‘Good to know you caught the whole show, Lu.’ Lucia threw some bacon rashers on the griddle and giggled. ‘I’m not looking for anyone. I have to keep an eye on who comes in. It’s my job to serve them,’ I argued. ‘Speaking of which, do you know that hooded woman on table twelve?’ I said.
‘Nope,’ said Mona, applying a fresh layer of pink lip gloss and using the microwave door as a convenient mirror.
‘Weird that she wears her hood up inside.’
‘Probably hiding out from some boyfriend who won’t leave her alone.’ Mona shrugged. ‘I seen that a lot. Course, you wouldn’t know anything about that kinda thing. Boyfriends, I mean.’
I sighed and left to take Bernie some coffee.
Although I tried hard not to react every time the door opened – Mona was watching me, ready to pounce with a quip – I did spend most of the day hoping Jack would be our next customer. We had numerous other punters: a tourist family from Belgium who wanted to see if maple syrup was a viable breakfast food; a loved-up couple in their twenties grabbing a burger on their way to watch The Exorcist III at the movies and a haughty businessman who tutted every ten seconds whilst we made his coffee-to-go. But Faber never showed.
By the time my shift finished at four o’ clock I was repeating the same phrase over and over in my mind: it’s for the best, Esther. For the best. I tried to think about Mr Delaney. The stench of him, up close. The feral glint in his eyes as he held her down. The ceaseless rhythm of him. But I could only hold these thoughts for moments at a time before they faded. Before I remembered the warmth of Jack’s hand on mine…
‘Mona, do you think I’m icy?’ I asked, changing out of my heels and into my trainers. Rubbing my toes to relieve the sting of the eight-hour shift.
‘Icy?’ Mona laughed. ‘Now, where’d you get an idea like that?’
‘Come on, tell me.’
‘Well, I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say icy. But you definitely have a frost to you.’
I looked at the ground and pouted my lips to one side.
‘Aw honey, don’t you worry about it. Most people’ll just put it down to you being British.’
‘Oh, thanks. You’re a great comfort.’ I laughed in spite of myself. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Though it was after four, the heat out on East Houston Street was insufferable for anyone used to the soggy Augusts of England. I straggled along towards Clinton Street trying not to think about it all: the temperature and my emotional yo-yoing. A fire engine blared past. Nobody else paid it any heed but to me its peal was banshee-like. The exhaust fumes from passing taxis and buses created a suffocating cloud of smog and the air smelt of roasting nuts some vendor was selling on the street corner. A scent that mingled with the sweat hanging in the air and this, combined with the weather, left me nauseated. I rooted through my satchel. Amongst the empty perfume samples and loose sticks of gum and pulled out a bottle of water.
A phone booth further down the street caught my eye and a thought came to me. It was a thought that’d been skulking at the back of my mind ever since my conversation with the man at Coney. I’d done all I could to ignore it but what if he was right? What if the most frightening thing in this world was being alone?
I walked over and emptied out a handful of small change on the stand beneath the receiver. Picking up the phone, I pushed in the coins and dialled the one number I knew by heart. A click sounded out and then came a drowsy version of her voice.
‘Hello?’
‘Mum? Mum, it’s Esther.’ The line crackled. ‘I’m…I’m sorry, to ring so late, I forgot about the time zones.’
‘Esther? Oh God, I’ve been so worried,’ said Mum.
‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to settle into New York, you know, after Atlantic City.’ I paused then, thinking about the false start to my new life in America. It’d been just over a year since I flew into JFK, shipping out to Atlantic City shortly after, where I hoped to lead a quiet life by the sea. I should’ve known the town that inspired the original Monopoly board would be a town driven by greed, brimming with liars and cheats. At least in New York, the muggers were upfront about it.
‘Esther?’
‘Sorry, Mum. How are you, you OK?’ I asked, keen to keep this phone call as much about her as possible. The last thing Mum needed was to hear me sobbing down the phone from 3000 miles away.
‘I’m getting along,’ she said.
‘Oh.’ That was blatant Old Person Code for ‘I’m still breathing but that’s about it’. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I know you are, love. I know.’ Her voice sounded strained. I looked to the sky, hating myself.
‘Mum, look, I was wondering –’ I took a deep breath ‘– do you want to come to New York? For a visit.’
‘Oh! Well, I could do that. When were you thinking?’ she asked.
‘As soon as you like or can get a flight. This phone booth is gobbling up all my change. But I … I just wanted to call,’ I said.
‘Alright. Well, call again in a couple of days and I’ll tell you what flight I’ve booked. It’s so good to hear from you.’ The strain in her voice had become a tremble and I wondered if she was doing that thing women do so well of letting silent tears slip down their cheeks over the phone, offering little indication of their grief to the person at the other end.
‘It’s good to hear your voice, Mum.’
‘Yours too,’ she replied. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you,’ I said, a lump lodging in my throat.
‘Esther?’ There was a dead pause. ‘You will be in touch, won’t you?’ The lump swelled to a pulsing tumour.
‘I promise, Mum. I promise I will this time.’
‘I’m glad.’ She seemed to perk up a bit at this. ‘It really is good to hear from you but suppose I should let you go if you’re short on money? You’ve probably other things to spend it on.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, thinking about all those miles between us. ‘I’ll be in touch next week about your trip. Bye, Mum.’
I hung up. My eyes glazed with tears. I could almost smell Mum’s perfume. The sedative scent of lavender. The imagined aroma was so strong I half-expected to see her round the corner in one of her loud, floral dresses. A big, chunky necklace clinking as she walked. But the street was littered only with strangers. I sighed and nodded. It wouldn’t be this way forever, I promised myself. It just couldn’t be.
Not forever.
‘Heads-up,’ said Mona, as I frothed the milk for the millionth cappuccino that morning. I turned for just a second and then whipped back to face the coffee machine again, doing all I could to make myself seem nonchalant from behind.
‘Morning,’ said Faber’s now-familiar voice. I pursed my lips and feigned a deep fascination with the milk steamer.
‘Mornin’ how’re you doin’ today?’ said Mona. There was a pause. I saw Mona look at me out of the corner of my eye. The air around me thickened.
‘Alright, thanks,’ the actor replied.
‘Pretty darn peachy,’ said a chirpy woman’s voice.
‘Esther,’ said Mona. ‘You can serve Jack, can’t you? I’ve got to sort tomorrow’s bakery order.’