Since You've Been Gone

I took the bag from Jesse’s hand and inhaled the delights of freshly baked pastries. ‘Damn, they do make good croissants.’

Jess smiled, watching me take the treat as he knew I would. ‘How are you feeling this morning? After your rocky start to the week?’

I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started ribbing me again about yesterday.

‘Shut up, Jess, and get to work. Speaking of which, you have a job. Email from a Penny Richardson.’

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘A headache in the making. And it’s all yours, homeboy.’

Jess dropped the backpack from his shoulders and slipped out of his hoody before pinnying up and going for the bunker corner.

He sat down with the laptop and started clicking through the screens. I busied myself clearing space for the new supplies. Wait for it …

‘The mutha-funkin’ Gold Rooms!’

I was grinning as Jess read every detail of the digital flyer, knowing he’d go back over it a few more times to drink in every last bit of it. This cake was going to be obscene.

‘Like I said, headache.’

‘Headache! You’re kidding me? Wait till I tell the lads that I’ve been in the Gold Rooms! Ah, man! They’re gonna be bummed. I said he was a flash sucka … d’you know, I think he might actually be James Bond.’

Technically, that wasn’t what Jess had called him, but I wasn’t about to point it out. Those words were never going to leave my mouth again.

‘Yeah, well … we’re only delivering, Jess. I’m sorry I know it’s an ask on a Saturday night but I can’t do it alone.’

‘Hol, we’re going to The Gold Rooms! I don’t care what night of the week it is, once we’re in, we’re in, girl!’

I shot Jess a look.

‘Hol, come on. You’re not gonna make me leave as soon as the cake’s in, are you? That would be like taking a kid to Disneyland, letting him catch sight of Mickey then taking him home again.’

‘Jess, we’re not crashing this party. We don’t know these people, we’re not invited. And to be honest, it’s not exactly my scene. People with more money than sense, all dressed up in designer gear talking about Daddy’s yacht,’ I said, batting at Jesse’s intentions hanging heavy in the air.

‘Speak for yourself, it’s totally my scene! I scrub up well, and I love yachts!’ Jess was trying his best to will a change in me he knew he had no chance of.

‘Don’t look at me like that. If we were invited, it would be different. But I am no way crashing,’ I said. ‘We don’t even know whose party it is!’ There. Not my fault. My hands were tied.

‘All right. But I’ve gotta tell you, Hol, don’t be surprised if I slink off to get changed in the little boys’ room, because if I see anyone famous in there, with or without you, I am crashing the joint.’

‘Knock yourself out, Cinders. But the pumpkin and I will be leaving by eight-thirty-five, with or without you. I guarantee it.’

The rest of the day was as busy as I’d anticipated, and although Jess was unusually quiet I couldn’t be sure if it was because he was sulking with me or mentally planning his outfit. Both probably. When things died down in the afternoon, I left him sketching out a rough design for the Argyll cake. I had to hand it to Jesse, when it came to creativity, there was nothing his hands couldn’t do.

I’d managed to steal a few sneaky peeks over his shoulder, knowing that whatever he came up with was going to rock. Jesse was probably right. It would be his scene, everywhere was his scene. Effortlessly good looking and funny as hell, there was little for anyone to dislike about him. Both he, and the cake, would be able to hold their own at the party. Sure he was going to be contending with some beautiful people, but Jess could make beautiful, right out of nothing, and that was a talent that couldn’t be bought.

Before the end of play, Jess had finished sketching up the cake and had emailed the quote over to them. I’d made sure he’d signed it off so that they had a new name to chase. Martha had called, warning me Mum had been on the phone, we’d picked up a couple of last minute telephone orders giving us a nice even pace until the weekend and, with no weddings booked in for Saturday or Sunday, one of us was going to get a whole weekend off.

‘Hey, Hol, there’s nothing in for the next two Saturdays, you knew that right?’ I knew he wouldn’t be sore at me for long.

‘Uhuh, are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

‘I was thinking you take this Saturday off, I’ll take next? If that’s cool?’

‘I’m easy, Jess, whatever fits in with your plans. Going anywhere nice?’

‘Dunno yet. My mate’s taking his girl on a road trip. If she can talk her friend into it, I wouldn’t mind a spot in the back with her.’ He flashed me a full set of pearly whites and wiggled his eyebrows until I burst out laughing.

‘A road trip? Is there anywhere you won’t go for a bit of skirt, Mr Ray?’ Jesse was eternally in love, but with a different girl every week. I could see what every last one of them saw in him. I loved him too. He’d played big brother when I needed it more than I’d known, and was like a kid brother to me for the rest of the time. I had a lot to thank him for. For things I didn’t know how to say.

‘Probably.’ He shrugged, all big brown-eyed innocence. ‘But I haven’t found it on the map yet.’

By the time I’d done my eight hour stint, I was ready to call it a day, and left Jess to lock up at closing time. It had been a steady day, and with all the people coming and going, I’d hardly thought about teepees until the drive home.

It was still warm when I rattled down the track towards the cottage and, as I parked up, Dave walked out into the yard to greet me.

‘Hey, fella,’ I called creaking the van door closed with my bum. I reached into my shopping bag as I walked towards Dave, fishing for a little of the meat I’d bought from the deli on the way.

I slid the key into the lock and pushed on the peeling crimson paintwork. Dave followed me in, nearly knocking my legs out from under me, excited for the other contents of the grocery bag in my arms. Inside the hall, the answer machine was flashing red. I hit the button and went through into the kitchen.

You have three new messages. I started picking through the groceries while wrestling my bag and cardigan from my shoulders.

First new message, received today at eight-sixteen a.m.: ‘Holly love, phone Mum, would you? She’s getting a bit tetchy that you haven’t called for a little while. I’ve told her you’re busy but well … just give her a call, love. It would be nice to hear what you’ve been up to. Bye, love.’

‘Holly love, it’s Dad again. Just don’t tell your mother I called, you know it’s just, she’d like to think you’ve just called her up. All right, love, bye for now.’ Received at eight-nineteen a.m.

Seeing all the little pots on the counter made my stomach growl.

‘Holly, I know you are busy, but really? Is one call a week unreasonable? Martha’s telling me everything’s fine, and the scan was OK, but I’m not sure, Holly, I think that maybe she just doesn’t want us to worry. I’m stuck over here and I don’t know what’s happening! Anyway, I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Martha says you’ve lost a little weight? Call me. Bye.

Received at twelve-fifty-two p.m.

‘Well, that’s kinda what happens when you move to another country, Ma,’ I said, picking at a pot of olives. I had not lost weight. Martha had just temporarily outgrown me.

I stuffed a few more salty morsels into my mouth and threw my things over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. I needed to work out a better warning system with Dad.

I deleted the messages and thought about calling them as I scanned the hall for the slipper I couldn’t see. Maybe after dinner. Off the hallway I could see into the drab front room, and my other felt slipper waiting for recovery.

It was always cold in this room. We hadn’t lit the fire in here since the first few weeks of Chinese takeaways and grand plans and I’d since turned off the radiators to conserve energy. Until we’d knocked through the kitchen, this had been the largest open space in the whole house, and we’d used it as a dumping ground for all the furniture we were gradually rehousing around the rest of the place. It was a bit like an elephants’ graveyard in here now, picture frames long unhung and lamps long unlit. There was still plenty of furniture in here too, including the beat-up old chesterfield Mrs Hedley had insisted we have.

While I was being indecisive about what was going to be my favourite room in the house, Charlie had commandeered the smaller snug just off through the rear doors, officially declaring it as his man cave. He had everything he needed in there, he’d said, sofa bed for when I was mean to him, and flat screen for when the boys came over on footy nights. It was just a cave now.

I scooped up my slipper and went back to sit with it on the stairs. The wood was hard under my backside as I changed out of my shoes.

The inside of one slipper was contorted enough that it scratched my foot as I tried to put it on. ‘Dave! You’ve been chewing again! You bad dog.’ Again, I really needed to work on my boss voice. I pushed my foot into the slipper—

A cold wet residue spread itself across my toes. Gross.