This Could Change Everything(10)
Which was good of him, even if working at the surgery hadn’t exactly been her ideal job. Deep down, Essie suspected that Paul might have been happier telling people his girlfriend was a dental receptionist rather than having to say she was a waitress.
And of course she’d been grateful at the time, what with the restaurant she’d been working in having gone out of business. But if she was being honest – and now she could be honest – sitting behind a desk dealing with patients who were there for dental treatment wasn’t the jolliest of occupations.
Because nobody really looked forward to going to the dentist, did they? Most of them were either dreading it or completely terrified, or downright furious that having something horrible done to their teeth was costing them so damn much.
Whereas working in the hospitality industry was way more fun. Bars and restaurants were where Essie liked to be, in an atmosphere that was warm and relaxed, and with customers who were happy to be out enjoying themselves. As a young carer for her mother, she’d missed a lot of schooling during the crucial exam years, and her GCSEs had suffered as a result. This had meant future career options were limited.
Thankfully, the work she’d fallen into out of necessity after her mum’s death had turned out to be right up her street. Taking a job in a busy local pub with a restaurant attached, she’d discovered that a quick brain, a cheerful smile and a capacity for hard work was all that was needed, and the more effort you put into each day, the more you got back.
And OK, maybe it wasn’t up there, career-wise, with nuclear physics, but luckily the world needed more than just nuclear physicists, and even they sometimes needed somewhere to eat and drink.
Well, presumably. Come to think of it, she’d never actually met one.
Maybe they preferred their own sandwiches, and stewed tea in a Thermos.
Essie blinked up at the ceiling, realising that she was doing her best to distract herself from the Paul situation, but it wasn’t working. The ache of sadness was still there in her chest. It had all happened on Saturday morning and she’d moved out of the cottage that afternoon. If it hadn’t happened, she and Paul would still be a couple, and twelve months from now – who knows? – they could have been getting married. And in years to come, they might have had babies together, beautiful babies with a magical mixture of Paul’s ice-blue eyes and her own over-wide smile . . .
Except none of that was going to materialise now; those babies had been summarily deleted from existence.
That particular future had gone for good.
And now it was up to Essie to find a new one.
Something insecty crawled across her hand and she made an involuntary eurgh sound in her throat as she jerked her arm to dislodge it. The plastic lilo squeaked beneath her and she heard Scarlett turn over in bed.
‘You OK?’ Scarlett murmured into the darkness.
‘I’m fine. Sorry, I think it was just a spider.’ In this flat, you’d think she’d have grown used to them by now.
‘Oh Ess, why don’t you share my bed? I really don’t mind.’
‘It’s OK.’ Scarlett’s bed was smaller than standard double size, which wasn’t ideal when you were trying to share it with someone you weren’t romantically involved with. Essie, grateful for the lilo, was determined not to be any more of a nuisance than she was being already.
But they’d been friends for years. Scarlett, evidently reading her mind, reached down and gave her shoulder a clumsy reassuring squeeze. ‘You can stay as long as you like, Ess. You know that.’
Essie reached for her hand and murmured, ‘Thanks,’ because she knew Scarlett meant it. Although once their landlord found out she was back, he’d kick her out in no time flat.
It was Tuesday night. Tomorrow she definitely needed to find somewhere to live.
The further into December they moved, the busier the shops became. On Wednesday afternoon, Zillah threaded her way through the crowds and paused to watch as the Salvation Army band played carols in the shadow of the towering abbey.
The air was crisp and cold. Bath’s annual Christmas market was buzzing and Zillah was wearing her most recent acquisition. The amethyst trilby suited her, she knew, and had already attracted compliments. The baby boy being carried on the shoulders of the man to her left was gazing at it in fascination. Zillah smiled as he leaned over to touch it and the father, apologising, moved him out of reach.
‘It doesn’t matter at all. How old is he?’
The man said with pride, ‘Ten and a half months.’
‘So this will be his first Christmas. How wonderful.’ Zillah let the baby clasp her finger and smiled. Would this be her last Christmas? Who knew?
Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at the glass-fronted offices of Haye and Payne, and climbed the front steps to the entrance. Having spotted her through the window, Malcolm Payne was already opening the door in order to usher her inside.
Bless him, he was such an old woman. Entertained by this observation – Malcolm was thirty years younger than herself – Zillah wondered if she was the letting agent’s least favourite client. She suspected she might be.
The good news was, it didn’t bother her one bit.
‘Mrs Walsh, come along inside, how wonderful to see you again. And looking so well, too! Here, please take a seat. May I offer you a drink?’
‘Thank you, how kind. I’ll have a large vodka and tonic.’