“Okay.” Confusion tinges his voice. I debate whether to apologise for being so curt with him, but I’m still smarting from his comment about Cain. It’s almost laughable. Iwantto laugh, but I worry I’ll say something else I will further regret.
“Bye, Perry.” I cut the call and draw in a deep breath. I want to scream until my lungs are coarse and broken. Scream until my voice breaks and I can no longer speak. Hearing how Cain has apparently suffered makes me furious. I almost start the car with the intention of driving to give him a piece of my mind. How dare he act the victim? He was the one who left me!
* * *
“So that’s one Americano, two teas with extra milk, a cappuccino, and four scones with jam?” I recite from the till and look back up at the group of elderly ladies idling by the counter.
“Yes, dear.”
“That’ll be twenty-three pounds and forty-six pence, please.”
“Table six—you will bring it over?” The lady closest to me hands me a note, and I cash it, pulling up her change.
I hand it over along with the table number as I smile. “Just pop this on your table, and I will find you. It will be a few minutes,” I state, eyeing the small queue behind them.
I take several more orders and pass the receipts to Annabelle, who begins preparing the drinks. Barry dings the bell, and I swap with my colleague so I can load up a tray and head over to table six. The cups clink as I lower it to grip the tray in one hand and begin decanting it on their table. “You’re Jan’s daughter?” one of them asks. My cheeks flush, but I give a simple nod and carry on placing cups and plates down. “His loss.” She leans to pat my hand, and I force a polite smile on my face. Her hand squeezes, and my eyes widen. I can feel the falseness seeping out of me. I dart a look around the table, and the array of pitying gazes makes me want to crawl under the nearest surface and disappear.
“That's what I keep saying,” I quip and stand up straight, reinforcing my spine in the process. “Let me know if you need anything else.” I twist and walk away, replacing the tray and heading straight to the front.
Martin is waiting impatiently, and as soon as he sees me, he lifts his hand in a half-wave. Annabelle rolls her eyes, but I breeze to the counter and smile brightly. “The usual?” I ask, already reaching to key it in on the till.
“Please. Your leg is healing nicely,” he murmurs awkwardly. I can’t see Kristy anywhere, but he never comes in with her. He is here like clockwork every Saturday lunch to pick up a latte macchiato and a blueberry muffin. I could never envision Cain ordering anything like that.
“The physio is working,” I say casually as I ring up his order and hold out my hand for the money. I can hear jingling in his palm.
“I know it’s not my place to say bu—”
“So don’t,” I cut him off and hold his surprised gaze with a diamond-hard one of my own. I have no interest in what he thinks.
“You’re not yourself.” He swallows uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot as he tries to keep his voice low.
“Apparently, it’s normal for patients who face a near-death experience,” I throw back under my breath. The lie forms slowly, a thick black lump of tar sticking to my tongue, and I can’t swallow it back. Martin sees right through it, and his mouth twists sadly.
“Lauren. We’re worried.” He winces pityingly.
“Fuck you, Martin,” I spit, throwing his change in the till and slamming his muffin on the side.
Annabelle’s head shoots up, and she rushes to bring his drink over, swapping places with me. I mutter about taking my break and wander out to the back, pressing my way out of the door and slamming my eyes closed. It’s a few moments later before the door opens, and I tilt my head as my boss, Barry, steps out gingerly. “I’m sorry.” I shrug. Tears swim in my eyes, and I quickly wipe them away.
“He deserves far worse, but I honestly think his concern comes from a decent place. You’re not yourself, Lauren.”
“I’m fine.” I pick at my sleeve, avoiding his gaze. I have lost a little weight. It’s likely stress causing the weight loss. My usually bubbly persona is flat and stagnant. I’m not myself, and it shows.
He steps in my way and lifts my chin. “You need to talk to someone. You can talk to me? I won’t run to the gossip mill,” he accentuates when I suck in a breath to tell yet another lie.
“I know.” I sniffle. “I can’t sleep. Sometimes I think I'm losing my mind, and then the pain is back, and I wish Icouldlose it.” I watch as his face falls in concern. He tugs me to his chest and I whimper. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s got into me.”
“You’ve put on a brave face long enough. We can see you're hurting—even when you smile, we can see it,” he says, softly stroking my hair.
“I feel so weak,” I confess.
“You’ve been through a lot. Most would have crumbled long ago, but you’ve got a fire in you that half this town has never seen the likes of.”
“Well, it’s burning out.”
“It’s still there. When my Darcey passed, I was a zombie. I can’t remember anything but the pain.”
“Now you’re making me feel bad—no one died.” I try to stand, but Barry squeezes my shoulders and wipes a fresh set of tears. His wide mouth and ridiculous moustache remind me of a cartoon character, and his loud personality adds to his animated features. Only now, they are twisted with a sadness that mirrors my own. He’s hurting for me.