‘Ooh… you choose.They’re all so expensive, I don’t know…’
‘Nothing’s too good for my girl,’ he said, feeling around for his wallet.Mab felt faintly sick.When would this ever happen to her?And did she really want it?
Doing her best to avoid tripping over two closely entwined teenagers, Mab told herself how cool it was to be a strong, independent woman, in charge of her own life and destiny, rather thanin a relationshipas her status on Facebook had announced until recently.Granted, it had hurt to go back tosinglewhen Pete had disappeared three months ago with a blonde scuba-diving instructor from Queensland and £2000 of Mab’s savings.Pretty much her total nest-egg, in actual fact.On the other hand, life without him was much less stressful and she could now watch the whole ofEastEnderswithout any fear of interruption, and eat things which didn’t involve deep-fat frying and ketchup.She frowned as she negotiated the crowd hanging around the mermaid fountain in the market square.There seemed to be some sort of under-age love-fest going on everywhere today.Several couples giggled and groped happily, and one of the boys was playfully trying to tip his girlfriend into the pool.Mab shuddered.If she was going to even think of giving up her freedom again, it would be for a proper hero this time – a man who would dive in and rescue her from rushing waters, not push her into them.But was she really ready to move on, after Pete and the way he’d made her feel?What Mab really needed was a long heart-to-heart with her best friend, Jess.There were things she needed to tell Jess, and soon.Well, that wasn’t going to be today.Jess would be hard at work buttering toast and making baguettes in the café.
‘Cheer up, love, it might never happen,’ shouted the man who cleaned the windows of the town’s shops.Mab looked up at him as he swayed slightly at the top of his ladder.She gave him her best mean stare, lifting her sunglasses to maximise the effect.
‘Maybe it already has,’ she hissed.
Striding through mid-morning shoppers, Mab cursed their dawdling.She crossed the cobbled street and headed down the ancient arcade of black and white timbered shops, with their sloping walls and bottle-glass windows.As she pushed open the door of Beattie’s Bakehouse and sniffed the warm, vanilla-scented air, Mab felt the familiar swirl of queasiness.She had always found it hard to be so dependent on cake, but today her stomach lurched as she caught the waft of baking biscuits, and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.
‘Table six, four toasted teacakes and Earl Grey for two,’ shouted Jess from the kitchen.‘Hi, Mab, I’ll be in as soon as I’ve loaded the dishwasher.We’re out of cups again.I think they’re eating them today.’
The tiny room was packed; all the tables but one were taken.Mab squeezed into a seat with relief, took a few deep breaths and rummaged for her notebook and pen.Maybe this wasn’t a very classy sort of office for an aspiring author but since discovering the steamy café with its seventies-style macramé hanging baskets, bamboo furniture and checked cloths, Mab had felt more at home every day.The walls were covered with old photographs and posters of Venice, and Mab’s thoughts often wandered to the day when she would visit that magical place for the first time.There was no worry that couldn’t be soothed by an imaginary gondola ride down the Grand Canal in the springtime.If only she could sell her book.
Bustling through from the kitchen, Jess looked pleased to see that her usual ploy to save Mab a place had worked.For some reason, nobody seemed keen to sit at the tiny corner table surrounded by heaps of dirty crockery and screwed-up napkins.
‘Morning, Mabel,’ said Jess, loudly, flicking Mab’s ear and beginning to load a tray with pots.
‘I wish you wouldn’t call me that,’ said Mab, ‘I don’t call you Jezebel, do I?’
‘Good job too.I wouldn’t answer.’
‘Well, pack it in, then; it’s not funny.’
‘Yes, it is – and it still makes you go all red.’
Ever since primary school, Mab and Jess’s names had been a burden to them.At secondary school, things got steadily worse, and Mab endured several limericks composed in her honour, the cleanest being:
There was a young slapper called Mabel
Who was quicker to lay than a table.
This wasn’t in any way accurate, but the idea had stuck, and caused much amusement in the boys’ toilets.Jess had experienced similar problems with her ‘bad girl’ namesake, and soon substituted Jess for Jezebel, in the hope that any new friends would assume she was really a sophisticatedJessicatype of person.
‘Thought you weren’t coming; it’s nearly half past eleven,’ said Jess, as she crashed the cups around, splashing tea dregs onto Mab’s white shirt.
Mab glanced down at the spreading stains.The day was not going well.This morning, an unwelcome email had dropped into her inbox.A sinking feeling landed along with it as she read the standard message that started fairly well but ended with the all-too-familiar words ‘…but unfortunately we didn’t feel the necessary level of enthusiasm for your work.’Even though a couple of the kinder publishers had said they loved her writing style, Mab’s precious novel wasn’t generating much interest so far.Also, her landlord had called round at 6.45a.m.to remind her that the rent was overdue again.Mab’s flat was small, stuffy and right next to the ring road, but it was all she could afford at the moment.To cap it all, during the night, her ancient and moth-eaten cat Maurice had caught a mouse, eaten most of it, and regurgitated it onto the newly changed duvet cover.She had told her landlord about this in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but he had been outraged.
‘It’s news to me that you’re keeping a cat in here – pets aren’t allowed in this building as you well know, young lady, and if you insist on keeping it, you can find somewhere else to live by the end of the week.’
‘But… but…’ spluttered Mab, feeling hot tears prick her eyes at the thought of life without Maurice.
‘Don’t try turning on the waterworks, missy, it never works with me.And what’s more, if you don’t give the place a good scrub up, you’ll not be getting your deposit back.’
Mab wished she’d been more forceful.She hadn’t realised that her contract had even mentioned pets.Maurice had just appeared one day last year, yowling around the rubbish bins, and since then, his night-time purring had been a huge comfort, especially after Pete’s defection.
‘You look a bit down today.Are you OK, sweetie?’asked Jess, wiping the table with her usual efficiency.
‘No, not really.I could do with a good catch-up.You free later?’
‘Sorry, got to take George to the doctor’s after school, he’s complaining of tummy pains again.I’m not sure if it’s just him trying to avoid going to school, as usual, but better to be on the safe side.Maybe tomorrow?’
‘But Jess, it’s really important.I’m… oh, it doesn’t matter, we can’t talk here.Thanks for saving my space anyway.I really need a sugar rush today.’
‘Good job you came when you did.Thursday’s getting to be one of our busiest days, with that new farmers’ market.Look at all these people with bags of posh cheese and pickles.It’ll be one big ploughman’s supper around here tonight.’
‘Never mind cheese, are there any of those sticky caramel doughnuts left?This definitely isn’t the day to think about dieting.’
