The Secret Mother(11)

I go to the bathroom to wash my hands and splash my face, then I grab my bag and wait while he locks up.

‘Okay?’ he asks as he slides the keys into his pocket.

I nod, wondering just how awkward this evening will turn out to be. Today has been emotionally draining, and I’ve never been good at small talk, so I hope he’s not expecting witty conversation.

‘Do you know The Royal Oak?’ he asks as we walk down the road, side by side.

‘I’ve been there a couple of times. It’s nice.’ I remember going there with Scott a few years ago to meet friends for birthday drinks.

‘They do a great lasagne,’ Ben says. ‘And that’s high praise coming from an Italian.’

I smile. We manage to chat easily during the short journey, and when we reach the pub, he holds the door open for me.

It’s noisy, but the atmosphere is traditional and friendly. Dark-wood panelling lines the walls, and the lighting is warm and soft. Delicious cooking smells mingle with the scent of beer and furniture polish. A typical English pub.

Ben leads me past the bar, where he grabs a menu, and nods at one of the barmen, who greets him by name. We sit at a table by the window and he passes me the menu.

‘You recommend the lasagne, right?’ I say, without opening it. ‘I’ll have that.’

‘Good choice. I’ll go up and order. What do you want to drink?’

‘Orange juice would be good. Thanks.’

‘No problem. Back in a minute.’

While he’s up at the bar, I glance around, taking in the mix of people. There are men in suits chatting, a group of women laughing, a few couples, and even some families with young kids, eating burgers or fish and chips with lots of ketchup. I look away quickly, a lump forming in my throat. But then, I think, I’d actually rather be here tonight surrounded by all this life than brooding at home on my own.

Ben soon returns and we clink our glasses and sip our drinks.

‘The food will be about twenty minutes,’ he says.

‘Great. I’m actually starving.’

‘Me too.’ They’re playing some kind of eighties mix over the speakers, but it’s not so loud that we can’t hear each other.

‘So, what was it you wanted to discuss?’ I ask.

‘Ah, yes. That. Look, I haven’t told anyone else yet, and I’ll need you to keep this between you and me for now – is that okay?’

‘Sure.’ I shrug, starting to feel a little intrigued.

‘Well, I’ve just had the go-ahead from the bank. Which means I can buy the tyre garage and car park behind Moretti’s. I’m going to use the extra land to expand the business. I’ll be adding a proper Italian restaurant and café, with an on-site deli. And I’m also going to be increasing the garden areas.’

‘Wow,’ I say. ‘That sounds incredible.’

‘It actually scares the hell out of me,’ he says with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle. ‘But I think I could end up making a success of it.’ He takes a sip from his pint.

I nod. ‘You’ll do brilliantly, I’m sure.’

‘Hope so. You know, you’re one of my best workers,’ he adds. ‘You’re nearly always the first to arrive in the morning and the last to leave at night. You do over and above what’s expected. I always feel like you’re way too good for the job. I’m lucky to have you, Tess.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, a warm glow spreading through my chest, relieved that this doesn’t sound like a prelude to getting fired. ‘It’s nice to be appreciated. The job’s perfect for me, I like the work.’ I don’t tell him that working hard is my way of coping with the grinding emptiness. That if I didn’t work to near exhaustion, I would have far too much time to think about my actual life.

‘So, that brings me on to my proposal,’ he says. ‘Actually, it’s two proposals.’

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to elaborate.

‘I know from your CV that you used to be a landscape architect.’

‘Ye-es, but that was quite a while ago.’

‘Only two and a half years,’ he says. ‘I’m sure it’s still all up there.’ He taps his temple.

I chew my lip as my heart begins to pound. That was a different time in my life, a time I try not to dwell on. I was a completely different person back then.

‘Thing is,’ he continues, ‘with your experience, I’d love to run my landscaping plans by you. Of course, I’d pay you the going rate, but I’d really value your professional opinion.’

I nod. In theory, it should be something I’d enjoy. Something that I could do in my sleep. In fact, I really, truly do want to help Ben get the most out of his new venture. I’ve already had loads of ideas for his current layout. Ideas I’ve kept to myself, because it’s not the place of a gardening assistant to tell her boss how she thinks he could improve his business. But now he’s asking for my professional opinion, and I’m not sure I can cope with that kind of responsibility. In practice, my mind is fragile. Anything out of my carefully constructed routine could tip me over the edge, and I don’t quite trust myself with this kind of change. I don’t know if I ever will.

‘You said you had two proposals for me,’ I say, avoiding an answer. ‘What’s the other one?’