Chapter 7

 

 

Two o’clock rolled around which left Jude in a terrible rush because he was meeting Lara at half past and it took twenty minutes to get there. He left for town and twenty past.

 

They were meeting at that new coffee shop with the silly name on the high street. It had had a white-washed exterior and Jude was instantly reminded of the greasy spoon in Spain that Mum and Dad took him and Lara to when he was 9.

 

It was twenty-to by the time he got to the door and he could see Lara at a table through the window. She didn’t look too happy. He attempted to compose himself before going in but got an empty crisp packet stuck to his foot and stumbled through the door cursing rather loudly.

 

The café came to a hushed silence and there was a group of small children and their mothers on his immediate left gazing up at him with looks of wonderment and disdain. It was times like this that he thought the world was out to get him.

 

After blundering his way through a disastrous apology, he went and practically fell into the chair opposite Lara. The chair was harder than he expected and it took some strong will on his part to stop him from shouting profanities at the top of his voice again. She looked at him and he looked at her for a while. There was an awkward silence.

 

“I’m going to get a muffin.”

 

Jude got up and returned holding a blueberry muffin. He would’ve preferred chocolate but they were £3.25 and he only had £3 in his pocket so had to settle for blueberry.

 

He was still quite angry at his lack of sufficient funds when he went back over to the table so didn’t notice that Lara had hardly moved since he got up. He offered her some of his muffin. She declined by shaking her head. Once.

 

It didn’t look like she was going to say much unprompted so it was left to Jude to strike up a conversation that would not only be successful in finding out information, but also would not be so terribly awkward that Jude felt like chewing off his own arm just to draw the focus away.

 

“Is it Alex’s?”

 

She gave him a look full of so much irk that instantly said that ‘yes, it is, you stupid twat’. His arm looked attractively fleshy.

 

“S**t Lara, help me out here.” One of the mothers- one with tight lips and a bob-cut, a wonky bob-cut, shot more daggers over at him.

 

“Yes, it is Alex’s. No, I haven’t told him yet. And I’m not sure when I’m going to tell him. I found out this morning. In Sainsbury’s. Like I said in the message.”

 

Jude was stunned into silence. She’d answered all his questions. And some he didn’t intend to ask. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

 

“That message was f*****g awful.” He held her gaze for a moment longer but then they both crumbled into fits of terribly immature giggles.

 

“I asked about your boyfriend didn’t I? Jesus I am an idiot.”

 

Jude opened his eyes just in time to see the tight-lipped mother getting up. He had to wipe away the tears before he realised that she was actually coming towards him.

 

The snooty cow stopped a few centimetres away from the table top and rapped it precisely two times with her knuckles. He had to stop laughing quickly so he didn’t look disrespectful and choked on his own voice.

 

“Could you please stop using such vulgar language quite so loudly when there are children around?”

 

He tried to keep a straight face but he could feel a grin spreading across his lips. He struggled to stay serious and so ended up with an expression that probably made him look constipated.

 

“Oh I don’t know why I bother. It’s not as if I expected anything more from your lot.” She spat the last two words out with a vengeance. Your lot? Who the bloody hell did she think she was? He was not going to stand for this.

 

“My lot? What’s my lot then? Men? People with brown hair? Or gays? I think we both know the answer.” He was really getting into the swing of it now. Lara was smirking next to him. Did she mean gays? She must have done. Lara shouted ‘your boyfriend’ quite loud. “If I had had a penny for every time someone called gay people them, or that lot, or those we don’t speak of, I’d be a rich man. No, a f*****g rich man. A f*****g rich homosexual man. And that’s just my family. If you have a problem, take it up with Graham Norton you harpy.”

 

And with that, he picked up his scarf and his beaming sister and left. But not before sticking two fingers up to the interfering bint and telling her that her hair was wonky.

 

There was a definite sense of satisfaction in getting into an argument with someone and then coming out of it knowing that you were victorious. He couldn’t explain it. But calling that woman a ‘harpy’ in front of all those people was the most enjoyable thing he’d done all week.

 

Christ he needed to get out more.