‘Gramps, someone’s at the door,’ she said. ‘I have to go. But I’m going to get up to see you on Sunday.’
‘Hello? Hello?’ her grandfather said into the phone. He sounded like he’d been connected to a different line altogether. ‘Hello? Can you hear me? Who am I speaking to?’
‘It’s Issy, Gramps.’
‘Hmm. Issy. Yes. Good,’ he said.
Issy felt a cold grip of fear on her heart. The door buzzed again, loudly. If she didn’t get it, the man would go away and she’d need to pick up the parcel from the depot and that was definitely time in her day she could not carve out right now.
‘I have to go. I love you.’
‘Yes. Hmm. Right. Yes.’
Issy wrapped her ugly but comfy dressing gown around her and answered the door. Yup, it was the delivery man with her box of wine. She’d thought, just for a split second, just for a tiny moment, that Graeme might have … Maybe flowers … No. Anyway, everyone knew she was in the café all day. She signed for the box and peered inside. Yup, Californian red again. Her mother must know on some level that Issy only drank white and pink wine, mustn’t she? That whenever they’d been out, she had never ever ordered red wine as it gave her a headache? Maybe it was her mother’s way of encouraging her not to drink too much. Maybe it was her way of showing she cared.
Meanwhile, up in Edinburgh, Graeme woke up in the Malmaison Hotel, and came to a decision. He’d been thinking about it for a long time and now he knew. He was a decisive man, and a forceful one, he told himself, and it was time to go and get what he wanted.
At the shop, Louis cheered her up a little by giving her a huge cuddle and a card he’d made, covered in orange splodges.
‘Thank you, darling,’ she said, grateful and enjoying the feeling of his little arms around her neck. He gave her a wet sloppy kiss.
‘Happee birdee, Auntie Issy,’ he said. ‘I is five!’
‘You’re not five,’ said Pearl indulgently. ‘You’re two.’
Louis gave Issy a mischievous look as if they were sharing a secret. ‘I is five,’ he said, nodding his head emphatically.
‘Well, I am a bit older than five,’ said Issy, admiring the card and hanging it up in the café.
‘Happy birthday, boss,’ said Pearl. ‘I would offer to bake you a cake, but …’
‘I know, I know,’ said Issy, strapping on her apron.
‘So …’ said Pearl. She turned round and reached into her bag and pulled out a Tupperware box. Opening it up, Issy squealed with delight and stuck her hand in front of her mouth.
‘We cannot show anyone who comes in,’ said Issy.
‘No’ said Pearl, smiling. ‘Anyway, it would fly away.’
There was, tentatively hanging together, a little cake shape. But instead of sponge, it was made of interlocking crisps; a net of Nik Naks, piled up on top of a base of square crisps, crowned with a Hula Hoop tower, with a chipstick flag sticking out the top.
‘I got some very odd looks on the bus,’ said Pearl. ‘It’s held together with Marmite.’
Issy threw her arms around her. ‘Thanks,’ she said honestly, feeling her voice getting slightly choked up. ‘For everything. I wouldn’t … I don’t know how I’d have managed without you.’
‘Oh, you and Caroline would be expanding to Tokyo by now,’ said Pearl, patting her on the back.
‘What’s that about me?’ said Caroline, marching in. The girls turned to look at her. Caroline wasn’t due on till lunchtime, and she never got her shifts wrong.
‘Yes, yes, I know, I’m early. Is it your birthday?’ she said to a dumbfounded Issy. ‘OK, this is my present for you. It’s a morning off. I’ve outsourced the bloody children.’
‘You mean, they’re at school?’ Issy asked.
‘Yes,’ Caroline said. ‘Pearly Gates and I can hold the fort, can’t we?’
Issy knew this was meant to be an affectionate name for Pearl, but she could feel her colleague bristle. Everyone knew the Pearly Gates were gigantic.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course,’ said Pearl, ‘we can hold the fort. Off you go!’
‘But I won’t know what to do with myself!’ said Issy. ‘Time to myself … I just don’t …’
‘Well, it finishes at one thirty when I have my reiki session,’ said Caroline. ‘So I’d get on with it if I were you.’
The sun was already warm on her back as Issy marched up the road, feeling oddly light and free – nobody knew where she was! She should get a bus to Oxford Street and go shopping! Hmm, maybe she didn’t have enough money to go shopping, she really needed to check with Austin. She had no idea what shape her personal finances were in. She felt incredibly uncomfortable having to ask him about it. He’d probably only give her another bollocking. But why should she care? They had no personal relationship at all, so she shouldn’t worry about it: she could ask him a professional query. He’d made it 100 per cent clear that was where he thought they should stand, and anyway, she didn’t care. She cared a little bit about having to walk past all the other cafés on Stoke Newington High Street though. She hadn’t forgotten what happened the last time. It had been horrible, but they hadn’t come round to bother her since.
Well, bollocks to that too; she wasn’t going to care about anything today. It was her birthday, and if she wanted to walk up past all the other cafés on the high street, then she would. Head in the air, hoping to render herself unrecognizable, she strode up the road, careful to avoid eye contact and feeling a bit nervous, but also defiant. Whether everyone else liked it or not, she was part of this community now and that was an end to it. She belonged.
At the pub opposite the bank, she sat down on one of their new outside tables. Maybe one day she could order some for the café too: no one had formally complained about clients sitting under the tree, but it felt rude, and the ironmonger looked at them crossly as he scurried past at odd times of day. She asked for a coffee. It was horrible, but it was only one pound fifty. Issy could live with that. At ten past nine he appeared, scurrying as usual, with his shirt untucked and coming out from his trousers – over, Issy couldn’t help noticing, rather a nice bum. It must be the sunshine. She never normally noticed anyone else’s bum, not compared to Graeme’s gymhardened buttocks of which she sometimes thought he was unpleasantly proud. Anyway, she wasn’t looking at Austin’s bum. She needed to ask him a professional question, that was all. It wasn’t that she was desperate to see him, even if the blue shirt went beautifully with his eyes. Not at all.