Seeker (3 page)

At last, as Mike had promised, Amy had turned up. She arrived with some friends, looking as stunning as ever in her blue dress and woollen shrug, which only served to accentuate her curves and bring out her sparkling blue eyes. She was no supermodel, but she didn't need to be. Jake preferred his women to look real, and Amy filled that category lovely. A woman who knew how to look after herself, but not so much that she lost any of her natural curves in favour of jutting bones. Sometimes Jake thought he was being dumb thinking she'd be interested in him, but Mike insisted he'd heard rumour that Amy was asking after Jake. And so, shortly after she had entered, he plucked up the courage to go over and actually speak to her. Time to cut out the middleman, or rather, woman in this case. Enough of messages being passed from one of her girl friends to Mike. But as he approached her, and she turned to look at him over the lip of her wine glass, he found himself turning and heading outside.

His bad mood really didn't want him to have any kind of fun.

The smoke that hung in the evening air before him mirrored the state of his mind. All day, since leaving Will's, he'd been trying to work out what was bugging his best mate. It wasn't often he saw Will in full on strop, and being secretive about some phone call or other, and it bugged him. There was probably a good reason, but he was surprised that Will hadn't tried to call to explain. Not that he needed to, of course; Jake wasn't Will's keeper.

“Got a light, babe?”

Jake was pulled out of his fog by a female voice he could only describe as silken. He turned to find Amy standing in the pub doorway, a fag in her hand, poised by her mouth expectantly. She smiled at him with a smile that spoke of many broken hearts. But some things were worth getting your heart broken, Jake figured, and he suspected a brief romance with Amy was one such thing.

Jake coughed. “Erm, sure.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his lighter. She thanked him for the light, and took a toke of her cigarette. They stood there in an uncomfortable silence watching as the cars turned at the mini roundabout of Fulham's Cross, either carrying on up Lillie Road or turning off towards Putney via Munster Road. A 74 bus pulled up at the bus stop before the pub, and together they watched a man stagger off the bus, looking worse for a night out on the town. Jake checked his watch; it was only half eight. Clearly the bloke had started his boozing fun earlier than most sane people.

The door opened behind them, and they both turned at the shouting that emitted from within. Jake smirked as Jimmy was forced out of the pub by the manager, a big man of Greek origin who Jake would have expected to see behind a fryer in a chip shop than in charge of a pub. “Come back in here again, you little punk, and you better believe the police will have you inside quicker than that!” the manager said, in an accent that was definitely not Greek, and forcefully clicked his fingers.

Jimmy opened his mouth to issue a comeback, which Jake thought was rather stupid of him considering the manager was ready to pummel him to the ground, when he spotted Jake standing there, arms folded, itching to join in. The manager noticed Jake for the first time and a look passed between them, a forging of allegiance against a common stain of life. He nodded at Jake and went back inside, happy to leave any cleaning up to Jake.

“Were you about to say something there, James?”

“What? Nah, I was just…” Jimmy looked around as if trying to find his back up. The back-up in question, such as it was, was still inside the pub, now on the receiving end of a good talking to from the manager and Kayleigh. “What's it got to do with you, anyway, bra? Ain't your fucking problem.”

“Hmm, well I'm making it my problem. But you should know,
bra
, I wouldn't do this just for anyone. You're special,” Jake said, his voice soft, and took a step forward.

Jimmy backed away slowly. “Fuck you!” he hissed, turned, and legged it.

Jake was sorely tempted to follow, it was a good bet that he was in far better shape than Jimmy, but he had a good looking woman standing beside him, smiling in admiration. He smiled back at Amy. “Guy's a prick.”

“Yeah, I've seen him around, waste of space.” Amy laughed, stamping out her cigarette. “I thought you were going to slam his arse, then.”

“Sorely tempted,” Jake said.

He expected Amy to respond in some coy manner or other, and was therefore surprised when she held his look. “Well, then, big man, how about buying this girl a drink and seeing if you can impress her with your intellectual capacity?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Jake said after careful consideration. As he escorted Amy back into the pub his head full of the possibilities of how it could end up becoming a really great weekend, he wondered what he would tell Willem about his encounter with Jimmy tomorrow. Will wouldn't be happy, but Jake would soften the blow by telling of his hooking up with Amy. Long term or not, he expected at least one night would be amazing.

Jake sighed inwardly, nodding at Mike with a grin; he really wished Will would find himself a good man. His mate so needed to get laid, did the funky mood a world of wonders.

02.

Willem glanced at his phone again, just in case, but there were no further messages, so he placed it on the table and looked at the paperwork before him. Not that his mind was totally focussing on the job at hand.

Charlie was busy at work, which, in theory, gave Willem a chance to catch up some things that needed doing. He was, once again, in the office of the ever-troublesome shop on North End Road. He was beginning to get a little concerned with Kurt, who seemed to have a knack for misplacing important paperwork, especially that which related to staff wages. Several complaints about being underpaid had reached his ears.

Before him, on the desk was a hard copy of the rota for the last four weeks, amended to include sick days, overtime, and so on. It was a point of procedure in Coffee @ Town's End that the rotas be planned a month in advance, so that all the staff could organise their social lives accordingly. He could only imagine the havoc endlessly altered rotas would play with the lives of his staff, and his theory was that if he kept his staff happy then he'd get the best out of them while at work. It was a theory proven time and time again, and he was proud to say that his shops probably had the lowest staff turnaround of any coffee shop in London; far lower than the big chains for sure.

The office computer was on, with many windows active, some minimised, some over others, as he sought to locate the file that told him who had been paid what on Friday. There should have been a hard copy of the document in the drawer alongside the staff rota for the last four weeks, but
nada
. And so Willem had turned his attention to the computer, wherein he ought to be able to find the original file. He really didn't want to ask everyone to bring in their payslips, cause that would be a nuisance, but he was seeing little choice since the staff wages records seemed to be nowhere on the system.

Unless…He needed some help, from the one person who understood the system better than he did. Stephen Krueger, the manager of the Kensington High Street shop. Willem reached for the phone, and pressed the quick dial button. Within seconds the phone was answered, and a young woman's voice said; “Good morning, Coffee at Town's End, how can I help you?”

Willem smiled to himself. “Hi, is this Shannon?”

A momentary pause at the other end. “Erm, yeah it is,” she replied, her professional voice forgotten for a moment. “Who's this?”

“It's Willem. Is Stephen there?”

“He is, Mister Townsend,” Shannon said, switching to the consummate professional in a heartbeat, “if you could just hold a moment, I'll get him.”

“Cheers,” Willem said, always preferring to keep his dealings with the staff light. He couldn't stand all the bowing and scraping you got in a lot of big chains. Regardless of their jobs, or their positions in the companies, people were still people and ought to be treated equally. Unfortunately his staff just couldn't get that, but nonetheless he remained casual with them in the hope that one day they'd respond in kind.

It wasn't long before Ste picked up the line and said hello. His voice was unusually husky. “Alright, Ste, what's up? Not sounding your usual self there. Too much extreme sporting on the weekend with Robin?” he asked, mentioning the only person from Ste's private life that he knew of. He'd never met Robin, but Willem had heard Ste mention him a lot over the last seven years, usually in relation to the high risk sports that Ste seemed to enjoy so much.

“I wish. Nah, ain't seen Robin in a while.”

“Ah, so what's up?”

“Laryngitis, my doctor says.”

“Nasty.”

“Yeah, pretty much, but I'll deal. What…” Ste stopped as a fit of coughing erupted over the phone. Willem was glad they hadn't invented more interactive phones yet; otherwise he expected his face would be covered in mucus by now. “Sorry,” Ste said, his voice sounding even more strained. “What can I do you for?”

The laryngitis was obviously getting to Ste more than he liked to admit since normally any phone call between them lasted a good ten minutes before they even thought to talk business. The banter was a key role in their relationship and it had always been so. Even now he could still remember the cocksure sixteen-year-old he had first employed back in '96 when he opened the very first coffee shop.

“Don't worry about it, Ste, you sound awful. Why you even at work? Surely Carolina can come in and run the shift?”

“She is. I'm in the office; audit day. Trying to rest my voice, drink lots of water; all that jazz. Doc says I only got acute laryngitis and it should pass in a few days.”

“Don't sound that cute to me, mate.”

This got Ste laughing; although by the sound of it he wouldn't be thanking Willem any time soon. Still, laughter was good for the soul, especially when ill. Even if it was an old joke. “So, now you got me talking anyway, to what do I owe the honour?”

“There's been some kind of cock up with the wages and I'm trying to find the records on the computer, but
nada
!”

“Don't tell me, Kurt at North End, yeah?”

Willem didn't answer; instead he just waited for the inevitable comment.

“Told you he was shit. Worst mistake you ever made when you promoted him.”

Willem agreed,
now
, but at the time he was convinced Kurt was right for the job. He knew the coffee shop business so well, but Kurt was a prime example that a good supervisor did not necessarily mean good manager material. Still, one bad business move in fourteen years wasn't a major issue. A bit of corrective coaching should solve the problem. Well, maybe more than a
bit
.

“Uh huh, you have pointed this out on occasion.
Anyway
, Kurt screwed up and now I can't find the records to check against the rotas. I'm assuming it's still on the computer system, but you know me, never could get me head around this damn system. That's why I have a you.”

Willem could just imagine Ste rolling his eyes, and yet at the same time falling for the bit of flattery. There was nothing wrong with Ste's ego, but it was easily susceptible. Of course, the fact that Ste was a genius with computers did nothing but enforce his own importance in such matters, not that Willem minded much, since he was useless when it came to computers. He knew how to use them, no hassle there, but when it came to doing anything more complicated than surface daily stuff he was well and truly screwed. Possibly one reason he chose to study Business & Economics at university and not IT.

“Okay, I'll come over and find the file for you. Anything to stick it to Kurt, but…”

“Yeah, go on, knew there'd be a but somewhere.”

“
But
,” Ste went on pointedly, “you gotta come back here later and help me with this damn audit.”

As buts went, Willem didn't mind that one. He was always up for crunching some figures. Still, one final little jab wouldn't hurt. “And there was me thinking I was your boss.”

Willem took a little pleasure in the painful laugh that spurted on the other end of the line as he ended the call. He sat back in his chair with a satisfied smirk.

* * *

“Cheers, doll,” Mike said, to the big lady who placed the plate of bacon and eggs on the table before him.

“Only doll I've ever been is one of those Russian dolls,” the woman said, laughed sweetly, and returned to making more greasy food for the cafe customers.

Mike watched her go, then turned to Jake. “I don't get it; somehow I don't see her in a furry hat.”

Jake smacked him upside the head. “I can see why you're a labourer, Mikey, you're as thick as pig shit. You must have seen those Russian dolls? Every time you open one there's a smaller one inside, until you get to one no bigger than your dick.”

Mike frowned at Jake's effrontery. “Man, you're so funny. And this from the man who couldn't satisfy a Lilliputian with his.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Jake said with a wink, “Amy hasn't complained yet.”

“Tell me more, and I want details.” Mike leaned in closer, and so Jake told him a pack of lies, littered with a little truth, of course, since he did have a rep as a ladie's man to think about, and of course Mike took it all in, as he usually did.

They were sat at the Greasy Spoon, their usual haunt for breakfast at the start of the week, making sure their bodies were full of cholesterol before returning to the building site before being sent off by the foreman to whichever job they were assigned for the week. More often than not Mikey and he ended up working the whole week together, but once in a while they found themselves at opposite ends of London, and that was why their Monday morning binge of full English breakfast and several cups of tea was essential. Catch up time for the weekend.

For Jake, though, there was a bigger reason. He loved Will, no doubt about it, and would do anything for him, but when it came to being all laddish and talking about the things most guys talked about—the latest shag, football, and generally acting like oafs for a bit—Will was just no good at those things. Jake didn't think it was totally due to his sexual orientation, a lot of it was simply just because of the person that Will was, low on fun and high on responsibility. Jake would have given anything to have Will along on one of the lad's nights out, but Will and his lambic beers would be so out of place it'd become embarrassing.

“How long before you move on, then?” Mike asked.

Jake shrugged. “Dunno, guy, things are going pretty well with Amy. See how long before I get bored.”

“Give you another week tops. I know you, Jacob, me old mucker, and your little fella gets bored with dipping into the same pot for too long.” Mike stuffed his mouth with half a slice of toast, and chewed. “You know,” he said, bits of toasted bread spitting out onto his plate, “you could always try Willem. There's a hole you've not explored.”

Jake didn't respond immediately, his mind drifting back momentarily to a brief interlude some twenty years ago. He shook his head, dismantling the memory. “Fuck off! Mate, you're sick. I got nothing against Will being gay, but he doesn't think of me that way. And, anyway, you're more his type.”

Mike baulked at this, but he couldn't deny it. When not in his scruffy work clothes and hardhat, Mike was something of a metrosexual; a pretty boy who preened himself in front of a mirror for a good hour before going out, every hair in perfect place, and smelling like a tart's handbag. Judging on the few boyfriends Will had had over the years he could easily see Will and Mikey together. Will liked them younger, too, and at twenty-eight Mike fitted the bill nicely.

“Don't know, mate,” Mike said, “wouldn't want to get between you two, you're pretty tight.”

“Well, d'uh, I've known him almost my whole life. And, you know, he doesn't really have the fun bags to hold on to.” Jake mimed groping a woman's breasts, an act that almost made Mike choke. A cleared throat sounded behind them and Jake turned around. The non-Russian doll was giving him a look that told him to tone it down. “Ah, come on, tell me your husband don't like playing with those bags?”

The woman shook her head, and unconsciously nudged her rather ample breasts, instantly giving Jake a mental image of
Cissie & Ada
. “You'll be lucky to find someone like me,” she said, and for a second Jake wondered if she was perhaps her own husband in drag.

Jake nodded in mock seriousness, trying to not smile at the idea of her shaving every morning. “True, so give me your number and I'll give you a call when I've tried out the rest of London.”

“Okay, hush it now, stallion.”

Jake winked and turned back to Mike, who was shaking his head. “What?”

“You'll try anyone once, won't you?”

“Sure, why not? All I ask is that she's female and free of disease.”

“Mate, you're gonna have to settle down one day,” Mike said, fingering his wedding ring.

“Me?” Jake scoffed. “Never going to happen, man, and if it does, it'll have to be with someone pretty special.”

* * *

“Has it really been fourteen years?” Ste asked, as his left hand manoeuvred the mouse around the computer, opening file after file, locating backdoors.

Willem was slightly envious, mindful of the countless times his own hand lost control of the mouse and accidently closed documents without saving them, and here was Ste moving the cursor around like it was part of his own body, so much so that quite often he'd look away from the monitor while chatting to Willem and still the cursor would click on the exact thing he'd been looking for. Damn him and his skill.

“And almost five months. Yup, come September we'll be celebrating the fifteenth anniversary of the opening of the first Coffee at Town's End shop.”

“Can't believe I've known you that long.”

“And still I know so little about you.”

“You know how it is, dude, social life and business not on my menus of mixers. Way it's always been.”

Willem glanced down at his mobile which he was cradling in his hands; he was due a text off Charlie any moment. “Ever since you were a spotty sixteen-year-old. You were crap with the ladies back then, too,” he added, repeating a very old joke.

“Look who's talking, matey.”

“I'm gay, what's your excuse?” Willem raised his eyebrows, and Ste let out a snort of derision. And then a throaty cough. Willem chuckled. He'd lost count how many times they'd been through that routine, although usually Ste wasn't ill. “Be careful with that, I can't afford to catch it.”

“Laryngitis ain't contagious, fool,” Ste said, looking back at the monitor. “Come on, baby, work for me.” Willem glanced over Ste's shoulder at the little box that had appeared on the screen. A green line was increasing at the centre of the box. Willem wasn't too sure what it meant, but he knew enough to know it was doing something positive. “So, what, you off somewhere interesting?”