On the run for murder?she asks.
Nope.
Then whatever it is, I bet you can sort it out. I have nothing but faith in you.
Thanks, George Michael. You’re a swell pal.I sigh as I stop on the snowy path, holding my phone in my hands. I’m only being a little bit facetious—Emily’s brilliant. And probably her perspective is better than mine. What if she’s right?Talk later?
Absolutely. Talk then. x
I give my head a shake, as if that’ll sort me out. Like it’ll shake off the memories of Ben and how incredible he is. It was just a one-time thing.
But it doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that.
Keep walking, Charlie. One foot in front of the other.
I get to the café before Jasmine arrives to open. Even though my bed is tempting, never mind the greater appeal of returning to Ben’s bed with Ben in it, I continue with my plan to work. I mean, I said I would. I’m keeping my word…even if I’m not scheduled. There’s comfort in the familiar routine. And the extra few quid won’t hurt my bank account either. Christmas is looming.
The sky has brightened to proper day. Honestly, though, what’s wrong with me that the only place I can think of going to when I’m upset is here? Working harder will help distract me from the memory of Ben, I’m sure of it. Totally sensible, in fact. I’m sure Jasmine won’t mind the help. I chew my lip.
Things are well underway when Jasmine arrives at half past eight. She stares at me as she walks into the café, removing her red scarf.
“What are you doing here?” She eyes me, appraising. “You think it’s Saturday again or something?”
I stare back. “No.”
Jasmine’s quiet. “You like to come here for fun?”
“Something like that.” I go around and start taking down overturned wooden chairs from darkly varnished tables. Jasmine helps. “I figure if I work the other six days of the week, why not work Sunday and make it a perfect set? God will understand.”
She shakes her head. “What’s happened?”
“What makes you think something’s happened?”
“I’ve got ears. I heard you and Ben Campbell in the back yesterday—”
My eyebrows shoot up in alarm as I gawp, face hot. So she had recognized Ben, too. The brick wall between the stockroom and the rest of the café was solid. I would have wagered a million quid on it. This is worse than I thought.
Words spill out. “You didn’t hear from out here—”
“No, no—”
“Jesus, thank you.”
“I went to take out the rubbish, and, um,thenI heard…”
Mortified, I look anywhere but at her. My face is on fire.
“I figured after that you’d be having a brilliant time and that you’d be carrying on. And definitely not turning up to open on Sunday morning. So, it’s a reasonable question: what’s happened? Was he a total prick?”
“Oh no. No. Definitely not. That’s my domain, thanks.” I sigh. “Nailing. It.”
So true.
Is Ben sleeping in now? It’s a brilliant thing to do on a Sunday morning, a day of rest for most people. Except me. Arseholes should work harder on Sundays.
“What happened?” Jasmine purses cherry red lips, frowning as she looks at me.
We’re not exactly close—I’m not close with anyone, not even my bandmates, except for Emily—but Jasmine’s a friend as much as the ones I go out with usually on Friday nights. Probably more so. They’re good for pints and laughs, and that’s where we leave things. Jasmine’s used to seeing me in all manner of conditions, but mortified is not usually on the spectrum. No wonder she’s looking at me like I’ve turned into a serial killer.
