Jack looked into my eyes. His expression unreadable. It’d been three days since I’d seen him and now it appeared that he had a woman in tow.
‘This is Angela,’ said Jack, ignoring my question. Tearing from his steady gaze, I looked at her. It was the same young woman who asked for his autograph the day we met. Studying her face, I realised I’d seen her in the diner a couple of times before. Somehow I managed to hold my smile in place and nod. She was holding hands with Jack. Her fingers entangled themselves with his on the counter top, similar to how mine had a few nights ago. I moved my eyes upwards again. Jack was looking at me, looking at their hands.
‘So what can I get for you?’ I tried again.
‘I’ll have the fruit salad,’ said Angela.
‘No problem.’ I concentrated hard on writing down her order. Anything to distract myself from her shiny hair, or her manicured nails or that she was holding hands with Jack. ‘Can I get you a drink with that?’
‘Um. No I’ll just stick with some water, thanks.’
‘Are you sure that’s all you want?’ Jack asked her. ‘I’m definitely having pancakes.’
‘No, I’m good with the fruit salad.’ Some dark part of me spat silent slurs about her ultra-virtuous menu choice. Good job neither of them were psychic. It wasn’t her fault Jack asked her out. Or that I was so lonely. Like everything else, it was Mrs Delaney’s.
‘Pancakes? What toppings?’ I asked Jack. He paused before replying, forcing me to look at him to prompt a response.
‘Strawberries, please.’ He smiled. I didn’t reciprocate. You don’t get to call me a psycho and have me smile at you. Those two things are mutually exclusive.
‘Right, and to drink?’
‘Er…’ He looked at me. I glared back, tilting my head and tapping my notebook with the end of my pen. He looked at the pen and then back at my irritable face.
‘Just a coffee. Thanks.’ He put an arm around Angela.
‘Coming right up,’ I said, all but snatching the menus from them.
‘Hey Esther.’
‘Hang on, Walt. I’ll just get this order into the kitchen and I’ll be right over.’ I reasoned the sooner I served them, the sooner they’d be gone. Thus, the sooner I could stop watching her bury her head into his shoulder, or him, pulling her close and kissing the neat bow of her lips. She was polished and prim alright. Jack had followed my advice to the letter.
On delivering their order to Lucia, I caught my reflection in the small, round window of the kitchen door. My blonde hair was scraped back any old how into a ponytail. In this light, my skin looked almost sallow and, even in the air-conditioning, I was sweating with the effort of running around after customers. In short: I looked a mess. I’d looked a mess for months, but for the first time in a long time I wished I’d gone to the effort of at least moisturising before leaving the flat. Out of nowhere, the door swung towards me. Mona stepped through it.
‘What are you doin’ stood right there? Nearly knocked you out.’ She shook her head.
‘Er, nothing.’ I propped my glasses up on my head for something casual to do. ‘Sorry. Lapsed into a daydream. Must be tired.’
‘Well, Walt’s itchin’ to ask you today’s clue. And he needs a top up,’ said Mona.
‘I’ll go and sort him out.’
‘You OK?’ Mona tilted her head as she looked at me.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘It’s just. Well…’
‘What?’ I heard the defensiveness in my voice but pretended not to.
‘Nothin’. I can see Mr Faber and his lady friend ain’t botherin’ you a jot.’
Other than a weak smile I didn’t offer a response. In the land of the free, Jack could eat pancakes wherever and with whoever he wanted.
Marching back out into the diner, I carried a coffee jug over to Walt. From there I had unparalleled views of the happy couple. Angela was giggling at a joke Jack had just made. His hands were in her hair.
‘Want a top up, Walt?’ Though his body still faced Angela, Jack looked at me out of the corner of his eye.
‘Yeah –’ Walt grinned ‘– but more importantly, there’s a clue for ya.’
‘Alright, I’m listening,’ I said, pouring a drop more coffee into his cup.
‘Pen name used by Sylvia Plath for her first and only novel, The Bell Jar.’
‘Ooh,’ I said. ‘That is a tricky one.’ Walt’s face dropped. He’d never asked me a clue question that’d given me pause. ‘It’s been a long time since I read any Plath but I think the name she used was Lucas. Victoria Lucas. Does that fit?’ Walt made a small calculation and smiled.
‘It’s a fit. 17 across and 21 down.’
‘You know so much,’ Angela said; Walt’s question had distracted her from Jack’s lips.
I shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve been on the planet a lot longer than you so I’ve had more time to absorb.’ She laughed but Jack didn’t find my comment so amusing. He’d sussed that although I was being kind to Angela it was also a sly dig at his choice to date a woman who was, at a guess, a good ten years his junior.
Mona came over with Jack and Angela’s breakfast. I had to admire Angela’s willpower: next to Jack’s pancakes, the fruit salad looked paltry. Still, she had her reward. Her waist was tiny. She chewed her food in small, mousey movements that betrayed a certain self-consciousness about eating in public, despite her enviable figure.
Mona smiled as the doorbell chimed. ‘There’s my man.’ Her husband, Alan, always came to visit on Wednesdays, taking a short break from his beat along Broadway. She glided over and gave him a peck on the lips.
‘Mornin’, jelly bean. How about some coffee?’ Mona stroked his beard, which was trimmed close to his face, took off his hat and laid it on the counter. Alan, I’d gleaned from Mona’s numerous rants, had a tendency to bring police business home with him and the removal of his hat was a well-worn ritual between them that signified he was off duty. Shop talk was off limits.
‘I’ll get that for you, Alan,’ I said, desperate for a distraction from the almost non-stop smooching Jack and Angela were engaged in. Alan took a seat next to Walt. I poured his coffee.
‘Heard you got mugged last week,’ Alan said.
I stiffened. Mona had spoken to him even though I’d told her not to.
‘Alan Montgomery,’ Mona interjected, laying her hands down heavy on the counter. ‘Where is your hat?’ Alan looked like a school boy who’d been caught stealing the milk money.
‘On the counter.’
‘And what does that mean?’
‘I was askin’ for purely personal reasons. I care about Esther so it don’t count as shop talk,’ he tried.
Mona pursed her lips and put a hand on her hip but Lucia called out one of her order numbers so she was unable to monitor the situation any longer.
‘So, what happened?’ Alan hissed at me with wide eyes. Jack looked over at this. I caught his eye and wondered if he was thinking, as I was, about the morning we met.
‘I’m not encouraging you,’ I whispered, checking to see if Mona was stood anywhere behind me. ‘It was nothing anyway. Just some kids.’ I rubbed my head where the cut was still healing.
‘You know you should have reported it,’ he said, feeling bold enough to raise