The Cherry Tree Cafe

by Heidi Swain

  ‘I could do it,’ I said quietly.

  All eyes turned from Ben to me.

  ‘What?’ Jemma frowned.

  ‘I could do it,’ I said again, quietly laying my fork on my now empty plate.

  ‘But you’re as skint as I am!’ Ben frowned. ‘And in fact, you’re worse off than me. You’re sleeping on the sofa. At least I’ve got a room!’

  ‘Shut up, Ben!’ Tom snapped,. ‘You can’t take out a loan, Lizzie. You’ve got no way of proving you can pay it back.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have to take out a loan,’ I smiled, ‘I’ve come into some money. Not a huge fortune but enough to join forces with you at the Café, if you’ll have me.’

  ‘But when?’ Tom demanded. ‘How?’

  ‘Your dad,’ Jemma said quietly. ‘He’s given you some money from your granny’s estate, hasn’t he?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You can’t use that, Lizzie. That’s your future. There’s no guarantee that you’ll ever see it again.’

  ‘Jemma’s right,’ Tom agreed. ‘What if it all goes wrong and you lose every penny you’ve put in? We’re best friends, Lizzie. We’d never do anything that would jeopardise our friendship.’

  ‘Then we’d better make sure it’s a huge success, hadn’t we?’ I laughed. ‘Because I’m in, and nothing you can say will make me change my mind!’

  Chapter 10

  We were all so busy with the last minute preparations to the Café that the first signs of spring passed by almost unnoticed. I’d been secretly dreading spending Valentine’s Day as a singleton but I needn’t have worried. I had barely a spare second in which to reminisce about the hearts and roses fest it had been the year before, or the romantic and totally unexpected trip to New York Giles sprung upon me the year before that.

  We were so pressed for time that there was absolutely no time to do anything about the décor in the flat before I moved in either, and as the days quickly turned into weeks I was rather grateful for that. Dad, much to my mum’s annoyance, had hung on to some of my grandmother’s furniture and the smaller pieces fitted in perfectly with the dated décor and old-fashioned fittings.

  My favourite piece was a small wooden painted chair. Dad told me he could remember Granny sitting on it when she bathed David, his younger brother. It wasn’t financially valuable but to me it was precious, a treasured family heirloom and it fitted perfectly next to the little sitting-room fire with my childhood ragdoll and knitted cushion adorning it.

  The rest of the flat was furnished in a similar fashion and I loved it. Thankfully the damp in the back bedroom had disappeared, as Ben and Tom had predicted, and the boiler was more than capable of keeping the place warm and cosy even on the chilliest spring day.

  Living above the Café ensured there was never a dull moment and I had even been brave enough to take on a couple of shifts at the Mermaid. I was thoroughly enjoying settling into my new life back home and looking forward to the Café launch very much, however there was one recent development that was beginning to prey on my mind a little more than it probably should and was a clear indication that Wynbridge was already helping me see the sunny side of life again.

  ‘Your phone’s buzzing!’ Ben called to me from the Café kitchen.

  ‘Just leave it!’ I called back as I straightened up to admire my painting skills.

  ‘It might be the print guy!’

  ‘He phoned this morning!’

  ‘Well, what about the jam woman? Jemma said we weren’t to miss the jam woman!’

  ‘She hasn’t got my mobile number. Just leave it.’

  Ben wandered through from the kitchen.

  ‘It’s stopped.’

  I nodded as he placed it on the counter and struggled to ignore the urge to see if whoever had called had left a message. A number I didn’t recognise had registered a week before and called every day since. I’d never managed to answer before it rang off and as yet no message had been left, but part of me was considering the obvious: was it Giles? There was nothing out of the ordinary about me not recognising his number. He was constantly changing his phone so my theory was perfectly plausible, but if it was him, what did he want? And more importantly, why was my pulse rate even slightly agitated by the thought that it might be him, when I was so contentedly settled in Wynbridge?

  Helping to renovate the Café had been the perfect distraction for my broken heart, but these mystery phone calls had stirred up my emotional cauldron and bubbling away on the surface was the idea that Giles might be trying to get in touch to ask me to take him back.

  At night I dreamt of all the good times we had shared; the trips we’d taken and the way I couldn’t even glance at something without it appearing gift-wrapped a few days later, but more importantly than all the material and social trappings were the memories of the way he looked after me, the way he made me feel so safe.

  I couldn’t deny I’d always been a fully paid-up member of the ‘one true love club’ and now my fickle heart was deliberating whether my new life would be even better if I gave an old love a chance to play a part in it.

  I hadn’t forgotten that Giles had treated me badly in the run up to our break-up or that he’d gone out of his way to change me, but he had never behaved like that when we were together in Wynbridge. If my hunch was right and if I could tempt him to leave London for my hometown, then perhaps there might just be a way for us to rekindle the magic we’d had at the beginning.

  My embrace with Ben had resurrected feelings I had naively thought I was going to be able to lock away forever. Weak perhaps, to admit it, but I missed Giles. I missed the intimacy and warmth of having a man in my bed. I looked at Jemma and Tom and knew, deep down, that I wanted what they’d got. I wanted my very own happy ever after.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked, shoving the paintbrush back in the pot and turning away from the phone and my weakening resolve to cut Giles out of my life for good. ‘Not come up too bad, have they?’

  ‘They look great,’ Ben agreed, ‘really great, and it won’t matter if they get a bit chipped and distressed – that will just enhance the look. The best thing is they’ve cost practically nothing. Jemma and Tom will love them!’

  ‘I hope they will!’ I laughed. ‘They’ve taken long enough but it was your idea, remember?’

  Ben looked at the carefully prepared and painted Café tables and chairs. Where there had once been battered orange pine there was now a sea of pristine matt cream. It was amazing how much lighter and airier the whole Café felt now it was rid of its dark furniture and heavy curtains. Simple blinds and tablecloths had been ordered with my cupcake design printed on them and the Cherry Tree Café sign had been carefully stencilled on the door. The place was coming together just as I’d imagined it would.

  ‘You thought of it as well,’ Ben said generously.

  ‘But you came up with it first,’ I reminded him.

  Ben nodded but didn’t say anything else. Our relationship since the snow day had thankfully shifted from tense to the comfortable side of tolerant. Even though we hadn’t talked about what had happened, the air between us was considerably clearer and I couldn’t help thinking that he had got over his unfathomable reason for disliking me. Any probing as to why he had moved back to town however, no matter how gentle, was quickly brushed aside and I was still none the wiser.

  ‘Are you coming to the pub tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe, I’m out for dinner but I might wander down after.’

  ‘Hot date?’ I teased.

  ‘Just a meal with my mother,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve been putting it off but I reckon I’m about due another grilling.’

  I thought back to the first night I’d arrived and how we’d compared maternal notes.

  ‘Does she have your father tucked away somewhere?’ I asked, fighting the urge to ask what the grilling would be about. ‘Mine’s allowed some respite courtesy of the garden shed, but not for long.’

  Ben shook his head.

  ‘No,’ h
e replied, ‘my father lives in Spain. He’d had enough of her by the time I’d grown up and left. He took early retirement to the sun and now enjoys the company of Rosita, my stepmother who is actually young enough to be my sister!’

  ‘Go Dad!’ I laughed, imagining the absurdity of my own father moving abroad with a tanned young beauty.

  ‘That accounts for a lot of my mother’s bitterness,’ Ben sighed, ‘and now of course I’m a huge disappointment as well.’

  ‘I don’t see why,’ I said, hoping he was finally going to explain the mystery behind his return.

  ‘No,’ he smiled, ‘I know you don’t. I still can’t believe Jemma hasn’t told you anything, but I’m grateful she hasn’t.’

  ‘She’s a loyal friend,’ I agreed. ‘She hasn’t told me a thing.’

  ‘She and Tom are the best.’

  I nodded.

  ‘You see, the thing is, Lizzie . . .’

  ‘Oh well done, you’ve finished! God they look amazing! Don’t they look amazing, Tom?’

  Tom staggered in behind Jemma and gently lowered his precarious pile of boxes on to the counter top.

  ‘I can’t believe these are the same ones!’ Jemma carried on. ‘Are you sure you haven’t traded them in, because I can’t believe these are the ones you started out with.’

  ‘You’ve already said that!’ Tom interrupted, rolling his eyes.

  ‘But look Tom,’ she breathed, ‘it’s all coming together! This is really going to happen, isn’t it?’

  I wandered over and gave my friend a quick squeeze and Tom a sympathetic glance.

  ‘And you’re living with this, aren’t you, mate?’ I laughed.

  ‘It’s like having two Ellas in the house,’ Tom groaned, ‘and I can’t get away from either of them! I’ve got Jemma jumping up and down about the Café and Ella bouncing about like Tigger because it’s almost her birthday. I’m exhausted,’ he admitted. ‘Ben, I have no idea how you’re coping but I promise that when you move out you’ll get a medal for all you’ve had to put up with!’

  ‘I’d be disappointed if it was any different,’ Ben smiled as he disappeared back into the kitchen.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Jemma asked, as she helped me clear up the paint and newspapers.

  ‘Of course,’ I nodded, ‘I’m fine. Over the moon about all this!’

  ‘But?’

  ‘There is no “but”, I’m fine.’

  Jemma didn’t budge. I looked at her and sighed. There would be no shifting her until I’d offered some sort of explanation.

  ‘I think Ben was about to tell me something when you burst in,’ I said quietly, ‘and now he’s clammed up again and we’re back to square one.’

  ‘Oh Lizzie,’ she frowned, ‘I’m sorry. I know it seems unfair that we know what happened and you don’t but I can’t break his confidence. He made Tom and me swear not to tell a soul.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to tell me,’ I smiled, ‘of course I’m curious, but not to the point where I’d try and drag it out of you!’

  ‘I still can’t believe he hasn’t told you anything about it at all,’ Jemma frowned.

  ‘Funnily enough, he said the same about you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think he thought that perhaps you might have told me something because we’re so close.’

  ‘But he asked me not to.’

  ‘That’s what I told him! You’re a true friend through and through!’

  ‘Hey, what are you two whispering about now?’ Tom scowled, creeping over.

  ‘Nothing!’ we chorused and burst out laughing.

  Ella’s birthday was now just days away and if I didn’t have a paintbrush or a pint glass in my hand I was wielding a fistful of pins and the sewing machine. Utilising some of the pretty fabrics I had bought after my fateful morning in the City Crafting Café, I had made Ella a ragdoll of her own, complete with a range of outfits and her own teddy bear. I was delighted with the result of my labours and hoped Ella would be too.

  ‘What do you think of this for an idea?’ Jemma asked a few days before the Café launch. ‘How about we ask a few of Ella’s friends to tea at the Café on her birthday?’

  ‘But it won’t be open,’ I frowned. ‘Her birthday is days before the launch party.’

  ‘I know,’ Jemma nodded, ‘but we have all the paperwork and certificates to say that we can open by then and there’s barely anything left to do, so I was thinking it might be the ideal opportunity to have a trial run sort of thing. See how the kitchen works; get a feel for the layout of the place before we’re expecting people to pay for our services . . . and my baking,’ she added nervously.

  ‘Sort of a trial by toddler you mean?’

  ‘Ella’s hardly a toddler!’ Jemma laughed. ‘Although having been on the receiving end of her tantrum this morning, I do see what you mean!’

  ‘I think it’s a great idea,’ I smiled. ‘You could even ask the other mums to stay and we could try out some of the more daring tea choices Tom ordered.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Jemma giggled. ‘And it will help us decide if we need to employ any waiting staff.’

  We’d already put our heads together and discussed whether we should take on some part-time help but we hadn’t been able to make a decision. Jemma planned to run the kitchen and I was going to do as much front of house ordering, serving and clearing as I could between working shifts at the Mermaid, but that meant there would still be times when there was no one actually in the Café with the customers.

  Originally Tom had planned to help out for the first few months, to gauge demand, but with money being so tight, when he was offered a permanent job with the local council he simply had to take it. It wasn’t exactly how they had planned things would be, but at least now he and Jemma had one regular, steady income they could rely on.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said, ‘I can’t help thinking you’re going to need someone, even if it is only for the lunchtime rush and on a Saturday.’

  I had been toying with the idea of giving up my shifts at the pub so I could be on hand on a more regular basis. Jemma was going to be at the Café from eight every morning, having first dropped Ella with Tom’s mum, then she would open at nine and remain open until around four-thirty. Some days Ella would stay at the after-school club and on other days, such as Saturdays, she would burn off some energy at her ballet class then either go home with her nan or one of us would collect her and keep her at the Café or in the flat.

  I had been thinking that if I gave up my pub shifts then I’d be an extra body but I was holding back on making the suggestion and I wasn’t proud of the reason why. The mystery phone calls might have tailed off but they’d left something behind. A lingering feeling that I didn’t want Jemma or Tom to start relying on me too much in case, for some reason, I was going to need to commit some time to something else.

  It didn’t take a genius to work out that the ‘something else’ might be my potentially rekindled relationship with Giles. He may well have broken my heart but I was still entertaining the possibility of him walking back into my life and picking up the threads of what we’d once had. My unwillingness to really commit anything more than money to the Café told me that I still wasn’t over him and that if he suddenly swaggered back into the Mermaid then I’d do everything within my power to keep him in Wynbridge and rebuild the relationship we had when he first arrived. I hated myself for harbouring such feelings but I couldn’t help it. I wanted what Jemma and Tom had. I wanted to be loved, and if that meant sacrificing my time helping out at the Café then so be it.

  Ella’s sixth birthday dawned bright, clear and full of feverish excitement.

  ‘Happy birthday to you!’

  ‘OK, Ella, on three!’ Jemma shouted above the din. ‘One, two, three!’

  Ella leant over the table and with perhaps rather more gusto than was really necessary, blew out the candles on her beautiful birthday cake.

  Jemma had spent hours creating the pastel pink and
lilac princess castle cake complete with turrets and a glittering moat. She said she was trying out the working arrangement of the Café kitchen but I knew that for this birthday more than any other she wanted Ella to feel like the little princess she thought she was.

  Being an entrepreneurial mum was no easy option, I had come to realise since my move home, and Jemma was finding it hard to adjust to managing a home and family life along with a business. It was obvious to me that on top of everything else she had a big dollop of guilt to contend with and that Ella’s elaborate birthday tea was her way of making up for all the extra hours she and Tom had been putting into getting the Café ready for opening.

  ‘I can’t believe this is the same place!’ chorused the little group of mums Jemma had invited to stay. ‘You’ve done an amazing job and these are delicious!’

  Jemma and I swooped between the tables offering neatly cut sandwiches and delicate iced fancies to the grown-ups and bowlfuls of sweet treats and cheese straws to the partygoers. Ella was in her element at the head of the table whilst Tom did the rounds with endless beakers of milk and juice.

  ‘And where did you get these?’ Sarah, one of the mums asked Jemma, tugging at the corner of her cupcake-patterned apron.

  Jemma pointed at me and grinned.

  ‘Lizzie made them from a vintage pattern. The frilly heart-shaped pocket was one of her ideas and she came up with the cupcake design for the Café as well!’

  ‘Were you responsible for anything else, by any chance?’ Sarah laughed, looking around.

  Before I had chance to do anything beyond blush, Jemma launched off.

  ‘She did everything, Sarah! The design on the door, the tablecloths and lampshades, literally everything! I don’t think my cakes would taste half as good if they weren’t being served in these pretty surroundings!’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far!’ I said, my face glowing.

  ‘Could you make me one of the aprons?’ Rachel, one of the other mothers asked. ‘I’ll get the fabric and I’d love some bunting for the kitchen if you can spare the time!’