Chapter Three

The injustice of being fired burned at first, but once I walked out I had to admit to myself that I hadn’t been enjoying the work there for a while. I’d been excited at first—it had been my first real job in years—but that feeling soon wore off. For probably the past year, I’d just been hiding there.

What really peeved me, though, was that they’d let me work the lunch shift. Only once the custom slowed had Terry called me into the kitchen and told me he had to let me go.

I was taken aback.

“Have I done something wrong?” I asked.

“We’ve had a lot of bad reviews about the way you treat customers.”

I frowned, as I was always polite to customers. Well, except for those idiot girls who broke the rules.

“How many reviews?” I asked.

“At least twenty-five.”

Now I knew this was bollocks.

“And they all say I gave them bad service?”

“They said you were rude, got the orders wrong, were aggressive and argumentative, overcharged . . .”

I’d been stitched up, I just didn’t know if Terry was making an excuse or if someone really had left those bad reviews. If so, I’d bet good money on it being Alice and her shorter friend.

It occurred to me to argue with him, to deny the allegations and clear my name. I’d been there for almost three years after all, and was trusted enough to run the place alone. Even though I wanted to defend myself, the words wouldn’t come. I felt my eyes stinging with tears.

He explained about severance pay, being more generous than he needed to, but I wasn’t in the mood for his pity.

“Keep your damn money,” I said, turning away.

“But it’ll help you until you get another job.”

I turned back at the kitchen door and looked at him sadly, doing my best not to cry.

“I’ve got more in the bank than this whole building is worth, including the business. I didn’t work here because I needed the money, I worked here because I liked you and Sandy.”

It was hardly the vengeful tirade I wish I’d been capable of, but it was something.

I left the bar and wiped my tears away, deciding to head to the bakery and get myself a treat. I’d go home, change into some jeans, get my camera, and go for a walk. My pictures would probably be sad or depressing, maybe even black and white, but that was okay—it was how I dealt with my emotions these days.

In the end I bought myself a whole Victoria sponge cake, dropped it off at home—safely stowed away from Buttons in a cat-proof tin—then set off for the beach. I headed north, away from the village.

***

As I approached home later, I saw Tom knocking on the door, my cardigan over his arm. While I was out taking pictures, I’d remembered that I’d left it at the bar. I was torn between leaving it and forgetting it had ever existed, and going back to get it and give Terry an earful.

I knew the second option would never really happen. I had an almost pathological tendency to avoid confrontation. I liked that cardigan, though, so I was glad to see Tom with it.

“Have you been waiting long?” I asked as I reached him.

“No, not long.” He hesitated for a moment. “Terry told me what happened. I noticed you’d left this.” He handed me my cardigan.

“Thanks. I don’t have any beer, but if you fancy a cup of tea, I have a beautiful Victoria sponge to accompany it.”

“Thanks.”

One of the nicest smiles I’ve ever seen lit up his face, and my feeling of anticipation returned.

I let us in and went straight into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Tom took a little longer to follow. I wondered if he liked my little home.

“I’ll have to try decorating from scratch,” he said as he joined me. “Your place looks lovely.”

“Thanks.” I kept my back to him so he didn’t see my blush while I readied the teapot. “Do you want to sit here or in the garden?”

“It’s a nice day. Let’s sit outside.”

“Can you get the door?” I asked as I prepared a tray and cut two large slices from the cake.

“I love this rear door,” he said. Although new, it still looked like a traditional stable door made up of two interlocking halves.

“It’s one of the things I loved too,” I agreed, picking up the tray and following Tom outside.

“Oh here. Let me.” He took the tray from me, and I darted ahead.

My garden furniture was a set of three rattan armchairs and a two-seater sofa, with deep seat cushions for comfort. The only problem is that you can never tell when it’ll rain in the UK, so the cushions were housed under an oblong coffee table. Tom waited patiently while I furnished two armchairs with their cushions, and then he put the tray on the table and we sat down.

“So are you okay?” Tom asked as he poured the tea.

“How much did Terry tell you?”

“He didn’t want to tell me anything. I only knew you’d been there when I saw your cardigan hanging behind the bar. He said you were responsible for a lot of bad reviews and that after looking at the complaints he couldn’t keep you on.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed, and then Tom continued.

“I told him he was a fool to fire you and that I wouldn’t drink there anymore. Then I asked for your cardigan and walked out.”

“What? You didn’t!” That shocked me.

“Of course I did. I’ve seen you working there, so I knew the things he was saying about you were false.”

“Thank you.” I blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. “That’s really sweet, but you don’t have to stay away on my account.”

“I don’t want to drink somewhere that treats its staff like that.”

I accepted the tea he poured me and added milk and sugar.

“So you’re really okay?” Tom asked.

“I am, surprisingly. I’m not very happy with Terry. I thought he was a friend, you know? But if I’m honest, I’ve been languishing there.”

“What will you do now?”

I blew out a puff of air. “I haven’t even considered it, to be honest. I suppose I could become an accountant.”

“Do you like that?” He seemed confused by the jump.

“No, I hate it, but that’s what my degree is in. I worked as an accountant for a few years.”

“So the pub was a step down then?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Not exactly.” I sighed, knowing I should explain some things about my life so that he could understand my position. “My husband was older than me. He worked as a surgeon, he owned a home in London with no mortgage, and he had sizeable life insurance. He made more than enough for both of us and didn’t want me to work. I refused for a while, but eventually he wore me down and I quit. Then he died and I inherited everything. Technically, I never need work again as long as I’m not stupid with my money. Anyway, once I had a choice, sitting around all day quickly got boring. I sure as hell wasn’t going to do accountancy—I only got my degree in it because my parents made me. I already knew and liked Terry and Sandy, who own the bar. I heard they were looking for help. Bar work just seemed safe, you know? Something to break me back in gently. But three years later I still hadn’t found the courage to move on.”

“Maybe it is a blessing in disguise,” he said kindly.

I picked up my piece of cake and sliced off a forkful while I plucked up my courage.

“If it’s not too intrusive—and feel free to tell me to bugger off—what did the doctor say?”

“He agreed with your suggestion, actually.”

“What suggestion?”

“Stretching the skin. He said that stretching the skin around the area and then folding it over the burn site produces the best results cosmetically. A skin graft from other parts of the body is often a slightly different color or texture.”

“Oh!”

“The only problem is it’ll take about four months to expand the balloons and make enough new skin to cover the burn site.”

I winced. “And what about your mobility?”

He raised the leg of his sweatpants so I could see the damage for myself.

The burn started about five inches above the knee. The flesh was sunken, which must have been where the burns had gone into the muscle. It also extended over the knee and to about six or seven inches along the shin. The whole area was just a mass of twisted, mottled, angry red scar tissue. Below the knee there were also surgical scars—that must have been where he broke his leg and had titanium pins put in.

The back of his leg seemed to have been spared. I wondered if being pressed up against the car’s seat had prevented the flammable liquid from spreading back there.

He bent his leg at the knee; I could see the tissue strain and turn white.

“He’ll cut away most of the scar tissue,” he explained. “Then I’ll have to be careful with physio and keep the area in motion so the new skin doesn’t contract too much.”

“You didn’t do that before?”

“My whole leg was immobilized for six weeks so the bone could heal.”

Of course it was. How could I forget that? I’m such an idiot.

“That’s why they didn’t try to do grafts at the time. They knew that with the leg immobile, new skin would just shrink.”

“So when are you having it done?” I asked.

“It’ll be in two parts,” he said, lowering his trouser leg again. “I go back first to have balloons inserted into my leg, and then once they’ve been inflated and there’s enough new skin grown, I’ll go back in for the reconstruction.”

“When are you having part one?”

“I haven’t booked in yet. Everything was so rushed the first time, I just wanted to take a few days and make sure I’m doing the right thing.”

“Always a good idea when contemplating surgery.”

His blue eyes shone as he smiled at me. “So since you’re unemployed and I’m on sabbatical, how would you feel about joining me for a walk on the beach tomorrow?”

The real answer was “I feel more excited than I want to admit,” but instead of saying that I just nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at half one?”

“Okay. Do you mind if I bring my camera? I promise I won’t snap you.”

“Feel free.”

He went silent for a moment, and I knew that our impromptu meeting was coming to an end.

“I should get going,” he said.

“Of course. Thanks for bringing my cardigan back.”

“Not a problem, love. Thank you for the cake.”

“Thank you for helping me with it.”

We both got up and awkwardly stood there for a moment before Tom decided to say goodbye with a peck. He didn’t just lurch at me, however. Rather, he approached slowly, giving me ample time to back away. He left his hands at his sides as he leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to my cheek—the same way I greeted his mother.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiled affectionately, then headed for the gate in my yard. “Goodbye, love.”

“Bye,” I called after him. As soon as he was out of sight, I traced my fingertips over my cheek as I relived his kiss. His lips had felt so soft.

I hadn’t dated many people. There were maybe five boys of varying seriousness before Darren, but none of them had made my heart pound like that innocent little kiss did.

I could still feel the slight scratch from his beard scruff. I wondered what it would feel like to kiss him properly.

I felt stunned and yet energized. Once my surprise at my own reaction wore off, a Cheshire cat grin spread across my face and seemed unwilling to leave me for long. In fact, for the rest of the night whenever I thought about Tom, the grin reasserted itself, sometimes accompanied by cackling laughter.

My happiness eventually died—thanks to a phone call from my father.

“Kelsey, how are you?”

My heart sank at the sound of his gruff voice.

“I’m good, Dad. You?”

“Oh, not much changes. You know how it is.”

I did know. My father had worked for the same company for longer than I’d been alive. My mother was almost as bad, having been a teacher ever since she went back to work after having me. She didn’t like being a teacher but she had chosen it because it would allow her the holidays off with me.

Once I’d grown up I suggested she find something else, but she was adamant that a good, steady job should never be thrown away.

I listened to my father bitch about the problems at his work, and then I listened as he bitched about Mum bitching about her job.

“And what about you?” he asked. “How goes the accountancy work?”

After Darren died, my parents had given me a few months’ grace to grieve, and then they began to pester me to settle down and get a job. Dad sent me application forms from the Big Four accountancy firms, and Mum sent me links to any accounting jobs she came across.

It was inevitable that I would cave into their demands eventually. For the time being, though, I lied. They thought I had a small bookkeeping firm and that I spent my days doing the books, VAT, and accounts for various local businesses.

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old.” Every time I said that line, I knew that lying had been the right decision. “Things don’t really get interesting until January.” When I had worked as an accountant, tax season, with its January 31 deadline for filing, had been hellish.

“It never rains but it pours,” he told me as though he was imparting some profound wisdom. “Are you still taking your little pictures?”

“It’s just a hobby, Dad.”

“It’s not a hobby if you sell them. I’ve seen your little e-store. You’re still directing your energies in the wrong direction. If you put some of that effort into growing your accountancy business, you could be running a respected firm in a few years.”

“Yes, Dad.” I couldn’t keep the sigh from my voice.

“I know you think I’m an old man who doesn’t know anything, but you should listen twice as much as you talk.”

I wished he’d take his own advice.

Sometimes I thought about cutting all contact with them, just leaving it at birthday and Christmas cards, but each time I tried, something stopped me. It was probably my guilt over having so little to do with them since I married Darren. He had tried to isolate me and made me distance myself from them, and I had never tried to repair those broken bonds.

Or maybe what kept me in contact was the hope that one day they might accept me for who I am, possibly even be proud of me.

I didn’t know, but whatever the reason, I still put up with these phone calls about twice a month.

“I’ll think about it, Dad.”

He continued to talk; I made the right noises in response where necessary.

Buttons came over and settled on my lap while I scratched behind his ears, purring loudly. I’d got him from a shelter soon after I moved here, feeling the need to rescue a mature cat rather than get a kitten. Maybe I needed something damaged, like me. He was incredibly affectionate and placid however, and I was happy to give him a new home.

After giving me a little guilt trip about not calling them often enough, my dad eventually rang off.

Buttons and I decided to watch Netflix for a while.