The Cherry Tree Cafe

by Heidi Swain

  ‘Perfect!’ she shouted, as she hurried to unlock the door for Heather who had appeared, weighed down with bags from the supermarket.

  ‘Good morning, my dear,’ Heather smiled at me, ‘Deborah said you were coming today. How are you?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Deborah interrupted before I had time to answer, ‘there’ll be plenty of time to chat later Heather. Put the kettle on would you? I’ll be through in a minute.’

  Heather bobbed through the shop into the kitchen and Deborah came and sat back down.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘bunting. That was what you made the morning you joined us, wasn’t it?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Nice simple cutting and sewing skills,’ she smiled, ‘and hugely satisfying. It’s quick and easy so everyone will take something complete away with them and it doesn’t matter if any of the triangles are a bit wonky. No one notices when it’s strung up.’

  ‘I thought if the session goes well, we could move on to things like Lavender bags and cushions, then drawstring bags and aprons,’ I suggested, ‘then perhaps peg bags, hot-water bottle covers, maybe even some simple felt brooches and other accessories.’

  I stopped abruptly feeling both surprised and concerned that my enthusiasm had got the better of me but I wanted Deborah to know I had given the idea some real thought and that I wasn’t taking up her precious time solely to get ideas and answers to questions I should have been able to fathom out myself.

  ‘That sounds like a nice logical progression and quite a varied mix. You’ve clearly thought it all through,’ Deborah reassured me, ‘but what about embellishment? Have you thought about something like machine embroidery? How about offering tuition in some of the finer skills?’

  I shook my head and swallowed hard.

  ‘I think I’ll wait and see how the taster session goes before I even consider any of that.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t leave it too long,’ Deborah insisted. ‘Word spreads fast and it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if you found yourself inundated and running some sort of group every day before you know it.’

  ‘Really?’ I frowned. ‘I just thought this would be something I could offer once, maybe twice a week to amateur enthusiasts.’

  ‘Where’s your ambition, Lizzie?’ Deborah laughed, shaking her head. ‘The beauty of running these sessions in a Café is that you will attract all sorts of people very quickly. You won’t need to worry about advertising either: the Café itself and word of mouth will be enough to get things going.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ I swallowed again.

  At least that would keep Jay at bay I thought sagely, whilst at the same time I realised that Deborah’s own ambition and ideas were fast outpacing mine and I had neither the courage nor the business skills to keep up.

  ‘Of course,’ Deborah continued, blithely unaware of my growing doubt, ‘there’ll be the mums who have signed up for your first session. From what you’ve told me they have limited skills and time but then there will be the older people, pensioners, who pop in for a coffee during their weekly shopping trip.’

  I took a deep breath and carried on scribbling.

  ‘They’ll be a totally different skill set and probably won’t want tutoring but would appreciate some sort of regular opportunity to get together for a chat and the space to get on with projects they’ve already started.’

  ‘A knit and natter session you mean?’

  ‘Exactly! You could quite easily offer a weekly knitting and crocheting circle.’

  Everything Deborah was suggesting made perfect sense, but it sounded very much to me like the crafting could end up taking over the Café and I wasn’t sure how Jemma and Tom or Giles for that matter, would feel about that.

  ‘How long has the Café been open?’ Deborah asked, after I briefly explained my concerns about hijacking Jemma’s dream.

  ‘Only a week,’ I told her.

  ‘No matter,’ she smiled, drumming her fingers on the table, ‘I dare say you can already see peaks and troughs, busy times and quiet times during the day?’

  ‘Definitely. Around the school run it’s pretty quiet and there’s certainly a lull after the lunch rush. The place is never empty but there are already fairly well defined quieter times.’

  Deborah raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Oh I get it, I get it!’ I nodded enthusiastically. ‘You’re suggesting I schedule the sessions during the quiet times and then that way the Café will be busy even during those normally slacker times. Is that right?’

  ‘Exactly! The knit and natter gatherings wouldn’t be a paid-for session as such, but you can guarantee that customers are going to be tempted by the delicious cakes on offer when they get there. I can’t imagine your friend would have any objections to that!’

  ‘No, I’m sure she wouldn’t,’ I said, gratefully taking on board the benefit of Deborah’s huge wealth of knowledge and business acumen.

  ‘And you might even want to think about an evening session for people who are working and can’t make it during the day.’

  I sat back in my chair as Heather bustled through with a laden tea tray and a plate of very tempting buttery crumpets.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you?’ she asked. ‘Only I haven’t stopped this morning and I could really do with a cuppa.’

  ‘Of course you can join us!’ Deborah boomed. ‘I’m not going to deny you your breakfast, am I?’

  Heather looked at me and smiled sheepishly.

  ‘By all means see how you feel about things after the taster session,’ Deborah concluded as she poured the tea and passed around the crumpets, ‘but I have no doubt that you’re going to love it.’

  ‘I think you’ll be brilliant, Lizzie,’ Heather smiled warmly.

  ‘Get yourself signed up to one of the free local business courses or if you’re too busy to commit to that go for one that’s online. There’s plenty to choose from,’ Deborah carried on. ‘You might want to give some thought to running the venture independently of the Café but even if you don’t, the courses are invaluable. They’ll flag up no end of things you won’t have thought of.’

  Later that morning, I found myself walking back along the bustling pavements towards Henry’s flat, my emotions pinging off in all directions.

  ‘Don’t let fear get the better of you!’ Deborah had warned as I got ready to leave. ‘From what you’ve told me it sounds like you have the perfect set-up to make the venture work. Of course, we already knew you had the skills,’ she added with a laugh, ‘and don’t forget, if you feel like tutoring here every now and again, my offer still stands!’

  ‘I’ll keep you posted,’ I told her, ‘and thank you again for all your help and advice. I still can’t really believe you remembered me!’

  ‘I couldn’t forget stitches like that in a hurry,’ she laughed, ‘and as for the advice, well, let’s see how things go before you decide whether to be grateful or not.’

  ‘Goodbye, my dear,’ Heather said, ‘you look after yourself, won’t you? And make sure you keep on sewing, whatever else you decide to do. A talent like yours shouldn’t be left to languish! You need to keep using it, promise me you will?’

  ‘I promise,’ I told her.

  Those last words from Heather were a timely reminder of the kind of life I had led whilst I was in a relationship with Giles and living in the city. I had abandoned my sewing skills and left them to languish without a second thought along with all my other interests and passions. I had twisted and contorted my personality as well as my looks to fit the required mould that would turn me into an acceptable partner for him. How could I have forgotten all of that?

  My time at the Cherry Tree Café and in the flat really had softened my memories of our break-up, but as I was shoved and pushed along the pavements back towards Henry’s flat the scales finally began to drop and I could see my crazy plan to bring Giles back to Wynbridge for the fantasy it was. Yes, I missed his body in the bed next to mine and yes, I stil
l craved the comfort of having him there to wash my back in the shower, but it was extremely unlikely that he was going to give up the affluent urban lifestyle he loved and move to Wynbridge to be with me. A huge part of me still wanted to be loved, to be one half of a whole like Jemma and Tom, but there was something pressing that I wanted more. I had a new and exciting future on the horizon now, a future I had once abandoned and never thought I’d see again, a future that was now mine for the taking if I could just dig deep enough to find the courage to grasp it.

  As I turned the key in Henry’s door I decided I wasn’t going to mention Giles or my crazy plan at all. I knew Henry had already guessed the real motive behind my visit and I felt guilty at the thought of using my old boss, who had always been such a stalwart friend for me, so readily. I would convince him that the sole reason for my visit was my new sewing business, which ironically was exactly what it had turned out to be.

  ‘I suppose you want to talk about Giles, then,’ Henry said astutely as he passed me the box of noodles that evening.

  We had decided not to go out for dinner and ordered a takeaway that we could eat in front of the TV instead.

  ‘No,’ I said, heaping another spoonful onto my plate, ‘not really.’

  Having decided that I wouldn’t mention Giles, I hadn’t taken into account that Henry might and now the dreaded subject had been broached I wasn’t sure how to play it. Blasé could actually be interpreted as eager but then indifference, denial or vehement resistance could all suggest the same. What exactly could I do or say to convince Henry that I didn’t care?

  ‘Unless he’s met with a sticky end!’ I added breezily, aiming for a touch of dismissive humour.

  Judging by Henry’s expression my foolish attempt to make light of the situation had failed miserably.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said glumly, ‘I know that’s why you’re really here.’

  The words hit me square in the stomach like a blow from a prize fighter. Henry was no fool and I knew I had to come clean. I owed him that at least.

  ‘OK I admit it,’ I began. ‘Originally I had asked to come and stay so I could pick your brains about Giles.’

  Henry shook his head.

  ‘Let me finish,’ I begged, ‘but now things have changed. My meeting this morning has made me realise I’ve got more going in my life than trying to rekindle something that I should have let die out properly when I moved back home.’

  ‘Like what?’

  I took my time explaining to Henry about the Cherry Tree, my passion for sewing and my potential new business. I also – as I felt he deserved a full and proper explanation – told him about the mystery phone calls and how they had been responsible for reigniting my interest in Giles.

  ‘What was the number?’ Henry asked.

  I wiped my hands down my jeans and unlocked my phone, then found the call log screen and passed it over.

  ‘That’s Natasha’s number,’ Henry said bluntly.

  ‘What?’ I choked. ‘Why would she be ringing me?’

  ‘When did the calls start?’

  I took the phone back and scrolled through the list, giving Henry the dates of when they started and ended.

  ‘That’s when Giles went AWOL,’ Henry explained, ‘a few days before the wedding he just disappeared.’

  ‘And Natasha thought he was with me?’ I questioned, pushing the thought that Giles and Natasha were now married to the back of my mind.

  ‘Obviously,’ Henry shrugged, ‘and she probably wasn’t the only one.’

  ‘Is that what you thought as well?’ I asked, my face glowing.

  ‘Well, I’m not being funny but he does have a bit of a track record for buggering off before the big day, doesn’t he?’

  I felt the colour spread to my neck as I thought how desperate Natasha must have felt when she realised her fiancé had done a bunk again. During all the time Giles and I were a couple I had done my utmost not to think about Natasha and how it must have felt to be jilted as she was about to practically walk down the aisle, but now I couldn’t get the image of her out of my head.

  If it had been Giles who had been calling me I realised, and if he had wanted me back, then there was every possibility that I would have stamped all over the poor woman’s heart again. It was a shame that I’d never found a way of harvesting the hold that Giles had over the women in his life because it was potent stuff and doubtless worth a fortune.

  ‘So,’ I said tentatively, unable to stop myself asking the next question, ‘I take it he came back then?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Henry said, ‘no one got to the bottom of where he went but they’re on their honeymoon now. Mauritius, I think or maybe the Seychelles, so she must have forgiven him . . . again.’

  I swallowed hard and drank a mouthful of the lager we had ordered with the takeaway.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie,’ Henry said, reaching across and grabbing my hand, ‘I take no pleasure in being the one to tell you that.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I smiled, ‘really. If I’d found out yesterday I would have been in a heap but after this morning and a good think about everything on the walk back, it’s all good. I’m glad they’re married.’

  Henry raised his eyebrows.

  ‘No, I mean it,’ I said, ‘Natasha finally got her man, despite my interference.’

  ‘But Giles was the bastard!’ Henry burst out. ‘He was the one who lied to you and broke it off with her!’

  ‘Like I said,’ I told him with a shrug, ‘Natasha got her man. They suit one another and they were meant to be together. Giles is part of my past and right now I’m more interested in the future but just keep those drinks coming, OK?’

  Chapter 14

  ‘Do you want all the tables pushed together or would they be better in pairs?’

  Ridiculously early the following Friday morning, I stood in the area designated for the trial bunting-making session, hands on my hips, head on one side, riddled with doubt and on the brink of ripping down the poster and scrawling ‘cancelled’ across the middle of it in thick black marker pen. Where had the week gone? I asked myself. How was it possible that today was the day and I still, despite all my preparations, didn’t feel ready?

  ‘Here,’ Jemma nudged, thrusting a steaming mug into my hand, ‘drink this – you look like you’re about to pass out.’

  ‘I think I am,’ I said, my hands grasping the mug tightly but shaking so badly that the contents were in danger of ending up all over the floor. ‘I can’t believe you talked me into doing this,’ I scowled.

  ‘Right, come on,’ she shouted to Tom and Ben who had been helping. ‘We’ve got to get Ella from Mum’s and I think Lizzie could do with a few minutes to gather her thoughts.’

  ‘I thought Tom’s mum took her to school on a Friday.’

  Jemma gently released the mug from my unsteady grip and put it on a nearby table.

  ‘She does normally but we’ve had a phone call from the school. Miss Grey, Ella’s teacher, has asked us to pop in before registration this morning.’

  I bit my lip.

  ‘It isn’t funny, Lizzie!’ Jemma scolded.

  ‘Sorry,’ I smiled, trying not to. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll see you later.’

  She and Tom quickly disappeared through the Café door, but Ben was still rooted to the spot.

  ‘What are you planning to do with this?’ he asked, holding up the string of bunting that I had made at the City Crafting Café.

  ‘I thought I might use it as an example this afternoon,’ I told him. ‘Just to make sure everyone is totally clear about what we’re making.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he smiled. ‘There’s certainly plenty of it.’

  I had been adding to it in the evenings and now it was probably long enough to go around the entire crafting area.

  ‘You know, I think it would look even better if you hang it,’ Ben suggested, climbing up the ladder and holding it up so I could see the effect. ‘Let it really define what this area of the Café’s goi
ng to be.’

  I wasn’t sure.

  ‘How about I hang it whilst you get going with everything else?’ he smiled kindly. ‘If you don’t like it, I’ll take it down. I promise I won’t make a sound,’ he added, noting my hesitation.

  ‘Go on then,’ I said reluctantly. ‘I’m popping back upstairs to get the other boxes, so don’t fall off the ladder, will you?’

  A little later we stood back and surveyed our handiwork. Despite my reservations, the bunting looked perfect and was easily long enough to fill the walls around the top of the crafting area. The sewing equipment including scissors, tape measures, pins and so on were arranged along the top of the cupboards that ran the length of the back wall and displayed in upcycled tin cans all painted in pastel shades to match the rest of the Café décor. The fabrics, ribbons and cottons each had their own similarly painted wicker baskets and the two sewing machines were housed in a little recess, which helped muffle some of their noise. The tables, for the purpose of this particular session had been pushed together as there were only six students and there was room for me their tutor, behind a table of my own.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I whispered, willing myself not to cry. ‘Exactly as I imagined it.’

  Ben put a friendly arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze.

  ‘Having seen how beautifully you transformed the rest of the Café,’ he said with a smile, ‘this is pretty much how I imagined it too.’

  Without thinking, I leant into the comforting warmth of his body. Ben had been on hand all week to help me with the preparations, not in an intrusive or overbearing way; he was more subtle than that. He had discreetly come up with endless clever solutions to the hundreds of little problems that, left unsolved, I would have obsessed over and blown up out of all proportion.

  I was grateful that our initially fraught friendship had turned a corner and I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened after our little tumble in the snow if Ella hadn’t interrupted. Even though I was still feeling raw and bruised from my aborted attempt to lure Giles back to Wynbridge, I couldn’t deny that I missed the intimacy and physical closeness of having a man in my life.