Chapter 11
When I got to the chip shop, an attractive lad with dark, floppy hair and glasses was behind the counter.
Right. Flirting. Oh God, how did you flirt? Eyes were involved, weren’t they? Eyes and hair. Girls in books were always tossing it about, like they were advertising L’Oreal or something.
Yolanda. That was it. I needed to channel Yolanda, the queen of flirting.
I tried giving the old eyelashes a flutter, chucking in a bonus hair-toss, but Cameron just blinked at me.
‘Er, hi,’ I said, narrowly biting my tongue before I added ‘What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?’
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘What can I get you, love?’
‘Fish and chips once with scraps, please.’
‘Coming up.’ He grabbed his fish slice and started piling chips into a sheet of greaseproof paper. ‘Hey, do I know you?’ he asked, squinting into my face.
Was that a chat-up line? Ugh, this was hard. Yolanda jumped up a notch in my estimation for making it look so easy.
‘You might’ve seen me around. I run the restaurant at the top of the village with my brother.’
‘Yeah, probably what I’m thinking of. The cute one – Tom, is it? You look a bit like him.’
Cute, what did that mean: cute? Cute like an adorable little kitten? Or did he mean it the way Americans said it, like, shaggable cute?
‘Look, are you American?’ I blurted out. ‘I mean, are you gay?’
He blinked at me. ‘Er, yeah. I mean, what?’
I blushed furiously. God, I was making a right mess. Tom was going to kill me.
‘Actually mate, can you hold the fish?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Me too. That’s why I’m changing the subject before I die of shame. You give me chips, I’ll give you money and we’ll forget the whole thing, ok?’
He smiled. ‘My mum is from Vermont, to answer your question. Vinegar on them?’
‘Oh. Um, yes, please…’
‘Look, you seem a lovely girl,’ he said as he shook Sarsons generously over my chips. ‘I’m very flattered and all that, but you’re not really my type. Sorry.’
‘Oh God, that’s brilliant,’ I said with a smile of relief. ‘You are gay.’
‘No. I’m bi, if you really want to know.’ He shook his head. ‘You know, it’s not every day I get quizzed on my sexuality by customers. You were asking me out, right?’
‘Not exactly. Er, hey, do you like cycling?’
***
When I got home, Tom was waiting expectantly by the living-room door. While he wasn’t quite hopping from foot to foot, it looked touch and go whether he wouldn’t start any minute.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
I tossed him the packet of chips. ‘There’s a guy works down the chip shop swears he’s on the non-binary scale of sexual orientation.’
‘Right.’ He frowned. ‘And in English we say…?’
‘In English we say you’re in.’
His face brightened. ‘He is gay?’
‘Bi apparently, but I think he likes you. He said you were cute. And he’s half American so that means “fit” in proper English.’
‘Ha! Seriously? Oh my God!’ He threw himself at me for a hug. ‘Thanks, Lana.’
I patted his back. ‘I made a bit of a hash of it actually, but we got there.’
He let me go, looking nervous again. ‘So what do I do now?’
‘Has it really been so long you can’t remember? You’re as bad as me.’
‘The sad thing is it actually has. Not quite got the nerve to just stroll in and ask him out.’
I tapped my head. ‘Don’t worry, Tommy, it’s all here in your sister’s cunning brain. I invited him onto the cycling committee.’
‘Did you? Why?’
‘It’ll give the two of you chance to get to know each other, won’t it? In a social situation where you’re not divided by a chippy counter. Cracking idea, though I say so myself. Plus, we need all the help we can get.’
I felt a buzz in my jeans pocket and yanked out my phone.
‘Roger Collingwood,’ I said, frowning. ‘What does he want? I only saw him a few hours ago.’
‘Hello, Lana,’ Roger said when I answered. ‘Listen, are you sitting down?’
‘Not yet.’ I struggled out of my coat and chucked it over the arm of the sofa, then plonked myself down. ‘Now I am. What’s up, Roger?’
‘Were you really serious about that viaduct idea?’
‘Course, why?’
‘Good, because I popped into the village archives at the Temperance Hall to research it. I thought I could find out why it hadn’t been tried before.’
‘And?’
‘As it turns out, it has. Someone in the village looked into getting it opened eight years ago.’
‘Don’t remember that. Who was it?’
‘Are you sure you’re sitting down?’
‘I told you I am,’ I said impatiently. ‘Come on, who?’
‘Filippo Donati.’
My eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re kidding!’
‘I’m not. I’m holding a stack of his paperwork into making it a right of way here.’
‘But why didn’t he say anything to us?’
‘It doesn’t look like he got beyond initial research in 2005 – that’s when he was diagnosed, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I said, blinking. ‘God, yes, that’s right.’
‘Maybe that’s why. Listen, I’ll get it all copied and pop it through your letterbox.’
‘Thanks, Rodge, you’re a saint.’
‘What was that all about?’ Tom asked when I’d hung up.
‘You’ll never believe it. The viaduct – well, you know how I said it was just the sort of thing Dad would want us to be doing?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Turns out he had the same idea. He was looking into getting it opened when he got his diagnosis.’
‘Shit! Really?’
‘Yep.’ I shifted in my seat to look at him. ‘Well, that decides it, doesn’t it? Bugger the memorial bench. We’re giving our old man a viaduct.’
***
Roger dropped a fat packet through our letterbox the same evening. I didn’t have time to look at it until my shift finished, but by the time Tom was done with maitre d’ duties I was more than halfway through.
‘Bloody hell, Tommy!’ I said when he’d joined me at the coffee table.
‘What’s it say then?’
‘The viaduct. It wasn’t just an idea, Dad had a whole plan. Looked like he was well into it by the time he started the first round of chemo.’
Tom gave Flash, between us on the sofa, an absent stroke. ‘Yeah. He got pretty tired after that.’
‘He’s left us all the blueprints,’ I said, scanning the paperwork. ‘Structural survey, financial viability, everything! Good old Dad.’ I pointed to one item. ‘Look at that.’
Tom glanced at the spreadsheet. ‘Woah. Is that true?’
‘Figures add up. Forty grand a year it’s costing to keep the viaduct in its current state.’ I looked up. ‘Dad estimated it’d only cost around 50 to get it done up.’
‘Then why don’t the council do it already?’
‘Dunno, accountability? No one pays attention to money spent on maintenance. Knocking down or fixing up: that’s when questions get asked.’
‘What can we do then?’
‘Fight, of course! Get the whole community behind us. Then the council would have to listen.’ I tweaked a sheet of paper out of my pile. ‘Look.’
There was a sketch among the paperwork, another of Dad’s creative talents. It showed families, cyclists, horse riders, walkers, all making their way over the arches; our long-dead viaduct, alive and useful again.
‘When did he find time to do all this?’ Tom said.
‘You know what he was like. Probably planning a big reveal, just to see the look on our faces.’ I glanced up from the sketch, eyes shining. ‘Know what this means?’
‘Hard work?’
‘Well, yes. But it means we can do something he really wanted. The viaduct open; the Tour making history on it!’
Tom looked doubtful. ‘It is a good idea,’ he said hesitantly. ‘But I’m worried about you, sis. Why so feverish? You’re grieving, you need to take things slowly.’
‘But it’s what Dad wanted. That means it’s what we want too, isn’t it?’
‘I just can’t help feeling you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. Dad wouldn’t have wanted that.’
I frowned. ‘All right, genius, what would he have wanted?’
‘It doesn’t matter now, except to us.’ He flung a comforting arm around me. ‘Dad’s gone, Lana. It’s like the coffin. It might be the same size and shape and weight as Dad, but it isn’t him. Dad’s… not here. Not any more.’
‘He’s here in us. And damn it, I’m going to make sure everyone knows it. They won’t forget him, not while I’ve got breath.’
‘Who said they’d forget him?’ Tom said quietly. ‘You’re being defensive against an argument no one’s made.’
I blinked back a tear, staring down at little fuzzy Flash on the sofa. ‘Maybe I said it.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Maybe I’m scared. Scared of forgetting him myself. It’s only been a month, and already, when I try to picture his face…’ I looked up at him through eyes claggy with tears. ‘I need this, Tommy. Let me fight. It’s all I’ve got.’
‘Is it healthy though?’
‘Healthier than your chip habit.’
‘Ah, that’s different,’ he said with a smile. ‘Puppy love.’
‘You’re 28. You’re not a puppy any more.’ I sighed. ‘And it’s the same really, isn’t it? Fear of losing a dream. That’s why you’re too scared to ask Cameron out. A dream’s better than nothing.’
‘I’m not nothing, am I? Or Gerry, or Sue. You’re not alone, Lana.’
‘No. But I miss my dad. And this feels like… like closure.’