Page 45 of Carry Me Home

‘A new thing. A sort of … coughing thing. It’s very dramatic.’

‘Machines don’t cough.’

‘This one does. Come listen.’

The man turns as I approach. Up close, he’s even more annoying with his sharp jaw, expensive sunglasses pushed into his hair, and an easy smile that I don’t like.

‘Sorry,’ he says, stepping back from the counter. ‘Didn’t mean to monopolise the barista.’

‘I’m not a barista,’ Nina says, waving her hand in a way that totally undermines her supreme coffee-making skills. ‘I’m the owner. I just make the coffee because I can’t afford staff.’

‘Owner, then. Even more impressive.’ He extends a hand. ‘Freddy. Staying at the Airbnb up the hill – the one with the blue shutters.’

‘Tom.’ I shake his hand. His grip is firm and holds on a beat too long. Attitude. ‘I’m the local vet. My surgery’s across the harbour.’

‘A vet. That’s great. I love animals.’ He turns to include Nina. ‘I’ve got a Lab back home – Charlie. Best dog in the world.’

‘They usually are,’ she says, blinding him with a smile that makes me irrationally want to stab his eyes out with a biro.

‘Tom’s very modest,’ Nina says, already moving towards the coffee machine. ‘He’s actually the best vet in Cornwall. Possibly the world. He once saved a flamingo.’

‘It was an inflatable flamingo. I just pulled a kid off it before he drowned.’ Okay, so maybe I puff my chest a little.

‘Still counts. Come listen to this machine.’

She beckons me behind the counter, into her territory, and I’m sliding in with a smirk while Mr Smooth is left standing on the other side with his expensive sunglasses and his easy smile. The counter between us is two feet of scarred oak and it might as well be a wall. Nina’s already crouching by the machine, waving me down next to her, her shoulder close to mine in the narrow space between the counter and the wall.

‘When did this start?’ I ask.

‘This morning. I thought it was just being temperamental, but it’s been three hours and it’s getting worse.’

‘Have you cleaned the filter?’

‘I’ve cleaned everything. Twice. It hates me.’

‘Machines don’t have feelings.’

‘This one does. It’s had a grudge since I bought it.’ She leans closer, dropping her voice, and coffee and flowers and the warmth of her skin in the heat fill my head, making it swim, and her mouth is close enough to my ear that I can feel her breath. ‘Also, that man has been here for forty-five minutes and he’s only bought one coffee. I think he’s working up to asking me out.’

It’s a whisper.

‘Is that a problem?’ I say. My voice is level.

‘It’s not a problem. It’s just very obvious. He keeps finding reasons to stay. First it was the WiFi password, then dinner recommendations, then hiking trails. I’ve given him enough information to plan a full holiday and he’s still here.’

‘Maybe he really likes the coffee.’

‘The coffee is currently making a death rattle. Nobody likes it that much.’

I focus on the machine. The underside. Anything that isn’t Nina’s mouth three inches from my ear.

‘There’s a backup,’ I say. ‘Coffee grounds have compacted in the – here.’ I reach under and find it. ‘When did you last descale this?’

‘Define “last” exactly.’

‘Within living memory?’

‘Then … not since…’ I hear his name in the hesitation before she’s even whispered a letter. ‘Not since Peter.’