Secrets and Fries at the Starlight Diner

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  Published by Maze

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  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2017

  Copyright © Helen Cox 2017

  Helen Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Ebook Edition © July 2017 ISBN: 9780008197018

  Version 2016-11-21

  For everybody who has chased a dream, even when somebody told you not to.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Across the decades, people from all over the world have found a home in New York City. The same can be said about the Starlight Diner, a 1950s-themed eatery not far from where East Houston Street meets Clinton. Its blue neon signage lights up the sky on grey days and dark nights. All day, every day, between eight in the morning and midnight, the diner doors are open. A fact regulars from the East Village can count upon, and so many of them do.

  Of course, when your doors are open, anyone can walk into your life – someone besides the local cops on their lunch break or the old lady who always asks for the corner table and orders ice cream in December and soup in August. The next person could just as easy be a stranger with a story you’ll never get to hear and secrets best left untold.

  No matter who walks through the doors at the Starlight Diner, no matter how far they’ve travelled or how they’re feeling about their life just then, they’re all welcomed with the same warmth. All of them are invited to sink into the soft, red leather of the booths, smile along to the fifties ditties playing out on the jukebox and order themselves a milkshake.

  But it’s the folks who work there and eat there that make the Starlight Diner really special. They may not always want you to know it, but they’ve got good hearts. Big hearts, too. And when you’re surrounded by people like that, it’s impossible not to feel at home.

  Chapter One

  New York, 26 December 1990

  The sultry notes of ‘Earth Angel’ by Marvin Berry and the Starlighters floated all around me as I pushed open the door of the diner. The song oozed out of a Wurlitzer jukebox standing in the far corner and a warm rush of relief swept through me as I realised I’d made it.

  To New York.

  To the Starlight Diner.

  To Esther.

  Before stepping inside, I glanced one last time over my shoulder, just to be sure nobody was out there. Watching or waiting.

  Snowflakes danced in the pale glow of street lamps and steam blew out of the subway vents, but people were few, and hurrying home out of the cold. The coast seemed to be clear.

  For now.

  I didn’t know what kind of reception I’d get from Esther, not after what had happened between us. When she found out what was going on, the parts it was safe to tell, I’d at least be subjected to a tut and an eyebrow raise. That much was certain. Both were almost patented gestures for her. Still, I needed a friendly face and she was the closest thing I had.

  ‘Hi there, honey,’ said a soft, inviting voice, which was accompanied by the rich flurry of the saxophone playing in the background. Turning, I saw who had spoken: a waitress standing just behind the counter.

  Looking at her, my shoulders tightened. They were already sore from three days and two nights sleeping on buses and hostel beds and I winced at the sting.

  It wasn’t Esther.

  God damn it, where was she? Why couldn’t she have just put her home address on those letters she sent? Well, I had my suspicions about why. But I couldn’t think about that. Esther was pretty much the only person I had to turn to and the only lead I had on her was this restaurant.

  ‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll be right with you,’ said the waitress. I was still holding the door half-open, letting in the wintry darkness.

  Nodding, I shuffled in, past some guy sitting at the end of the counter. I didn’t look right at the fella but I could feel him staring. More than likely he was eyeing up my hair, which I’d dyed blue with a three-dollar rinse and hacked off just above the shoulder with a pair of kitchen scissors on my way out of Atlantic City. I still wasn’t quite used to the attention it got me. Being a brunette was a lot less conspicuous but, after what had happened, looking anything like myself could be lethal.

  Deciding on the seat furthest from the doorway – and the bitter chill – I set down my guitar and suitcase on the red and white chequered lino and sat up at the counter. Only then, when I’d stopped shivering, did I pause to properly size up my surroundings.

  This wasn’t your average diner, that much was for sure. It was one of those fifties-themed restaurants built to preserve the good times gone by. That explained the Marvin Berry and the Starlighters record, and something came back to me then from one of Esther’s letters, about the diner having a retro twist.

  That was no understatement.

  The place was painted a blinding shade of red and had vintage signs hanging around the walls advertising sodas and milkshakes, each one complete with some sickly-sweet slogan like ‘Put a cherry on top of your day’. The smells left behind from the cooking of hot dogs, omelettes, grilled cheese sandwiches and French fries all lingered, creating their own unique, sweaty perfume. Yep, the place was just how Esther had described it alright. Well, according to the parts of her letters I could understand. Truth be told, she was a bit of a walking dictionary. Even with a college education, I only understood eight out of
every ten words she said.

  ‘What can I get for you, honey?’ The waitress, who according to her name tag was called Mona, leaned on the counter with her notebook in hand. She looked weary, as would anyone who was still at work past eleven the day after Christmas, and was wearing quite a bit of make-up to cover up the fact she was beat. She’d glazed her lips with a cherry-coloured lip gloss and lightning bolts of silver powder zigzagged across her eyelids in sharp contrast to her black skin.

  I opened my mouth to place an order but then hesitated. I had about seven dollars left in the world. No point ordering big if Esther wasn’t even around.

  ‘Matter of fact, I’m looking for Esther Knight. She still work here?’ My question came out casual enough, which was a miracle considering how desperate I was.

  ‘Oh, you’re a friend of Esther’s?’ said Mona.

  Neat. How do I answer that one honestly?

  Am I a friend of Esther’s?

  I think so. I think she forgave me for what I did. It was months ago now and she’d written me a couple of letters like she promised so she couldn’t be that sore about it.

  ‘Uh, yeah,’ I said.

  Oh, nice going, Bonnie. Just spectacular. A commendation to you on delivering the least convincing declaration of friendship ever.

  ‘Well, she’s over in England, visiting her mom for Christmas. Not back till late tomorrow,’ the waitress explained.

  ‘Oh.’ I heard the crack in my voice but Mona didn’t seem to notice. Hearing that news was like being shot through the heart. Esther really wasn’t here. Not even in this country, let alone the city. I had no money, no place to go and it was glacial outside. What the hell was I going to do? Ride the subway all night? That seemed to be about my only option. It was that or freeze to death on a park bench.

  ‘Want something to drink while you’re here?’ asked Mona.

  ‘I’ll get a cuppa coffee. Thanks,’ I said, trying to ignore the empty churn of my stomach. I had to save what money I could. Tomorrow, people would be out shopping again and I could busk for a few more bucks. Probably scrape together enough for a decent-sized pizza and a night in a cheap motel in case things didn’t work out with Esther.

  ‘Not a problem, just gotta run out back and get a fresh pack of beans. Won’t be a minute, honey,’ Mona said. I was going to say something polite. That she should take as much time as she wanted, I wasn’t in any rush to be back out in the cold, that kind of thing. But at the idea of being outside, alone in New York, all the words caught at the back of my throat. So I just did a little shrug and smiled as best I could.

  The second she pushed through the swing doors out to the kitchen however, it happened. Tears, thick and salty, forced their way out. My whole body shook with the might of them and I covered my eyes and mouth with my hands in an attempt to block out the world. To forget the fact that I was howling like a kid in a downtown diner, all to the tune of ‘Shake, Rattle and Roll’, which had followed up ‘Earth Angel’ on the Wurlitzer.

  ‘Hey, you alright?’ a man’s voice said. I jumped at the sound. The guy at the counter with the staring problem. I’d forgotten about him. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse. Thanks to my dad accusing me of ‘turning on the waterworks’ whenever I’d wept as a child, I hated to cry under any circumstances, but it was always worse when you had a witness.

  And now what was I supposed to say to this guy?

  I sucked in as much oxygen as I could, dropped my hands to the counter and turned. Twisting my lips into something that resembled a smile, I tried to stem the flow of my tears. I hadn’t really got a good look at the man before. He had a sharpness to his eyes. They were a deep brown and pretty intense, to the point that he seemed almost angry about something. His hair fell in blonde waves around his face and he might’ve been cute if he only learned to smile instead of leer, and if he halved the amount of cologne he wore. The musty smell caught at the back of my throat even from this distance; I didn’t want to know how it was up close. What did he do, shower in that junk?

  His eyes hadn’t left mine. He was still waiting on an answer to his question.

  Was I alright?

  People were asking me all the hard questions tonight. Not wanting to lie right to his face, I turned away and nodded at the coffee machine behind the counter. The gesture was far too quick to fool anyone, even myself.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m just…’ I swallowed back more tears. ‘I’m just real tired is all.’

  ‘Well, if you’re tired, maybe you should be in bed.’

  I glanced over again to see the guy was trying to smile. It was still coming across as a leer.

  ‘I wish I was.’

  ‘Here we go, hon—’ Mona came breezing back through from the kitchen but stopped mid-sentence when she saw the state I was in. She looked from me to the man at the end of the counter. ‘Oh Lord, what you do to her? I was only gone a minute.’ The waitress put her hands on her hips and glared in his direction.

  ‘I didn’t do nothing,’ the guy protested.

  ‘Don’t give me that, you’ve been causin’ trouble, again,’ said Mona, pointing a finger at him.

  ‘Feel free to step in and defend me any time you like,’ said the man, aiming his words at me. There was a noticeable sting to his voice.

  ‘He didn’t do anything,’ I said to Mona, realising he was right. It would’ve been polite to jump in sooner than I had to make that clear. Course, Mona must have her reasons for suspecting he’d done something to me. Maybe this guy didn’t deserve to be defended.

  ‘You sure?’ Mona squinted.

  I looked at the guy, his face darkened by the false allegations.

  ‘Yeah.’ I bit my lower lip, trying to think of a believable cover story for my breakdown. ‘I’m just real tired and it’s cold out and I was really hoping to see Esther tonight, you know. Haven’t seen her in a long time and it all just got a bit much for a minute,’ I said, unsure if this explanation made my howling sound in any way reasonable or if I was coming across as an absolute nutjob to these people.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure that’s all it is.’ Mona looked from me back to the guy, her eyes still narrow.

  ‘I’m sure I’ll feel better after a coffee. Once I’ve warmed up,’ I said. It was the truth but also it’d be best for everyone if the conversation moved on. The less they knew about what it was that had me running around New York, trying to find a waitress I hadn’t spoken to in ten months, the better.

  ‘And I’ll get right on that, honey,’ Mona said, turning to pour the beans into the coffee machine.

  ‘Hey, Blue, mind if I join you down that end?’ The guy called down the length of the counter.

  ‘Sure,’ I shrugged. ‘But my name’s not Blue. It’s Bonnie.’

  ‘Well, you look like a Blue to me.’ He shoved his plate with a half-eaten burger on it down towards me. I was going to protest about his unimaginative nickname but the food suddenly thrust in front of me was far more distracting. I looked at the meat, cooked medium rare so it was pink and juicy in the middle, topped with crisp lettuce and fresh tomato. Mona had her back to me, fiddling with the coffee machine. The guy was turned back towards the stool he’d been sitting on, retrieving his coat and satchel. I saw my chance, took a huge bite of his burger and stuffed three French fries in my mouth, turning my head towards the kitchen doors and making out like I was admiring the decor, so I had time to chew and swallow.

  When I turned back the guy was sitting in the stool next to me, grinning.

  ‘Hungry?’ he asked, pushing his plate towards me as if suggesting I should help myself. Oh God, he’d seen me steal from his plate. It was official. I couldn’t sink any lower.

  ‘Uh, no, thanks, I just ate,’ I said.

  The guy looked at me hard and long, and an almost unbearable blush started creeping up the back of my neck. Then Mona came over and set down my coffee, breaking whatever weird little moment we were having.

  ‘There you go, honey,’ said the waitr
ess.

  ‘I’m Jimmy, by the way. Jimmy Boyle,’ said the guy, shovelling in one of the remaining French fries. He chewed with his mouth open and I looked down into the black depths of my coffee so I didn’t have to watch him eat. It wasn’t pretty. I’d been right about the cologne too. Up close it was so strong it was almost difficult to breathe.

  ‘Like I said, Bonnie.’

  ‘That accent from the Midwest somewhere?’ asked Jimmy.

  ‘Yeah, Detroit. Born and raised.’ I cleared my throat, trying to get rid of the taste of his cologne, but somehow that only made it worse.

  ‘Like the Journey song?’ he said, leering again.

  ‘Well, that’s South Detroit but close enough, sure.’ As I answered, I turned my head to him out of politeness to find him examining my face. I looked him up and down in return, uneasy and shuffling in my seat.

  ‘And how do you know Esther?’ Mona asked. Pulling my eyes away from Jimmy, I poured some cream into my coffee and pondered how to answer that question.

  ‘We worked at the same casino out in Atlantic City.’

  Before she left.

  It was only partly because of what I did, I think. Esther never liked Atlantic City as much as she thought she would. Called it a ‘city of excess’, and it was that alright. Modesty was a stranger in that town. Order at any bar, and a rum and coke would become a double without you even asking. Wine wasn’t served in glasses but in vase-sized urns. The drunker you got, the greater the chances were of you shoving coins into slots, and that’s all the casino bosses were interested in. No, Esther never felt at home there, and I guess I didn’t either. But that wasn’t so surprising. I’d never felt at home anywhere, not even in the house I grew up in.