by Emily Selby
Josephine's eyebrows arched up. "A what?"
"I've learned how to prepare cocktails of all sorts. I considered making the café a real beach paradise, with fancy cocktails and exotic desserts." She studied the other woman's face carefully.
Josephine took a sip from her mug. "No license."
"We can apply for one."
"Locals don't do fancy drinks."
"We'll bring tourists in."
"They're not interested. The town's slowly dying."
"We can create interest."
"How?"
Heather swallowed. Her mother was right in insisting she prepared her 'spiel'. Josephine was probably one of many people she would have to sell on her ideas.
"By developing the brand and partnering with local businesses," Heather replied quickly. "We could organize summer events, concerts, all sorts to attract the tourists. If we work together, we can achieve great things."
Josephine's eyes opened wide. She paused with the mug at her lips.
Heather's heart dropped a level or two, sinking towards her feet. Her chef and baker extraordinaire looked exactly like her mother just about to tell her off for being such an eternal optimist.
But Josephine simply took another sip of her coffee.
Heather's world wobbled. She might have known how to get tickets to "no media" fashion shows, talk a celebrity into juicy "wardrobe malfunction" gossip, or negotiate "rights to exclusive snippets" with internet micro influencers. She could make any Harpy Class "I'm-sorry-but-no" receptionist put her through to whoever Heather wanted to talk to, but Josephine Barry was in a league of her own.
Heather reached for her mug once more. She needed to get over the jetlag quick or she'd never find a way to realize her mid-life crisis dream of running a beach café in a (sub)tropical paradise.
"That's my long-term plan, anyway," she said as lightly as she could. "For now, though, I'd love to get to know to the place and the people better. Could you show me around?"
Josephine shook her head. "Not today, as most shops are already closed, but I was going to pop to the post office. You can come with me."
2
Heather clambered to her feet.
Having cleared her plate of any remnants of her scone, and most of the muffin in the meantime, her internal red "Full" light flashed on. Although she shouldn't have eaten the whole scone and the whole muffin, she didn't have the courage, or the heart to decline the treat. They were both so delicious.
Baking was clearly where Josephine's heart must have been.
Heather needed to be careful with her requests for food. With only one stomach and of a small size, Heather could quickly get into deep trouble, given her sweet tooth and eagerness to please.
"Get your baggage in and we'll go," Josephine ordered. "Where is it?"
Heather explained how she’d left her bags in her car.
"Bring the car around. You can leave it by the entrance tonight. I'll clear the table."
Heather did as Josephine advised and parked her Nissan alongside the café's rear, beach entrance. She pulled the suitcases out of the trunk.
"Need a hand?" Josephine called out from the kitchen window.
"No thanks, I'll be fine. Can you show me where my bedroom is?" Heather asked, hefting one of the too-heavy suitcases.
She lunged forwards and almost tripped over a stone.
"Shoots!" she blurted, before managing to regain her footing.
She'd forgotten this was the luggage where she'd put her alcoholic shopping. No, scratch that: her vital cocktail ingredients—slash—business capital investment.
"Are you sure you don't need a hand?" Josephine’s alto boomed at her from the doorway.
"No, I'll be fine, thanks," Heather repeated and flashed her one of her best "I'm fine" smiles.
"No, you won't. That suitcase must weigh a tone." Josephine crossed the terraced and grabbed the handle of the said piece of luggage.
"Let me deal with it," she added, eyeing Heather, and lifting the suitcase.
Fortunately, she didn't make any comment about Heather's lack of stature, her five feet two inches height and her children’s clothing size. She didn't have to. With her being at least five-six and owning a healthy body frame, Josephine was towering over Heather, despite having more years on her counter and carrying a slight hunch.
"Follow me," Josephine said and just walked back inside.
When they reached the first-floor landing, Josephine lowered the suitcase down to the floor and the bottles clinked. "What have you got in here? All your family heirlooms?" She added an unnerving eyebrow lift. "We do have alcohol here, too. You know that, right?"
Heather's cheeks burned.
"It's for the cocktails. I wanted to practice," Heather replied hastily. "I was thinking of preparing something tonight. Maybe inviting some neighbors as well?"
Josephine nodded. "You can certainly try."
"I'll need some ice."
Josephine nodded again and kept walking.
"Now, here’s your flat," she announced, pulling a key from the front pocket of her apron. "I've cleaned it. All the personal stuff has been cleared, but we've left the furniture and some of the decorations. Ricky didn't want anything, and I thought it was better to have the flat furnished when you arrive." She unlocked the door and stood aside to let Heather in. "The photos and paintings on the walls are Maree's. She was a bit of an artist. Nothing special. She just liked taking pictures and painting the local area. You can get rid of stuff you don't want and furnish it to your taste."
Heather entered the small hallway, which opened into a living room to her right.
"Haere mai! As we say here. Welcome," Josephine said. "Here is your bedroom." She opened a door to their left. "And there’s a little kitchenette at the back of the living room."
Heather followed Josephine into the open living space. The floors were covered with a neutral color carpet, one matching the walls.
Heather nodded appreciatively.
Somewhere between grey and cream. Liveable.
The furniture in the living area was simple—a sofa with two armchairs, all in a tone darker grey.
"The suite is a little tired," Josephine said, putting the big suitcase down, by one of the armchairs, "but as I said, still in a usable condition. You have basic pots and pans, if you wanted to cook. You’ll need to do some shopping, of course, but you’re welcome to use the kitchen downstairs."
"Thanks," Heather replied.
"I'll carry your suitcase to the bedroom and leave you to refresh up," Josephine added and grabbed the suitcase again.
Heather followed her into the bedroom. Again, simple, basic furniture, comfortable enough, and in muted colors. A few pictures graced the wall and the room was topped off with a big window overlooking the stunning bay.
"Oh, that's beautiful," Heather let a sigh out. Indeed, the view from the widow could compensate for any lack of comfort. The room occupied the corner of the building. The café area lay directly beneath, under a sail roof that was not in the view. A line of shrubs and trees separated the yard and the path leading to the café from the swathe of golden sand, bending gently around the bay and leading the eye towards high rocks in the distance. A small flotilla of boats wobbled on the crystal blue water.
"Picture perfect," Heather commented.
"Maree liked to watch the waves and the sea birds," Josephine said, pointing to a tripod with a pair of binoculars by the window. Her voice trembled. "I've put it up for you."
"That's very nice," Heather replied. "Thank you so much."
Perhaps her new employee wasn't as bad as she first appeared.
"Maree must have loved this place."
Josephine's face tensed. "She did. We both did."
"It must have been a shock when she died. Didn't you want to take over the business?"
"No. I'm not a business person. I cook and bake, but books and money it's not my cup of tea."
"Thank you for staying to help me ru
n the place," Heather said, carefully controlling her voice.
Josephine took a deep breath. "It felt like an obligation. The last thing I could do for my best friend."
Heather pressed her lips together, and the joy from a minute earlier dissipated. Her plans to reinvigorate the old business might need to wait until the contract-agreed work period was over for Josephine.
"She died quite unexpectedly, didn't she?" Heather asked, changing the subject and grabbing the binoculars to study the beach.
"Yes," Josephine's voice took on a strange, wooden tone.
Heather, intrigued by the change, glanced at the other woman. "I remember the lawyer saying something about a car accident?"
"Something like that," Josephine replied, looking away.
Josephine’s reaction piqued Heather's curiosity. "A drunk driver hit her, yes?"
"More like someone who was stoned," Josephine replied, in the same tone of voice.
"A local?"
"The police never identified them."
"But if he or she hit her car-"
"There was no collision," Josephine cut in, harshly. "Maree drove into a tree, probably trying to avoid a crash with an oncoming car. Something went wrong with her brakes, apparently. Now, I'll leave you to refresh. We have to leave in a few minutes," Josephine added and rushed from the room.
Heather only needed a few minutes. A hand wash, a few splashes on cold water on her face and a quick run of the comb through her chocolaty-brown curls was all she required for her to feel refreshed enough.
Fortunately, the coffee had done its job.
The sun was low on the horizon when Heather and Josephine walked down the town main street.
"The post office is just around the corner," Josephine said. "Everything is just around the corner here. Although the town is quite small, it can get crowded. Fortunately, it's too late for crowds now."
Josephine clearly didn't like crowds too much
Heather would rather see some crowds, both for her business prospects and her sanity. After the long drive north from Auckland, she was missing people.
"That's okay. What about something to eat? A dinner?" Heather asked. "Shall I get us something? It's my treat."
"No, no," Josephine looked at her as if an ugly word had just sneaked from Heather's mouth. "I'm preparing whitebait fritters. I've spoken to the neighbors, who..." Josephine paused to release a breath. "Expressed interest in meeting and greeting you tonight. They'll bring a plate." Josephine explained heading for the little building at the corner. "Bring a plate is a Kiwi expression, it means-"
"I know," Heather interrupted, keen to present her credentials. "In the US, we call it potluck dinner."
"Probably not a full dinner, but if you're hungry I can whip something more substantial together."
"No, I'm not that hungry."
"But I can put the patio heater on, and we can sit outside, if you want."
"Sounds lovely," Heather clapped her hands. She wanted to say something nice to Josephine, but the older woman had already turned left and entered a bakery shop.
Heather followed her, confused.
"Need two baguettes," Josephine said, probably more to the man behind the counter than to Heather. So, she waited by the door.
The transaction was smooth and efficient. No unnecessary words were exchanged.
"Rangi's bread is the best in town," Josephine observed on the way out. "We have to hurry up to catch the post office though."
They did but, fortunately, everything was close by as Josephine had mentioned. A minute later, Heather and Josephine reached their destination.
The post office was small, more of a book-and-office supplies shop that offered postal services.
"Hi, Sam, how are you?" Josephine greeted the middle-aged woman behind the counter. "This is Heather, Kea Café's new owner." She waved her hand somewhere over Heather's head.
"Hello, Sam. Nice to meet you," Heather said, standing on her toes.
Why did store counters have to be lifted so high off the floor?
"Welcome to our little slice of paradise. It's good to know the café will be open again soon. We've missed Josephine's cakes and Maree...' The woman, Sam, wheezed in a breath. "I mean, and a great coffee," she added promptly.
"Yeah, we'll be back open again soon," Josephine replied gruffly. "I wanted to collect that parcel. Here's the card." She handed a piece of paper she’d pulled from her handbag.
Sam disappeared into the back room.
"A bunch of fancy ingredients from Auckland," Josephine said quietly by way of explanation. "You can't get everything you want here."
Heather nodded. It had been a good decision to buy the cocktail ingredients in the duty-free shop at the airport.
Josephine marched back to the café in silence, the tension in her upper back plain to see.
Or maybe this was just the discomfort from her scoliotic spine?
However, the tension lifted as soon as they were back in the café, back on home territory.
"I'll get down to preparing the food," Josephine explained. "You can have a rest."
"I'll make the cocktails. I don't need a lot of room, but would like a small section of worktop, if you don't mind."
Josephine jerked her chin, pointing at the farther end of the kitchen table.
"That'll be great, thanks!" Heather replied and ran upstairs to collect her ingredients.
It didn’t take long for Heather to decide that Josephine was an absolute wizard in the kitchen. Her moves were smooth and efficient as she thawed, mixed the batter and fried the little fish. She kept the prepared ones warm in the oven.
Heather, having decided long ago on her first New Zealand cocktail, pulled the recipe from her pocket. She might have already made it a few times in her life, but she didn't want to get anything wrong.
Long Island Iced Tea.
It might have not been her favorite, or popular with ladies, but it was a little wink towards her old life and a toast to the new life.
She mixed the equal parts of vodka, gin, and rum, and a smaller shot of triple sec.
Maybe it wasn't particularly wise getting all the guests drunk on her first cocktail, but she'd serve it with a warning and plenty of water, or some other soft drink.
Actually, why not iced tea, since it was late? Cola, even though part of the original recipe, might have not been the best idea in an evening drink.
Heather rushed back upstairs for the packet of iced tea, she’d picked up in Auckland the previous day.
Josephine set up a table on the terrace and fired up a heater. The sky was already darkening, with only smudges of red and orange daubed above the horizon. The wind was fresh and carried the salt tang of seawater.
The neighbors arrived on time, bringing a plate with salad on it. They looked like a friendly retired couple from a TV advert for a retirement village. Both were of medium height, slender, and wore light, casual clothes. Both were tanned, relaxed and smiling.
Something tugged at Heather's gut.
"I'm Gordon, Gordon Archer. Thank you for inviting us to a little welcoming party," the man shook her hand gently and then kissed it. "And this is my wife, Helen. We run the B&B next door, Beach Paradise.”
Heather suppressed a wince and forced a smile.
"Nice to meet you," she said, pulling her hand from Gordon's grasp and extending it to Helen-a slightly-built woman with an immaculate hairdo and one of those invisible makeups only women could spot. “Lovely name for a B&B.”
“Thank you. It's great to have you here. The café needs its life back, as does the town," Helen said, clasping Heather's hand between hers.
They sat around the table, helping themselves to the fritters, salad and bread.
"So how do you find the town?" Helen asked.
"I haven't seen much yet," Heather answered, "but I really do like what I've seen so far."
"It's a quiet season, now. But it can get busy in summer," Gordon added.
"Not so m
uch lately," Josephine grumbled.
"So, what are you planning to do with the café?" Helen asked, pointedly switching the subject.
Heather tensed. Josephine just shuffled to the kitchen to collect a serving spoon for the salad.
Why did Helen think the café was an easier topic than the dying tourism in town?
"I'm not sure yet," Heather replied, scrambling for another, genuinely safe topic for discussion. She pointed to the fence, separating the café from the Archers' property.
"You have a nice house and a lovely garden," she said, even though she hadn't seen much of it yet.
"Thank you. Anything to make our guests' stay enjoyable," Gordon replied. "The business is slower now, of course, but it doesn't mean we can't deliver the top-rated service we're famous for," he added smoothly.
His face, that wrinkled every time he smiled, was very different from Heather’s ex-husband's, but something in his voice reminded her of Rob. She winced.
"So, tell us more about yourself, what brings you here, Heather?" Helen asked.
Even though, it was the most natural of questions, asked in an appropriately friendly way, Heather couldn't shake the feeling she was being interviewed.
Interrogated?
"I've had more than enough of the rat race back in New York. The fashion industry I've worked in for years is so shallow and disconnected from nature. We may have a fashion season calendar, but it's got precious little to do with nature," Heather stuck to the superficial, official version of events, skipping over her being increasingly side-lined at work, her husband's affair and their subsequent divorce, her career crisis and the overwhelming need for a radical overhaul. "I wanted a positive change in my life. Peace and quiet, in harmony with nature. Doing something tangible, with my hands. Bringing little joys into people's lives."
Wanted wouldn't even describe it.
And frankly, any change would do.
"Oh, you'll have it aplenty here," Gordon replied and smiled again.
Once more, the wrinkled eyes examined her carefully.
"Heather, what about your drinks?" Josephine asked, returning with the spoon.
"Indeed!" Heather stood up. "I nearly forgot. I've prepared special cocktails."
"I'll help you with the pitcher," Josephine said and followed her to the kitchen before Heather could decline.