She’d made Juliette laugh, and by the time the train had pulled up in Cheltenham, they had swapped numbers and agreed to meet up. That had been almost seven years ago, and their friendship was still strong despite Juliette’s move to Cornwall two years before, with her boyfriend Lawrence. Charlie was still touched that Juliette had come back for Hal’s funeral, staying for a couple of weeks to catch up with friends in the area. She had been on Gertie countless times when she’d lived in Cheltenham, and Charlie hadn’t asked her if she was OK.
‘I’m not doing too badly,’ she said now. ‘I’ve been getting on with stuff, which is better than wallowing in the empty flat, or at Mum and Dad’s. Dad’s so cut up about losing Hal. Today is the first time I’ve seen him smile in what feels like for ever.’
‘I know you’re worried about Vince, but you have to think about yourself, too.’ Juliette put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Because it isn’t just Hal, is it? It’s only been a couple of months since you and Stuart … finished. And you’re in the flat, hosting viewings, unsure where you’re going to go once it’s sold. I know you don’t want to go back to living with your parents, and you can’t live on Gertie, as tempting as it is.’ She laughed softly.
‘That’s looking like one of the better options, actually,’ Charlie said, chuckling. ‘What am I going to do with her, Jules? I can’t be a tour guide. I’m a baker, a caterer. I don’t have the gift of the gab like Hal did. But, despite what he said in his letter, I can’t sell her.’ She rubbed her hands over her eyes, realizing too late that they were covered in cleaning spray.
‘This is why you need time,’ Juliette pressed. ‘You need to stop thinking for a bit, give yourself some space before you make any big decisions. The place in Newquay wasn’t brilliant, but our new house in Porthgolow, it’s perfect, Char. It’s so close to the sea. It’s beautiful and quiet, and the people in the village are friendly. Come and stay for a couple of weeks. Bea would give you the time off, wouldn’t she? The hours you’ve put into that café, you’re probably owed months back in overtime.’
‘Working is good for me,’ Charlie insisted but, even as she said it, the thought of returning to the café in Ross-on-Wye, even with its spring-themed window display and the ideas she had for seasonal cakes and sandwiches, didn’t fill her with as much joy as it should. There were too many other thoughts crowding her mind.
‘Take a break,’ Juliette continued. ‘Come and stay with Lawrence and me. I’m sure Marmite would get on fine with Ray and Benton. They’re easy-going cats, and Marmite’s still so small. And the most adorable dog in the world, by the way. I’m so glad you’ve got him to look after you.’
Marmite was sitting on the seat in front of them, scrabbling at the back of the cushion as if there might be a treat hidden somewhere in the fabric. Charlie picked him up and settled him on her lap, rubbing his black-and-tan coat. She pictured the two of them walking along a sandy beach with crystal blue water beyond, to a soundtrack of seagulls and crashing waves. It was certainly a better image than this bland, functional garage or the flat she had shared with Stuart, now empty and soulless. She didn’t want to run away from the hard things in life, but she knew her friend was right.
‘Let me talk to Bea,’ she said decisively. ‘I’ll see if I can get a couple of weeks off.’
Juliette’s face lit up. She ruffled Charlie’s hair, which had been enhanced from its natural reddish hue into a vibrant copper at the same time as the drastic haircut. ‘The next time you’re in the café, you promise me you’ll ask her?’
‘I will, I—’
‘Room for a little one?’ Her dad appeared in the doorway, along with the salty tang of bacon.
‘Thanks so much, Vince,’ Juliette said, accepting her baguette and a coffee.
‘You convinced Charlie to come and stay with you yet?’ he asked, taking the seat in front and turning to face them.
‘Almost,’ Juliette said. ‘She’s agreed to ask Bea for some time off.’
‘Bloody hell! You’ve actually got her considering a holiday? Or have you tempted her down with some sort of Cornish cooking competition?’
‘No competition,’ Juliette said through a mouthful of cheese sandwich. ‘No work. An actual holiday.’
‘I am here, you know,’ Charlie said, lifting her baguette out of Marmite’s reach. The dog put his paws on her chest and sniffed the air, whimpering mournfully.
‘It doesn’t hurt to hear the unvarnished truth occasionally, love,’ Vince replied.
‘I’ve never …’ she started, then sighed and unwrapped her lunch. She didn’t want to argue with her dad, and she knew they both had her best interests at heart, even if they were being irritating about it.
‘This is cosy, isn’t it?’ Juliette said. ‘Having a picnic on board Gertie. Hal could have started something like this, including sandwiches and cups of tea on his tours.’
‘Enough people brought their own food, didn’t they?’ Vince laughed. ‘He was getting fat on all the sausage rolls and packets of Maltesers that went around.’
‘But a few tables in here instead of front-facing seats, a tea urn, the beautiful views outside the windows. It’d be ideal, wouldn’t it? If the weather was cold, or you didn’t want wasps in your cupcakes.’ Juliette grinned. ‘You could see the countryside from the comfort of the bus.’
Charlie returned her friend’s smile, her synapses pinging. She couldn’t be a tour guide. She knew how to drive the bus, she had the right licence and kept up to date with her top-up training, but she hadn’t done it every day for the last thirty years; she was inexperienced. But what she could do, almost with her eyes closed, was feed people. She could make cakes and pastries and scones that had customers squealing in pleasure and coming back for thirds.
And Gertie was cosy. With a bit more polish and a couple of personal touches, the bus could even look quite homely. It could be somewhere you’d enjoy spending time, and not just for a journey around the winding lanes of the Cotswolds.
‘All right, love?’ her dad asked, his eyebrows raised quizzically.
‘Earth to Charlie!’ Juliette snapped her fingers, and Marmite let out a tiny growl.
‘I think I’ve got it,’ Charlie murmured.
‘Got what?’ Vince asked.
A smile spread across her face. This might be the answer she had been looking for. If it worked, she would have to reward Juliette for the flash of inspiration, so bright that it was like a meteor sailing across the sky.
‘I think I know what I’m going to do,’ she said, patting the seat next to her. ‘I think I’ve found a way to keep Gertie on the road.’
Chapter Two
‘Have you completely lost it this time, Charlie?’
At least Bea Fishington wasn’t one for mincing her words.
‘I don’t think so,’ Charlie replied, following her from the kitchen into the main café, carrying a plate of freshly baked raspberry flapjacks. ‘I think this could be a real turning point, for me and Gertie – and for you and The Café on the Hill.’
Bea folded her arms over her large chest, the silk of her cream blouse straining across it. ‘Serving cakes on your uncle’s bus? I know you’re sad about losing him – completely understandable; he was a gentleman – but you’re looking for harmony where there is none to be found.’
‘I disagree,’ Charlie said, sliding the flapjacks into place behind the glass counter. ‘It would be a way to get this place known, to expand its range beyond these four walls.’ She gestured to the smart, well-appointed café. The walls in question were slate grey, complemented by a black-and-white chequerboard floor. Accents around the room in lemon yellow and sky blue gave it a modern twist. There were high benches in the window and a mixture of squashy sofas and upright chairs, inviting lone workers with laptops, couples, large families and groups of friends.
Early in the morning on a dull Monday at the beginning of March it was quiet, with a couple of post-school-run mums drinking lattes and two men with grey hair sit
ting by the window sharing a toasted teacake.
Bea glared at her, but Charlie stood up straighter and refused to look away. She had a height advantage over Bea – over most other women, if she was honest – and a determination that had got her into trouble on more than one occasion. But she knew this was a good idea. The area around Cheltenham and Ross-on-Wye, England’s glorious, green Cotswolds, was always hosting fairs, festivals and myriad other events, where a beautiful vintage bus selling cakes would be popular. Every time Charlie had moaned to Hal that she had nothing to do at the weekend, that Juliette was with Lawrence or Stuart was staying in London for some posh bankers’ do, Hal would reel off a list of all the classic car shows and autumn fêtes and dog owners’ carnivals that were happening, leaving her with no room to complain.
‘I’m not after world domination,’ Bea said, turning to the coffee machine. ‘I know you’re ambitious, Charlie. I could see that from the moment I met you, and I have no doubt that you’ll be running your own café or catering empire before too long. But selling cakes from a bus? It sounds too tricky. How would you store ingredients, make drinks en masse?’
‘People live on buses,’ Charlie countered. ‘They cook and shower and sleep on buses, so selling a few coffees and scones couldn’t possibly be a problem.’
‘You say that like you’ve not researched it at all.’ Bea frothed the milk, pausing their conversation while a loud whooshing sound filled the space between them.
‘That’s what Google’s for.’ She grinned and shrugged, her smile falling when Bea didn’t return it. ‘I’m going to speak to Clive, one of my dad’s friends, tomorrow. He’s coming to give Gertie a once-over anyway, and he’s refurbished a few buses, so he’ll know exactly how I can get a coffee machine and a fridge installed on it.’
Bea handed Charlie a cappuccino, and she sprinkled it with chocolate dusting. ‘Is it even laid out like a café?’ she asked.
Charlie leaned against the counter and blew on her drink until a dent appeared in the thick froth. ‘It’s got front-facing seats. But I thought, to begin with, I could just serve from it. People can sit on the bus if they like, but I’ll treat it like a takeaway food truck, just to see if it’s possible. Then I can think about modifying it properly. The Café on the Hill could have an offshoot, like a cutting from a plant. The Café on the Bus. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? And you know the food will be good quality; I’ve never let you down in that respect, have I? Why not spread your wings? Give yourself some wheels, expand your horizons.’
‘You have put so many mixed metaphors into that sentence, I don’t know where to begin.’
‘Begin by saying yes, Bea. Just to the Fair on the Field. People in Ross-on-Wye know your café. It’s big enough to be a proper test, and small enough that if it all goes hideously wrong – which it won’t,’ Charlie added quickly – ‘then your reputation won’t be dented. One event, one chance.’ She clasped her hands together in front of her.
‘And you’re definitely speaking to this Clive person tomorrow? There can be no cut corners with food hygiene or health and safety. Everything has to be done properly.’
‘It will be,’ Charlie said.
Bea’s shoulders dropped, her lips curving into what could almost be considered a smile. ‘I’ll need to see plans. Exactly how it’s going to work. Then I’ll make a decision.’
‘Of course,’ Charlie said, nodding.
‘And just the Fair on the Field. One gig, and we’ll take it from there, OK?’
‘OK. Absolutely. Thank you, Bea. You won’t regret it.’
‘I’d better not,’ she muttered.
Charlie went to adjust the window display where one of her daffodils, lovingly crafted out of tissue paper and card, had drooped and was giving off a despondent air. Her pulse was racing. Serving cakes on Hal’s bus, to the general population, at a public event. Somehow, in light of Bea’s cold, logical reality, it seemed like the most ludicrous idea on the planet.
But people did live on buses. They travelled around in their portable houses, where they had all the mod cons. Some were even luxurious, like tiny five-star hotels. Surely fitting a few basic appliances wasn’t too far beyond the realms of possibility? Well, she would find out tomorrow. She hoped that Clive would make it easy for her.
After not having been in Hal’s garage for months, Charlie was back there for the second time in less than a week. Today, she had the sun at her back. It was a weak March sun that couldn’t cut through the cold, but it was welcome nonetheless, as were the sounds of metal against metal and her dad chatting to Clive while he did something unfathomable to Gertie’s engine.
Everything about today was an improvement on last time, except that Juliette wasn’t here. She was all the way down in Cornwall, with Lawrence, her cats and a sea view. Charlie would go and see her – of course she would. But she couldn’t go now, not when she had the fire of possibility lighting her up.
Clive had assured her and Vince that Gertie wasn’t destined for the scrapheap, and that he would be able to have her back to her best in a day or so. He’d also been more positive than Charlie could have hoped about the other alterations she wanted to make.
‘So you really think it’s possible?’ she asked, when there was a lull in the conversation. ‘Putting in a serving hatch and a coffee machine. A fridge, even?’
‘Oh, it’s doable,’ Clive said, standing up. He was a short man with silver hair, ruddy cheeks and cheerful blue eyes. ‘I can’t get it perfect with your budget and timescales, but for the Fair on the Field it’ll see you right.’
‘Thank you,’ Charlie said. ‘And it’s safe, is it? What you’re going to do?’
Clive chuckled and tapped his spanner against his chin. ‘It won’t put her at risk of explosion if that’s what you’re worried about. Ideally, she’d need a generator and an extra water tank, some of the seats ripped out, but you can come to those if it’s worth pursuing.’
‘That’s great!’ Charlie did a little jump. Marmite barked and attacked her boot.
‘Your mum’s going places,’ Vince said, picking up the Yorkipoo and rubbing his fur. ‘Shame it’s not Cornwall, though.’ He gave Charlie a sideways glance.
‘I’ll go and see her,’ Charlie protested. ‘But the Fair on the Field is the perfect opportunity to test this idea out. I can visit Juliette anytime, and Cornwall will be nicer in the summer. Also, if I do it once the flat’s sorted, I’ll have more holiday money.’
‘It’s not gone through yet?’ her dad asked, putting Marmite on the floor.
‘Nope. We’ve got buyers, but God knows what Stuart’s doing. I need to call the solicitor and see where we’re up to.’
‘It’s a lot to be dealing with, love. Are you sure trying Gertie out for this café bus business is the best step right now? I was surprised that you even wanted to come and look at her so soon, and this new venture is going to be a lot of work. Don’t you want a bit of breathing space? Coast along while you sort out the flat and let life … settle?’
‘I can’t let go of this idea now,’ she said. ‘It’s in my head, and I’m going to be unsettled and fidgety until I’ve tried it. One event, then I’ll have some idea if it’s worth more investment – of my time and, maybe, a bit more money. Besides, Bea might have changed her mind by tomorrow. I need to strike while the iron’s hot.’
Vince looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. She could see the concern in his eyes, but she knew that he wouldn’t push it.
Everyone dealt with loss in different ways. It wasn’t great timing that her relationship with Stuart had imploded soon after her uncle had become ill, but at least it couldn’t get much worse. And her biggest fear – or the one it was easiest to focus on, at least – Gertie and what would happen to her, was on the way to being solved. Her dad couldn’t be against her revitalizing Hal’s pride and joy. He was worried about her, but there was no need for him to be.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I almost forgot. I brought snacks.’ She
dug in her bag and pulled out the box of orange and chocolate-chip muffins she’d made early that morning. Clive downed tools immediately. Marmite pawed at her legs, and she gave him a couple of puppy treats.
While they were eating, Charlie took her time to walk slowly around Gertie. Clive still needed to fix the panelling, but with the sunshine hitting her glossy cream paint and reaching through the windscreen to alight on the newly polished metalwork, the bus was looking a lot better. Almost like her old self.
And soon, she would be transformed again. The changes would be small, but significant. They would allow Charlie to give the Routemaster a brand-new lease of life. And everyone deserved a second chance.
As Clive and her dad gave her the thumbs-up for her muffins, she felt the first flutterings of excitement. This could be the start of something great, for her and for Gertie. When you’re down, the best course of action is to get up, and aim higher than you’ve ever aimed before. Charlie Quilter had never been one for wallowing: she was going to prove to everyone just how bad at it she was.
Chapter Three
The Fair on the Field took place at the bottom of the hill on which Ross-on-Wye town centre proudly sat. It was a beautiful spot, with the River Wye wending along the bottom of the field, and the buildings of the town looking down on it from up high. When Charlie had phoned up to book a space, the organizers had assured her that, despite being close to the river, the ground was firm enough for Gertie; they’d had enough food trucks over the years and never had a problem. Even so, her pitch was at the edge closest to the road, where the ground was more solid. But it had rained heavily during the night, and while the sun was shining down on them now, as if the torrential downpour had never happened, Charlie could feel the wheels spinning as she navigated Gertie over the bumpy grass to her slot.
At least she knew how to drive the bus. Her time spent on the vintage Routemaster had started when she was little, Hal teaching her how to steer in car parks from his lap and, once she was old enough to legally drive, being patient with her about turning circles and visibility, how much space she needed to manoeuvre it into a tight spot. He’d encouraged her to take the bus driving test soon after she’d passed her car test with flying colours, and she was proud of her ability to keep the ride as smooth as possible, to not panic when faced with the narrowest of lanes.
The Cornish Cream Tea Bus Page 2