‘Ohmygod, I’msoglad we’re finally doing this!’ Nisha said, pulling up a chair at their tiny table for two. ‘I’ve been mega excited about it.’ Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Amy found herself saying, ‘Me too,’ as she cast her eyes around the wood-panelled, pale blue-painted room, then over the double-sided menu.
This place was nice, she realised, as her attention was caught by the gigantic, vintage-looking coffee machine behind the polished wood counter. The intoxicating smell wafting from it took her back to the day she’d returned to Rowton with Kit in tow. How had it taken her this long to come in here?
The cafe was nothing like the old greasy spoon it had been thirteen years ago, and all the food on offer sounded mouth-watering. Her stomach rumbled in eager anticipation.
Amy was aware she’d taken on a little extra padding during the past few weeks; her skinny jeans were noticeably tighter around the waist. However, when she reread the words ‘crispy Belgian waffle with maple syrup and berry compote’, she couldn’t bring herself to ignore them. The way to stave off a wardrobe crisis, she reasoned, was more exercise. Back in London she’d gone to the gym a few times a week, and while she couldn’t honestly say she missed its testosterone-tense atmosphere or eau de sweat aroma, she should probably try and replace it with something over and above walking Bertie. As dogs went, he wasn’t the most energetic– and his four-inch-long legs weren’t really cut out for long-distance rambles.
Now that real pasta, proper butter and home-made cakes had returned to her life, Amy found she was loath to give them up again in favour of protein shakes and cauliflower pizza bases. Indeed, she hoped never again to experience the travesty that was ‘courgetti bolognese’. If regular runs meant she could gleefully add an extra sprinkle of Parmesan to her dinner without needing to replace all her trousers, she would do it– and gladly.
‘I’m having the waffles,’ she said decisively. ‘What are you going to go for?’
‘Bacon bap,’ Nisha said, ‘with lashings of ketchup.’
‘And to drink?’
‘Hmmm, a caramel latte with whipped cream and sprinkles, I think,’ Nisha said.
For a second, Amy wondered how this would mix with freshly fried streaks of salty meat. She rapidly decided not to think about it.
‘Right,’ she said, ‘I’ll go and order. My shout, since you were kind enough to invite me out.’
‘Awww, thanks!’ Nisha smiled. ‘But only if the next one’s on me.’
When Amy returned to the table, Nisha wasted no time in asking what, if almost anyone else had posed them, might have been considered an unrelenting barrage of questions. Her first priority was determining whether it was true that Amy and Sam had argued over a Tupperware box and destroyed one of Barbara’s trestle tables at the WI’s most recent bake sale. Dimly, Amy wondered how Nisha had even heard about the incident. Then she reminded herself that little escaped the notice of Rowton’s most engaged residents. Howhideouslyembarrassing; this surely meant that Gran had heard about the episode, too, although she hadn’t mentioned it.
‘Sadly, that is true,’ Amy told Nisha, cringing. ‘Not my finest moment– or Sam’s. However,hehas form: he can usually be relied upon to cause arguments, in my experience.’
‘Weird,’ Nisha said, wrinkling her nose and eyeing Amy with an expression that sat somewhere between puzzled and suspicious. ‘You’re literally the only person I know who doesn’tlovehim.’
Amy rolled her eyes. ‘’Twas ever thus,’ she said. ‘Sam was always Mr Popular, but we didn’t get on in sixth form either– even though both of us were close to Hari.Hespent a fair bit of time telling the two of us to shut up and stop bickering.’ She smiled fondly at the memory of her old friend, then thanked God, the universe or whatever benign force might be out there that a waitress had just appeared with their drinks.
Amy didn’t want to get drawn into a discussion of her history with Sam, or the reasons for her hostility to him. She sensed that Nisha, with her happy disposition and apparent propensity for seeing the best in everyone, would struggle to understand Amy’s unique yet powerful antipathy towards him. She certainly wouldn’t accept it without a full and complete disclosure of what had passed between Amy and Sam immediately before and after Hari’s death– and Amy had no intention of sharingthatstory.
‘Meg reckons the three of you had kind of aDawson’s Creek-type vibe,’ Nisha mused, taking a sip of her coffee– which looked more like an ice cream sundae than a beverage befitting a fully grown adult. ‘Y’know, pretty girl, torn between two handsome boys– the best friend and the one she loves to hate.’
Amy swallowed a mouthful of flat white too fast, then coughed as it burned its way down her oesophagus. ‘Nope,’ she said bracingly. ‘Not atall.’
This statement was at least fifty per cent true, and therefore landed with sufficient weight that Nisha nodded, seeming to believe her. Amy felt her confidence return.
‘It sounds like Meg watched too much TV back in the day,’ she joked.
‘Oh, and now,’ Nisha agreed, laughing. ‘We both do. We’re obsessed: just coming to the end of yet another rewatch ofGilmore Girls.’
‘The two of you are close, then?’ Amy asked as two plates of delicious-looking food arrived.
‘Yeah,’ Nisha confirmed as she peeled back the top layer of her sandwich to ensure it was sufficiently sauced. Evidently, it was. She replaced the bread and took a bite, chewing contemplatively. As Amy dug into her waffle, Nisha explained: ‘Meg and I are besties. I moved to Rowton about six years ago and we’ve been friends ever since.’
‘And what brought you here?’ Amy said. She might as well ask her fair share of searching questions, she thought; it seemed unlikely that Nisha would mind.
‘Well, Auntie Binita left the shop just under a year after Hari died,’ she explained. ‘But a few years after that the manager she’d put in place wanted to retire. It looked as if she might need to let the business go, but I volunteered to take it over so it could stay in the family.’
‘How is Mrs Chauhan?’ Amy asked. She never had got into the habit of calling her by her first name.
‘She’s okay. She moved to Nottingham,’ Nisha said. ‘My parents, brother and sister are all there, as well as my nan on my mum’s side. Dad and Uncle Rav were brothers, and Auntie B always got on well with Mum.’
‘Got you,’ Amy said, nodding, feeling glad that Hari’s mother was among people who knew and loved her. She’d lost so much here, and the village must have been steeped in memories of her husband and son; it was no wonder she’d wanted to get out of Rowton for good. Amy could empathise, although she was softening towards the place– even more so as she ate her breakfast.
‘The move got me out of a tight spot, to be honest,’ Nisha went on, catching a glob of ketchup with the tip of her purple-polished index finger before it could land on her cardie. ‘My nan was all for getting me married off, and I really wasn’t up for it.’