Say Hello and Wave Goodbye Read online

  ‘So, Flynn, what business are you in? I’m afraid Bex has been a bit light with the details.’ Bastard. He’s making it sound as if I’ve told him nothing about Flynn – which I haven’t – but only because I haven’t had the chance. It’s a typical Jonathan tactic; belittle and make you feel unimportant whilst appearing to be nice. And he’s still calling me Bex as if he has some prior claim on me, as if he knows me better than anyone else.

  ‘House renovations,’ Flynn looks at me and smiles. ‘I have a company that does it all, houses, gardens the lot. I have to confess that it pretty well runs itself these days, leaves more time for me and Becca to enjoy ourselves.’ He looks at me and I gaze lovingly into his eyes. Jonathan coughs and we reluctantly tear our eyes away from each other. I can sense that Jonathan is waiting for Flynn to ask him what he does so he can show off but Flynn doesn’t oblige. After a few minutes of silence Jonathan can’t contain himself.

  ‘I expect Bex has told you that I’m head of marketing at Atkinsons. We’re currently going through an expansion into the US so I’ll probably move up to director level. Big merger in the offing, although strictly hush hush until the announcement.’ Jonathan almost puffs his chest out with self-importance. He picks his glass up and points it at Flynn. ‘Although between you and me,’ he lowers his voice slightly, ‘I may not be there by then as the head hunters are circling.’ He gives a conceited smile and sits back in the chair and I realise that he’s slightly drunk.

  ‘How interesting,’ Flynn says in a totally uninterested voice.

  ‘Just have to name my price,’ Jonathan announces as he swallows the rest of his wine and then empties the remainder of the bottle into his glass.

  ‘Good for you.’ Flynn turns and catches the waiter’s attention and he’s over at our table in seconds and the empty bottle is whisked away.

  ‘I have a couple of houses that I rent out,’ Jonathan goes on, ‘They’ll need a tidy up when the current tenants move out. You must give me your card, give me an estimate.’

  ‘Sure,’ Flynn says smoothly, ‘But I don’t have any on me at the moment, I tend not to tout for business when I’m socialising.’

  A flash of annoyance crosses Jonathan’s face and I silently applaud Flynn; he’s beaten him at his own game and managed to make Jonathan sound pompous and conceited. We study our menus while Jonathan tells us about all of the top restaurants that he’s eaten in and the fantastic dishes that he’s sampled. I can’t concentrate and opt for the easiest option – steak – which when I ask for it well done, Jonathan butts in and informs me that I must have it rare because no chef worth his salt will cook it well done. The waiter informs me dryly that madam may have her steak however she wishes. I don’t think the waiter likes Jonathan very much. When I stick to my guns and ask for well done he snorts and tells me that I might as well ask for a burger.

  Flynn also orders steak – medium for him and Jonathan, of course asks for his blue. Apart from the odd comment from Flynn and I Jonathan monopolises the conversation until the starters arrive and he finally shuts up and we watch in silence as the plates are arranged in front of us.

  I’m not hungry at all but I scrape the thinly toasted bread with pate and attempt to eat it without dropping crumbs all over me. This is an expensive restaurant and I know that the bill is going to set me back half a week’s wages so I intend to enjoy the food. I’ve told Flynn that if he gets the bill I’ll reimburse him because obviously I don’t expect him to pay when he’s only here to do me a favour. I don’t want Jonathan paying; I don’t want to owe him anything.

  I munch my toast and take a slurp of wine to wash it down. Flynn has opted for prawns complete with shells – I love them but they’re a definite no no for me as they’ll end up all over me and the table. Jonathan has some sort of soup thing with something that looks suspiciously like crab claws poking out of it.

  ‘Prawn, sweetheart?’ Flynn is holding a peeled prawn speared on his fork in front me.

  I stifle a giggle; oh my God he’s actually going to do the food sharing, feed me thing, he’s really getting into this role play.

  I don’t speak but open my mouth in what I hope is a seductive way and not like a baby bird waiting to be fed. I also hope that I haven’t got toast and pate all over my teeth.

  He gently pushes the prawn into my mouth and I close my lips and chew.

  ‘Mmm, delicious.’ I close my eyes and make appreciative noises.

  When I’ve completely swallowed it I open my eyes and gaze at Flynn lovingly. Jonathan clears his throat from across the table and I look up to see him pouring yet more wine into his glass from the new bottle that’s appeared on the table.

  ‘Hey, wait.’ Flynn gently catches hold of my chin and dabs my lips with his napkin. ‘There, that’s better.’

  I smile at him. ‘Thank you, darling.’

  Normally, if I was watching this public show of affection I’d be cringing and if it was real I’d be pushing Flynn away.

  Or maybe I wouldn’t.

  But today I’m lapping it up because I know that Jonathan will be absolutely hating it; mostly because he’s not the centre of attention.

  An uneasy silence descends over the table and we finish our starters and drink more wine and I wish the evening would hurry up and be over because I think we’ve convinced Jonathan already. When our plates are whisked away Jonathan orders another bottle of wine – I can’t remember if it’s the third or fourth bottle – and I start to feel uneasy; too much wine and things could be said that shouldn’t be although I notice that Flynn isn’t drinking very much. Jonathan’s face has turned slightly pink and his speech isn’t quite so precise; the merest hint of a Frogham accent is coming through. He must be rattled and I start to feel a bit rotten for our play acting and I start to feel a bit sorry for him. He asked me out for a meal and look how I behave, it all seemed like a bit of a lark at first but now I don’t feel so good about it, or myself.

  Stop! barks the Beccabird. Are you mad, woman? Have you forgotten what he did to you?

  Of course not but that was in the past, a long time ago – am I going to hold it against him forever? Maybe he’s right, maybe I am money obsessed.

  You’re drunk!

  No, I’m not drunk but I have had too much and this is what happens; I start not thinking straight and who knows where it ends. Too much wine makes me forget that Jonathan is a cheat and a liar and it seems possible that he could have changed and I forget that leopards don’t change their spots. Too much wine makes me forget that Flynn is gay because he’s looking sexier by the minute and I’m almost believing that we are a couple, almost wishing it so. Get a grip, for God’s sake! Maybe I could dilute the wine with some water and then when I eat my steak that’ll negate the effects a bit as well.

  ‘Darling,’ I tap Flynn on the arm, ‘Could you ask the waiter for a jug of water please? The wine has given me a raging thirst.’

  Ask him yourself! bellows you know who. Have you lost your tongue as well as your senses?

  ‘Of course, darling.’ He summons the waiter who blatantly has a massive crush on him because he can’t take his eyes off him. The waiter disappears and then reappears within minutes with a jug of water and three glasses. Jonathan imperiously waves the proffered water glass away and the waiter snatches it up off the table and marches off.

  I watch as Jonathan fills his wine glass to the brim, spilling some on the pristine white tablecloth in the process and then puts the bottle back down the table without offering any to me or Flynn. He’s definitely had too much.

  I fill my water glass to the top and glug it down and swiftly follow it with another glass, hoping that it’ll somehow dilute the effects of the wine. All it does is go straight to my bladder which means that I have to now navigate my way to the toilets. I stand up on unsteady legs and excuse myself and weave my way through the tables in an attempt to find the ladies. I have no idea where they are but make an educated guess and totter over to the bar area thinking that they must
be around there somewhere. I spot two doors side by side in a dark corner alongside the bar. They have swirly arty type engravings on each door which I assume depict male and female figures but the closer I get to them the more I realise that I have no idea which is which. Feeling as if the entire restaurant is watching I curse myself for drinking all that water. And wine. I slow my steps and hope that someone will come out of one of the doors so I’ll know which one to choose.

  No such luck.

  I stride purposefully toward the one with the fanciest arty squiggle calculating that this must be the ladies and anyway, no one has come out so they’re empty and it won’t matter. I open the door and go in to find myself immediately in the toilet – no cubicles here, just one toilet and a hand basin - and attempt to shut the door but it seems to be stuck. I don’t know, you’d think these posh places would at least have toilet doors that close properly, how hard is it to shave a bit off the door so that it actually fits?

  I push a bit harder but it still won’t budge so I put all of my bodyweight behind the door and give it a good shove and it suddenly gives and slams shut and at the same time I hear an almighty crash from outside. I open the door quickly to see the waiter from our table sprawled on the floor clutching a tray to his chest and surrounded by broken glasses.

  ‘Madam,’ he says smoothly as he nimbly picks himself up off the floor and brushes imaginary dust from his jacket and trousers. ‘The ladies’ are over here.’ He points to the other door with a flourish and I realise that he was trying to stop me from going into the men’s toilet. Oh God, he was the resistance behind the door and I’ve just sent him flying. Why did he even bother – it’s not as if there was anyone in the toilet.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you were holding the door.’

  ‘No problem, madam.’ he says without smiling.

  He bends down and picks up the shards of glass and starts putting them onto the tray and I stand like an idiot and watch him.

  It seems very quiet in the restaurant and I look around to see lots of faces turned in my direction.

  I edge past the waiter and wince as I crunch over broken glass on my way into the ladies. I close the door behind me and stand with my back to it; I won’t be able to bring myself to use the toilet until the waiter has gone from outside the door. I hope he hurries up – I don’t want another wet knickers incident. I snort and clap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing; maybe wetting myself and being in Flynn’s company go together.

  Stop it! instructs the Beccabird. Control yourself or you definitely will have an accident the way you’re behaving.

  I hear another voice speaking in low tones to the waiter and then the sound of glass being swept into something. After what seems like forever, I listen intently with my ear pressed to the door but I can’t hear anything so thankfully I think the waiter has gone. I quickly have a wee and then wash my hands and try to compose my face into a don’t care expression. I open the door and walk carefully back to the table.

  As I approach the table I’m greeted by an extremely loud guffaw of laughter followed by Jonathan’s booming, drunken voice.

  ‘HERE SHE IS! She hasn’t changed a bit, Flynn, still the same old Bex. Still a clumsy klutz.’

  I hear a few sniggers from surrounding tables but decide that I’m not going to let it bother me and I tilt my head back regally and put my nose in the air. I decide that I’ll ignore them completely and continue in this dignified manner across the restaurant to my seat to prove that I’m not bothered in the slightest. Just as I reach our table my ankle twists and the traitorous heel slips from under me and I feel myself propelled forward and unable to stop. I throw my hands out in front of me to break my fall and sprawl inelegantly across the top of our table, managing to sweep the entire contents onto the floor in the process.

  Perfect.

  Well done , congratulates the Beccabird.

  Chapter Fifteen

  N ot surprisingly we didn’t stay for dinner after I landed on the table; it sort of killed the evening. Jonathan couldn’t stop laughing and he was so loud. Two waiters hurried over and quickly set about picking up the debris from the floor while Flynn helped me off the table and gently sat me down in the chair. Only I could manage to actually land on a table, I wouldn’t imagine it’s very easy to do even if you were trying really hard. Flynn was very concerned that I hadn’t hurt myself and I said I was fine – although my ribs did hurt like hell and I headbutted the wine bottle - but I didn’t want to make a fuss.

  I sat there in a bit of a daze, vaguely aware that everyone in the restaurant was looking at us and the ones that weren’t openly laughing had very disapproving expressions on their faces – they obviously thought I was drunk.

  I wasn’t; I’d felt a bit tipsy before I went to the loo and I definitely knew that I’d had a couple of glasses of wine but the shock of the table crash sobered me up pretty quickly. Unlike Jonathan, who, it soon became apparent, was absolutely wasted. After he’d finally stopped laughing at me he then proceeded to start bellowing at the waiters demanding to know where our meals were and why we’d been waiting for so long and was generally showing off and being obnoxious. The waiter that I knocked over tried to calm him down by having a quiet word with him but it just seemed to make him worse. He shouted right into the poor man’s face and demanded that the manager be brought over so he could speak to the organ grinder and not the monkey. I was shocked that he could be so rude and I’m surprised they never threw him out.

  It was truly horrific and I’m sure I saw a few of the other diners using mobile phones to film us so it’s probably going to be all over Facebook and YouTube but I most definitely will not be looking to find out. I think I would have just sat there in a daze for the rest of the night but for Flynn, who took decisive action because I think he’d had enough of Jonathan as well. He stood up and took hold of my hands and pulled me gently to my feet and put a protective arm around me as if I were an elderly relative in need of assistance. I liked it though; I felt so cared for and protected even though I knew it was an act for Jonathan’s benefit. Jonathan sat watching us with a smirk on his face until Flynn told him unsmilingly that we were going home and if he wanted to stay and make a fool of himself, he was welcome to. I thought Jonathan’s head was going to explode because his complexion darkened until it was beetroot coloured. He can dish it out but he cannot take it and he didn’t like being spoken to in the same way that he spoke to the waiters.

  He stood up and puffed his chest out and then stumbled around the table and planted himself in front of me and Flynn. For a horrible moment I thought there was going to be a punch up because he squared up to Flynn, although he was swaying on his feet – but Flynn coolly put his hand on his shoulder and drew him away from me so that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Their heads were very close together and it looked a heated conversation but thankfully it ended with Jonathan giving Flynn a murderous look before going back to his seat and sitting down again. Flynn had a strange look on his face when he came back to me, I don’t think I’d ever seen him look so serious.

  Flynn then took out his wallet and walked away with the waiter while I put my coat on and when he came back minutes later we left with every diner in the restaurant pretending that they weren’t watching us. My last sighting of Jonathan was of him glowering in the chair as he watched us leave.

  We came outside and Flynn had parked his car in the car park just around the corner – which is what I should have done because if I’d driven to the restaurant I wouldn’t have been able to have any wine. And then I wouldn’t have ended the evening spread over the table like a dying fly.

  Yeah, snapped the Beccabird, but you never learn, do you?

  I don’t. You don’t have to tell me; I know it was all my own fault.

  So. Here we are. I’m sitting in the car while Flynn gets us something to eat from the kebab van parked in the lay-by outside Atkinsons, of all places. We haven’t spoken on the short drive from t
he restaurant other than Flynn asking me if I was okay and did I want a kebab and me saying yes to both.

  ‘They smell good,’ I say as Flynn gets back into the car with a bulging white plastic bag. I take it off of him and put it in the footwell by my feet.

  ‘They sure do, I’m starving.’ He starts the engine.

  ‘Sorry about…’ I wave my hands around in an attempt to describe the debacle of the evening. ‘…all that .’

  ‘No need to be sorry, it’s not your fault he’s a prick.’ We zoom off towards home.

  ‘It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t destroyed the table.’ I look at Flynn as he drives and I see the corners of his mouth twitch.

  ‘You did us a favour – at least we didn’t have to put up with an entire evening of him.’

  ‘I take it you didn’t like him then?’

  Flynn snorts. ‘No. Not much.’

  ‘I thought he was going to swing a punch when he squared up to you.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘So what did you say to him?’

  Flynn doesn’t speak and the silence stretches and is just beginning to feel awkward when he answers. ‘Told him to sit down and stop being a prick.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep.’ Flynn’s mouth is set in a straight line and it’s obviously a sore point so I’m not going to ask anymore. But I don’t believe Flynn; I don’t believe that’s what he said because Jonathan definitely would have hit him if he’d really said that to him. But I don’t understand why he’s lying.

  ‘So,’ I say, changing the subject, ‘Let me know how much I owe you for the meal and I’ll ping you the money. Shame that we missed our steaks.’ It was more than a shame; one of the most expensive steaks that I’ve ever ordered and I never even got to eat one mouthful of it. Maybe we should have asked for a doggy bag.