Mel hadn’t picked up, and the horrible suspicion that she’d seen my name on her caller ID and chosen not to answer crept into my head and refused to leave. I left a message – knowing it was still antisocially early to be phoning anyone.
Four hours later, when I’d still heard nothing from her, I’d called Jackson.
‘It would be great to meet up for a coffee sometime,’ I said hesitantly, never for a moment anticipating his reply.
‘I could do today.’
I swallowed down a gulp of surprise.
‘Perfect. I’m free too,’ I replied hurriedly, giving him no chance to change his mind.
He strode across the car park towards me now, and I sprang to my feet. His hair was a little longer and scruffier than I remembered, and the new style really suited him, as did the neatly trimmed beard he was sporting. Was that new, or had he had it the last time I’d seen him? My patchy memory is so much worse than ‘normal’ amnesia, I thought, giving the word the kind of air quotes I had always hated. I knew how many sugars Jackson took in his coffee, that he was allergic to shellfish, and snored like a rhinoceros after only a couple of beers. But I had no idea when our last conversation had been. Or whether he was still mad at me.
He came to a stop beside my table, not reaching for me. The hug I’d been so ready to give him suddenly felt awkward as my arms dropped disappointedly back to my sides.
‘You look good,’ I said, nervously shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
He surveyed my face, as though compiling an inventory of my features.
‘You look tired.’
I took comfort in the fact that he was pulling the friends don’t lie card rather than just opting to be polite.
‘I didn’t sleep well.’
He nodded solemnly and for one awful moment I wondered if our entire meeting was going to be like this.
‘I’ve... I’ve ordered us coffees,’ I said, my eyes darting to the restaurant entrance. ‘And pie,’ I added, because Jackson’s sweet tooth was something else my Swiss cheese brain had decided to retain.
‘Pie,’ he repeated.
I licked my lips anxiously. ‘Yes. Apple for you and humble for me.’
There was a long moment when I thought I’d played it all wrong. That it was too soon for humour. But then he snorted out a laugh and shook his head almost in disbelief. It gave me a glimmer of hope.
‘I hope you intend to pick up the tab,’ he said, still maintaining a frosty wall, even though it was slowly starting to melt around the edges.
‘For now, and evermore,’ I said, not even joking.
Another long moment and then thankfully, remarkably, and with a generosity I didn’t deserve, he opened his arms to me. I flew into them.
He brought them into a clasp behind my back and I buried my face into his shirt front, knowing it was going to be damp when we eventually drew apart.
‘This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven,’ he said, even while his hand was rhythmically patting my shoulder.
‘I know,’ I told his shirt buttons.
‘I just can’t cope with the drama of a feud.’ He tightened his hold, and the hug hurt my heart almost as much as it did my ribs.But I took it as an unspoken reassurance that although we weren’t mended yet, this could be fixed over time.
We broke apart when a subtle cough from the teenage waitress announced the arrival of our order. We waited until she’d transferred cups and plates onto our table.
‘You really did order pie,’ he said in surprise, reaching for a fork and one of the generous slices. ‘Damn it, I may have to forgive you even sooner now.’
‘Please do,’ I said, and although it was meant to be banter, there was no hiding the genuine plea in my eyes.
‘So how are things, Ellie? How’s the business going?’
‘Okay,’ I said.