*
Hans and the Yorkshire pee fountain stayed clear of the café all day, leaving Rebecca alone to process the recent events, and the feelings it was pushing out of her usually cold, cold heart. Her bedroom alarm clock had awoken her for work from across the hall a few hours later. Next to her, Luke had written a note, telling her he was taking himself into town to see Hans for the day. Her sheets were gone from her bed, and she didn’t see anything in the washer but his clothes, whirling around and making themselves at home. She checked her laundry basket in a panic, but thankfully he hadn’t thought to wash her smalls with his. The bin was missing, and the carpet had been cleaned, the windows opened for ventilation. Looking around her room, she was relieved that nothing gave her away. None of this place did, the only photos she had up here were of her, Hans, and Holly, and some of the other crew from town. Rare nights out that she got dragged on over the years. The opposite of her old self. Six years ago, she was a different person. Everyone said that, it wasn’t unusual. The human body grows new cells over years, so the body changes. People are all different, changed when age and gravity start to take hold, and their life choices leave the consequences for all to see on their faces. It ran a little deeper than that for Rebecca though.
Six short years ago, Rebecca was at the top of her game, happy and in love with her life. Her mother was proud of her. She told all the neighbours, the church, the Costa crew of ladies she lunched with about Rebecca’s achievements. ‘My daughter,’ she’d say, a smile beaming from her face. Now she said it in hushed tones, as though being a baker and café manager was the worst thing in the world. Anyone would think Rebecca was robbing old folks’ handbags for a living the way her mother behaved.
She’d texted already that day – a Facebook memory she insisted on torturing Rebecca with. Why did people do that? Send people photos of good times, dogs long dead, neighbours they don’t speak to anymore?
This memory was a real humdinger, Rebecca beaming at the camera, her mother clapping her in the background, bright eyed and wrapped in splendour. The screenshot of the article the photo was attached to swam before her eyes as she thought of that day. Mother, why the hell did you send me this, today of all days. The caption underneath said it all. This year, baby. This year.
Rebecca shoved her phone in the drawer beside her and got on with her day. She didn’t need to answer. She’d already told her mother that she was entering the competition. She wouldn’t find out for a while that it was a lie. Her annual disappointment would be right on schedule.
Rebecca managed to have a good day, making it to closing time without any more annoying housemates, customers or messages from her mother. The resort was coming to life, and having something to do really helped her to switch off her brain and engage with the stuff she could control. She was just heading to the doors to lock up, when Luke appeared at the other side. He peered in through the glass like a wary zoo visitor approaches a dark glass cage.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as he entered, shopping bags in his hands, closing the door behind him with his foot. ‘You think I might bite?’ He looked at her, puzzled. ‘You looked like you were trying to suss out what mood I was in.’
He smiled, but it was tight, and he didn’t make eye contact. Fine with me.
‘I just thought I’d give you a little space, after my behaviour.’
‘It’s fine, we’ve all gotten drunk and urinated in strange places.’ She knew she had to think of Hans and put up with him, but she couldn’t resist the little quip.
He raised one eyebrow, but she didn’t elaborate. A girl needed her secrets, and telling him about her own lightweight ways wasn’t going to happen. He pulled a dark grey backpack off his back, taking off his coat straight after. His cheeks were flushed from coming into the warmth of the café, and it made his eyes sparkle. Even she had to admit, although her houseguest was the worst possible person to share her home with, he was quite easy on the eyes on closer inspection.
‘You finished for the night?’ he asked, looking around at all the empty tables, chairs stacked on top.
‘Yep.’ Clicking off the lights, she plunged them into the dim glow from the lighting outside. ‘Lights out.’ Inside the café, it was all wood and high ceilings. She loved this café like it was her very own. One day, maybe it would be, or she could buy one somewhere else. Her mother would kill her, but still … It would mean she could live in the Alps forever, or on some other corner of the earth, just her. ‘You have any plans for tonight?’ she added, curious.
He gave her a sheepish look, and took a bottle of wine and a wrapped plastic bag out of one of his bags.
‘Well …’ He wiggled the bottle at her. ‘I thought we could have a meal. I’ll cook, to say sorry for last night and to thank you for putting me up. I do appreciate it, I know you like to be alone.’
His
