The husband had been twisting his head between me, the agitated crowd and his wife, until someone made up his mind for him with a firm nudge towards Gate One.
‘I’ve got two minutes until my break is over,’ Barb trilled. ‘Pop my usual in a takeout bag, would you, Emmie?’
‘Hang on, I was next!’ Someone attempted to shove her out of the way, and for a dreadful moment, it looked as though a brawl might break out after all.
‘Right, the fastest way to deal with this is for you all to get back into a queue, wait your turn and speak one at a time. If you’re in a hurry, try the shop instead.’ As soon as he’d said this, the man who had come to my rescue slipped around to the kiosk door and opened it.
‘My sister’s café has a machine like this, so I can serve coffee and put pasties in a bag, if you do everything else.’
‘Yes please,’ I said, still shell-shocked.
Fifteen minutes later, we handed the last person their order and I leant forwards, hands braced on the counter, head hanging low.
‘Here.’ I was still trying to gather myself back together when the man held out a hot chocolate, covered in a thick layer of cream and sprinkles.
I straightened up and took it from him with a weary smile.
‘I’d offer you a pasty but there’s only apple and custard left, and, well… I thought that might be too close to the bone.’
He had a strong island accent, the gentle mishmash of Irish and Welsh with the blunt vowels of Northern England that we heard often in Sherwood Airport, as it was the only place that flew to Siskin.
‘It’s listed in the menu as “cinnamon apple and custard”.’ I sighed, pressing an arm against my clammy forehead.
‘Don’t let it bother you. That man was what we islanders call a nerk.’
‘What’s one of them?’
He smiled. ‘Look it up in a Siskin dictionary and you’ll find a picture of him.’
‘Thank you so much. You literally prevented a riot. And please don’t let me keep you. You must have somewhere to be.’
‘Nowhere that can’t wait.’ He gave a self-conscious shrug, sipping from his own cup. ‘Are the customers often this difficult?’
‘People can get pretty stressed out when travelling. Normally, Parsley’s helps them calm down, instead of making it worse. I’ve been working here since I was thirteen so I’ve handled plenty of snarky customers. It’s just… been a bad day. A bad month. I’m not as resilient as usual.’
He hesitated for a moment before replying. ‘When I’ve been here before, there’s been another person… your ma?’
I nodded, the near-constant lump in my throat starting to throb. ‘She died.’
‘Hence the bad month.’ His face creased in sympathy.
‘And my reduced capacity to cope with bullies.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
I nodded, unable to say any more. We finished our drinks, I served a few more customers and then it was time to shut up shop.
‘Thank you. You really didn’t have to stay.’
He smiled. ‘I enjoyed it.’
‘Are you here on holiday or business?’ I asked as I wiped down the counter.
‘I’m starting a part-time master’s degree in Smart Agriculture.’ He ducked his head a little, eyes flashing up at mine then back down as he bent to sweep up a few stray pastry crumbs. ‘Meaning I’ll be back and forth every few weeks for the next two years.’
‘Oh!’ I suddenly remembered the pasty that I’d set aside for him earlier. ‘Here. On the house, of course. And any time you’re here between six and three, there’ll be a free pasty with your name on it.’
‘Oh, wow.’ He closed his eyes, mouth already full of flaky pastry and rich filling. ‘I’d forgotten how good these taste.’
