Chapter Thirty-Seven

Things move pretty quickly after the job offer. I hand my notice in to Russell at the same time as I sign the tenancy agreement for the flat, making it a bittersweet moment, and we agree that my last shift will be the early evening shift on the Friday before my Monday start date at Brighthouse Rose Limited (or whatever it’s called). My final shift rocks around far too quickly and the shock hasn’t had enough time to wear off, so I’m still feeling an overpowering sense of sadness at leaving The Fish her hair may have been chopped into a spiky pixie style, and her skin had cleared and the braces were gone, but she was undoubtedly Courtney’s cousin. A couple of years younger than us, she’d idolised us and we’d been unable to shift her, no matter how hard we tried. And now that irritating hanger-on is far more successful than I could ever imagine being.

‘It’s just nerves, I promise.’ I grab my coffee, so I don’t have to meet Claire’s eye and she doesn’t clock how dishonest I’m being. Because it isn’t nerves that’s causing the knot in my stomach. It isn’t nerves that’s making me queasy and tearful. It’s almost grief-like, the knowledge that today will be my last shift at the chippy, but I have to do this. I can’t be the only one left behind all over again.

‘All ready for your new job?’ We don’t usually see Mrs Hornchurch in the chippy on a Friday evening, but she’s shuffled her weekly plans around so I can serve her one last time, which I think is rather sweet.

‘I think so.’ I concentrate on jostling the salt shaker over Mrs Hornchurch’s fish and chips so she can’t see the grimace that appears whenever I think about Brighton Rose Limited (or whatever it’s called. I really must commit the company’s name to memory before Monday morning).

‘Bit nervous?’ Mrs Hornchurch reaches across the counter to give my shoulder a squeeze. ‘That’s to be expected, but you’ll be fine once you get into the swing of things. We’ll miss you though.’ She gives my shoulder another gentle squeeze and I concentrate really hard on wrapping up the food so I don’t burst into snotty tears. Because I’ll miss Mrs Hornchurch too. I’ll miss all the customers – even the most obnoxious teenagers who launch chips about the place – and I can’t even think about the staff without wanting to bawl my eyes out. Even Bridget brings a lump to my throat. ‘I hope you’ve trained them all up so they can make my fish just the way I like it.’

‘Light and crisp, Mrs Hornchurch?’ Maryam’s bagging up her own customer’s order, but she looks over at mine. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve all been practising.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Mrs Hornchurch hands over the money for the fish and chips. ‘Although I’ll always have a soft spot for Cleo’s. She makes the best fish in Clifton-on-Sea.’ I want to thank her, but I think I’ll burst into tears if I open my mouth so I simply give a wobbly smile as I hand over her change. ‘Good luck in your new job.’ She raises her hand in farewell and I do the same while pressing my lips together to hold in the wail that’s hovering. Luckily, my next customer is Fleetwood Jack, so there’s no danger of sentimentality there.

‘What can I get you, Jack?’

‘I’ll have a chip muffin. No butter on the muffin.’

Oh, God. I don’t think I can take any more. This shift is killing me. I’m even going to miss Jack . Turning away from him, I press a hand to my stomach and try to keep the guttural roar of grief at bay with a few deep breaths.

‘Are you okay?’ Maryam places a hand on my back, and I nod as I take another deep breath.

‘Fine. Absolutely. But I think we need more chips. Can you…?’ I waft a hand in Jack’s direction before I flee to the kitchen.

I’m being ridiculous. People change jobs all the time, and it isn’t as though I’ll never see these people again. I’ll still need my own fix of fish and chips, and I’m bound to bump into them in town. And at least I’ll be able to hold my head up high when I meet up with Paul tomorrow, and there’ll be a ring of truth to those little white lies I told the last time I saw him: the career, the driving, the being a proper grown-up.

‘Hey, you.’ Russell pokes his head around the kitchen door while I’m delicately slicing a mountain of potatoes into thick chips, fully aware I’ll never work in this kitchen again. ‘I’ve got a surprise visitor for you.’

My stomach drops to the floor. Paul. Catching me out at the very last minute. Just when I thought I’d managed to pull this whole thing off!

‘ Jed .’ Relief and happiness and a dollop of melancholy flood my body as my soon-to-be-former boss appears in the doorway. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I couldn’t let my favourite employee swan off to their glittering new career without saying a proper goodbye, could I?’

I place the knife down on the chopping board and swipe my starchy hands down my tabard before rushing over to hug him, pulling Russell in too while trying my hardest not to cry.

‘Speaking of a proper goodbye, we thought we’d take you out for a little send-off.’ Russell places a gentle thumb on my cheek, where a pesky tear must have escaped. ‘There’s a T. Rex tribute band playing at the Red Lion tonight, so go and get glammed up and we’ll pick you up in an hour.’

‘But I’m not due to finish for another twenty minutes, and I’m in the middle of all this.’ I indicate the potatoes, and while it isn’t a task I’d normally fight for, I really don’t want to leave a second before I have to. Because that’ll be it then, won’t it? I’ll no longer work at The Fish at his shiny, flared trousers; at his hair, wild and bouncy, as though it has a life of its own. This is a man who is extremely comfortable in his own skin, even when that skin is clad in gold and pink satin, which should be off-putting but his confidence oozes and there’s something mesmerising about that. Plus, his voice is sexy as hell.

‘Cleo!’

I hear my name being called, and I make a half-hearted attempt to turn around again but my eyes don’t want to move away from the stage.

‘Cleo!’

There’s movement behind me, and then Claire’s squeezing in beside me, shooting daggers at the bloke next to her, who isn’t pleased that he’s been prodded out of the way.

‘Hey, you.’ I give her a quick hug before my eyes wander back towards the stage. ‘What are you doing here?’ I have to shout at the top of my voice to be heard over the music. It’s so intense, I can feel the beat throbbing up from the floor.

‘Russell said you’d be here.’ Claire raises herself onto her tiptoes and searches the crowd. ‘Where is he? And Jed?’

‘Getting drinks.’ I lean in towards Claire, but my eyes never leave the strangely magnetic lead singer.

‘Here they are.’ Claire thrusts her hand in the air and waggles it about. ‘Russell! Jed! Over here!’

They manage to squeeze their way towards us, but instead of standing next to us, Russell grabs my free hand after passing me my drink and starts to pull me further into the crowd. ‘We can do better than this. We can hardly see from back here.’

Like before, Russell somehow manages to make a path in the tightly packed audience until we’re a couple of rows from the stage. The lead singer is looking down at his guitar as he plays, and my eyes are drawn to his fingers moving deftly over the strings until he looks up, throwing back his curls as the song comes to an end. The crowd erupts in applause, but I’m frozen, in shock, in amazement, as my eyes bore into the figure on the stage. Because the beard may be gone, and there may be glittery smudges on his cheeks and more eyeliner than Claudia Winkleman gets through in a month drawn underneath his eyes, but it’s James standing up there in the gold and pink satin.