Page 62 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

Billy Ocean

LOVE REALLY HURTS WITHOUT YOU

I was comfortably sitting at an outside table at Dock of the Bay. I’d left David wandering around the kitchen, dumbstruck from lack of sleep, and clutching at pages from his great memoir, looking every bit the poor man’s Ernest Hemingway. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if I arrived home later that night and found him smoking a cigar, drinking neat bourbon. He’d rebuffed my efforts entirely at a coherent conversation and, when I’d asked how his date had gone the previous evening – because of course David was dating again – he’d only murmured something about having seen her out that morning, and told me I needn’t worry myself, answering a question that I hadn’t asked. I wasn’t sure he’d even noticed as I’d grabbed my bag and my jacket, made for the door and said my goodbyes for the day. Though that did assuage any lingering guilt I had about the shop not opening for another hour, despite what David thought. I’d placed my order with Bill – a pot of tea and a cinnamon roll – and retreated to the outside world with a copy of the local paper, and a deep and aching appreciation for the uncharacteristic sunshine that warmed me.

Bill followed me some minutes later, humming along to himself. I soon recognised it as the basic tune for ‘A Little Tenderness’, and I smiled.

‘Miss Patti,’ he said as he lowered the tray, ‘one tea and one–’

‘Good grief.’

Bill laughed as he set the cinnamon roll on the table, too. It was easily the size of a fist.

‘You looked a little blue when you came in.’

‘Well,’ I fumbled for words, ‘I’m fit and well. But I’ll never say no to special treatment.’

‘One of my best customers, you are, Miss Patti.’ He tucked the tray underneath his arm. ‘How’s that husband of yours?’

‘Oh, you know David. He’s at home at the moment writing The Great Hereford Novel,’ I joked but Bill only looked puzzled. I waved the comment away. ‘I’m just being silly. David is well, thank you, keeping himself out of trouble with work.’

Bill nodded with some understanding; it seemed an easier idea for him to grasp.

‘I saw your other friend just the other day, too.’

‘Mm?’ I managed, the cinnamon bun already poised for a bite.

‘The lady? I don’t think I ever got her name.’

The bun landed on the plate with a dull thud. ‘Oh.’

‘Bouncy lady, big smile. She was walking’ – he turned to gesture along the opposite side of the road – ‘along the way with another lady.’

My mouth was as dry as a flip-flop. ‘Another lady?’

‘I didn’t recognise her, though.’ He shrugged. ‘I waved, your friend waved.’

‘What did the… the other lady, what did she look like?’

Bill thought for a second. ‘Blonde hair…’

Not old enough to be grey yet, then.

‘Thirties, maybe?’

Oh Christ…

‘Big smile.’

I’ll bet.

‘Just a lady.’ Bill shrugged again, then eyed the cinnamon roll. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you in peace to enjoy. There’s another wrapped up behind the counter with your name on, if you fancy pushing the boat right out of the bay.’ He winked and then disappeared back into the shop, leaving me feeling every bit like my stomach had been pulled out of my mouth. Or maybe it was my heart…

* * *

The receptionist looked unconvinced. But when a patient turns up at the surgery, kneading her chest and complaining of pains, practically begging to see a doctor, there’s only so many times you can say, ‘We don’t have any appointments left for today,’ before you start to look negligent. She’d suggested calling 111 if the pains were that bad. I’d told her I didn’t want to make a fuss and that a GP would do. ‘Any GP,’ I stressed, sounding every bit the hypochondriac. After she checked me in, she told me I could take a seat and wait to be called. It didn’t feel quite the same being there without Janet; altogether less amusing, for one thing. There was a child opposite me who had trapped her finger in a door, and was resultantly wailing like a banshee now, and there was no one at all to share my disapproving stares with. If anything, no one seemed to mind the ruckus of the noise and instead they were throwing sympathetic, understanding expressions at the mother.

I’ve got chest pains, I wanted to say, where’s my sympathy?