the way up her spine at the mention of Jake, Tamara spread a generous helping of jam across the toast’s bumpy, golden surface and said, “I thought Mr Harris was your client.”
Bobby stashed a bowl and his empty mug in the dishwasher and sighed heavily. “Tamara, it’s good of you to worry about me; about us. Jake is healthy competition, nothing more, nothing less. Times are tough for anyone these days and I’m no exception, and I’m guessing neither is Jake. Don’t you worry, I still have my loyal customers.”
“But some of them have left, according to Mum.” Tamara knew that her stepfather wasn’t the Rottweiler that he needed to be to keep his client base. Instead, he was the dog that rolled over and let you tickle its tummy, and that could threaten what he had built up over the years.
He smiled at her now. “When I’m booked up, some of them drift over to Jake and unfortunately it means that sometimes they don’t come back. I expect Jake was here to check on Mr Harris’s horse. I couldn’t get out to him last week as I was dealing with Peggy Thompson – a litter of kittens arrived as a surprise one night in the corner of her laundry; she’d thought her cat was getting fat.” His rounded belly jiggled as he laughed. “She had the poor thing on all sorts of diets before she even realised.”
Tamara grabbed hold of his arm before he had a chance to fob her off some more. “You look tired.”
“That’s because I’m old.”
“You are not old!” She nudged him, even though she had noticed herself that his eyes were more sunken and lacked their usual clarity, and his words harboured a definite lethargy whenever he spoke.
“When you get to my age, Tamara, going out to work each day becomes much like having the same dinner every night of the week. It satisfies you and means that you can function, but the excitement has gone.”
She hesitated a moment, not wanting to speak out of turn. “You could always retire, or at least cut back a bit.”
“One day,” he said, and with that he left Tamara in the kitchen to wonder what this usually relaxed, happy-go-lucky man was holding onto so tightly inside.
She wandered into the front sitting room and watched Bobby’s car slowly reverse off the drive, leaving her alone in the house. It was so quiet she could almost hear the grass growing outside. Tamara was used to living on her own in a one bedroom flat in Watford, not far from London, but the general noise that came with living in the same building as others and in such close proximity to shops and local businesses, must have kept her company.
She sat on the edge of the armchair and sipped from a glass of iced water, wondering how her parents could face their morning cups of tea or coffee when the weather outside was so warm. She looked out of the window at the landscape which her mum had provided a passionate rundown of when she arrived. Dappled with vibrant purple splashes of the jacaranda trees, and the creamy white sprays of fragrant flowers on the Fiddlewood that sat to one side of the driveway, it was the epitome of country living.
Restless, Tamara headed to the study and flicked on the computer. As it went through the motions of starting up, she let the sun warm her through the open window and carry the scent of the outside to the desk. She moved the mouse and prepared to live her life vicariously through the wonders of the worldwide web, flicking through her emails, deleting spam that asked whether she wanted to get laid more, something from EnlargeIt-Fast, and an invitation to have non-surgical fat reduction.
Her emerald green eyes played with the screen as she opened Facebook, unable to resist the opportunity to check-in with what was happening in the city she had left behind. She scrolled down the News Feed, giggling at Beth’s post showing a photo of her on a narrow boat travelling along the Norfolk Broads with her brother Heath. Beth was the skipper and she looked as though she were driving a car in the Grand Prix rather than a vessel that was moving slower than a push bike.
When Tamara left the UK, she didn’t think she’d miss her drab flat with its tatty Formica kitchen floor and the slightly torn wallpaper beneath the lounge windowsill. She never imagined she’d miss the smell drifting up to her paper-thin windows every morning from the cafe across the road, or the sound of the twin toddlers upstairs wailing as their mother tried to get through the witching hour. But now, seeing such scenes with only the whirring sound of the computer for company, she yearned for that type of familiarity.
The leather chair creaked as she leaned into its backrest and smiled as she saw her message inbox receive a new mail. It was from Beth:
Really missing you, mate, but DO NOT COME HOME YET! (I’m writing this because I know you’ll see Facebook posts that make you feel as though you’re missing out. Believe me, you’re not!)
Trust me; I’ve always had your back, haven’t I? Ever since that Darren Wallis picked on you by the friendship tree. Blimey, wonder what he’s up to now? God, who cares!
Anyway, gotta go. I've got an early meeting in the morning.
Say a big hello to the parents. Love and hugs!
Beth x
Tamara manoeuvred the mouse ready to reply, but her eyes jerked to the other side of the screen. She felt her body go cold as she froze, because there staring back at her was a Friend Request, from Bradley.
She wondered why she hadn’t seen this one coming.
“Pah… I thought Facebook was for Losers!” She held her thumb and forefinger against her forehead in an ‘L’ shape, remembering how he had used those very words when she’d signed up to the social networking site. She realised then that she was rubbing her temple, and even though the bruise had healed pretty quickly, the memories still lingered of that night.
She shuddered as her mind flitted to Bradley’s solemn confession about his family a couple of weeks into their relationship: “I hid under my bed like a coward,” he’d said, as he described his father’s rage. “I should’ve protected my mum.”
The breeze from the open window made Tamara shiver now. She couldn’t deny that she missed Bradley, and she wondered whether things could’ve been different if she’d made him get help, or if she had supported him more. The answer from Beth would be easy: a resounding “no”!
Sometimes Tamara fought to forget the good times so that she could open her eyes to the bad. Was that what she needed to do now?
Of course Bradley had a nice side, but not everyone got to see that. Sometimes he’d bought her flowers “just because”; he’d driven around for hours one night to get her flu tablets when she couldn’t sleep and her temperature had gone through the roof; he’d cooked her breakfast in bed when she had the hangover to end all hangovers.
Bradley had kind eyes, a soft voice, and all the vulnerability of someone with a shaky past which Tamara had found herself responding to. Could she really push him away when he was reaching out to her, the girl he described as his “best friend”?
Two rectangular-boxed options waited on the screen for her to make her choice:
Ignore.
Confirm.
Her eyes looked first at one and then the other, unable to settle on either. She rubbed her hands against her bare legs, biting her lip as she refused to let her hands anywhere near the mouse. This was her chance; her chance to let him know that it was really time for them to go their separate ways.
Her hand returned to the mouse, moving it from side to side as though it were some kind of Ouija board:
Confirm, Ignore, Confirm, Ignore.
Click.