Free A Summer of Secrets by Alice Ross

glass and took a swig of lager. ‘But what about the window-cleaning round? I’ve built it up nicely. It’d be a shame to let it go.’
    ‘Get someone to cover it for a bit, until you decide if you want to stay over there.’
    Joe bit his lip. It was certainly food for thought. Phil’s uncle had just bought a bar out there. Phil, a qualified chef, would be providing the hungry, holidaying Brits with burgers and chips and wanted Joe to join him as the resident DJ.
    ‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘You know you want to.’
    Joe snorted with laughter. Phil was right. Part of him did want to. After his narrow escape from the Fielding residence the other day, he’d begun to wonder if his nerves were still up to the job here. Fortunately, that little escapade had ended without any major drama. By some miraculous fluke, he’d parked his ladder directly outside Penelope’s bedroom window, thereby permitting him a nifty escape – albeit in the buff. Penelope had tossed his clothes out after him. Once on the ground, Joe bundled them up and retreated to the side of the house where, with a thundering heart, he made himself respectable before snatching up his bucket and ladder and sauntering down the street looking like he didn’t have a care in the world.
    It had been reminiscent of a
Carry On
movie. Only not half as funny. In reality it had been too close for comfort. In such a small place as Buttersley, one slip-up like that and he’d be ruined. In fact, it was a minor miracle he hadn’t been rumbled already.
    But it wasn’t just that near-miss that had set Joe thinking. Even before his visit to Penelope, the realisation that his opinion of women had morphed into a not particularly healthy one disturbed him, leading him to conclude that he couldn’t behave like this much longer. He’d had his fun; savoured his revenge – however misguided it might have been. But he’d now reached the gloomy realisation that no matter how many wives of rich men he bedded; no matter how much revenge he tasted – his behaviour had sunk to base level. Still smarting at the hurt Gina’s cheating had caused him, he was merely adding to someone else’s infidelity. Something which he not only despised himself for, but which, he now realised, would never erase the pain of her leaving. She had been the love of his life. And nobody would ever replace her.
    Joe had met Gina when he’d been labouring on the building sites. He and the lads often popped into the local greasy spoon at lunchtime where she worked as a waitress. Given the remarkably average food, she provided a pleasant distraction for the visiting males. Joe’s heart melted the first time he laid eyes on her. Dressed in cut-off black trousers and pink T-shirt, a gingham apron around her waist, she’d been clearing a table. And with her long, chestnut hair swept up in a high ponytail, she wouldn’t have looked out of place in an episode of
Happy Days
.
    ‘Okay if we sit here?’ he asked, given it was the only unoccupied table.
    ‘Of course,’ she replied, gazing at him with huge hazel eyes, flecked with, Joe couldn’t help but notice, glints of amber. ‘Just give me a minute and I’ll have it ready for you.’
    Ignoring the lewd, juvenile comments this remark inspired from his colleagues, Joe nodded politely, standing aside while she worked.
    ‘There you go,’ she announced less than sixty seconds later. Then, whipping a notepad and pencil from her apron pocket, asked, ‘What can I get you?’
    Again, the lads resorted to a round of lascivious comments as they jostled into the plastic-clad banquettes.
    ‘Shut up,’ snapped Joe. ‘Show a bit of respect.’
    The lads calmed down and the girl flashed him a grateful smile.
    And so events continued for another couple of weeks, with Joe’s excitement levels soaring the nearer the minutes ticked to lunchtime. Visiting the café became the highlight of his day. Or, more precisely, seeing the waitress became the highlight of his day.