‘No, the one you really cancelled. Saying what you need to say, and clearing your conscience, has been proven to help people who have lost someone they’ve loved.’ I think for a moment. ‘Look, I want to take you to a special place that makes this easier. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?’
Chapter 29
Next morning the commuter rush is almost over by the time I reach the coffee van. But there’s no panic as I’m collecting Joe. Part of the street is blocked off for repairs and I glance at a highway maintenance notice, nodding at a man in a high-vis vest.
Our borough isn’t the prettiest, but there is a sense of community. My neighbours have hired another skip and I peer in and inspect a sofa I’d be more than welcome to take home. There’s a uniform architecture to our houses which bonds us further. On one side of the street, neatly pointed red bricks support original sash windows, while on the other, triangular frontages with black balconies dominate. You’d be forgiven for thinking we were all loaded if you checked out the names of the houses– they’re all ‘mansion’ and ‘villa’ and ‘court’. But the satellite dishes and grubby black bins give us away, along with scrawled notes prohibiting junk mail. The buildings are divided into one-bedroom flats, and the sale and rental signs indicate how often people move in and out, as well as the area’s ever-increasing desirability.
Trussed up in multiple layers, Joe tightens the collar of his jacket. I shiver and tell him I’m wearing my thermals.
When he counters with, ‘Ah, but I have thermals under my thermals,’ I instantly heat up.
‘You didn’t need to do that.’ I take the hot drink he offers with a nod of thanks.
‘Yeah, I did.’
He must have spotted me coming up the road as he is all packed up and ready to go. Today, he’s clean-shaven but the memory of his stubble against my chin and other more intimate parts of my body flashes into my mind. His lush bottom lip looks good enough to nibble and for a wild moment I consider grabbing him and reeling him back into my bedroom. But we’re meeting my useless ex-boss.
Apparently, the two hit it off immediately when I introduced them by text. Joe sent Kai some of his pizzas, which he tasted and then passed on to the builders to try. The deal was sealed in five minutes and twenty inches. Joe tells me he’s been closely involved in the design of the kitchen– both men admit it’s a rush job, but the hotel needs to launch ASAP to grab some of the Christmas and new year traffic on sites like Bookings.com. Shepherd’s Bush has already started to add a fairy lit glow to its light pollution problem. From now on I’m going to need to scan every street corner for my dad and his festive busking.
We cross under the overground bridge and head towards the green, walking fast to keep warm. The Bush Theatre is closed; it won’t open till the mid-morning coffee crowd appears, but mixers are already churning the cement for the developments continually springing up like weeds that will never wilt. On the green, three food-delivery guys are taking a break after breakfast, their bicycles balanced on the trees, as Joe and I walk alongside each other, crunching through piles of frozen leaves. He tells me Kai was lucky his restaurant is on the ground floor and had decent ventilation already installed or they’d never have got it off the ground so quickly.
When you meet a man who can make flues sound interesting then you know you’ve got a keeper. Kai and Joe greet each other with a high five and launch into a detailed chat about ovens. The way Kai interacts with Joe also makes me reassess him a little. Joe is a good judge of character, and the respectful way he deals with my former boss melts a bit of my icy heart towards him, although I’m not clouded by the laid-back looks and charm like Eva.
Kai is as excited today as a man who can’t be bothered can get. ‘Come and see the pizza palace.’ The kitchen has been painted a fashionable grey, and the casing housing the oven looks like one of the Impressionists painted it in dots.
‘I think you should leave the decor like this instead of bringing the decorators back in.’ Joe points to the brick walls and steel pipes. ‘There’s a nice industrial feel to it. The food can provide the visuals.’
‘Sorry, bud, but emojis provide all the visuals in this hotel,’ Kai says. ‘And the restaurant is the first thing the public will encounter after reception. Needs to screamhappy faceandthumbs up!We’ll go into overdrive with the walls.’
‘Why don’t you use the menus instead?’ I ask.
I can hear the relief in Joe’s voice. ‘A word-free menu would be a novelty. There are hundreds of different emojis we could choose from. Even the simplest pizza could be sold in pictures if we are creative and use a good graphic designer.’
‘Like those cafès in Spain where you point to pictures of your food?’ says Kai, warming up to the idea.
I notice a ring on his finger. ‘Did you get married, Kai?’ I joke.
‘Er … well, yeah, but no.’
‘Yes, but no?’
‘Something like that.’
I wonder if he’s been modelling for Eva’s website. If so, they’ve been doing it at his place. I don’t see as much of Eva these days and I’m enjoying watching the TV on a sofa that isn’t permanently collapsed into a bed.
As the men chat, I take my leave. I want to do a recce of Hammersmith Park before this afternoon’s outing with Vince, and nail the final schedule for the Happiness Fair at the weekend. Kissing Joe on the cheek, I scowl at Kai’s wink. ‘Every woman has the right not to be emojified.’
Chapter 30
Forget happiness– peace is an underrated emotion. And I’m not getting a hell of a lot of it with Vince jabbering away in my ear. He hasn’t stopped talking since I met him at the station.
I take out my phone, to monitor how my #SpringCleanYourBraincampaign has gone down. For the latest video I grabbed one of my old hotel fluffers and pretended to force it up my nose and in my ears. People enjoyed it and replied with their own vids and memes.
Meanwhile theGazette’s #MustSayYes campaign is going well. A window cleaner proposed to his colleague halfway up one of London’s highest tower blocks and the pictures of the engagement are stunning. My column is picking up too; Aurora was booted off our page this week to make way for an extended letters article and I managed to sneak in a line about my Happiness Fair at the end. Meanwhile Doodle has been labelled ‘the most adorable dogony aunt in London’ by a tabloid. The journalist said the world would change overnight if we put a woman with unicorn hair and a poodle in charge.
I tell Vince, shuddering that a factual publication cannot tell the difference between dog breeds.
‘I thought he was a panda?’ He grins.
