The day Cherry officially opened ‘Samuel and Daughter’ was a roaring success. She had never seen so many people in one room – nor had she ever seen so many Meddlums. They had all tried to crush through the doors at once but something had blocked them and so they’d had to settle for standing at the threshold. They cowered, resorting to waiting outside, like dogs for their owners, yowling impatiently, and each time someone took a bite of cake, one of the Meddlums shrunk and the doorway started to clear. They even threw their crooked limbs around each other in fear.
Even those who insisted they didn’t have a sweet enough tooth for Cherry’s delights were soon won over when even just the whiff of a Contentment Cookie had them smiling. No one left that day feeling like their problems were unmanageable. Every person had a sudden new zest for life and everyone returned the following day. And the day after that. And the one after that. By the end of the month, Cherry had shrunk seven Meddlums to the size of spiders and the rest weren’t far behind. What happens if they all disappear? Cherry thought. She now worried that if she continued to serve them good feeling, her friends might start to swing in the other direction. A town filled with the obsessively overjoyed with no worries to keep them balanced sounded almost as scary as the town she had started with. Can you have too much of a good thing? she thought.
Cherry soon had her answer in the form of the biggest Meddlum she had ever seen. It was so big that it didn’t fit in its owner’s house any more. Instead, it sat in the front garden, shivering and unimpressed. It belonged to Terrance Figgis. Terrance was having issues writing his latest novel so Cherry had served him a Motivation Muffin every time he’d come into the bakery.
‘Five hundred and eighty-six words. That’s it! Can you believe that? Something else is always just… more important.’ Terrance put his head in his hands in despair. Cherry slid a muffin under his nose.
‘I always find a muffin helps me get my brain in gear,’ Cherry said with a smirk. It turned out, however, that too much Motivation keeps you up for hours on end, working and working and working. In Terrance’s quest to find Motivation, he had found Exhaustion instead and it was now sitting in his garden, getting larger by the day. Balance, Cherry had realised then, was of the utmost importance. From then, she tried to make her customers’ usual orders without the extra added feeling but they soon noticed the difference and returned to ask, ‘Have you changed the recipe?’ or, ‘Why doesn’t it taste the same as before?’ Cherry started to panic. She couldn’t go on, filling everyone up with so much good feeling that it spilled out, creating new problems. It would leave them worse than before. Cherry had to do something.
‘I’m moving,’ Cherry announced. The whole bakery fell silent. She hadn’t quite meant to declare it so bluntly but her brain had been whirring and clunking over the idea for weeks and she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer. ‘I’m… moving.’ She said again, a little more gently this time.
‘But… why?’ Mrs Overfield said, a sob catching in her throat. ‘Everything’s so perfect,’ she whispered.
‘A little… too perfect,’ Cherry said, looking around the shop at all the faces she’d grown so fond of in the three months since the bakery had been open.
‘Cherry, you can’t leave. We need you here,’ Miss Kightley sounded matter-of-fact but her eyes were creasing at the edges. Cherry wondered if it was her Softening Soufflé that was causing Miss Kightley to be a little gentler than usual.
‘I don’t think you do,’ Cherry said slowly. ‘For a while, we all needed each other but things are different now. I mean, I didn’t know any of you before I opened this bakery. Not really. And now look at us. We see each other and talk every day. I know your children’s names,’ Cherry said to Mrs Brewer. ‘You know my favourite flowers,’ she said to Felicity and Fawn. ‘I know how each and every one of you takes your tea!’ Cherry felt a lump form in her throat as she realised just how far she’d come. ‘This has all escalated so quickly and I feel like my job here is… kind of… done.’ She shrugged, not knowing what else to say without giving herself away.
‘But Cherry… you can’t just quit. This is a brilliant business. How will you live?’ Mrs O came over and took Cherry’s hand in hers.
‘Oh, I’m not quitting! Never!’ Cherry laughed. ‘It’s just that I feel like I’ve helped a lot of people here. With my baking. Right?’ Everyone in the shop nodding enthusiastically and murmured their appreciation. Mr Datta even raised his plate of Humble Pie and bobbed his head in agreement. ‘Who’s to say there aren’t more people who need a little pick-me-up too?’ Cherry trailed off, wondering if she was being over-ambitious. She thought everyone’s silence was confirmation that yes, that’s exactly what she was being, until Mrs Brewer stood and said, ‘You’re absolutely right, my dear. How selfish of us to try to keep you here!’ She walked over at quite a pace and planted a big wet kiss on Cherry’s cheek, leaving a thick, red lipstick stain behind.
‘Yes, completely right, Mrs B,’ said Mr Datta who barrelled over and hugged Cherry so hard, her feet came off the ground. Cherry had changed Mr Datta more than most. Her pie had given him a whole new lease of life. The less he cared about his hair, about his unfulfilling conquests and about how he wanted everyone else to perceive him, the more room he had in his life to care about the things that really mattered. Like being personable. Like his business and livelihood. Like the child he hadn’t planned on having; a child he’d only spent a handful of hours with since he’d been born ten months ago, a child that Mr Datta hadn’t told anyone about because he was ashamed, and a child he’d often considered a nuisance, a weight that dragged him down. Now, because of the humility Cherry’s pie had given him, his eyes had been opened. Now, he adored his son and wore the bed-head hair and the sick-stained shirts like a badge of honour. They told the world he was a father and he couldn’t be prouder. In turn, the townsfolk couldn’t be prouder of him and his shop was now a friendly, welcoming place where people enjoyed listening to his stories, not of his imaginary adventures, but of his child and his life as a father.
‘We’ll really miss you, Cherry,’ Felicity said, shaking Cherry’s right hand.
‘You should still expect deliveries!’ Fawn added, taking Cherry’s left hand.
‘That’s so lovely of you,’ Cherry said, ‘but I’m not entirely sure where I’ll end up! I’ve not really thought this through.’
‘Well, it’s a good job you’ve got a businesswoman on your side, isn’t it?’ Miss Kightley said, looking up from her phone. She’d been tapping on it for the last few minutes. ‘I’ve just contacted a friend of mine in Cardiff. He’s lost a tenant in one of his properties. It’s a very small little shop. Used to be an ice-cream bar but strangely it didn’t do too well in Wales. There’s a one bedroom flat above the shop. This is the rent. How does that sound?’ She turned her phone to show Cherry the details from her friend. She registered the monthly rent with interest and a growing sense of excitement – she could definitely afford that, for a while at least. Suddenly, moving away was all very real.
‘That sounds… that sounds…’ Cherry looked around at the smiling faces of everyone she’d come to love. Then her gaze drifted past them to the window. There was nothing obstructing the view and she could see the trees swaying in the wind and the spray of the sea in the air. There were a few tiny Meddlums scuttling around on the pavement, but they seemed much more manageable now. There really was nothing tying her to the seaside town – her work here was done. She thought of her inheritance and the money her father’s bakery would fetch. She thought of the freedom of being able to travel wherever she wanted to and of having a purpose.
Cherry turned to face her friends, a happy smile on her face. ‘That sounds marvellous. I’m in.’
6
Cherry Online
Four years and seven months after Cherry had first decided to move on and said goodbye to her father’s bakery and their family home, she found herself by the seaside once more. One night, as she lay in bed ab
ove her bakery in Sheffield, it called out to her. She could hear seagulls and felt the waves crash against the walls of her mind. It was too soon to return back home so she boarded a train and travelled four hours to Plymouth. Another twenty minutes in a cab took her to Royal William Yard where a little pop-up shop was waiting for her. Cherry knew it was too small for a lengthy stay but it would do for a while, just to be close to the sea. And once again, Loneliness wasn’t able to cross the threshold. It often tried to, but each time it burnt its rubbery skin on the invisible barrier. It persevered though and kept running and jumping at the door. Cherry sat and watched for a while, enjoying that wherever she went, Loneliness was never able to enter her bakeries.
After a lot of organising, redecorating and a huge amount of baking, she opened the doors to her new bakery. The benches were polished wood, the walls were papered in gold and turquoise and she’d purchased the old-fashioned cashier till from an antique store. Although Cherry had invited Margie into her bakery before it had been ready, no one visited on the first day. An elderly couple did look into the window, as did their two-headed Meddlum, but they continued on. A group of school children also lingered in the doorway for a minute or two on the second day with their Meddlums, each of them far larger than their owners, all pushing each other out of the way to get a better look, but they didn’t buy anything. Cherry wondered what she was going to do, and then it struck her. She knew just the right person who could help her drum up business in a heartbeat.
‘Miss… Miss Kightley?’ Although Cherry was now used to interacting with people and being talkative and social, she still found Miss Kightley intimidating and at her heart, Cherry was naturally timid.
‘Hello? Who is this?’ Miss Kightley said.
‘It’s Cherry. Cherry Redgrave?’ There was silence on the other end and then Cherry heard Miss Kightley sigh.
‘We thought we’d lost you, dear. Fallen off the planet. It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?’
‘Fine! I think. Maybe.’ Cherry perched on the shop counter, watching potential customers only glance through the windows and then waltz past on their merry way. ‘Maybe not.’
‘It sounds like seeing a bit of the world has done you good, though.’
‘The world? My Flour Power Tour hasn’t made it past the British border! This country is enough to keep me busy for now. Seeing the world is an ambitious idea. Maybe one day.’ Cherry twirled the black cord on her old-fashioned rotary dial phone.
‘Flour Power Tour?’ Miss Kightley chuckled. ‘Well, you sound happy. Now, I take it there’s a reason for this unexpected call? Anything I can do for you?’
‘Just need a bit of advice, really. I’ve just opened a new bakery in Plymouth but no one’s even coming in, let alone buying anything.’
‘Hmm. Why not hold a launch event? Start spreading the word that you’re open for business that way.’
‘Maybe,’ Cherry said. ‘But why would anyone come?’
‘Out of curiosity?’ Miss Kightley suggested. ‘You just need to get a few people there to kick things off. If you sent out the invite to your Facebook followers I’m sure a couple of people would show up, at least!’
‘F… Facebook?’
‘Oh, Cherry. Please tell me you’re on social media? Facebook? Twitter? Instagram? How have you had any business without it?’
‘I… well… I…’
‘The internet can be the making of a business. It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long in this day and age without it. I’ll create the pages and send you all the details in an email. Usernames, passwords, links, you name it, I’ll send it over. What’s your email address?’
Cherry was stunned. ‘Um…’
‘Oh, Cherry.’ Miss Kightley sighed, yet there was a trace of excitement in her voice. Miss Kightley thrived on this kind of thing. ‘Not to worry. I’ll take care of everything. Don’t you worry!’ And with a click, she was gone.
‘The internet,’ Cherry said to herself. She opened the drawer under the counter and rummaged around until she found her old Nokia 3310 that she’d bought when she was a teenager. She’d never bothered upgrading. She hadn’t used it all that much but it was still working, although after she charged it and clicked through various buttons and menus, she realised it didn’t come with in-built internet usage. Not like the fancy touch-screen phones she saw everyone glued to. ‘Really? The internet.’
Cherry didn’t even own a laptop. She’d never had the need for one and she thought they were for authors and editors, photographers and celebrities. She had never dreamed it would benefit her and her business in any way. Word of mouth had always been her biggest ally and that had been enough to get her bakeries going in the past. But that clearly wasn’t going to work this time. Her bakery had never been this hidden away before. Usually enough people wandered past so that at least two or three would have their interest piqued and would come in during the first few days of her being open. They would then tell their friends and their friends would tell their friends and soon her bakery would be full of customers every day. She hadn’t realised how quiet and out of the way Royal William Yard would be when she accepted the tenancy. She was worried, but she also trusted Miss Kightley, who was a successful businesswoman and managed everything online. She knew what she was talking about. Cherry just needed to listen to her. ‘I’ve ventured this far outside of my comfort zone…’ Cherry dropped her Nokia into the bin.
The following day, Cherry opened her bakery later than usual so she could go and purchase a laptop and mobile phone. She charged them for the recommended amount of time while tapping her feet impatiently and keeping an eye on the door, hoping someone would come in and save her the trouble of having to get to grips with all of this unfamiliar technology. But no one came. By the end of yet another completely unsuccessful day, Cherry grabbed a muffin from the display and took a bite out of the top. She wiped her hands on her pyjama bottoms, tentatively opened up the laptop and gingerly pressed the power button with the tip of her finger. The start-up noise made her jump and she closed the lid immediately. A hysterical laugh escaped her lips.
‘Come on, Cherry. You can do this.’ She opened up the laptop once more, this time much more determined and confident, and followed the on-screen instructions. Once that was done, Cherry rang Miss Kightley to ask for her email address and log-in details, and quickly logged into her brand new email account.
DING. The email from Miss Kightley containing all the information about her new social media profiles landed in her inbox. Cherry opened it, a thrill of excitement running through her. She was beginning to understand why people spent so much time online.
@FlourPowerTour
Password: SamuelWouldBeProud
Cherry’s throat squeezed shut for a moment. She gathered herself, took a deep breath and logged into Twitter. Miss Kightley had already sent out a few tweets on her behalf but the account only had one lone follower: Miss Kightley. When Cherry checked her Facebook page she saw that Miss Kightley had already sent out an event invitation for the bakery’s official opening on 13 January. That gave her only five days to prepare and she had a lot of work to do before then. She was determined to make this opening a success.
Her phone vibrated with a text from Miss Kightley. Pictures, it said. It vibrated again. People like pictures.
Cherry unhooked her phone and ran out the door. The January sun had started to set but it had turned the sky orange which looked lovely against the white of the bakery’s shopfront. Even though the shop had no sign, the towering cakes and trays of muffins and scones in the window made it clear this was a bakery. Cherry flipped the camera around and moved to stand in front of the window.
‘Here goes nothing,’ she said as she smiled and took her first selfie.
Cherry took that Sunday to explore a part of Plymouth called The Barbican. There was a little ferry that would take her there. It only cost a pound a ticket, took fifteen minutes and it left from Royal William Yard. She stuffed her bag fu
ll of the flyers she’d had printed for the opening, with the address of the bakery and the date of the event in big bold black letters against ‘cupcake-frosting pink’ paper. (Cherry didn’t realise such a colour existed but the woman in the printing shop assured her it was legitimate. After hearing all about Cherry’s bakery, of course.) She hopped off the boat with the only other two passengers who had taken the trip over. They were looking at her and her striped pyjama bottoms with disdain, even though she was wearing a coat over the top and her nice slippers with the reinforced soles. Cherry couldn’t help but feel a little lost. Although she was so much better at social interaction these days and didn’t feel as awkward around people as she once did, new places still made her feel uneasy. This was ironic considering she moved around so much, but the truth was that Cherry liked comfort and once she’d come to know a place she’d rarely venture further than a mile from her bakery. All she needed was to get through the initial trepidation of being somewhere unfamiliar and then she would finally relax.
‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ Cherry turned back to the boat driver and handed him a slightly creased flyer. ‘My bakery. It’s in Royal William Yard. Officially opens on the thirteenth. Please come? Lots of free samples.’ The driver took the flyer with a smile and nodded his thanks. Satisfied that at least one person might show up out of interest, Cherry turned on her heels and headed for the quaint shops up the little hill.
Cherry pulled out her phone and started taking pictures of the lights above the streets and the old shuttered windows, and sent them to Miss Kightley. I love it here! she wrote and smiled at the ‘boop’ noise the phone made as the message whizzed off. Cherry was staring at her phone, contemplating exactly how the message was transported from one place to another, when someone crashed into her. His sunglasses came clean off his face and his coffee sloshed over the side of his cup and onto his expensive-looking shoes.
All That She Can See Page 5