Chapter 8

      Double checking the address Barney wrote down, I hover outside what looks like someone’s house. There is no indication anywhere that this is even a restaurant, no neon sign or A-frame outside, but I do spot a few people coming and going. How odd. I decide to wait five more minutes. It’s already eight and that’s what time they said to meet.

      I start to feel ridiculous standing here waiting for two strangers. There was a fish restaurant near the pier. I’ll go there. As I turn to leave, I spot Harry and Barney walking towards me. Harry takes long casual strides as Barney seems to use all his limbs for propulsion. Relief dilutes the weird cocktail of apprehension in my stomach.

      ‘You’re in for a treat,’ Barney says, linking my arm like an old friend and frog-marching me up the wooden steps to the veranda. He knocks on the door, and a kindly young woman opens it and gestures him in.

      ‘Your usual table is ready, guys.’ Her smile fades as she takes me in. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, it’s only set for two.’ She looks mortified.

      ‘Just pull another chair over and we’ll cosy up. We’re all friends here,’ he says in what I’m coming to realise is his actual voice and not just his ‘cheerful’ tone.

      Once we’re seated, I’m handed a paper menu. I’m no expert on the Cape Cod cuisine scene, or any cuisine scene to be precise, but this is the most unusual place I’ve ever been to. ‘There’s only one choice per course here,’ I say, tapping the sheet of paper.

      ‘Oh, honey, this is a secret restaurant. It’s a surprise menu each day, though we come so often, we know the rotation. Tonight is Harry’s favourite.’

      ‘He’s right. Butter-poached lobster and wild shrimp.’ Harry pats his stomach. The food does sound amazing.

      ‘If it’s a secret, why did you bring me here? I’ve not come across a secret restaurant before but I bet it adds to the exclusivity.’

      ‘It’s the worst-kept secret in town but to some extent it keeps the tourists out. No offence.’ He pats my hand. ‘It just keeps it special for the locals. And as you can see – it’s always busy.’

      ‘Well, it’s utterly charming,’ I say, running a hand over the simple wooden table.

      The waitress places some mismatched crockery and a platter of something deep-fried on the table. I’m so hungry I don’t care what lies beneath the batter.

      ‘Fried oysters.’ Barney hands me the plate. ‘Try one, they’re to die for.’

      I take a bite, and he’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever had an oyster before. The thought of them has always made me a bit squeamish. Kev wasn’t an adventurous eater and he used to say they were like swallowing a ball of phlegm. The thought makes me heave.

      ‘You don’t like them?’ Harry says.

      ‘Oh, I do. They’re better than I was expecting. I was just … remembering something.’

      ‘Try the hot sauce,’ Barney says and I dip one dutifully. It tastes a bit like Dijon mustard and lemon.

      ‘Mmm, delicious,’ I say as the flavours and texture alight my senses.

      ‘We think everyone should come here at least once,’ says Harry.

      ‘Thank you for inviting me. I don’t know where I’d have ended up otherwise.’ I dunk another oyster.

      ‘Barney picks up all the waifs and strays,’ Harry says. I instantly feel awkward as his tone is more matter-of-fact than Barney who seems to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but when I look at him, the corner of his mouth is lifted. ‘I’m just teasing. We both love to meet new people.’

      ‘So, I know you’re in Boston for work, but why is a pretty girl like you in P-Town alone?’ Barney asks as he wipes the last oyster round the dip bowl.

      It’s a strange feeling to want to spill all to two people you don’t know from Adam, but a compelling one, nonetheless. Perhaps it’s because they’re the first people I’ve connected with since I arrived in the US, perhaps it’s desperation but whatever the reason, I proceed to fill them in.

      ‘Nobody listens to me or values my opinion,’ I finish. ‘I don’t agree with the way the campaign is going and I think the company who hired us will hate it, but apparently, I should just shut up and put up. I guess I just don’t fit in with the team.’

      Harry points his fork at me. ‘You will. You just need to find your place. All groups have roles for people to fill. You’ll get there. Like my Barney here is the people collector—’

      ‘I’m intuitive and sociable,’ Barney interrupts.

      ‘I’m the pragmatic one, my role in a group is the voice of reason. Martha, who owns this place, is the chef. We know most of the people in this town, and they all have their place.’

      Barney laughs. ‘You are so not the voice of reason.’

      ‘Okay, humour me – what am I then?’ Harry shakes his head and gives me a ‘can you believe this guy?’ look.

      ‘The fussy one.’ Barney cocks his head to the side as if it proves his point.

      Harry looks at me. ‘I just like things in order, which in my opinion makes me practical.’ He shrugs his shoulders like that proves his point.

      ‘Well, my place at present seems to be chief doughnut-getter,’ I say, breaking up their affectionate bickering.

      ‘Well, there you go – you have a place. But if you want a better one, you need to play a little game of Snakes and Ladders: work your way up without getting knocked all the way back down. You’ll figure it out.’ Harry says this so casually. If he’s fussy and still thinks it’s all just a simple game, then maybe I should too.

      The waitress clears our table and I take the opportunity to sip my water then we talk a little more about Harry and Barney’s life in New York and how they met. Barney explains how he’d just arrived from New Jersey and got lost in SoHo looking for the library. Harry was passing, and Barney asked him for help. They chatted a little bit and hit it off then Harry drew him a map, only the map led to an Italian restaurant where Harry was sitting outside with champagne and a bow-tie. Barney never did get to the library, and the rest is history. I sometimes forget that my meeting Kev isn’t the only romantic story out there, and hearing someone else’s makes a surprisingly refreshing change from replaying my own story over in my head.

      ‘What