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Hey Hugh, she types. Fancy a coffee?
She stops, reading the message back. Does it sound natural? It’s not that it’s odd for her to be meeting up with Hugh exactly, but normally it’s Will who does the running. For her to make the first contact, without involving Will… well, it’s unusual. And her message needs to acknowledge that without making a big deal out of it.
I talked to Ryan yesterday, she adds, and he was asking how you were. Made me realize it’s ages since we caught up. Hx
Hannah’s finger is hovering over the send button when her phone beeps, the leave for work reminder, and with a sudden burst of decision, she presses send, shoves her phone in her pocket, and switches off the coffee machine.
She’s halfway down the stairs to the front door, mentally running over her to-do list for the day, when her phone buzzes, and she takes it out of her pocket. It’s a reply from Hugh.
Sure. What about a quick one after work? I should be free by 6.
Her face breaks into a smile of relief.
6 is great, she taps out. Shall I call past your office?
Typing… reads the header, and then Hugh’s reply comes through.
Great. See you at 6. Hx
* * *
THE DAY IS BLESSEDLY BUSY—more like a Saturday than a Friday—to the point where at 3 p.m. Hannah realizes that she hasn’t taken a lunch break and is feeling light-headed with hunger. She gulps down a sandwich from the deli next door, and then hurries back to help Robyn with the queue. At four thirty she’s wondering if she is really going to be able to get away. It’s still heaving and she can’t leave Robyn to deal with so many customers, it’s not fair. One person can’t manage both the till and a stream of inquiries, let alone if you need the loo or something.
But at five thirty the shop empties out as if the customers are obeying a magic command, and Robyn looks up from where she’s ringing up a lone woman’s wrapping paper and sees Hannah surreptitiously checking the time on her phone.
“You off?”
“Well… it’s five thirty, but… are you sure?” Hannah asks. “It’s been so crazy today.”
“I’ll be fine, look, everyone’s gone home. Fifteen pounds, ninety-seven, thank you so much,” she adds to the woman at the desk, who nods and gets out her debit card.
“Well… if you’re sure,” Hannah says. “I’ll be here a bit longer, so if there’s a last-minute rush, I can still help.”
In the staff room she puts on her coat. The face looking back at her from the mirror is pale and worried, and she wishes she had planned ahead, thought to bring makeup. She needs something to make her feel like she’s ready to face Hugh.
The only thing in her bag is an ancient lipstick, but it’s better than nothing. Now, standing there, applying it in the cracked mirror over the sink, she thinks of April, doing her makeup at the crowded chest of drawers in her bedroom.
Seriously, the only lipstick I would wear is Chantecaille, Han. Or Nars at a pinch. Number Seven just doesn’t cut it—I mean, what’s it made out of? Engine oil? And barely any pigment.
Hannah looks down at the lipstick she’s holding, the worn stub of the deep rose Chantecaille that April gave her for Christmas so long ago, and for a moment the stabbing pain of the past feels very close and very real. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.
Then, she snaps the cap back on the lipstick, shoulders her bag, and shuts the door of the staff room behind her.
“Big night out?” Robyn says in surprise as she passes the till. Hannah smiles and shrugs.
“Not really, just a quick drink with an old friend. But he’s very smart, I always feel dowdy whenever we meet up. He’s a cosmetic surgeon.”
“Probably earns a packet?” Robyn raises an eyebrow, and Hannah grins and nods. “Well, if he’s single…”
“He’s single,” Hannah says, but she can’t imagine Hugh and Robyn together. Truth to tell, she can’t really imagine Hugh with anyone—he’s just… Hugh.
“Well, have a good one,” Robyn says as Hannah moves towards the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“What does that rule out?”
“Not much,” Robyn says, and grins, and Hannah laughs and opens the shop door, setting the bell jangling, and makes her way out into the chilly night air.
It’s been raining while she was in the shop, and now the pavement is dark and slick, reflecting the jeweled shop lights back at her, and the glitter of the streetlamps, and the moving car headlights.
