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10
Two days later, the initial rush of sales was dying down, but the high Jen was on showed no sign of letting up. She was off tomorrow, but a part of her wanted to open the shop, see what it would bring. She knew better, though. Working seven days in a row was a sure-fire way to burn out.Been there, done that.
She stood, hands on hips, and surveyed the working fridge. It could be fuller. She’d promised herself a day on the sofa tomorrow, and although a voice in her head was reasoning that coming in to make cocktail pouches wasn’t really working if the shop wasn’t actually open, she urged it to be quiet. She had to look after herself if she was going to make it through the quarter.
If only the second fridge was working, she could be making double. Get a few more flavour combinations on the go.
She rubbed at her temples. No point living in a dream world. There was no way she could afford it: the fridge guy said it would be at least three grand for parts and labour. If she knew the slightest thing about fridges she would have given it a go herself, but the threat of electrocution was real, not to mention coming in one morning to find it had burned the place down. No. She would have to wait until she had the funds.
Which presented its own conundrum.
The bank was sapping all her earnings, wanting huge sums on top of her loan because of missed past payments. If she could just leverage their demands she could at least buy in more supplies, stock the working fridge to capacity, earn more. Instead, she was chasing her tail. In one hand and out the other.
All this work and she didn’t even have the bank balance to show for it.
The phone rang, making her jump a mile. It could go to voicemail; she’d been closed for over thirty minutes. Anyone that needed a cocktail would have to wait.
After the beep a familiar voice filled the shop, making her blood run cold as her heart hammered against her ribs.
Alison.
‘I'm guessing you've changed your mobile number in three years.’ She sounded almost nervous. Jen stared at the machine, anger mounting. ‘Thought I'd call now and we'd have a chat when there's no customers? Must have just missed you. I’ll try again tomorrow. Unless you call me back, of course.’
The line went dead and Jen found herself frozen to the spot.
How dare she? How fucking dare she?
Three years and she thinks it’s okay to just text and call out of the blue? And be so blasé about it?
Jen fought the urge to rip the phone from its socket and smash it against the wall, as if it might be connected to Alison and she would feel it.
She still couldn’t move, completely dumbstruck by the situation. Her chest heaved, her breath a near-pant.
‘The fuck?’ she growled.
Part of her wanted to call straight back and give it to Alison, no holding back, just like she’d often played out in her head. She’d got her revenge a million times over, in a million different ways, but was it now happening for real? What was the playbook on this?
Her legs remembered how to move and she began to pace, sweat blooming on the back of her neck and brow.
Chloe was with Ryan tonight; she didn’t want to bother her. But what to do?
She stopped in her tracks and ran a hand through her hair.
The ball was in her court; this was her chance to decide the outcome. With no hesitation, she stormed to the phone and pressed delete.
She felt like she’d run a marathon. Her heart battered against her breastbone, unable to find its normal rhythm.
‘You can’t just do that,’ she said to the empty room, surprised to find her voice a mere squeak.
They’d started the business together. Alison was the one to encourage it; Jen, as per, had been reluctant. Owning a business had never crossed her mind. It was a huge risk and a lot of work. That was Alison, though: she liked risks. It was fun. An adventure.
Then her music career grew bigger and suddenly Jen and the business weren’t enough to keep her happy.
Jen had always known Alison wanted to make it in the industry. It was how they had met, after all – Alison had done a gig in the bar Jen worked at and the rest was history. She just hadn’t realised that Alison making it meant leaving her behind.
She hadn’t even been given the option to go. Alison wanted her share of the shop’s capital; she had invested in starting it, and then London was calling. She didn’t want their relationship complicating things. She needed to focus on her music, take risks, live life selfishly. Her words were etched on Jen’s heart like a bad tattoo.
Well, she’d achieved that. And then some.
