Starry Skies Over the Chocolate Pot Cafe

by Jessica Redland

  ‘Sick grandchild crisis,’ Joyce said. ‘My daughter was on a training course in York so she couldn’t get home to collect her from school.’

  ‘We thought we’d brave a Saturday,’ Peter said. ‘Bit too busy in town for my liking, though.’

  ‘Especially approaching Christmas,’ I said. ‘Is it the usual?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ they chorused.

  ‘I’ll put your order through, then do you mind if I come back and ask you something?’

  With their permission, I returned to their table a few minutes later and sat down. ‘It’s about your friends, the Fergusons, and this place,’ I said. ‘This was originally their business, wasn’t it?’

  Joyce nodded. ‘Yes. They took it on in the early eighties, I think.’

  ‘And they passed it to Jed when they retired?’

  ‘No,’ Peter said. ‘Ingrid’s parents bought them out.’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t realise that.’

  ‘They’d have loved to give it to him,’ Joyce said, ‘but they needed to sell up so they could pay off their mortgage and retire early. Ingrid begged her parents to buy it for her and, what Ingrid wants, Ingrid gets.’

  ‘Joyce!’ Peter warned.

  ‘I’m not being nasty. It’s the truth. She pestered them until they agreed. They transferred it into Ingrid and Jed’s names although Ingrid had the biggest share. I don’t know why she did it, Tara, because she was a nurse. She had no plans to give up nursing and Jed never wanted to run it. Poor lad was left with no choice. His heart was never in it, though.’

  Lana appeared with their pots of tea.

  ‘I’ll leave you in peace,’ I said, standing up. ‘Thanks for that, though. It’s good to know.’

  ‘Good luck for tonight,’ Peter said.

  ‘Thank you. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘You’ll walk it,’ Joyce said. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  I’d been hearing that from customers all day and I really wanted to believe it, but I didn’t dare. The Pollyanna still lurking inside me was glad to have been shortlisted – an amazing achievement in a town bursting with cafés and bistros – yet being shortlisted wasn’t enough. I wanted to win. So very much.

  26

  ‘You look amazing,’ Maria said when I met her in the entrance of The Bay Pavilion that evening ready for the Best of The Bay Awards. ‘That’s one serious award-winning dress.’

  I gave her a twirl. ‘It’s not too much?’

  ‘It’s stunning.’

  I’d chosen a deep purple dress with a fitted sleeveless bodice embellished with silver glitter, and layers of tulle on the skirts covered with smaller sprinkles of glitter like stars. I actually felt incredible in the dress and strappy silver sandals, but had been worried it was too dressy. Seeing other guests in floor-length gowns, though, my worries dissipated.

  ‘Wow!’ I said, stepping into the function room when the rest of the team had arrived. ‘They’ve certainly pulled out all the stops.’

  Two enormous Christmas trees – must have been about twelve feet each – flanked a stage on which there was a microphone podium. Behind that, a large screen displayed rolling images of the nominated businesses in the various categories. Silver, lilac and purple baubles and ornaments hung from the tree branches among purple and white fairy lights. Garlands in matching colours were strung across the walls and wrapped around pillars. The round tables carried the same colour scheme, with deep purple cloths, silver runners and centrepieces created from church candles, pinecones, ivy, and silver and purple baubles.

  ‘I match the colour scheme,’ I said to Maria.

  ‘Must be a good omen,’ she replied.

  Several tables were already full and the excited chatter almost blocked out the Christmas music. We sat down, the team insisting that I took the chair with the best access to the stage ready for collecting the award.

  The meal was delicious but I struggled with more than a few mouthfuls of each course. It felt like there was a plane in my stomach doing constant loop-the-loops, making me quite nauseous. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so nervous about anything in my life. Why was this getting to me so much? I’d never had a competitive personality. Yes, I’d wanted The Chocolate Pot to succeed and do well, but that was about me being personally driven for success, not about being in competition with others. So why did I so desperately want to win this award?

  As the ceremony started, I looked round at the seven eager faces and that plane swooped again. That’s when it struck me why I was so nervous and why this was so important – I wanted to win for them more than I wanted it for me. They deserved it. I had such a strong, reliable, committed team and I wanted them to get the recognition they deserved.

  ‘The next award is a new category for this year,’ announced the compere, Drew Silvers, one of the DJs from Bay Radio. ‘It’s for the best café or bistro in and around Whitsborough Bay. The nominations in alphabetical order are, The Chocolate Pot, Evie’s, Number 23 and Snackies.’ Drew paused as he opened a silver envelope. I could feel everyone watching me as I stared into my coffee and scrunched my napkin on my lap. Please let us win. Please.

  ‘And the winner is…’

  Swoop went the plane.

  ‘…The Chocolate Pot.’

  My heart was beating so fast, I felt as though it could leap out of my chest at any moment. Hand clamped across my mouth, I looked round the table. My team had all leapt to their feet, cheering and clapping, and I felt such a burst of pride. We’d done it. The team had done it. Pushing back my chair, I made my way towards the stage.

  The Lady Mayor was waiting at the top of the steps. She shook my hand, kissed me on both cheeks, then led me to the podium where Drew did the same before handing me an envelope and a large glass star on a silver plinth.

  ‘If you want to say a few words…?’ He indicated the microphone.

  I looked round the room at the sea of faces, all smiling at me, then paused as I spotted Jed on one of the front tables to the right. His smile brightened as I caught his eye and he did look genuinely pleased for me. How strange. Focus, though. I needed to focus.

  Leaning into the microphone, unable to stop smiling, I said, ‘From the bottom of my heart, a huge thank you to everyone who voted for The Chocolate Pot. My name’s Tara and I’m the owner and manager. I’m thrilled to be holding this tonight, but this award isn’t for me. This is for my dream team without whom The Chocolate Pot wouldn’t be nominated for an award, let alone be receiving one. I’m so lucky to have been blessed with a wonderful assistant manager, Maria, and a fabulous team. It doesn’t matter whether they work full- or part-time, they’re all enthusiastic, passionate and committed to working hard and delivering exceptional service.’ I held the star in the air and looked directly at table six. ‘This is for all of you and those who couldn’t be here tonight. You made this happen. Not me. You.’

  I moved away from the microphone as the audience applauded again. A photographer stepped onto the stage and took several photos, then I was free to return to the team, a big lump in my throat but a huge grin on my face. I deliberately placed the star right in the middle of the table. ‘For all of you,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

  I couldn’t wait for the awards to finish so I could get a round of drinks in and celebrate properly. I was so incredibly proud of everything we’d achieved. The Chocolate Pot meant so much to me and to have that recognised in this way was such an honour. My parents and my foster parents would have been so proud of me. If only they were here to see it.

  A few swigs of my wine were definitely needed to calm my nerves. I discreetly opened the envelope which contained a congratulations card, a certificate and a cheque for £500. Very nice. I’d divide that among the team in addition to their usual Christmas bonus.

  It took another four awards before the shaking finally subsided and my heart was beating at a normal pace. Huge respect to anyone nominated for a BAFTA, Grammy or Oscar. How they managed to look so calm and composed with millions watchi
ng was beyond me. It was such a thrilling, exciting, amazing moment.

  ‘And for the final award of the night,’ said Drew. ‘This is also a new award this year. You may have noticed that we haven’t revealed a shortlist for this one and that’s because there was one very clear winner as far as the judging panel were concerned. And, when you’ve watched this video, you’ll understand why.’

  The stage lights dimmed and a video began playing on the large screen. I recognised an image of The Hope Centre, then the manager, Jim. He briefly explained what they did over footage of their various activities. Had The Hope Centre received an award too? I hoped so. They did such valuable work. I’d spotted Jim and a few of his colleagues at the other end of the function room and made a mental note to catch up with them later.

  ‘Tara got in touch shortly after we opened to ask if she could help with food,’ Jim said on the film.

  That plane did a loop-the-loop in my stomach again. Had he just mentioned my name?

  ‘She has a café in town, you see – The Chocolate Pot – and they pride themselves on their freshly made home-cooked food.’

  My heart began thumping again and I glanced round the table. Most of them were focused on the film, but Maria turned to face me and winked before turning her attention back to the screen.

  The film showed Castle Street and The Hope Centre’s van parked outside The Chocolate Pot. I could be seen handing over a couple of boxes and laughing with Jim.

  ‘There’s sometimes a whole quiche or cake in the boxes,’ Jim said. ‘She pretends they’re spare, but I know she’s made them especially for us. Thing is, it isn’t just Tara now. She persuaded other businesses on Castle Street to contribute, and then extended it throughout the town. We’re so grateful to everyone, but extra grateful to Tara for being the one who started it all. And, as if that wasn’t enough, she now runs workshops on cooking with a budget too. She’s amazing.’

  My heart continued to race as various users of The Hope Centre added in their thanks and explained what the food contributions meant to them and their families. I’d known I was helping, but to see and hear from those who had so little and relied on donations was humbling. Yet that wasn’t why I’d come up with the idea. I felt sick. If only they knew.

  The image changed to Whitsborough Bay TEC and the Principal, Malcolm Dring, being interviewed outside the entrance.

  ‘Tara approached me at the start of this year,’ Malcolm said. ‘She said she wanted to give something back to the community and would I consider her and some of the other business owners running a mentoring programme for students interested in running their own businesses. Would I ever? Such a great idea. I never dreamed that Project Hercules would take off in the way it has and become so much more for so many of our students.’

  Students I’d helped over the past eight months appeared on the screen, talking about how I’d supported them in setting up a small business, or learning about finances, or in building their confidence.

  Members of Bay Trade talked about how I’d helped them. Carly talked about how supportive I’d been when she set up Carly’s Cupcakes. The traders talked about me giving out free drinks at the traders’ Christmas tree lights switch-on, not expecting anything in return. A few charity leaders talked about how I regularly supported their causes with donations of afternoon tea for two. Then, finally, the filming moved into The Chocolate Pot and a few team members talked about what I was like as a boss. I turned and looked round the table again, astonished. They were all in on it. They knew and nobody had breathed a single word.

  But did they know I was a fraud?

  The film ended with flashing images of all the participants saying thank you.

  ‘I’m pretty sure there’s one person in the room who is in shock right now,’ Drew said. ‘And that’s the person who that film was all about. She’s already picked up an award for her business tonight and made it very clear that it was for the team and not her. Well, this award is very much for her. The very first award for Outstanding Contribution to the Community goes to Tara Porter from The Chocolate Pot. Welcome to the stage again, Tara.’

  Everyone in the room was on their feet, clapping and cheering, as I made my way to the front, heart thumping, stomach churning. Handshakes and kisses were given, then I found myself in front of the podium for the second time in the space of half an hour only this time I didn’t feel proud. I didn’t feel elation. I felt sick. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Thank you everybody for such a warm reception.’ My voice was shaking. What the hell was I supposed to say? ‘Drew wasn’t exaggerating when he said that I’d be in shock right now. Oh my goodness. I would never in a million years have predicted this.’ I shook my head and took another deep breath. ‘It was the weirdest thing just now watching that film and having this realisation that it was me they were talking about because all those lovely things those people said about me… well, I don’t think of myself like that. Those people on the film, they’re the real stars. Jim and the team at The Hope Centre quite literally give hope to those who need it. I just donate some food. And those students at the TEC? They had it in themselves and only needed a little encouragement and direction. I’m so proud of each and every one of those people in the video and I’m privileged that they’ve let me be part of their journey to success.’ I paused for a moment and looked across at Carly who was wiping tears away. Raising the star in the air, I added, ‘This one’s for everyone in that video…’ I took a deep breath and fought hard to keep my voice steady. ‘And it’s for my parents and my foster parents who taught me everything I know. I wish they could have been around to see this.’ My voice broke and I only just managed to whisper, ‘Thank you again.’

  I stepped away from the podium, blinking in the bright lights. What had I said? Had I just mentioned my parents and foster parents? What had made me do that?

  ‘Just a few photos,’ Drew said, directing me to face the photographer.

  I tried my hardest to smile, but it was all too overwhelming and all I wanted to do was escape from the lights and the camera flash and release the scream I could feel building up inside me. I half expected someone to tap me on the shoulder and ask me to hand back the award because they’d made a mistake and discovered that my initial motivation for all those things had been a selfish one – to keep myself occupied so I wouldn’t have to face up to how lonely I was. A chat to Jim each evening when he picked up the donations for The Hope Centre, one evening a month at Bay Trade, and several evenings with the students at the TEC had saved me from the routine of returning to my flat after work, all alone, and not speaking to another soul until the following morning. I’d tried to take my loneliness and bury it in a chest in the sand, but there was no use denying it. Watching that video, everyone would have seen Tara the philanthropist. What I saw was Tara-No-Mates. Tara who had nobody. Like someone gaining weight and refusing to acknowledge it by avoiding full-length mirrors, I’d avoided acknowledging the truth about my situation, but that film had been a mirror held up to me and I didn’t like what it really showed.

  There was no denying it. I had to accept that I really had made a huge mistake in shutting myself off from relationships and setting myself up for a lonely love-less existence because of one failed marriage. All round me were happy couples at exciting stages of their relationship – Maria and Marc starting married life, Carly and Liam getting engaged, and new love blossoming between Nathan and Molly. And I had nobody. I knew it was my fault. I knew I’d sworn off men because of Garth, but more and more often recently…

  I was swamped with hugs from the team as I returned to the table. The Lady Mayor was making some closing comments and I knew that, if I didn’t get out now, there’d be a parade of people wanting to congratulate me. Grabbing my pashmina from the back of my chair, I whispered to Maria, ‘I’m having a hot flush. Just getting some air.’ I pressed my purse into her hand. ‘Will you get everyone a drink on me?’ Before she could answer, I dashed out of the room.

  T
he cool air hit me as I approached the entrance. Shaking out my pashmina, I pulled it round my shoulders. It wasn’t going to be much protection against the cold November evening but I had to escape.

  The Bay Pavilion overlooked the far end of South Bay. It was an impressive Victorian building consisting of a theatre, concert hall, restaurant, bars and several function rooms all nestled round a huge courtyard and bandstand, the latter being used for summer weddings and outdoor concerts. Out the front and to the right was a stone covered walkway with pillars framing the sea, embedded into a low wall that was occasionally interrupted by steps down to the sand. Lanterns strung between the pillars dimly lit the path. Gulping in the sea air, I ran down The Bay Pavilion steps and along to the far end of the walkway, tears pouring down my cheeks. I could feel the cries of anguish bubbling inside me and threatening to erupt like a volcano. ‘Argh!’ I cried, beating my fist against the final stone column. ‘Argh!’

  For a moment, I thought I was going to be sick, but the nausea passed and I slumped onto the wall, leaning against the column and pulling my pashmina tightly round me. Breathe in… breathe out… breathe in…

  Eventually, my breathing slowed in time to the waves lapping against the wall. Wow! Where had that come from? It had felt almost primeval, this desperate need to release my anguish.

  ‘Tara? Are you okay?’

  I looked up to see Jed standing a few feet away. How much had he seen and heard? I prayed it hadn’t been the screaming. The standard response at times like this was, ‘I’m fine,’ but it was pretty obvious I wasn’t.

  Swallowing hard, I took another deep breath. ‘It was a bit overwhelming and emotional,’ I said, wiping at my cheeks.

  ‘May I…?’ He indicated the wall beside me.

  I nodded.

  ‘It seems you’ve made quite an impact on this town.’