Starry Skies Over the Chocolate Pot Cafe

by Jessica Redland

  My phone rang.

  ‘Hi, Tara,’ Carly said. ‘Just checking whether now’s a good time to bring the cake over.’

  ‘Perfect timing. I’m downstairs.’

  ‘Bethany and I will be there in two minutes.’

  I was opening a packet of silver serviettes when there was a knock on the door. Pulling it wide, I expected to see Carly and Bethany.

  ‘Oh. It’s you,’ I snapped, instantly feeling on edge. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Do you greet all your customers like this?’ Jed looked and sounded amused which only wound me up more.

  ‘No. But you’re not a customer. You’re a…’ I stopped myself just in time. He really wasn’t worth it and I resented how much he’d occupied my thoughts over the past few weeks.

  ‘I’m a what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It clearly does or you wouldn’t have started to say it. Go on. Spit it out. I’m not a customer. I’m a…’

  ‘You’re just the former owner of this building and an arrogant con artist.’ There! I’d said it. And, my goodness, did it feel good to finally tell him what I thought of him after all these years.

  But Jed looked shell-shocked. ‘I’m a what?’

  I planted my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at him, determined not to feel guilty for calling him on his deception. I wasn’t the one in the wrong. ‘You heard me.’

  ‘And what am I supposed to have done to be labelled “an arrogant con artist”?’

  ‘Oh, don’t play the innocent with me. You ripped me off when I bought this place.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Wanting ten grand more or you’d sell to a mystery new buyer. You knew I’d have no choice but to cough up because we’d already started on the refurb. I can’t believe I fell for that no-catch-nothing-in-it-for-me bollocks. Then there was the leaky roof that you’d had temporarily patched. Cheers for that. It cost me nearly ten grand extra to sort that out too. And all because you threw a strop that I only wanted to buy the building and not your failing café.’

  He stared at me for a moment, mouth open. Ha! There wasn’t much he could say to that, was there?

  ‘Coming through with a cake,’ Carly called.

  Jed stepped aside to allow Bethany and Carly to shuffle into the café, holding the cake between them.

  ‘There’s a round table for it over there.’ I pointed then turned my attention back to Jed. ‘Did you knock on the door for a reason?’

  ‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter. I can see you’re busy. I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I…’ He shook his head. ‘Forget it. It doesn’t matter.’ He turned away and I closed and locked the door. Idiot.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I said to Carly and Bethany.

  ‘Who was that?’ Bethany asked. ‘He’s dreamy.’

  I frowned. ‘Really? Why does everyone keep saying that?’

  ‘Because he is,’ Carly said, ‘and even you admitted the other day that he was good-looking. It’s only because you can’t stand him that you refuse to admit he’s gorgeous.’

  ‘But who is he?’ Bethany persisted.

  ‘It’s Jed. Our new neighbour,’ I said.

  ‘From the gallery?’ she asked. ‘Is it true that he’s opening a café?’

  I nodded.

  ‘We don’t know that for certain,’ Carly said. ‘He’s not categorically said he’s opening a café, has he? And nobody else seems to know for definite. Right now, it’s speculation because of what he used to do.’

  ‘What else would he do, though?’

  Carly smiled. ‘Tara! He’s been living in Australia for fourteen years. He could have retrained several times over and got a stack of new skills. Just because he had a café before doesn’t mean he’s going to open another one.’

  ‘Maybe not. But he could have made it clear from the outset if that wasn’t the case.’

  ‘Maybe he wants to keep what he’s doing confidential, just in case anyone else beats him to it,’ Bethany suggested.

  ‘Okay. I admit defeat. There is a slim possibility he might not be setting up a café. But I don’t want to talk about him anymore. Let’s see this cake.’

  Carly carefully lifted off the tall cardboard box that had been covering it.

  ‘Aw, it’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Carly said. ‘It’s simple but effective.’

  It was a three-tier sponge cake and I knew that Maria and the kids had chosen a different flavour per layer. George had gone for chocolate cake, Sofia had chosen vanilla and Maria had picked toffee sponge. Each tier was decorated with sugar ruffles, starting in deep grey, graduating into light grey then steadily becoming ivory as they reached the top layer. Ruffled pale pink roses adorned the various layers and a cute penguin bride and groom wedding topper – chosen by George and Sofia – stood among the roses on the top layer.

  ‘Do you want to look round before everyone gets here?’ I asked Carly. ‘It might help you visualise how you can use the space for your engagement party.’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘I’ve got a few bits to sort out so help yourself.’

  The pair of them headed towards the back of the café then disappeared upstairs. Five minutes later, they reappeared.

  ‘It looks amazing,’ Carly said. ‘Even better than I imagined.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Bethany added. ‘I love it.’

  ‘I’d better go and get changed,’ Carly said. ‘See you in a bit.’ She went over to the round table and adjusted the angle of the cake stand then grabbed the cardboard box and I let them both out.

  I was about to shut the door when I spotted Jed marching towards me across the cobbles.

  ‘What now?’ I snapped.

  Solemn-faced, he handed me an envelope, then turned to leave.

  ‘What’s this?’

  He turned round again with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, a tenderness in his voice I hadn’t heard before. ‘I honestly didn’t know. It explains a lot.’ Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed back to his shop.

  Weird. I was about to tear the envelope open when Nathan and Molly arrived back, with Sheila and Brandon just behind them. Nathan put some music on, a few more of the team arrived, and soon The Chocolate Pot was a hive of noise and activity. I shoved the envelope against the coffee machine, out of sight, out of mind.

  24

  Marc and Maria’s wedding was lovely. The celebrant had a great sense of humour and she involved Sofia and George in the ceremony.

  George was Marc’s best man, wearing grey trousers and a waistcoat with a matching bow tie. Sofia was a bridesmaid along with Callie’s daughter, Esme, in silvery-grey dresses with sparkly bodices and big net skirts. Maria wore a simple but exquisite dress with silver detailing on the back and round the waist and Marc wore a grey three-piece suit with a pale pink cravat and pocket handkerchief.

  The whole thing made me feel a little dreamy about doing it all again, one day, but with someone who actually loved me. Then I quickly forced that thought out of my mind. Never going to happen.

  There weren’t any formal speeches. When we moved downstairs for a glass of bubbly, Marc and Maria each proposed a toast, then George and Sofia got in on the act and proposed their own. The two children were so adorable that I started imagining how it might be to have kids of my own. It was overpowering and I had to take a few minutes in the kitchen to get my act together. Marriage? Kids? Neither of those things were ever going to happen. I had some great friends who I’d finally (almost fully) let in, but I was never going to look for love again. Been there, done that, got the broken heart, bruised ego and emotional scars for life. Yes, I sometimes felt very alone but that’s how it had to be.

  The party had pretty much wound up by 11 p.m. What was left of the cleaning could wait until the morning.

  I locked up after the last person left and leaned against the door, smiling. What a great success. Maria and Marc said it
had been everything they’d dreamed of, and I’d had compliments galore from the guests about the food and the venue. There was definitely scope for expanding the business into functions next year.

  Even though I felt absolutely shattered, I needed some time to wind down. I’d have quite liked to sit in the café, taking it all in, but I was conscious that Hercules had been on his own for far longer than usual and would be desperate for some attention. I’d nipped up to give him fresh food, but hadn’t felt I could stay away from the wedding for long.

  I removed my sandals and gratefully slipped my feet into my ballet pumps, then carried my sandals and one of the floral arrangements that Maria had insisted I have up the two flights. I placed them outside my flat door, then came back down for a hot chocolate. As I was making it, my eyes fell on the envelope Jed had handed me earlier. I’d completely forgotten about that. Sighing, I reached for it, finished making my drink, then locked up fully and switched off the lights.

  ‘Hercules?’ I called, unlocking the door to my flat. ‘Where’s my gorgeous boy?’ He must have heard me coming up the stairs as he was already by the door, scut wagging. ‘Let me put everything down, then I’ll give you some attention.’

  I slipped into some snuggly clothes, then picked up my drink and the envelope, settling on the sofa with Hercules. ‘Let’s see what that idiot has to say.’ I ripped open the envelope and took out a piece of A4 paper, folded into three. As I opened it out, a smaller piece of paper fell onto my lap. I picked that up and gasped. It was a cheque for £25,000. What?

  Tara

  If I looked shocked when you explained why you believe me to be “an arrogant con artist”, that’s because I was. We agreed a price for the sale of the premises 14 years ago and, as far as I knew, that was the price you’d paid. I was stunned by what you said and thought there had to be some mistake, but I’ve made some calls and discovered the truth.

  Please find enclosed a cheque for £25k to reimburse you for the over-payment on the premises, taking into account the loss of interest and the inconvenience. I hope you find this sufficient.

  I apologise for any anxiety or financial hardship you may have experienced.

  Best wishes,

  Jed

  PS I hope the wedding went well. From what I could see, The Chocolate Pot looked amazing.

  Shaking my head, I read the note over and over again. What? What? He didn’t know? How could he not know? It made no sense. It was his business. He’d signed all the paperwork agreeing the final sum. Hadn’t he? Putting my mug, the cheque and the letter down on the coffee table, I ran up the stairs to the mezzanine and located the box file from the sale of the property. Resting it on my desk, I flicked through the papers until I found the sale documents. Yes, there it was – J Ferguson. I squinted at the signature. Actually, that looked more like an ‘I’ than a ‘J’. I flicked back a page. Oh my word. Owner: Jed Ferguson. Owner and Financial Director: Ingrid Ferguson. His wife had been the one behind the finances.

  I slumped onto my desk chair staring at the paperwork. All of these years, I’d hated that man for ripping me off and he’d known nothing about it. I pictured his face when I’d hurled the accusation at him earlier. He’d genuinely looked stunned but I’d assumed it was shock at my outburst or perhaps surprise that I’d clearly held a grudge for so many years. I hadn’t for one second imagined the shock was because he hadn’t known what I was talking about.

  Abandoning the paperwork on the desk, I returned to Hercules. ‘What am I going to do? There’s no way I can keep the cheque. I’ll have to return it tomorrow. Oh my God, Hercules. I can’t believe it. I’ve hated that man for over fourteen years and I’ve hated the wrong person. I’m going to have to give him one hell of an apology.’ I pulled Hercules to my side, stroking his ears. ‘He’s still arrogant, though. And smug.’ But my words faltered. Was he? Or had I just assumed that because I’d been so full of contempt for him because of what I thought he’d done?

  25

  The former gallery was a hive of activity all week, but there was no sign of Jed. I’d crossed the cobbles on several occasions during Tuesday, cheque in hand, and spoken to a different tradesperson each time, yet none of them seemed to know whether Jed was expected on site or not. After turning up twice at my Pilates class when I really didn’t want to see him, he didn’t show up on Tuesday night. Typical.

  After traipsing back and forth across the cobbles several times on Wednesday, I left a message with one of the builders to say that, if he appeared, could he come over to The Chocolate Pot. I wasn’t convinced it would get to him, but I didn’t have time to keep seeking him out. I was desperate to get the cheque back to him but returning it with an apology note seemed woefully inadequate. I definitely needed to speak to him in person and clear the air.

  It was mid-afternoon on Thursday when Carly burst through the door, clutching an iPad. ‘Have you seen them?’ she cried, dashing to the counter.

  My heart thumped. ‘Is it the shortlist?’ Several weeks ago, it had been confirmed that The Chocolate Pot was nominated for Best Café or Bistro in the Best of The Bay Awards, but the nominations had then progressed through a judging panel with the shortlists due to be announced today.

  ‘Here.’ She thrust the iPad at me.

  I cast my eye down the shortlist and squealed.

  ‘I’m so proud of you,’ Carly gave me a huge hug. ‘I’ve got to get back, but I wanted to check you’d seen them.’

  Grinning, I went into the kitchen. ‘We’ve been shortlisted,’ I announced, jumping up and down.

  ‘As if there was any doubt,’ Sheila said, beaming. ‘Congratulations, my dear.’

  ‘It’s all of us,’ I insisted. ‘I’m not The Chocolate Pot. We are.’

  Returning to the counter, I caught the attention of Ellen and Brandon, to give them the news, then texted everyone else.

  The rest of the afternoon seemed to pass in a blur of text messages and people dropping in to congratulate me. It was only as I turned the sign round to ‘closed’ that I realised that Joyce and Peter hadn’t been in for their afternoon tea which was unusual. I hoped that neither of them was ill as it was very rare they missed a Thursday. Damn! I’d hoped to pump Joyce for information about Jed’s ex-wife and her part in running Ferguson’s.

  Saturday – the day of the Best of The Bay Awards – dawned cold and crisp. I stood in the open doorway to The Chocolate Pot at 6.30 a.m., sipping on a latte, drinking in the peace and quiet before Castle Street and Whitsborough Bay came alive.

  Beneath the soft glow of the streetlights, frost glistened on the cobbles like tiny crystals. With an hour still to go until sunrise, the sky was inky black above the shops and cafés. A half-moon rested among a blanket of stars. I gazed up towards the sky for several minutes. ‘You’ll be there tonight, won’t you? Please say you will.’

  ‘At the Awards?’

  I snapped my head round. Jed. He was standing a couple of feet away, a bemused expression on his face.

  ‘Erm, I—’ I glanced up at the sky again then back to Jed. How could I say I wasn’t talking to him without sounding snappy? And I could hardly tell him I was talking to my parents, could I?

  ‘Congratulations on making the shortlist, by the way,’ he said. ‘I hope you win.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘I’m serious.’ He inclined his head towards The Chocolate Pot. ‘You’ve transformed that place and if all your food is as good as that millionaire’s shortbread Anastasia gave me, then you’ve transformed the food too.’

  I stared at him, waiting for the insult, but none came. And, for some reason, words evaded me too.

  ‘Yes, well, I came in early for a reason,’ he said. ‘Good luck for tonight.’ Then he turned and strode across the cobbles, letting himself into the gallery without a backwards glance.

  Taking a final deep breath of fresh air, I stepped back inside, closed and locked the door, then ventured into the kitchen to start on the baking for the day. What just happened
? Had he actually been nice to me? And had I just been horrible again? Oh no! The cheque! I never mentioned the cheque. All week I’d been hoping to catch him to return it and apologise. First opportunity to do so and all I’d done was stare at him and accuse him of not wanting The Chocolate Pot to win an award. What was wrong with me? I’d never been nasty to anyone in my whole life. Until Jed. Was this how it felt to walk in Leanne’s shoes? I didn’t like it one little bit.

  As I lightly kneaded the cheese scones, my thoughts drifted from Jed to the awards ceremony itself. The Best of The Bay Awards were all about celebrating independent businesses in Whitsborough Bay and the surrounding villages and had been set up a few years ago by the Mayor. Each year new categories were added and this was the first time there’d been a specific category for cafés and bistros. We’d been nominated for best business each year but, with so much competition, we’d never made the shortlist, so this year was particularly exciting.

  There was going to be a glitzy awards ceremony in a venue called The Bay Pavilion at the far end of South Bay. Businesses could only have tickets for a maximum of eight attendees, taking a full table. With twenty staff, I hated that I couldn’t take everyone. It was only right that Maria attended as assistant manager. For the remaining six spaces, I checked who was free and wanted to attend, then got them to each draw paper straws. What else could I do?

  I was a little surprised to see Joyce and Peter taking a seat mid-afternoon. ‘We missed you on Thursday,’ I said, going over to their table once they’d settled.