The Men and the Girls by Joanna Trollope Read Free Book Online Page A

It makes him seem so peculiar, somehow, a bit dotty, old dotty. I know I’d go mad if he fancied anyone young, but somehow this mental fancying of someone old has got me too, it really has, and I shouldn’t feel it, I shouldn’t.
    â€˜I’m not—’ Joss began again.
    Kate spun round, Kate who never shouted, and shouted, ‘Oh for God’s sake, Joss, go away!’
    Joss stared. Then she swore. Kate turned back to the sink, trembling. The kitchen door banged behind Joss, and her aggressive boots went up the stairs with challenging thuds.
    I’m tired, Kate thought. It’s January and I’m tired. I don’t suppose I’m worth much more than four pounds an hour but, at the end of a day like this, I can’t help feeling that there must be easier ways to earn twenty-five pounds. In between chopping chillies, she had helped in the restaurant, waiting on the three back tables which the regular girl, Susie, disliked because no-one could see her, away from the front window, and she lived in hope of being seen, and, as a consequence of being seen, of being rescued from being a waitress and taken away to be a princess instead. Nobody interesting had come to Kate’s tables that lunchtime, only a dull pair of tidy women, and a man on his own with a book, and three whispering students, but two couples had come to the front tables who had, in their various ways, upset Kate even more than the savage chillies. That poor man, Kate thought now, taking her dripping hands away from the stream of water to see if they still hurt, that poor young man. And then Julia.
    The young man had come in first, a postgraduate, perhaps, not young enough to be an undergraduate, with a dramatic girl in bold earrings and thigh boots. She was laughing as they came in and Kate thought how lovely, what a relief on a glum day like this to see people so happy that they’re laughing. But she wasn’t laughing with him, she was laughing at him, and soon, even while they wound up forkfuls of tagliatelle alla Carbonara , they were quarrelling. It seemed that the girl not only liked quarrelling, but she liked doing it in a public place where other people, even the lone man with a book, could look up and see her flinging her hands out, tossing her hair. The young man had not been much more controlled. Kate had heard him say, ‘Not here. You mustn’t say these things here.’ Finally the girl had leapt up and thrown herself out into the street, and the man had said no thank you, he didn’t want any coffee, and had paid the bill and followed her.
    Five minutes later, while Susie was downstairs in the kitchen and Kate was pouring out coffee for the two tidy women, he came back in. Kate thought he had forgotten something. He came up to her, by the espresso machine, and she looked at him enquiringly. He said, ‘I’ve just come back to say sorry.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜We were very anti-social.’ He turned to the restaurant. ‘I’m so sorry, everyone. It was extremely rude.’
    They gazed at him.
    â€˜It’s nice of you to come back,’ Kate said.
    â€˜I feel badly, I feel—’ he stopped. He had a narrow face and thick dark hair and his eyes were, Kate thought, so sad. He said, ‘I’ll go now. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if we – if we spoiled anyone’s lunch. That’s all.’ He backed away. Kate smiled at him. He smiled too and his smile illuminated his face and made it puckish, delightful. He gave a little nod to Kate and opened the door to go out just as two other people pushed at it to come in. They were a man in a black leather jacket and Julia.
    Julia came straight up to Kate. She was smiling. She said, ‘I brought Rob here deliberately. He said he was Italy-sick, so I said I knew where to go.’
    â€˜Good,’ Kate said faintly. Julia wore grey flannel trousers and a tweed jacket and a cream jersey and