I nod. ‘You were right. Going forward can we put our differences about the past to one side and just get the job done here? We don’t have to be friends.’
He raises his hands in defence. ‘Fine by me. I just want to do a good job for Frankie.’
‘Okay, if you work on the drinks, I will serve the customers. Let’s not encroach on the other’s role.’
His face softens. ‘Yes, I’ll do that. I’m sorry if I annoyed you in the week. You didn’t need my feedback on your photography skills.’
For the rest of the day, we both concentrate on running The Little Love Café. Noah sticks to our agreement and stays behind the counter. I work the tables and make sure everyone gets the correct drinks and a smile. The wall-to-wall romance still annoys me, but I let it simmer under the surface. Noah and I part ways with a friendly nod which is remarkable given how the morning started.
The following day is easier as Noah and I carry on our working arrangement. We don’t mention the past and we both stick to our allotted areas. I force out smiles when excited couples tell me they are on a date, are celebrating anniversaries or are sharing their baby news by standing in front of the flower wall, holding their scan images while I take photos of them.
When I am alone out the back getting more milk or tripping over the cans of pink paint Frankie has acquired since decorating the place or cleaning the café toilets, I let out a silent scream and tell myself that I don’t believe in love anymore.
On my way back into the café after my lunch break, I spot a customer with his head in his hands and an empty chair next to him. ‘Noah,’ I whisper, ‘is the man on table four okay?’
Noah shrugs. ‘Why don’t you go over and ask him?’
As I get closer the man turns and greets me with a sad face. ‘My girlfriend – well, my now ex-girlfriend – brought me here to confess to having an affair with the postman.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, resisting the urge to sit down next to him and tell him all about what happened to me. That would only lead to anger which in turn would impact how I serve customers.
‘This place should be renamed Heartbreak Café – right?’ He looks at me with watery eyes. In his hand is the bill for two Luscious Lattes.
I tell him, ‘Your bill is on the house.’
‘That’s very nice of you,’ he says, rising from his chair. ‘I’m going to the pub.’
I try to forget about the man but later an argument breaks out between a couple on table six. ‘We are finished, Gareth,’ yells the woman. ‘I never want to see you or your annoying mother ever again.’
‘Fine,’ shouts the man, ‘I don’t want to see you or your interfering sisters again either. Oh, and my mother was right about you – she took one look at your profile on the dating app, and said you looked like trouble… with a capital T.’
Noah casts me an awkward glance as the woman shouts, ‘We’re finished. Goodbye, Gareth.’ She storms out of the café leaving Gareth to stare miserably out of the window.
‘Is it me or has the atmosphere changed in the café?’ I ask Noah later. We are half an hour away from closing and he’s looking at our socials. ‘There are a few comments on our Instagram post.’ He passes me his phone.
@SnarkySue: ‘There was no love in the #LittleLoveCafé for me today. Husband annoyed me so much with his constant moaning I walked out.’
@JeremyLightYear: I got dumped in this place today – should be renamed #HeartbreakCafé
I hand Noah’s phone back to him. ‘Do you think we should worry?’
Noah shakes his head. ‘Probably the weather.’ We both glance out of the café window. It’s been the first proper warm day in April and a few holidaymakers are still dotted on the beach enjoying the last few rays. As we lock up the café and go our separate ways, I pray things go back to normal soon.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Apart from a few noisy seagulls arguing over a paper bag, the beach is deserted. I’ve come to sit down here before work. My head is filled with worries about the café’s reputation online and thoughts about Noah. Even though we have a new arrangement it’s still hard working alongside him.
I have become distracted by a man swimming in the sea. He’s quite far out. When I was younger, I used to be a lifeguard and I saved quite a few holidaymakers on this very beach who got into trouble after going too far out. So I know the water can be unforgiving, even in the summer months, punishing holidaymakers and surfers with chilly currents and boisterous waves.
I look out at the swimmer again. I have a bad feeling about this. Something is wrong. The waves are getting bigger and I can almost feel the sea’s excitement.
Once he starts swimming the sea’s spiteful waves queue up to crash up against his face. Their persistence pays off as his arms slow. My heart bangs inside my ribcage as a current carries him further away from the shore. Seagulls screech with laughter at the man. Turning his head, he looks back at the beach. Something is wrong.
I get to my feet. My heart beats faster. Flinging myself off my rock I charge across the beach. How long will it take for his bobbing head to disappear under the murky waters? The is sea dragging him out further and he’s not putting up much of a fight. I can’t watch this. In a flash I strip off my clothes and kick off my plimsoles.
I wade into the water. The icy cold water robs me of breath and my lungs burn in protest. But then my old love of outdoor swimming returns. After my lifeguard days ended, I used to go swimming in the sea all the time. It was a great way to cool off after an argument with Pete. Before I met Scott on a dating app Dad would look after baby Lucas, and I would head down to the beach for a swim. Cold water is invigorating and I would have a buzz about me all day afterwards.
I dive into a wave and power towards the stranger’s bobbing head. Instinctively I reach out and grab his arm.
