He looked a little shocked at my raised voice. ‘Nothing. There’s only one exit from the building so I have to come this way. And my car’s parked over there in case you think I’m following you. It’s the white one.’
I looked to where he pointed and my stomach sank. It was only parked right next to mine. Sighing, I continued walking.
‘And it is my town.’ He moved into step beside me.
‘What?’
‘When I said that, admittedly stupid, line, you said it wasn’t my town and I’m saying it is. I’m Whitsborough Bay born and bred which is—’
‘Yeah, yeah, which is more than can be said for me.’
Jed laughed. ‘Wow! Age certainly hasn’t mellowed you.’
‘And it hasn’t improved you,’ I snapped.
‘Touché! And if you’d have let me finish, I was going to say I’m Whitsborough Bay born and bred which is why I’m here at the moment. My parents and extended family still live here.’
My voice softened. ‘So you’re just here for a holiday?’
‘Sort of.’
We reached the cars. I unlocked mine, stuffed my misbehaving mat in the boot, then slammed it closed.
‘And you’re going back to Australia?’
‘Yes. Next week.’
‘Glad to hear it. Safe trip.’ I made my way down the side of my car, thankful that there was a wide space between the two vehicles as it would be just my luck to open my door too far and take a dent out of his car. I wouldn’t have cared about damaging his property, but I didn’t want to look like even more of an idiot in his presence than I already did.
‘And then I’ll be back for good in October.’
I stopped dead, one leg in the car, my body crouched ready to sit. ‘What?’
‘I said I’ll be back for good in October and looking for premises for my new business. See you then.’ He climbed into his car and slammed the door.
Leaping up, I banged on his window. He wound it down and raised an eyebrow at me.
‘You can’t have The Chocolate Pot, you know. It’s not for sale.’
‘Everything’s for sale if the price is right.’
‘You could offer me ten million pounds and The Chocolate Pot would still not be for sale.’
Jed laughed. ‘Just as well I’m not looking to regress.’
‘Then what were you doing asking one of my staff questions about the business today? Because I know it was you.’
He laughed again. ‘Checking out the competition.’ Then he wound his window up and floored the accelerator, leaving me with my mouth open and my heart pounding.
I sat in the driver’s seat, breathing deeply. ‘Checking out the competition?’ Did that mean he was going to open a café when he returned in October? I shook my head. So what if he did? His style was ‘greasy spoon’ and therefore a completely different clientele. Besides, there were currently no affordable, suitably sized premises available for lease or purchase on Castle Street or any of the other side streets and an independent business could not afford the main precinct.
But as I drove back to The Chocolate Pot, my heart wouldn’t stop thumping. There might be no suitable premises available now but businesses closed all the time. Owners retired, circumstances changed, customer tastes changed, trends came and went and, for a multitude of reasons, businesses failed. In my thirteen and a half years on Castle Street, I’d lost count of how many I’d seen open and close. October was nine months away and a lot could happen during that time. An awful lot.
14
The following Monday, Carly turned up at The Chocolate Pot shortly before 7 p.m. to help me get ready for the extra Bay Trade meeting. I’d had several emails of support about the proposed further education mentoring programme and had six confirmed attendees, including Carly. I was therefore thrilled when eight had turned up by half past.
Carly and I had rearranged the tables on the ground floor to make one long table and I’d borrowed a flipchart and stand from the library so I could write down ideas for everyone to see. When they were all settled with drinks and tucking into brownies, I stood up.
‘Good evening everyone and thank you so much to you all for coming out on such a cold night to discuss my proposal. Tonight is just an opportunity to get together and throw a few ideas around. There’s no obligation to commit to the project. Although if anyone decides it’s not for them, then I’ll give you a bill for the drinks and brownies and never speak to you again.’
Ginny from The Wedding Emporium next door quickly dropped her brownie on her plate and joked about me only being able to charge her for half.
‘Seriously, though, I want this to be fun and informal. I want everyone to feel they can share ideas and be involved in a way that works for them. If you decide it’s not for you, then I completely understand. We’ve all got so much to do running our own businesses that it’s amazing so many of you are here to explore this.’
I took a deep breath and looked to Carly for encouragement. She smiled and nodded eagerly, knowing what was coming next.
‘I’m really keen to hear your suggestions but there’s one key decision I’ve made already and that’s the name of the project. I’d like you to chat among yourselves for a couple of minutes. I need to introduce you to someone very important. Back shortly.’
Smiling at the intrigued expressions on the group’s faces, I ran upstairs, returning a couple of minutes later with Hercules in my arms. Gasps and squeals of delight came from the group as they spotted him.
‘This is Hercules, my Flemish Giant house rabbit. He’s two years old and he loves cuddles.’
‘Can I hold him?’ asked Sarah from Seaside Blooms.
‘You certainly can.’ I secured Hercules in Sarah’s arms and he looked very content as several hands reached out and stroked him.
I returned to the flipchart and addressed the group. ‘You might be wondering what a giant house rabbit has to do with anything but I brought him down because he’s the inspiration for the name of the project.’ I turned over the flipchart cover to reveal a fresh page containing the project name. ‘Welcome to Project Hercules. The name means strength and power and the vision for this project is to share our knowledge and experiences with students who might like to set up their own business. Knowledge is power and mentoring will give them strength. How we do this is what we’re here to discuss tonight but I hope you all like the name.’
As a round of applause rippled round the room accompanied by cries of, ‘Love it’, I had to swallow the lump in my throat. I was so relieved. Hercules brought me strength. He and his predecessors had provided me with much-needed company over the years and their unconditional love had given me the strength to keep going and face each day.
After we closed The Chocolate Pot for the day on Tuesday, I said I had something to show the team and dashed upstairs. The look of astonishment on their faces when I appeared with a giant house bunny would stay with me forever.
Word spread and I had to bring him down on Wednesday too to introduce him to those who hadn’t been working on Tuesday. And again on Thursday.
Watching them coo and stroke him, it seemed quite ridiculous that I’d ever kept him secret. After all, he had no connection to my past whatsoever. Nobody was going to look at him and suddenly guess everything that I’d kept so well hidden.
15
We decided to initially focus on Whitsborough Bay TEC for Project Hercules as the courses at that college were vocational and therefore the more likely source for budding entrepreneurs. If it went well there, we could extend it to the sixth form college and university.
The TEC Principal, Malcolm Dring, was very receptive to the project and invited me to his staff meeting at the end of January to pitch the idea. In February, we were invited into various lessons to promote our services and we took a table at the careers fair that month which generated a lot of interest.
By early March, we were up and running with our first students, a couple of staff members and a few evening c
lasses attendees – an audience we hadn’t previously considered. It was all fairly informal with students being allocated to the Bay Trader who had the most appropriate expertise but, after a conversation with one of my students, it struck me that there was something we could do that was so much wider than business mentoring.
Olivia was a final-year catering student with a dream of running her own business from a converted horse box that she’d take to festivals and events.
‘I’ve got the horse box already,’ she told me. ‘My grandparents run a farm and they’ve given me a disused one. My dad’s a joiner so he’s going to help me convert it and my mum’s happy to do the driving until I’m old enough for the right licences.’
She had reams of information to show me about the venues she’d visit, the finances, and the food she’d sell. She’d even drawn a sketch of what the finished horse box would look like.
‘This is all very impressive,’ I said. ‘You’ve clearly done stacks of research and you know exactly what you’re doing. So how can I help?’
‘I’ve got no confidence,’ Olivia said.
I flashed her a warm smile. ‘You have just spent twenty minutes talking animatedly to a complete stranger about your well-researched plans. What would make you think you have no confidence?’
‘I know I can cook and I believe in my business idea but I’m really scared of confrontation. What if there’s a queue and someone pushes to the front? What if someone complains about my food and demands their money back? What if another retailer has a go at me for being parked too close to their pitch? I’d die.’
She certainly wouldn’t die but it raised an important need. Whether they were going to set up their own business or seek employment, there was a demand among the students for life skills. The following day, I found myself in Malcolm Dring’s office once more, pitching another idea and, by the time the students returned from the Easter holidays, Project Hercules had extended to include a series of short workshops around self-belief, making a positive first impression and being assertive when facing conflict or negativity.
Partway through my first session on creating positive first impressions, I asked if there were any questions. Glancing round the room, I took in the flushed cheeks and averted gazes and kicked myself. All the students were there because they lacked self-confidence so asking a question out loud in front of their peers was not something they were going to relish.
‘I’m going to hand you some Post-it notes each and I want you to take a few moments to scribble down any questions you might have or observations you want to share about first impressions. When you’ve done that, come up and stick them on the whiteboard and we’ll spend some time going through them. And don’t worry, I won’t ask who wrote what. This is just to get a discussion going based on what you want to know so I can tailor this session for you.’
It took a moment but then one student bent her head and started writing, quickly followed by another. Soon the board was full of colourful Post-it notes. I addressed the first couple then flinched as I removed the third.
‘My first impression of you is that you are naturally confident. There’s no way I’ll ever be like you. Do you have any real idea what it’s like to be shy and scared?’ I read out loud, emphasising the word “real” which had been capitalised and underlined.
I perched against the desk and looked round twelve pairs of curious eyes. ‘It’s a great question and the answer is yes. I know exactly what it’s like. I never used to be like this. You see, my parents died when I was young and I moved from one foster home to the next feeling scared and vulnerable…’
I sat in my car for about ten minutes after that workshop, thinking about what I’d shared and the impact – the positive impact – it had on those young people. I’d been very selective with my information, of course, but the story of a shy young girl moving from home to home then moving away from everything and everyone she knew to set up her own business from scratch really drew them in. They started to ask questions. They wanted to know how I’d done it. How had I overcome my fears? How had I found the strength to change?
The more I opened up, the more they shared about their own inhibitions and, for the first time ever, I realised that my past had the power to do good. Instead of hiding from it, I could harness it and help others face their future.
Since the launch of Project Hercules and the subsequent introduction of my rabbit to my team, I’d continued to ask the team questions and had noticed that they seemed genuinely touched when I enquired after a family member’s health, a night out or an exam result. In return, I shared some snippets about my personal life. It felt uncomfortable at first and quite exposing but I took baby steps and, before I knew it, conversations became natural. I was still guarded, only talking about ‘safe’ everyday subjects like Hercules, Pilates, films I’d watched or books I’d read, preferring to keep the focus on getting to know my team rather than sharing too much about me. They didn’t know anything about my parents or foster families even though I now knew all about their families. I hadn’t told Carly the final part of the story either. I still couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. She remained under the belief that Leanne and Garth had been seeing each other and I hadn’t let her think any differently. It was easier that way.
But as I drove back to The Chocolate Pot after my workshop at the TEC, it struck me that I’d shared something significant about my past with a group of strangers that I hadn’t shared with my team. It was only fair that I let them in a bit more, starting with Maria.
It was raining heavily by the time I got back to The Chocolate Pot. The combination of the bad weather and it being late afternoon meant there were only a handful of customers. Most of the cleaning had already been done and Molly was busy giving the menus a wipe. I asked Sheila and Molly to hold the fort while I went upstairs for a word with Maria.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ I said as she sat opposite me with her hands tightly gripped round a mug of tea. ‘I want to tell you something but it doesn’t affect this place or the wedding so please don’t panic.’
She let out a sigh of relief. ‘I thought you were going to tell me they’d made a mistake and revoked the wedding licence.’
‘Nothing like that. It’s about me. You might have wondered why I never talk about my family and there’s a very good reason…’
Maria only needed the highlights – not the (almost) full story I’d given to Carly. I told her about losing my parents and going into foster care. I told her I got married when I was twenty-one but it turned out to be a big mistake and the marriage ended quickly and badly leaving me with serious trust issues so I avoided relationships. As for Kirsten and Tim, I went for something vague: They were wonderful people but their daughter resented sharing them and turned against me. I thought it would be better to sever contact than cause a family rift.
‘I don’t like to talk about it,’ I said, ‘but it cropped up today when I told the students I hadn’t always been confident. It’s a small town and someone here is bound to have some sort of friend-of-a-friend connection to one of them so I’d rather you and the rest of the team heard it from me.’
‘You’re going to tell the others?’
I nodded. ‘I don’t want to make a big thing of it but I’ll try to slip it into conversations over the next couple of weeks.’
She nodded. ‘I won’t say anything.’
We both stood up and pushed our chairs in but Maria didn’t move away from the table.
‘I get why you didn’t say anything before,’ she said. ‘It can be hard to talk about the past, particularly if it’s a difficult one.’ She picked up her mug and walked towards the stairs then turned and smiled gently. ‘Don’t let your past define you, Tara. You’re stronger than that. And don’t feel you have to tell people about it. You choose what to share and you choose when and, if you really want to share, then find the truth that works for you. People don’t have to know your deepest secrets to know you. I never knew anything a
bout your past until now but I think I know you pretty well. You don’t work with someone as long as I’ve worked with you and not get a real sense of exactly who they are.’
She smiled again and skipped down the stairs, leaving me with my mouth open. I certainly hadn’t seen that coming.
16
On Friday 4th May, I turned thirty-six. I was awake before Hercules again and lay staring at the ceiling, very aware of an approaching anniversary. On my birthday fourteen years ago, I was blissfully happy, very much in the honeymoon-phase of my marriage, I loved my job at Vanilla Pod and counted my blessings for being part of a caring loving family. Little did I know that my entire world was about to collapse a few days later. Tuesday would signal fourteen years since I discovered my husband wasn’t the person I thought he was. Wednesday would be the anniversary of finding out the truth and Thursday would mark fourteen years since I fled from my old life and let fate decide my future.
Was it time to finally tell Carly the truth about Leanne and Garth? It was May Day Bank Holiday weekend so we’d both be exceptionally busy but it would be Bay Trade again the following Monday and, like me, Carly didn’t like to miss a meeting. Maybe she’d be free to join me afterwards for the final part of my life story.
I didn’t tell my team that it was my birthday because it still didn’t feel like it was cause for celebration. Maybe I’d celebrate it next year. Or the year after.
The usual card arrived via the solicitor from Kirsten and Tim, which I whisked away and placed on the internal stairs before anyone saw it. I’d add it to the back of the box, unopened, after work.
‘I’m getting bored of the gym,’ Nathan said, looking up from mopping the floor in front of the counter after we’d closed for the day. ‘I’m thinking about taking up swimming again.’
Starry Skies Over the Chocolate Pot Cafe Page 11