Helen Cox - Starlight in New York

‘It’s good to hear your voice, Mum.’

‘Yours too,’ she replied. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you,’ I said, a lump lodging in my throat.

‘Esther?’ There was a dead pause. ‘You will be in touch, won’t you?’ The lump swelled to a pulsing tumour.

‘I promise, Mum. I promise I will this time.’

‘I’m glad.’ She seemed to perk up a bit at this. ‘It really is good to hear from you but suppose I should let you go if you’re short on money? You’ve probably other things to spend it on.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, thinking about all those miles between us. ‘I’ll be in touch next week about your trip. Bye, Mum.’

I hung up. My eyes glazed with tears. I could almost smell Mum’s perfume. The sedative scent of lavender. The imagined aroma was so strong I half-expected to see her round the corner in one of her loud, floral dresses. A big, chunky necklace clinking as she walked. But the street was littered only with strangers. I sighed and nodded. It wouldn’t be this way forever, I promised myself. It just couldn’t be.

Not forever.

‘Heads-up,’ said Mona, as I frothed the milk for the millionth cappuccino that morning. I turned for just a second and then whipped back to face the coffee machine again, doing all I could to make myself seem nonchalant from behind.

‘Morning,’ said Faber’s now-familiar voice. I pursed my lips and feigned a deep fascination with the milk steamer.

‘Mornin’ how’re you doin’ today?’ said Mona. There was a pause. I saw Mona look at me out of the corner of my eye. The air around me thickened.

‘Alright, thanks,’ the actor replied.

‘Pretty darn peachy,’ said a chirpy woman’s voice.

‘Esther,’ said Mona. ‘You can serve Jack, can’t you? I’ve got to sort tomorrow’s bakery order.’

I glowered. She didn’t have to do that job right then. She knew it and she knew I knew it. But I couldn’t make a scene. Serving people was, after all, my job. Fastening a smile to my lips, I turned to see him perched at the counter next to Walt.

‘Good morning, what can I get for you?’

Jack looked into my eyes. His expression unreadable. It’d been three days since I’d seen him and now it appeared that he had a woman in tow.

‘This is Angela,’ said Jack, ignoring my question. Tearing from his steady gaze, I looked at her. It was the same young woman who asked for his autograph the day we met. Studying her face, I realised I’d seen her in the diner a couple of times before. Somehow I managed to hold my smile in place and nod. She was holding hands with Jack. Her fingers entangled themselves with his on the counter top, similar to how mine had a few nights ago. I moved my eyes upwards again. Jack was looking at me, looking at their hands.

‘So what can I get for you?’ I tried again.

‘I’ll have the fruit salad,’ said Angela.

‘No problem.’ I concentrated hard on writing down her order. Anything to distract myself from her shiny hair, or her manicured nails or that she was holding hands with Jack. ‘Can I get you a drink with that?’

‘Um. No I’ll just stick with some water, thanks.’

‘Are you sure that’s all you want?’ Jack asked her. ‘I’m definitely having pancakes.’

‘No, I’m good with the fruit salad.’ Some dark part of me spat silent slurs about her ultra-virtuous menu choice. Good job neither of them were psychic. It wasn’t her fault Jack asked her out. Or that I was so lonely. Like everything else, it was Mrs Delaney’s.

‘Pancakes? What toppings?’ I asked Jack. He paused before replying, forcing me to look at him to prompt a response.

‘Strawberries, please.’ He smiled. I didn’t reciprocate. You don’t get to call me a psycho and have me smile at you. Those two things are mutually exclusive.

‘Right, and to drink?’

‘Er…’ He looked at me. I glared back, tilting my head and tapping my notebook with the end of my pen. He looked at the pen and then back at my irritable face.

‘Just a coffee. Thanks.’ He put an arm around Angela.

‘Coming right up,’ I said, all but snatching the menus from them.

‘Hey Esther.’

‘Hang on, Walt. I’ll just get this order into the kitchen and I’ll be right over.’ I reasoned the sooner I served them, the sooner they’d be gone. Thus, the sooner I could stop watching her bury her head into his shoulder, or him, pulling her close and kissing the neat bow of her lips. She was polished and prim alright. Jack had followed my advice to the letter.

On delivering their order to Lucia, I caught my reflection in the small, round window of the kitchen door. My blonde hair was scraped back any old how into a ponytail. In this light, my skin looked almost sallow and, even in the air-conditioning, I was sweating with the effort of running around after customers. In short: I looked a mess. I’d looked a mess for months, but for the first time in a long time I wished I’d gone to the effort of at least moisturising before leaving the flat. Out of nowhere, the door swung towards me. Mona stepped through it.

‘What are you doin’ stood right there? Nearly knocked you out.’ She shook her head.

‘Er, nothing.’ I propped my glasses up on my head for something casual to do. ‘Sorry. Lapsed into a daydream. Must be tired.’

‘Well, Walt’s itchin’ to ask you today’s clue. And he needs a top up,’ said Mona.

‘I’ll go and sort him out.’

‘You OK?’ Mona tilted her head as she looked at me.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘It’s just. Well…’

‘What?’ I heard the defensiveness in my voice but pretended not to.

‘Nothin’. I can see Mr Faber and his lady friend ain’t botherin’ you a jot.’

Other than a weak smile I didn’t offer a response. In the land of the free, Jack could eat pancakes wherever and with whoever he wanted.

Marching back out into the diner, I carried a coffee jug over to Walt. From there I had unparalleled views of the happy couple. Angela was giggling at a joke Jack had just made. His hands were in her hair.

‘Want a top up, Walt?’ Though his body still faced Angela, Jack looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

‘Yeah –’ Walt grinned ‘– but more importantly, there’s a clue for ya.’

‘Alright, I’m listening,’ I said, pouring a drop more coffee into his cup.

‘Pen name used by Sylvia Plath for her first and only novel, The Bell Jar .’

‘Ooh,’ I said. ‘That is a tricky one.’ Walt’s face dropped. He’d never asked me a clue question that’d given me pause. ‘It’s been a long time since I read any Plath but I think the name she used was Lucas. Victoria Lucas. Does that fit?’ Walt made a small calculation and smiled.

‘It’s a fit. 17 across and 21 down.’

‘You know so much,’ Angela said; Walt’s question had distracted her from Jack’s lips.