Chapter Nine

‘You want me to what?’

I look from Russell to Jed, to check he’s on board with this and his husband hasn’t gone completely cuckoo with this suggestion without consulting him first. Jed, it seems, is not only aware but is fully on board. He leans on his elbows towards me, his eyebrows inching up his forehead in anticipation of my answer.

‘We want you to take over managing the shop for a week or two while we go and stay with Mum.’ The corners of Russell’s lips flick upwards briefly. ‘We know it’s a big ask, and at such short notice, but Mum’s not well and we don’t trust anyone to run this shop more than you.’

My eyes flick from Russell to Jed and back again before roaming the room for a hidden camera, because this has got to be some kind of wind-up. I’ve just turned up late for my shift, for the billionth time, and I’m about as responsible as a toddler, and yet they want to leave me in charge of their business? Are they mad?

‘Haven’t you asked Claire?’ She’s way more reliable than I am – she’s always on time, she doesn’t sneak off to message her teen-years crush under the guise of ‘stock-checking the wooden forks’ when Jed and Russell aren’t around, plus she’s a mum, and there’s nothing more challenging than being responsible for another human being. If you can manage that, you’re a superhero in my books, and managing a seaside chippy during low season would be a piece of piss in comparison.

‘Obviously we asked Claire first, but she said no. We even asked Elliot but he’s got his exams coming up.’ Russell snorts, the cheesy grin back in its rightful place. ‘I’m kidding. Of course you’re our first choice. You’ve been with us the longest, and you’re already the assistant manager. You coped when we went to Tenerife last year for Mitchell’s stag weekend.’

‘That was for a weekend . Not a whole week.’

Jed holds up a hand. ‘Maybe two. We’re not entirely sure yet.’

‘Exactly!’ What do palpitations feel like? Because I think I’m experiencing them. ‘I can’t be trusted to run the shop. This is your baby, you always say that. Well, this place and Bolan.’ Bolan is their cat, who they adore to the point of weirdness. ‘What if I mess up?’

‘You won’t mess up. You already run the shop when we’re both out anyway, and we’ll always be on the end of the phone if you need us. Which you won’t. You’ve got this.’ Jed reaches across the table and gives my hand a squeeze. ‘It’ll be a doodle.’

I don’t point out that it’s doddle , but I do explain why it won’t be one. ‘You did see me walking in late just then, didn’t you? I do it a lot when you’re not here. Practically every shift.’

What am I doing? Two minutes ago I was scared of being sacked, and now I’m practically handing myself my P45. I need to shut the hell up before I find myself without employment at a time when I’m trying to prove I can be a grown-up.

‘We know.’ Jed gives my hand another squeeze. ‘But you always get the shop open on time, and the customers adore you. You’re an asset, despite not being able to tell the time.’

‘And we were hoping you’d stay in the flat? So you’ll be closer to work.’ Russell places his hands together as though in prayer. ‘And so you can look after Bolan for us.’

‘You can’t be late if you’re living upstairs.’ Jed smiles, but it’s a dubious kind of smile. The kind that’s too wide. Slightly manic. ‘Right?’

‘And there’ll be a nice bonus in your pay packet, obviously, for the cat-sitting.’

The extra money does sound good, and maybe I’ll even be able to cross off the ‘Move out of Mum & Dad’s’ item on my to-do list (it says nothing about the move being permanent, after all).

‘Can I think about it? The flat and cat thing?’ It’s one thing stepping up at work but taking care of someone else’s property and keeping a living creature happy and healthy?

‘Of course.’ Jed’s still holding on to my hand, and he adds his other hand for an extra big squeeze.

‘But if we could have an answer quite soon?’ Russell pushes his hands together again. ‘Because we were hoping to set off first thing on Monday morning.’

Russell has the good grace to look sheepish as he delivers this last bit of information.

The teatime rush has already started by the time Jed and Russell release me from the back room. Claire and Bridget are frantically throwing scoops of chips onto paper or plates as the queue starts to snake out of the shop and onto the street. I don’t have time to worry about the temporary manager position as I join them, shoving my hairnet and hat on as I take my first order (this is not correct, hygienic behaviour, and yet another reason why Jed and Russell are off their rockers).

‘To eat in or take away?’ I fasten the press studs on my tabard while my eyes roam the area under the counter for a pencil. There isn’t one to be found, so I chant the order in my head so I don’t forget it. Two lots of fish and chips, sausage, chips and gravy, and a chip muffin .

‘Cleo, can you do mine, please?’ Mrs Hornchurch, who is my very favourite customer, should be moving along the line to stand in front of Claire, but she’s held herself back (and earned a few tuts from the queue behind). ‘You do my fish just right. Light and crisp.’

Two lots of fish and chips, sausage, chips and gravy, and a chip muffin .

‘I will, but you’ll have to hang on for a minute.’ I chant the order again in my head so I don’t forget it.

‘No problem, my dear.’ Mrs Hornchurch lets the person behind her pass to Claire. ‘You make the best fish and chips in Clifton-on-Sea, you know.’

I smile my thanks before I dash off to pinch a couple of portions of battered fish between the metal tongs, dumping them down on the greaseproof paper. Two lots of fish and chips, sausage, chips and gravy, and a chip muffin . I chant the order over and over again until it’s fulfilled, and then I move straight on to Mrs Hornchurch’s fish, making it from scratch and ensuring the coating is light and it’s cooked to the exact shade of golden brown she prefers. I haven’t even asked for her order, because it’s the same every Saturday: fish (cooked to perfection by yours truly), chips and mushy peas with plenty of salt for Mrs Hornchurch, and a steak and kidney pudding with chips and gravy (no salt, bad for his blood pressure) for her partner. They eat it down on the seafront – on the beach if the weather permits or sitting on the little bench in the shelter on the promenade if not.

‘What can I get you?’

Mrs Hornchurch is shuffling out of the shop with her warm paper packages and I’ve moved on to the next customer. It’s Riley, another favourite customer, but he doesn’t look as happy as Mrs Hornchurch did when he realises it’s me who’ll be serving him today. But it isn’t because he dislikes me – I don’t think Riley has it in him to dislike anybody – it’s because he’s in lurve with Claire and he’d much prefer to be chatting to her, even if it’s only to place an order for a meat and potato pie and chips.

‘Claire, can you take over this order for me? I really need to…’ I make a vague gesture towards the kitchen, trying not to smirk when I clock the daggers my friend is sending my way. Riley may have a massive crush on Claire, but the feeling isn’t mutual. Riley is much too sweet for Claire, who gravitates towards men who’ll treat her like shit. The kind of men who’ll charm her, promise her the world and then never call once she’s slept with them. She needs a man like Riley, who’ll deliver on his promises. She deserves a man like Riley.

I wink at Riley before buggering off to the kitchen. The dishwasher is full so I set it going before checking my messages. Yes! There’s one from Paul. It’s his day off and he’s only just dragged himself out of bed, the lucky sod. He’s off to the gym before meeting his mates in the pub.

What are your plans for the day?

I could tell him the truth, that I’m working until late, and that it’ll be after midnight by the time I go home and crawl straight into bed. But that sounds a bit boring.

Working late and then going into town with friends xxx

That sounds more exciting, but I hesitate before pressing send. Teenagers go to clubs to get mashed with their mates but I want to present myself as more sophisticated. I delete the message and start again.

Finishing work soon and then going to a friend’s for dinner xxx

A dinner party is super-sophisticated, or so I assume, having never actually attended one. Maybe I should add it to my grown-up to-do list, and that way I won’t be lying to Paul right now, it’ll simply be a delayed truth. Or, better still, I can host my own dinner party . Now that would be super-sophisticated.

Claire and I are on our own during the late evening shift, but it’s much quieter now the teatime rush is over. It’ll pick up in a while, once the pubs start kicking everyone out, but for now we can enjoy the lull. Fleetwood Jack wanders in as we’re looking up flats on my phone, and he’s purple with rage as he spews about his day in court.

‘Community service and a fine. It’s a bloody joke. Loads of rock stars lobbed tellies out of hotel windows back in the day, and did any of them ever get pulled up for it? Did they bollocks. It’s all this bloody woke shite. You can’t do owt these days without someone telling you not to.’

‘To be fair, Jack, you weren’t even a paying guest at The Royal.’ Claire has adopted the tone she uses when she’s letting Arlo know he’s doing something he shouldn’t. ‘And you caused quite a bit of damage, didn’t you?’ She raises her eyebrows at him, and he drops his gaze to the countertop. ‘There was the telly, and the window. And the fire extinguisher that you used to create a Stars in Their Eyes effect.’

Fleetwood Jack looks up with a beam at this bit. ‘Tonight, Matthew, I’m going to be… Paul McCartney!’ His beam widens as he looks around the chippy as though it’s filled with adoring, applauding fans, but there’s only me and Claire here. ‘I met him, you know. Paul. Good fella. Said I was going to make it big.’

‘I’m sure he did.’ Claire’s tone suggests she is not sure at all. ‘Did he also tell you that you were going to ride a floor lamp around the hotel lobby like a hobby horse? Or attempt to tap-dance on the reception desk?’

Fleetwood Jack rubs his left bum cheek. ‘My arse still feels bruised from where I fell on it.’

‘Do you think you should cut down on the booze and drugs?’ Claire’s tone is softer now. She isn’t condemning or mocking, she’s genuinely concerned.

Jack looks up at the ceiling through squinted eyes. ‘Nah. What’s life without a bit of fun and adventure, eh?’ He hands Claire a handful of coins and scoops up his packages. ‘Smell ya later.’

We watch him leave in silence, not sure how to process the encounter. Claire goes back to my phone, angling it so I can see the screen.

‘This place is all right. One bedroom, open-plan living area and kitchen, shower room. It even has a shared garden.’

I take the phone from her and study the listing. We’ve had to widen the net because there really aren’t any properties to rent in town, but this one isn’t too far away, and after checking on Google Maps I see it’s within spitting distance of a bus route that passes through Clifton-on-Sea. This could be it, my new grown-up home.

‘How much?’ I gape at the amount they’re asking for per month. I want to rent a one-bedroom flat, not a mansion with a swimming pool and more bathrooms than you could shake a stick at. I’ll barely have enough left over to feed myself on my wages. I’ll also need a deposit and I have zero savings. I don’t even have a savings account. I’ll need to open one and start actually putting money aside instead of spending it as soon as it’s in my hand. Yet another thing to add to the ever-growing to-do list.

‘If you take Jed and Russell up on their offer, you’ll get a bit more money and you’ll be able to save up a deposit quicker.’ Claire takes her phone back and closes the app. She has a point, and the managerial position is only short-term. I can’t mess it up that badly in a week or two, surely?

Absent-mindedly, I open Instagram and start to scroll. My eyes widen as I pause on a photo Paul posted a few hours ago. It’s a gym shot, taken in front of the mirrors at the weights. In it, a topless Paul is holding his phone in one hand and a hefty-looking dumbbell in the other, his bicep bulging. And just look at that six-pack .

‘I’m going to do it.’ I try not to drool on my screen as I tap the like button. ‘I’m going to take Jed and Russell up on their offer.’ And I’m going to save enough money for a deposit so I can move out of Mum and Dad’s – and tick off every item on my to-do list – so I can bag myself this god in front of me.