'Yes, there's one down the end, follow me,' she said, grabbing some cutlery and coasters for our weaving, awkward journey to a tiny table in the corner of the room near the toilets.
'Here we are, you just have to order at the bar when you've decided what you want. '
'Thanks, but I'm ready to order. Fish 'n' chips with mushy peas,' I said, sounding far too excited, but the waitress laughed.
'Good choice,' she said, taking the menu from me and wedging it between the salt and pepper shakers.
I'll say, especially washed down with a cold cider. My mouth watered at the thought as I headed for the bar, squeezing past locals, and despite the small confines of the crowded scene, I had never felt more free.
Paying for my meal, I stole some extra beer coasters from the bar, taking great care in weaving my way back to my little table in the corner. Dark, noisy and overcrowded it may be, but I was gloriously happy to be sitting in a true English pub, sipping on cider and waiting for my traditional pub meal. There was no time to delay: I took my seat and flipped over the coasters, foraging around inside my handbag for a pen before hooking my bag over the side of the chair.
Now, for total world domination.
Having discovered Nana's secret closet, I felt immediately inspired – I had finally found an angle for 'Kate on the Thames'. I could use the secret room as a stunning backdrop for my weekly blog posts; I mean, I wasn't doing anything overly wrong. It wouldn't be like I would be touching anything; well, not really. My mind flashed back to a gorgeous pair of gold Chanel earrings under the glass top of the island. Their classic, interlinking Cs were absolutely striking, completely classic. I may or may not have slid the glass aside and held them up against my ears to see what they would look like, but I was ever so careful with them. If there was one thing I was passionate about it was respecting Chanel.
I dot-pointed some ideas on the small pieces of cardboard with joyous abandon until the swinging toilet door flew open at speed and hit the back of my chair mid-sip of my cider.
'Shit!' I said, flicking my hands and grabbing for some napkins to wipe up the mess.
'No chance of anyone stealing this table,' I mumbled, and glared at the back of the man who walked without so much as a backward glance, annoyed that my coasters of amazing, life-changing ideas had suffered the full brunt of the spillage. Shifting from side to side in my seat, I tried to catch the eye of the friendly waitress to ask for a cloth when my eyes landed on the pub entrance. Or, rather, the person standing in it. Blinking once, then twice, I craned my neck to look again, my blood running cold, and then thought that maybe I was seeing things as the crowd shifted and I breathed once more.
Phew.
Kate, calm down, take another sip of cider and enjoy what's left of your freedom.
I glanced at my watch and lifted the pint up to my mouth again, just as a loud voice called over the murmuring of the patrons.
'Blimey. Jack bloody Baker, how the hell are you?'
I spat my drink out and coughed, lifting my watery gaze to the barman across the room, who was vigorously shaking the hand of the very real Jack Baker, the Jack Baker who had nearly killed me. The Jack Baker who was looking. Right. This. Way.
Chapter Five
So far I had knocked over the salt and pepper shakers in my desperation to barricade myself behind a laminated menu, but then my chair was hit with the toilet door once again.
'Seriously!' I yelled, receiving a confused glance from a man walking back to his group of mates.
I sighed, fixing my angry stare on the menu, thinking maybe Jack would just disappear, or would think that he was mistaken and hadn't really seen me.
Of all the pubs in all the world he had to walk into mine.
But as minutes passed, and I resisted the urge to adjust my menu for a peek, I became more confident that he wouldn't approach, that he hadn't seen me after all. I was safe; in the dark corner of my tiny table I had avoided discovery. I sighed, thanking the universe for small mercies.
'One ultimate fish 'n' chips for Kate!' called out a deep Cockney voice.
Oh my God.
I peeled the menu from my face to see a man with a grubby white apron circling the room with a plate of food. Why didn't they just have a flickering neon sign pointing in my direction? Seriously, didn't they believe in table numbers? I watched helplessly as the man worked his way closer to me.
'Order for Ka-'
'HERE!' I said, far too loudly, holding up my hand and wincing – beyond the man's shoulder I could see Jack, who was hiding his smile behind his pint and looking my way while chatting to the publican.