Meet Me at Pebble Beach. Bella Osborne

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      ‘When’s dinner ready?’

      ‘Ah,’ said Regan, retrieving the gooey spoon from the floor and trying not to stand in the puddle of toffee it had left. ‘I’m not making dinner.’

      ‘But you’ve been in here ages.’ Jarvis rinsed the cloth and had another go at the toffee that now appeared to be firmly attached to the paintwork.

      ‘I’m making “special” toffee apples for Alex at work.’ She indicated a tray of four toffee-coated balls covered in chocolate sprinkles with lolly sticks sticking out of them.

      ‘Why special?’ he asked, frowning at the toffee patch, which wasn’t going anywhere.

      ‘They’re not apples. They’re onions.’ She did her ta-dah hands again and narrowly missed the toffee spoon, so she shoved her hands in her pockets for safety.

      His eyebrows knitted together. ‘Why?’

      ‘Because he dropped me in it at a meeting and kicked my pen across the floor. Then blamed me for him spilling his coffee and made me go to a director’s meeting. It’s payback.’

      ‘It’s juvenile.’ He returned to trying to shift the toffee.

      ‘It’s funny,’ said Regan, feeling deflated. It had taken a few coats of toffee to disguise the white of the onion but they looked just like innocent toffee apples now. She smiled to herself. She was pleased with her subterfuge, and it would be hilarious in the office tomorrow when Alex bit into one. What did Jarvis know? Having fun was definitely not one of his talents.

      Regan had set two alarms for Monday morning so that she didn’t have to rush with the toffee onions. She had carefully stowed them in a cake box because the thought of dropping them was too upsetting and most definitely something she was likely to do. In fact, dropping things was another of her many talents. Someone had once suggested she might be dyspraxic but she’d never bothered to investigate it further. She rested the box on the coffee shop counter while Penny fetched her usual order.

      Her phone rang – it was Jarvis. ‘Regan, did you remember to put the washing on?’ he asked.

      ‘Good morning,’ said Regan, trying to think of an excuse.

      ‘You forgot, didn’t you?’

      She’d been far too focused on the safe delivery of her toffee onions. ‘Yeah, sorry. I’ll put it on later.’

      ‘But you won’t,’ said Jarvis. ‘You say you will but you won’t. I’m fed up with everything being left to me. I do everything around the apartment. I cook, I clean and I do all the tidying up.’ Regan rolled her eyes. ‘I’m fed up with it. It’s like being a student again.’

      Regan had loved being a student. ‘I’m sorry. All right?’ She was in a good mood bubble and he was the prick that was going to spoil it.

      ‘No, Regan, it’s not all right. Things need to change.’ And he put the phone down.

      A bang on the glass made her jump and knock the cake box. ‘Shit, Elvis,’ she said, seeing the large hound with its feet up on the glass. ‘Actually Penny, can you do me a small warm milk for Elvis?’

      ‘Sure, on the house. But don’t tell the boss.’ She slotted the cups into the tray and passed them to Regan. ‘Is it your birthday?’ She pointed at the cake box.

      Regan grinned. ‘No, it’s a surprise for a friend.’ She tried to hide her smugness as she placed the coffees on top of the box and went outside.

      ‘Morning, Kevin,’ said Regan, passing him his coffee.

      ‘Thank you. Carpe diem.’

      ‘Elvis, sit,’ said Regan, and the mutt’s butt hit the floor like a soldier under fire. ‘Good dog,’ she said, impressed with his response. She looked at the small cup of milk and then at the large, gaping jaws of Elvis. She hadn’t thought this through. ‘I got him some milk,’ she said lamely to Kevin.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said, pulling the small cup from the tray. He put down his own drink, took the top off Elvis’s milk and carefully tipped a little into the dog’s mouth. His tongue began working overtime even though it was fairly redundant because no lapping was required. The drink disappeared in seconds.

      ‘Kevin, that was brilliant,’ said Regan. Such a tender act of kindness. Elvis gazed adoringly at Kevin. They were a match made in heaven. ‘Take care,’ she said.

      ‘You too,’ called Kevin and Regan left with a spring in her step and a happy heart.

      She took a moment before she walked into their office space because if she was grinning like a mad clown Alex would know there was something up. Once composed, she walked in with her shoulders back and her head high.

      ‘Good morning,’ she said to the back of his head. He jumped.

      ‘Regan, you’re early.’

      ‘Only a couple of minutes. Here.’ She passed him his coffee and then opened the cake box. ‘And I made you these because I still felt bad about the coffee accident.’ She emphasised the last word because she wasn’t apologising for it. She stepped back and tried to control her excitement.

      ‘Er, right. Thanks. But there’s something far more important.’ Regan puckered her eyebrows; her plan was getting derailed. ‘Did you check your lottery numbers?’

      ‘No. The ticket’s in my desk drawer.’

      ‘Open it, open it!’ said Alex, beginning to bounce about like a toddler on too many Haribos.

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I took a picture of your ticket and I’ve checked your numbers and … I think you’ve won.’ His words came out in an excited screech making Regan recoil.

      ‘What?’

      ‘I think you’ve won. But you need to check it. Check it now!’

      ‘What? A couple of quid?’ But she could tell from Alex’s body language that he was way too hyper for it to only be a few pounds.

      Bubbles of excitement fizzed in her gut. She’d always secretly thought that one day she would win. Most people hoped they would, but she’d had a feeling that she couldn’t quite explain. A luxury lifestyle of parties and cocktails felt like her destiny far more than working in a dull office drinking coffee out of paper cups.

      ‘Open the bloody drawer!’ said Alex, pulling her from her thoughts. She fumbled in her bag and pulled out her desk key. Inside the drawer was her ticket paper-clipped to her wish list. She pulled the ticket free. ‘Here,’ said Alex, thrusting his mobile at her. ‘Here’s Saturday’s winning numbers.’

      She tried to look at the ticket and back at the phone but the numbers kept dancing about. Her pulse was racing and she was starting to shake. She took a deep breath and checked the people around her. It was early and most hadn’t settled at their desks yet. Nobody was watching them. She splayed out her hands in a calming СКАЧАТЬ