Annie mentally tamped down the sixteen-year-old girl who had taken up residence in her brain and tried to smile enigmatically. John was wearing paint-splattered overalls, and he plonked an equally painty duffel bag and a large tin of white paint on the floor on the staff side of the counter.
“You’re only painting an A4-sized square,” said Annie. “Aren’t you a bit overdressed?” She was trying her best not to admit to herself that she was finding the whole dirty overalls things rather scintillating.
“I figured I may as well do the whole thing or there’ll be one super-white patch showing up the rest of the ceiling.”
“God forbid,” said Annie.
“Any chance of a coffee to take up?”
“Double-shot Americano and hot milk on the side?” said Annie.
“You remembered,” John said. Annie smiled. John leaned against the counter and surveyed the café while he waited.
A fresh Christmas tree—courtesy of the Willow Bay Stores—dripping with baubles and lights had taken up residency in the far corner of the room. It was far too big for the space. Gemma and Annie had rearranged the furniture as best they could, but still, the customers who sat at the far end of the picture window would have their shoulders consistently brushed by overfamiliar fir tree branches. But it looked magnificent and smelled even better.
Wooden painted stars and silver snowflakes on candy-cane ribbons hung at different lengths at the windows and on the middle of the window ledge; a red candle arch held seven glittering LED candles. A thick garland of dark green foliage and red holly berries fell in loose swags to the front of the counter, while above, the cables of the fishing lantern light fitting had been adorned and wrapped around with a string of gold-sprayed pine cones. The little café oozed a cluttered homespun charm, which was making customers eager to arrive and reluctant to leave.
“They’re clearly skiving,” hissed John, nodding back toward the three uniformed teens.
“They’re from Meadow Grange,” said Gemma under her breath. “The big secondary over near Margate.”
“Margate!” said Annie. “These are some committed skivers, it must have been at least two bus journeys and a bloody long walk to get here.”
“You sound impressed,” said John.
“I am, a bit. My bunking off never got more adventurous than the local park.”
“And it’s much harder to bunk off these days, what with all the security and CCTV everywhere,” added Gemma.
“Still,” said John, “we ought not condone it.”
Annie and Gemma made agreeing noises, but their hearts weren’t in it.
“Why only two drinks?” John asked.
“I don’t think the boy with the patched elbow had enough money,” said Gemma. “I felt a bit bad for him, if I’m honest. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.”
They all looked over. The two mugs were placed strategically in the middle, but the lad with the patch didn’t appear to drinking out of either of them.
Outside it had begun to rain again, fat rain, more like globules than drops. It felt as though every day this week had been colder than the last.
“Okay if I go up and make a start?” asked John, holding up his can of paint.
“Sure,” said Annie. “You’ve got a key.”
John disappeared through the inner café door. A gaggle of drenched walkers scurried in out of the rain, and Annie and Gemma set about preparing their orders. The twinkling lights and the smooth sounds of Dean Martin and Bing Crosby crooning out Christmas tunes from the speakers was just the thing to soothe away the shivers. Annie helped Gemma transport the drinks over to the walkers, who made appreciative noises and cupped their hands around the steaming mugs to thaw their cold red fingers.
As Annie made her way back to the counter, the uniformed girl asked, “Do you live here?” She had thick black painted eyebrows that looked too heavy for her delicate features.
“Yes,” said Annie.
“Bit out of the way, isn’t it?” asked one of the boys. He had acne and a cheeky smile that Annie was sure made him a hit with the girls at school.
“It is a bit,” Annie replied. “But I like it that way.”
The boy with the patched elbow looked out the window; the rain was thick and the condensation formed a mist over the glass, so that the sea looked like an Impressionist painting.
“I’d like it,” he said. “You must be quite new.”
“What makes you say that?”