Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

I t was early on a Sunday morning, and Seymour’s was the only café open on Kings Heath High Street.

“Morning! Your usual?” asked Seymour, whose hair was tied up in a bun.

“Yes, please.” Kiera smiled. This was one of the favourite routines she had developed over the last year. Starting again was hard, and very sad at times, but creating new, independent routines was a joy. She put her newspaper on the bench which faced out of the front window and settled herself in.

Seymour brought her coffee over and sat on the stool beside her. She’d brought a drink for herself as well – a large mug of tea. “May I?” she asked. “I like sitting and watching the world go by, and you’re the only customer.”

“Of course. I like to do the same – but I guess you’ve probably noticed that about me by now.”

“I have, and I’ve also noticed the fact that if you’re meeting someone – a date perhaps – you tend to sit at a table further into the café.” Seymour took a sip of her tea .

“That does not look like a serious coffee-fanatic’s drink,” noted Kiera, nodding at the bright pink mug Seymour was clasping.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone. To my mind, Sunday’s a day for big mugs of tea.”

Kiera smiled. “I won’t tell. What else is Sunday for?”

“Well,” said Seymour, considering the question. “If I’m not working, it’s for watching TV, maybe seeing Mum and Dad for a Sunday roast. Although that’s only occasional, because they spend a lot of their time touring with various productions. I love a good newspaper, too.” She pointed at Kiera’s reading material. “A bit of chore-free time is a really good thing.”

“Oh yes, I completely agree,” said Kiera. “What do you like watching on TV?”

“Well,” said Seymour, considering her answer more seriously than Kiera expected, “anything by the holy TV-writing trilogy that is Russell T Davis, Sally Wainwright or Sharon Horgan. They all write so brilliantly, but in very different ways.”

“You know your TV,” said Kiera. “I love all of them, especially RTD. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a bit of a Whovian. I’ve always been a bit of a sucker for reality TV myself. Did you watch I Kissed a Boy?”

“Oh my God, yes,” replied Seymour with a huge smile. “I loved it. So good.”

“Love a dating show,” agreed Kiera.

“And what about you? Any good dates recently?” There was a twinkle in Seymour’s eyes as she spoke.

“Ha, no. I think that the combination of being over forty, gay, and too fussy for my own good is hindering me. My pool is small,” said Kiera before taking a sip of the steaming cortado in front of her .

Seymour nodded. “But then,” she said “you only need to meet the right person once. Perhaps the pool is small, but presumably you’re only catching one fish, and she’ll only need a tiny pond.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” said Kiera. “It’s a nice way of looking at it. To be honest, though, I’m not sure I actually need to be with someone. But it would be nice.”

“Oh, I know that feeling,” said Seymour.

“But you’re so settled with Jack. It must have been years since you were in my position.” Kiera stopped. She was prying. She didn’t mean to, but there was something about Seymour that meant that if Seymour asked her a question, Kiera would give her the whole story, from coat to underwear.

“Jack?” Seymour laughed.

“What? What did I say?”

Seymour composed herself. “Jack’s my brother!”

“Oh, I see, silly me. I just thought… well I assumed. I should know better. Sorry.” Kiera felt her face warm at her own false assumption.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not the first time it’s happened. We don’t look at all alike and we run this business together. I can see how it appears.” She took a generous slurp of her tea. “I’m just like you, really. On the hunt for the woman of my dreams.”

Kiera froze for a few seconds. She had got everything so wrong about Seymour. She was about to open her mouth when the door opened, and a frazzled mum entered with three children under five. Seymour rapidly excused herself to take the long and complicated order.

By the time she had finished her coffee, the café was full. She tried to catch Seymour’s eye before she left, but she was concentrating hard on some latte art .

Kiera stepped into the street, trying to work out what it was she was feeling. She was surprised, that was for sure. She also felt a bit daft for having made such inaccurate assumptions. But there was something else there too, just beyond her reach, that she couldn’t identify.

She made her way to the supermarket to pick up some essentials. While she was there her phone pinged. It was the couple who were renting her old house. While Chrissie had responded to the divorce paperwork emails, she had failed to answer any questions about where she was or what she was doing, and said nothing about the house. Eventually, Kiera had emailed her to say she was going to rent the house out. She received no reply. The couple who lived there were in their mid-20s and seemed to have no discernible practical skills, so often these exchanges involved Kiera explaining to them how they might go about dealing with the ant invasion, or the blocked plughole in the bathroom. She couldn’t complain, really. They looked after the place. One day she hoped Chrissie would re-emerge so she could sell it. She didn’t want to live there again, but she didn’t want to rent forever, either. Today’s text was about the washing machine, which appeared to have stopped working. She sighed. This wasn’t something that she could fix herself. She responded to say she would pop in the following day, and if need be get a plumber out.

By the time she got back to her flat, it was lunchtime. She made herself a cheese and pickle sandwich and ate it with a packet of salt and vinegar crisps. This had been her lunch of choice as a child, and remained a very enjoyable comfort food. Now it was paired with a strong cup of tea, as opposed to the orange squash of her youth.