Buttercup [H.S]

Chapter Thirty Two

Three Months Later

"Shit, fuck, shit. Shit, shit, shit!" I curse, as I run as fast as the crowds of shoppers and commuters will allow, my legs burning as I take two steps at a time to emerge from the tube station.

I'm sweating, despite the sharp, cold chill of the air, my skin clammy and humid under my layers of uniform, woolly coat and thick knitted scarf. I'd been in such a rush, I hadn't even changed out of my yellow crocs, and the cold weather nipped at my toes beneath.

I run down the road, and take a turn onto a street that had become so familiar to me, one of many "new" normals in my life.

When I push through the door of the building, and into Linda's office, I'm panting.

"You're late," Linda tells me over the rim of her glasses when she sees me. I'd think she was mad, or disappointed maybe. But this was Linda, and I'd yet to see her look even slightly disgruntled over the many Thursday evenings we'd spent together.

"I know," I say, trying to catch my breath whilst yanking the scarf and jacket away from my body as the heat from the crackling fire of Linda's office begins to cook me. "I brought cake though. Your favourite as well, coffee and walnut."

I slip the foil tray from my tote bag, and hand it over to Linda. She peels the lid back, taking a whiff and the annoyance she'd pretended to feel melts away.

"Get the plates then," she says. "I'll make the tea."

And we do, working quietly together until we both have slabs of cake and hot mugs to warm our hands on and I sit across from Linda in the matching squashy chairs, and I've slipped off my crocs and curled my feet beneath me.

"How's the job going?" Is her first question. It's how she'd started our last few sessions, perhaps because it had been the most obvious outward change to my life and yet the easiest question to answer.

"Great," I shrug, brushing cake crumbs from my black chef jacket and catching them with my plate. "The restaurant is really busy, with Christmas coming up. But I'm still enjoying it, Niall and Louis have been great at settling me in and teaching me the ropes."

I'd taken Niall up on the offer of the job in his kitchen. He'd invited me in one day, after I told him I was interested, and showed me around the kitchen and ran through the menu with me, and I'd never left. I worked the shift that night, and then the next and then they gave me a chef jacket and a name tag and that was that.

It'd been scary, working as team instead of doing everything myself. But also, after a while and getting over my nerves, it was easy. Hard work, and tiring but easy. Niall was a stern head chef, yet easy to crack a smile out of, especially when Louis did everything he could to annoy him to the point of laughter.

There were a few other girls, Steph and Fatima, that I worked with. They were sweet and funny and they hadn't batted an eye when they invited me out for drinks and I ordered a lemonade.

It was also a relief, for the first time in a long time to be earning a regular wage. My bank account filled up each month, and my bills were paid and I had enough left over to get a coffee on the way in to work without worrying.

"And how are you feeling about Christmas?" Linda asks. "What are your plans?"

"Spending it with Lucy and Janis," I tell her, feeling my cheeks pinch with excitement. "Janis is cooking, which will be nice, to not be the one in the kitchen for once."

Linda chuckles, scribbling a few things down in her book. I'd felt on edge, for the first month or so of our sessions, wondering what she was writing. Was she leaving notes on how awful she found me, how sad and lonely this pathetic girl in front of her was.