Havana Adams - Black Diamond

“Wait here,” Simon said and Lola watched as he disappeared into the department store.

Now was her chance and after a moment, Lola began to walk towards the valet. She need never see Simon again or relive this humiliation. As she approached the valet parking section, Lola halted as she realised that all her personal information and cards were in the bag that Simon had taken from her; he would find her easily, if he chose to. Why would he want to? A voice in Lola’s head piped up. Lola hovered, torn, and then she turned to see that Simon was approaching her, her tote held in his hands. He swung the bag out towards her and Lola had to catch it with both hands. After a moment Simon spoke.

“You’re a bit of a screw-up, aren’t you?” Lola bristled even as she realised that he was right. Somehow when she wasn’t looking she had turned into the clichéd Hollywood brat, screwing up everywhere they went. She was her mother’s daughter after all. Lola bit her lip. “So what are we doing?” Simon asked. And Lola was unable to hide her shock. She gaped at him, her expression asking the question that she couldn’t voice.

“We’re still going out,” Simon stated drily. “I’m neck deep in it with Jason now, so you definitely owe me, besides it’s a story for the grandkids. I stopped grandma from being arrested on our first date.”

Lola felt a burst of wellbeing zap through her. And, just like that, she knew something had begun.

CHAPTER 12

“Two Eggs and Chips coming right up.”

Grace scrawled the order onto the small pad and walked quickly towards the chipped and faded Formica bar, slapping the order down. She glanced at the clock and breathed a sigh of relief as her manager Wendy emerged from the back.

“Take your break. I’ll cover you.”

Grace gave a grateful nod, quickly whipping off her apron as she scrambled to get out of the stuffy diner with its ever-present stench of fried oil. Pulling on her Hennies hooded top, Grace emerged into a sunny day. She pause for a moment and leaned against the wall in the alleyway that ran behind the diner. Eight weeks in and the job had taken its toll. Being constantly on her feet should have helped her shed some pounds but the free greasy food, which she indulged in far too often, meant she’d barely lost any weight at all. They were already in the dying days of August, college would restart soon and she’d not lost a pound. Her health kick had never got started and her skin, always troublesome, was now a mass of blackheads and pimples courtesy of her stint managing the deep fat fryer. Grace sighed. Once again, it seemed that the summer when she would emerge a swan would have to be pushed back.

Pushing away from the wall, Grace started towards the busy street market a few minutes from the diner. On the plus side, she thought, at least she had completed all her reading for next term’s subjects. When she hadn’t been working she’d made sure to stick to the library, anything to keep out of The Pastor’s way. On the busy market street, Grace hovered for a moment unsure of what to do. Her eyes darted past a small coffee shop and her gaze stopped on the fruit and veg seller at the edge of the market. With a decisive nod, Grace made her way towards that stall; she would have a healthy lunch. Grace appraised the fruit and winced at the handwritten prices. That was another reason why she ate so badly, healthy food was never cheap.

“What can I get you, love?” Grace glanced up into the smiling face of the fruit seller, who greeted her every morning as she walked by. He was in his mid-fifties she judged and had the look of someone who could sell snow to an Inuit.

“Just some plums and two bananas, please.” The grocer nodded and began picking Grace’s fruit just as there was a sound of rustling and crashing from a covered area behind the stall. The smiling grocer glanced around calling out.

“Don’t mess up all my boxes down there. Just stack them properly.” Turning back to Grace, the grocer shook his head with a smile. “My nephew. You can’t get the staff these days.” Grace smiled, watching as he weighed her order. “You work round here?” he asked.

“Just at the diner,” Grace replied with a smile, watching as he deftly bagged up her fruit.

“£2.30 please.” As Grace counted the money out of her purse, the fruit vendor spoke again, nodding at the emblem on Grace’s hooded jumper.

“Lady Henrietta, you at college then?”

“University,” Grace replied, wishing he’d hurry up, her lunch hour was ticking away.

“Which uni?” he asked. Grace blushed as she always did when asked this question. The responses always embarrassed her, ranging from incredulity, to disproportionate pride and congratulations and occasionally, too, censure as though she had somehow sold out.

“Oxford,” Grace said quietly.

“Oxford, really. Good for you. One of our lads is up there.” Grace looked up surprised at the response; she had not expected that.

“Really?” she asked her curiosity piqued.

“Yeah, hang on.”

Grace watched as the seller turned around, shouting into the back of the stall.

“Oi, Monkey, get out here.” There was more rustling and banging as the grocer spoke. “My nephew, he’s up at Oxford too.”

Grace watched as a tall, smiling young man emerged, coming forward towards them. He looked first at his uncle and then he turned to Grace and the smile died on his face.

And suddenly Grace felt as though she had somehow stepped off the edge of the world as she stared into the eyes of Matt.

Three days later and he was back at the diner again.

Grace took a deep breath and looked away from Matt and continued wiping down a table. In just ten minutes her shift would be over and she would be able to do what she’d done every day these last three days. Slip out of the back and rush home, thereby avoiding Matt. Grace breathed a sigh of relief as the clock hit 7 p.m. and she headed out the back. In the locker room, she unclipped her apron and pulled on her cardigan. Even days later, she struggled to understand the revelations. Matt. One of The Gatsbies, except he wasn’t. Wasn’t rich. Wasn’t posh. He was like her from inner London, the son of a pub landlord, nephew of a market stall trader. He was just like her; they should have been allies. Except he wasn’t like her, he was white and that meant he could pass, with just the right adjustments to his accent, his attitude, he could pretend to be one of them.

The evening was cool as Grace stepped out into the alleyway and she pulled her cardigan closed and gasped. Matt stood waiting for her. For a moment, Grace froze and then she kept her head down and ploughed forward. She hoped he would move. He didn’t.

“Can you get out of my way, please.”

“We need to talk,” Matt said, his voice little more than a whisper.

“There’s nothing to say.” Grace sidestepped him. She felt his hand rise as though to prevent her passing him but then it dropped back down to his side.

“Grace, please.” Unable to stop herself her eyes rose to his face and that was her mistake. Matt looked worn and tired and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked desperate and utterly unlike her confident defender from Oxford. And Grace knew then that he had her. Slowly she turned around to fully face him.

“What do you want from me?”

“What you saw, who I am…” Matt began.

“What about it?” Grace cut, in striving to hold onto the coldness that had settled in her heart.

“They can’t find out. None of them can know.”

“Who? The Gatsbies?” Matt winced as she uttered the name and made real his fears.

“You know what they’re like at Newman. Someone assumed and I just went with it.”

“Lucky you,” Grace snapped bitterly even as a small part of her applauded his audacity. He’d played The Gatsbies, was still playing them.