve it and in turn, it makes me feel dreadful. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Do you let him dictate all your friends?’ Jackson’s voice crackles across the space between us.
‘No, it’s not like that. Please.’ My eyes are skimming across his face, begging him to understand.
He nods and stands calmly, but his face flickers with something. Disappointment? Frustration? I’m not sure.
‘I’ll be at the camper all afternoon. Mum and I have an idea for how you could use the café. That’s why I came over.’
‘I’ll call over later.’ I stand, hoping he takes the hint. ‘Promise. Go now, please.’
‘I’m going.’ He reaches out and squeezes my forearm. ‘If you need me, call. And bring your camera later.’ And then he’s gone, his long loping strides taking him down onto the beach and out of sight right as Greg walks around the corner of the building.
‘Hi, Ellie,’ calls out Greg.
He’s gone back to his boring navy tie and neatly brushed un-gelled hair, which I have to say suits him way better. I wait for goosebumps to race down my spine or even a warm feeling to flood my insides, but none of that happens. I sit back down on the bench with a thud, pulling the local newspaper over the table towards me.
‘How’s it going?’
‘Looking at jobs,’ I say, waving my hand at the open page. This morning I’d been depressed at the available local employment, but after talking to Jackson I feel more hopeful about it all. I have a plan and that feels good.
Greg leans over and tuts. ‘You can do better than these,’ he says with a dismissive glance. ‘You need something with prospects. A real career you’ll be proud of.’
I cringe inside. He sounds like Dad and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
‘I know exactly the type of thing you can apply for.’ With a flourish, he pulls several A4 papers out from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and makes a big deal of laying them in front of me. ‘These are right up your street and way more suitable.’
Suitable for who? I flick through the printed pages. They are all office-based jobs, secretary, PA, office administrator – whatever that means. All lovely jobs I’m sure, but I’d be bored out of my brains stuck in an office doing the same thing day in, day out. I sigh. It wasn’t supposed to be out loud, but obviously is, as Greg takes affront. I flick to the last page, determined to bemore positive. After all he has gone out of his way to try to help me. The final job is a receptionist gig at Phoenix Consulting.
‘Isn’t this where you work?’
‘It’s not my department, it’s Bill’s. Living and working together never works.’ He laughs nervously and pulls at his tie, realising what he’s implied. ‘Not that we live together yet, obviously, but you know what I mean.’ The tips of his ears have turned red. ‘It’s the perfect job though. I know you’d be brilliant at it and it’s got progression built in.’ He beams at me like a proud parent encouraging a six-year-old with their difficult homework. ‘Your dad thought this was the one you should go for.’
My heart skips a beat and not in a good way. ‘My dad? What the hell were you doing talking to Dad?’
Greg has the decency to look abashed. ‘We happened to talk on the phone.’
My eyes narrow. ‘Happened to?’
‘I needed to ask him something and we got chatting. I’d better go.’ He’s already getting to his feet and shuffling out from the picnic bench. ‘I’ll help you with your CV if you get it ready. I know what Bill’s looking for, so we can tailor it to the job. Talk soon.’
Before I can interrogate him any further, he’s almost running back towards his car, leaving me fuming. My dad. He’s been talking to my fucking dad. What the hell?
I take each of the printed papers and screw them up into tight scrunched balls and take aim at the rubbish bin attached to the café wall. There’s huge satisfaction in watching each one sail directly into the bin accompanied by an affirmation.
No.
