Page 5
I head for the door, easing past her, but nobody escapes Alice that easily.
“I’ll fill you in on Monday.”
“I look forward to it,” I reply without turning back.
As the door to the staffroom swings shut behind me, leaving Alice clutching her phone with that same bright expression on her face, I wonder if she thought I was being sarcastic.
I’m never entirely sure how people interpret the things I say. I’ve never understood hidden meanings or layered tones of voice, something several ex-partners pointed out over the years. I say what I mean. Surely everyone does.
Alice certainly seems to.
That’s always been one of the things I like most about her. She says what she means and means what she says. You always know where you stand with Alice, and she can fill any awkward silence with questions like what my favourite smell is, where all the missing socks go, or whether I’d rather go to prison for a crime I didn’t commit or spend my life on the run for one I did.
Alice was one of the first people to talk to me when I started working here at Kitchen City over a year ago. One of the few people who didn’t seem put off by my cold exterior or the permanent grey gloom hanging around me.
I’ve often wondered if sadness clings to people in a way others can sense. Whether people look at you and instinctively know something terrible happened, so they keep their distance in case misery is contagious.
Then again, I hate most people and the majority of the world, so maybe that’s the real reason they avoid me.
Okay, not everyone.
There are exceptions. My mum. My dog.
And Alice.
She seems immune to my bad moods, my scowl, my permanently sour outlook on life. No matter how much I tried convincing myself otherwise when we first met, I eventually had to accept the truth.
I like Alice.
She’s the only person at Kitchen City whose company I genuinely enjoy.
As I return to my tiny office, I can’t help but feel curious about this old friend of hers and what might happen when they meet on Saturday.
One thing’s certain: Alice won’t forget to tell me all about it on Monday, and I’m already intrigued.
3
Alice
Walking into Mother Den’s tea shop on Saturday feels like stepping out of the DeLorean in Back to the Future when I spot Sydney sitting at a table in the far corner.
She hasn’t changed.
Her dark hair is a little shorter than I remember, her cheeks fuller, and her smile wider than the hollow person I drifted from twenty-one years ago. She looks more like her old self, the Sydney who could make me laugh at the most inappropriate time, the one who was always by my side and would do anything to help me in my endless pursuit of love.
And I can’t help the stab of envy as I look at the way Sydney and Drew (I presume the man sitting opposite her is Drew) are holding each other’s hands over the table.
It’s nice to put a face to the name. He’s wearing a baseball cap, which hides a mop of brown hair that’s trying to escape from underneath. His hands look big, like he could build a mountain with them, and his huge frame is shielding Sydney from all the evils of the world.
She’s oblivious to my arrival. She only has eyes for him, and the stab of jealousy quickly turns into a warmth that seeps into my bones.
She found her true love. At least that’s something.
It’s Drew who turns to look at me, Sydney’s eyes following his gaze, and I’m in no way ashamed of the squeak that erupts from me as I quicken my steps towards her.
“Alice?” Sydney says, her loved-up face transforming into one of disbelief.
There’s a second where I can’t read the room, our last fight flittering into the periphery of my memory. It’s of Sydney telling me she didn’t need me and that I should go back to my “happy family life” and forget about her. I gulp as I clutch the strap of my bag.
