Page 57 of Second Chances at the Board Game Café

‘Like he took action to fix the leaking washing machine?’ she couldn’t resist saying. ‘Or the banister? And I’ve been telling you for weeks about the electrics. I can’t use the socket by the front window at all. My friend reckons it’s got damp in it. It could be dangerous. And now the boiler is being temperamental too. Some mornings there’s no hot water. I’m paying rent for this and it’s substandard.’

‘Let me give you some advice.’ He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

How had she ever thought him attractive?

‘It’s very difficult to find a rental property at an affordable price in this valley,’ he said. ‘A lot of landlords are doing Airbnb now because, frankly, it’s more money and less hassle. If you make too much of a fuss, if you’re a difficult tenant, the landlord will evict you. After all, you’ve breached your tenancy agreement by running a business here. If he were to get wind of it… Of course, I might be able to turn a blind eye to that, but I’m going to take some persuading.’

There was something about the way he said the word ‘persuading’ that made Taylor bristle. He was suddenly in her personal space, so close that she could smell the stale garlic on his breath. She took a step back away from him, holding her hands up to stop him.

‘Think about it, Taylor,’ he said. ‘You and that kid of yours don’t want to find yourselves in some grotty bed and breakfast somewhere, do you?’

He went to the door, opened it, then turned back to her. ‘Oh and make this place look less like a shop if you want to have any chance of staying here.’

After he’d gone, she slumped on the sofa. She’d never felt as lonely as she felt now. One of things she liked best about this little house was the fact it looked like a shop, and she didn’t want to take the sewing machine, the mannequin or the clothes from the window.

But if she didn’t…?

And even if she did make the place look less like a shop, as he’d suggested, would that be enough?

Might it be best to give up her business altogether? Should she start looking for a job?

It was a stark choice.

She mightn’t have achieved her childhood dreams of becoming a fashion designer, but her sewing business had felt like an acceptable second best, even if she did moan sometimes about the endless zip replacements. And in recent weeks, as she created garments for the show, she’d felt even closer to that original dream. She’d felt fulfilled. Alive. And now she was being told to give that up.

Either she gave up the business she loved, the business she’d worked so hard to establish, or she risked the roof over her and Max’s head.

The only way she could have both was to ‘persuade’ Tarquin to turn a blind eye to her working here, and she didn’t want to think about what that would entail.

30

When Fay had dumped him, Harry had found comfort in his routines, and that was exactly what he was doing now. Only he had changed those routines, abandoning anything that involved leaving the house and interacting with other people. He’d even gone so far as to join the ranks of people who ordered their groceries online and had them delivered in a van each week; in the past, he’d considered this a ridiculous, new-fangled idea, but it suited him now. He’d stopped going to the recycling group on a Monday, and to the board game group on a Thursday too. Four Saturdays running he had missed his trip to the National Railway Museum; what was the point anyway? He knew that place like the back of his hand, and if he wanted to see engines, there were plenty of photos online. If he could have worked from home every day, he would have done so gladly, but the management at Grayson Accountants Limited said they were sorry but that wasn’t an option. They’d been somewhat surprised by his request, given his initial reluctance to embrace the idea of working from home for two days a week.

Those thrice-weekly trips to the office were the only time he’d seen the sky in over a month, but one Tuesday afternoon, when he was working from home, the sun was shining through the window of his home office, and Harry suddenly felt the need for some fresh air.

His feet led him past the board game café, but he kept his head down as he walked past. He side-stepped the geese, who were guarding Oxfam this morning, and continued walking until he reached the street where the old board game café had been. He stood outside the block of flats, remembering happier times, and thought of the time he’d first seen Taylor on this very spot, with her son wailing by her side, and he felt a pang of longing. Sadness washed over him as he walked on towards the canal towpath.

He barely noticed the mallard with her newly hatched chicks taking one of their first trips on the water, or the brightly coloured narrowboat chugging towards Essendale with a Jack Russell terrier scampering up and down on its roof. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, uncertain as to where he was going, but aware of his own need for a change of scenery, a break in the monotony that had become his life in recent weeks.

He found himself standing on familiar cobbles, a few metres away from Taylor’s house. That was what he’d wanted all along, he realised suddenly, just to be on the street where she lived. Like the song in the musical My Fair Lady, he thought. It had been his mother’s favourite. His mother had passed away many years ago now, but he wished he could feel her embrace one more time. He wanted the closeness, the comfort, of another human body next to his. It was something he’d enjoyed so little in his adult life.

He wished too that Taylor would emerge from her front door, and wrap her arms around him, telling him she’d changed her mind. Yet at the same time, she was the last person he wanted to see. It was bound to happen sooner or later in a small community like this one, and he was dreading it. It was humiliating, being rejected like that. Perhaps that was why he had come here now; seeing her would be like lancing the boil.

He had mulled over the events of that evening at his house so many times, and come up with a hundred and one reasons why she’d hadn’t wanted to see him again.

His sexual performance hadn’t been up to scratch.

He was boring. He had long suspected this about himself.

She’d seen the picture on his bedroom wall and realised he was a train boffin.

She wasn’t that ‘into him’, as people said.

He sincerely hoped she hadn’t felt obliged to go to bed with him, that she’d slept with him that once because she was grateful that he’d fixed her washing machine. The very idea was abhorrent and made him feel a little nauseated.

Perhaps she liked one-night stands. He knew such people existed, but had never met one; not knowingly, at least.

He had driven himself slightly bonkers going round in circles, wondering what the truth was, and assumed he’d never know.