I’m not bothered about Jody, I mean, Joe,’ I lie, forcing a laugh. ‘Although it is a bit boring after all these years. You kind of think when you’re in your mid-twenties you’ve grown out of all that stupid nickname business. Obviously, Joe has still got a bit of growing up to do.’ I can hear the tone in my voice changing involuntarily as I speak, not quite able to suppress the irritation I feel. I turn my attention to rinsing out my cup.
‘So, how come you and Joe have never crossed paths in all this time? You must have been back to visit your family and I certainly don’t remember seeing you either,’ Kerry asks.
I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other as I concentrate on cleaning an imaginary mark from my cup. ‘I usually pop over for a brief visit. It’s very busy at work. I’m a beautician at a health-and-fitness spa so I don’t always work regular hours. It’s not easy.’
‘Don’t you keep in touch with any of your old school friends?’
‘No, not really.’ Christ, wasn’t it time he went to work rather than ask all these awkward questions?
‘What was the appeal of London?’
‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’ I’m not making a very good job of keeping my tone light-hearted. I put the cup on the draining board. ‘Why have you ended up here in Rossway?’
Kerry shrugs. ‘Needed a change, I suppose.’
I look at him, holding his gaze for a moment before speaking. ‘So did I.’ There, hopefully that would be the end of that conversation. I’m not the only one who has a past that needs to stay in the past.
Kerry doesn’t blink as he looks back at me, the silvery flecks in his eyes for a moment don’t seem so glittery. He nods his head slightly as if understanding something.
‘Right, I suppose I’d better get over to the workshop and get on with my real job,’ he says, breaking the mini deadlock.
‘You won’t get into trouble, will you? Being here when you’re supposed to be working,’ I say, trying to regain some equanimity.
‘I can make the time up later – work through my break. It’s no big deal.’ Kerry puts his cup in the sink and heads for the door. ‘Are you on your own for the rest of the day?’
‘No, my sister’s coming in later for a while to help with the lunchtime rush. I’ll just have to close up on my own.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you later.’
I call after him through the serving hatch. ‘If you’re in for breakfast in the morning, it’s on the house, by way of a thank you.’
Kerry turns and, with what I can only describe as a cheeky grin, followed by an even cheekier wink, calls back to me, ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement!’
*
Kerry wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his overalls. It was a hot day for May and working inside the poorly insulated workshop wasn’t pleasant. The air was still and the humidity high.
‘Wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a storm coming,’ said Kerry.
‘You want a cuppa?’ asked Joe, putting down the spanner he had been using.
‘Got anything colder?’
Joe went over to the fridge in the corner of the workshop and opened the door.
‘Beer, water or can of Coke?’
‘A Coke will do,’ said Kerry. He stepped forward and caught the can that Joe chucked his way. ‘I’m going to sit outside for five minutes. You coming?’
Joe followed him out. Kerry plonked himself down on the back seat from an old car, which had long since been separated from the vehicle and abandoned in the far corner of the yard. Joe grabbed a wooden crate to perch on. Skip, Kerry’s little terrier dog, came trotting out of the workshop and jumped up onto the seat beside his owner.
As Kerry leaned back, grateful for the shade of the workshop, he glanced over at the service road, which ran along the back of Seahorse Café. His attention was caught by the sight of the willowy figure of Erin bringing out a bag of rubbish and lifting the big industrial lid of the wheelie bin to sling in the bag. Her chestnut hair, although tied back in a ponytail, seemed to shimmer down her back in the sunlight.
‘Aha! Caught you!’ At Joe’s jibe, Kerry snapped his head back to look at his cousin. Joe nodded in the direction of the café. ‘Admiring the scenery, were you?’
‘What’s that?’ said Max, coming out of the workshop and wandering over to them.
‘Kerry here, ogling the new waitress at the café. I think he’s got the hots for her.’
Very rarely did Kerry ever feel like punching his cousin. Today, however, was one of those occasions. Annoyed that he had, indeed, been caught looking at Erin, Kerry didn’t want to let on, otherwise he’d never hear the last of it. Instead, he made a great effort to keep his voice nonchalant as he replied. ‘What? Oh, Jim Hurley’s daughter.’
Joe laughed and mimicked Kerry. ‘Oh, Jim Hurley’s daughter.’ He turned to his dad. ‘Like he doesn’t know what her name is after hanging around the café for half an hour this morning, getting all hot and steamy in the kitchen.’
Max grinned at Kerry and raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that so? You been rattling her pots and pans?’ Father and son laughed.
Standing up and squashing his cigarette under his foot, Kerry gave Joe a shove on the shoulder, sending him sprawling backwards off the upturned wooden crate. ‘That mouth of yours will get you in trouble one day.’
This seemed to fuel Joe’s laughter even more. He picked himself up and, righting his makeshift seat, settled himself back on it. ‘Touch a nerve, did I?’
Later Kerry was relieved to hear Joe down tools and announce he was finished for the day. Max had already gone and Kerry was left to lock up. He needed to get the bike he was working on ready for the customer to pick up in the morning.
Kerry wheeled the bike out into the rear yard and started the engine. Leaning over it, he revved the throttle several times, listening carefully to make sure the engine was firing properly. Then he left it to tick over for a few minutes, again listening for any stuttering in the rhythm of the rumble. At tick-over it chugged at a nice steady pace; no hesitation, no lumpiness.
After a few minutes he was satisfied everything was okay and, cutting the engine, took the bike back inside.
As he locked up the workshop doors, he glanced over to the café and suddenly fancied a coffee. Of course, he could simply go up to his flat and make a cup of instant, but that wasn’t the same as a freshly made Americano. What the heck? It was only a coffee.
Kerry gave his hands a quick look and determined them presentable enough, having managed to get most of the grease off and dirt out from under his nails.
‘Come on, Skip,’ he called to the little terrier. ‘Let’s get a coffee.’ He headed round to the front of the café. He had just taken hold of the handle when the door swung open and
