The Piano Man Project Page 0,57
woman. He’s a man. You’re both lonely. He was probably just having an off day or something. Try again.’
‘My head says no. He drives me crazy. Honestly Tash, I don’t even like him half the time.’ Honey sliced her flat hand across her throat. ‘From here up, I think stop mooning. But then from here down …’ she skimmed her eyes towards the ceiling and then knocked back the contents of her wine glass, ‘I want him in a way I’ve never wanted anyone else.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A few days of abstinence from Hal did little to make Honey’s heart grow fonder. She hadn’t knocked on his door, and he hadn’t shouted obscenities at her as she came and went through their shared lobby. If there was one thing she was sure of it was that she wouldn’t be the one to back down this time. She knew he’d never offer her an explanation for his behaviour but he owed her an apology at the very least. If he didn’t give it, then he could consider their friendship over.
It wasn’t usual for Honey to be so bloody-minded, but Hal seemed to bring out both the very best and the very worst in her; he made her lighthearted and sexy and even culinarily capable, and he made her stubborn and furious and frustrated. It was a lot of extra emotion to handle, and Honey was almost glad of the time out afforded to her by his most recent bout of silence. Besides, the campaign to save the home was gathering pace daily, especially since the residents had begun their daily vigil at the railings.
Honey leaned back on her stool at the till and glanced out of the window of the shop. It was Billy’s day today, and unlike Elsie yesterday who’d sat sedately humming to herself and smiling benignly at passers-by and the reporter from the paper, Billy was approaching his stint in the manner of a union leader whipping up a rally. He’d managed to find a pair of prisoner-style orange overalls, which clashed violently with the lime cuffs he’d used to chain himself to the railings by one wrist. In his other hand he brandished a loudhailer, and for most of the morning he’d been entertaining passers-by and the growing clutch of reporters who’d come from further afield as word of the story spread.
From her vantage point, Honey saw Patrick appear in his chef’s apron, ambling down the path with a tray laden with lunch for today’s activist. Soup, from what she could make out, and a plate of sandwiches. Billy laid down his loudhailer and sat down in readiness. A moment later, Christopher flew down the path behind the chef and bobbed in front of him, a human barrier between Billy and his lunch.
‘No. No feeding residents off the premises please, Patrick. I’m afraid it breaches our health and safety regulations.’ He waved his hand away towards the tray, his other hand holding his hair down as he leaned in and hissed for the chef’s ears only. ‘And you’re only encouraging them.’
‘I’m old.’ Billy had picked up his loudhailer again, his voice suddenly thin and wavering. ‘And I’m hungry. Please let me eat my lunch, sir.’ He all but doffed his cap at Christopher.
Honey stepped out of the shop to keep an eye on proceedings.
‘No can do I’m afraid, Mr Hebden. What if you were to choke on food prepared inside the home whilst you’re out here? You could get the place closed down. You’re more than welcome to come inside and eat in the dining room with the other residents though.’ Christopher turned and smiled at the photographers.
‘The place is being closed down anyway, you numpty,’ Billy boomed into the loudhailer, and Patrick started to laugh.
‘He’s got a fair point there, Chris. Out of the way so I can put this down, eh?’
Everyone knew that Christopher hated his name being shortened. Even Honey winced.
‘I absolutely refuse to permit eating on this pavement,’ Christopher said, reaching out and placing a warning hand against the edge of the tray. ‘Observe the law.’
‘“Observe the law”? Observe my bloody front door! It’s being slammed in my face!’ Billy wailed. ‘I’m being made homeless, I’m old and I want my soup!’
Honey wondered if Billy had ever been on the stage – he was a natural.
‘It’s coming, Billy,’ Patrick thundered, tussling to get around Christopher who refused to take his hand off the tray. ‘Let go,’ the chef muttered, and Christopher shook his head quickly.
Honey