“I haven’t seen this in years,” said Paul, licking the sticky coating from his fingers. On the TV, Michael was being traumatized by a carton of Chinese noodles that had inexplicably turned into worms.
“But you eat dinner out of a fake basket on a regular basis?” said Annie.
“If it’s not in a basket, I won’t eat it,” said Paul.
“Ha! I’m glad you dropped by,” said Annie.
“Not as glad as I am,” said Paul. He stuffed another handful of fries into his mouth. “So, your ex is hell-bent on winning you back?”
“Until he realizes he’s fighting a lost cause,” said Annie. “The trouble is I’ve always given in, in the past. It’s like a child having a tantrum; if you give in, you set a precedent, and next time they’ll scream longer because they know eventually you’ll give in.”
“Sounds like you’ve raised the bar pretty high,” said Paul.
“Unintentionally, yes,” said Annie.
“Do you still love him?” asked Paul.
“No,” said Annie. “Not for a long time, not the way I should, anyway. I love him like a pet that shits on the carpet, but you clean it up and forgive it because you’re used to it and you haven’t got the heart to rehouse it.”
“Oh my God,” said Paul. “That is the worst description of love I have ever heard. That right there is why I’ve never married. No one’s ever going to reduce me to an analogy of an incontinent animal.”
Annie laughed. “He doesn’t like to lose. He’s got a big ego, but it’s easily dented.”
“What will you do?” asked Paul.
“I’ll keep doing what I’m doing,” said Annie.
“Sharing his romantic gestures with other men,” said Paul.
Annie smiled. “I can’t give him any reason to think there’s doubt on my part or hope on his.”
“It’s sort of sad, really,” said Paul.
“It is,” said Annie. At that moment Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle gave a heart-rending cry as if she couldn’t stand another moment of chicken being eaten in front of her. The puff of ginger jumped onto the sofa and forcibly wedged herself between them—pointedly ignoring Paul—and sniffed the air like a cartoon dog. Paul reached out to stroke her, but she growled and flicked her tail in his face.
“Sorry about her,” said Annie. “This is Mrs Tiggy-Winkle. She’s quite high-maintenance. She doesn’t like competition.”
Paul nodded.
“Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, you have nothing to worry about, Annie and I are just good friends,” he said seriously. Tiggs reached over and patted his jeans once with her paw in appreciation.
Chapter 32
Annie made two mugs of tea and took them down to the tearoom, but Alfred had already left. She was sorry to have missed him again. He’d stayed a few times now, and she’d only managed to catch him once to give him a drink before he went on his way. She found herself uneasy that he went out into the cold dark morning without even a hot drink inside him. She had begun to leave snacks in the tearoom before she went to bed, just in case. At first, she’d worried that he might take offense, but the food was always gone when she came down in the mornings. Last night she had left a portion of mushroom and spinach lasagne out for him; she was gratified to find the plate scraped clean this morning.
She threw open the shutters on the kiosk and opened the window. An easy breeze blew in, fresh and friendlier than last night’s wind, as though it had exorcised its anger in the storm and wanted to be friends again. A few dog walkers were out, and the beach was populated by green-wellied fishermen, hopeful that the churning tempest had driven the fish closer to shore.
Annie switched on the coffee machine. People would come or they wouldn’t, but if she was going to be down here anyway, she might as well be open. She had stocked up on milks and syrups and contacted the coffee supplier about a delivery. She’d only opened the kiosk a few times, but each time she had, she’d had steady custom. She had been hemming and hawing about whether to give the kiosk a proper try, rather than opening it sporadically as the mood took her. A conversation with Alex had decided it for her:
“I thought you wanted to be free for a while,” said Alex.
“I did. I do. But . . .”
“But you can’t help fantasizing about starting a new business,” Alex cut in.
“I’m not sure I’m cut out for not working at all. I get fidgety. And there’s something about this place. I don’t know how to explain it.” She paused for a moment, and Alex waited. “It inspires me,” she said finally. “It makes me want to build something, something that’s just mine.”