by Clare Ashton
“Hi, Mum.”
Emma shot a glance over her glasses and folded away the note. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“Are you ok? Is there a problem?”
Her mother hesitated. “A little one, but nothing to concern yourself with.”
“Something about the café?”
Emma nodded and unfurled the paper to hand to Poppy. “Dai printed these off for me. He spotted them while searching for wedding venues online, but I wasn’t going to bother you with them. You’ve been so preoccupied.”
Poppy scanned over two short scathing paragraphs describing the café, each attributed to anonymous reviewers. This was all she needed.
“Where are these from?” Poppy asked.
“Trip Advisor I think.”
“But I don’t understand. What do they mean ‘the cakes were stale’? I’m fanatical about checking the stock.”
Her mother shrugged.
Poppy’s mood slumped again. “Maybe I had a bad day and missed something. I’ll ask everyone to use the checklist, just in case.”
The shop door burst open and Alan Watkins’ shadow loomed large in the doorway. He stepped into the room, his bulging detail revealed under the shop lights, and slid off his cap in a moist manoeuvre.
“Evening, ladies. Oh dear.” He paused. “Not bad news I hope.”
“Good evening, Alan,” Emma said. “No, just a little setback with the café.”
“Oh aye.” He trudged over to the counter with eager relish. Poppy still dwelled on the reviews, and before she could contribute Alan peered over her shoulder.
“Oh, that’s bad,” he inhaled with a hiss between his teeth. “One star from two reviewers. Nobody wants that. ‘Stale food’, ‘disorganised kitchen’. Harsh criticism indeed.”
Poppy’s heart sunk to new depths.
“Watch your stock. You don’t want people getting suspicious about your hygiene. Especially if your kitchen doesn’t look clinical.”
And Poppy’s heart found a low beneath that.
“Looked like your little café was on the up. But…”
He seemed to reconsider, perhaps in the face of Poppy’s utter dejection, and added, “I suppose the best establishments improve with criticism. In the long run it may even be for the best.”
She peered up at Alan. “Thank you,” she said. It was a tiny glint in the clouds, but it had been the only light of the day.
For a moment he looked bashful at Poppy’s gratitude then gave her a hearty slap between the shoulders. “Chin up, Poppy. I’ve had poor feedback from customers in the past, and I’ve always managed to bounce back.”
She pursed her lips and strained a smile, managing a limp curl at the corner of her mouth.
“Anyway. I’m dropping off a few more leaflets for the hotel. I bet you’ve run out with all the trade passing through here lately.”
Emma accepted the fan of leaflets from his hand and squirreled them beneath the counter, a tall pile remaining on the top from his previous visit.
“Right. I won’t keep you,” he said without noticing. “I’m off to Cerys’ meeting. God only knows why.” And he lumbered out with a backhand of a wave.
Poppy and her mother stared at the door, gloom and Alan’s odour lingering in the air.
Emma sighed. “Speaking of the fair meeting, one of us ought to go.”
Poppy threw down her tea towel on the counter. “I know.” But she didn’t move.
Her mother considered her and smiled. “This will all pass. We’ve had a good run of late.”
“Will it pass, or is this the end of our luck?”
Her mother shook her head. “No. You’re too good. People have noticed at last and the café has momentum now, especially if the fair does well.”
Fatigue washed over Poppy at the thought of another meeting on top of the remaining café work.
“I did intend going,” she muttered, “but I’m way behind on prep for tomorrow.” And frankly she didn’t have the heart for it today.
“I can finish up,” Emma said. “I’m happy to swap.”
Poppy managed a tired and grateful smile and dug deep for enthusiasm for the fair. “Thank you, Mum. And would you…”
“Use the checklists? Of course.”
Poppy felt guilty for asking. “Just in case.”
She slipped off her apron, kissed her mother and scurried out of the door.
Lights shone through the town hall windows and Poppy dashed towards the imposing doors before they were shut for the meeting. It was busy and the modest number of seats laid out by Cerys were already occupied.
“Good crowd again.” Dai appeared behind her. “I’m surprised.”
They grabbed seats from the stacks around the edge of the room and shuffled in at the back. It seemed the meeting was underway but by no means organised.
“How many stalls have been paid for?” Alan Watkins’ voice came loud and clear from the front of the audience.
Cerys shuffled on the stage, clutching a clipboard tight to her chest.
“Not many, admittedly. But we have Poppy’s café, my woollens, Mari’s pots, Emma’s art, Mary Tudor’s wicker creations…”
A murmur of low male voices rumbled from the front. Poppy stretched up to see a crowd around Alan, all chuckling among themselves with derision written on their faces. She caught disparaging comments alluding to “little old lady crafts” and “pretty doilies”.
“That’s no more than usual Cerys,” Alan said. “Come on, where are all these other businesses you promised?”
Cerys twitched and clutched her clipboard tighter. “We’re working on it. I’m talking to Montgomeryshire Ice Creams and Aberrhiw Cider and I’m still hopeful.”
“Well.” Alan sighed and crossed his arms. “I hope you’re not pinning your hopes on them. I’ll tell you now, Rhys from Aberrhiw Cider isn’t going to be impressed with a crowd of craft women. They’ll hardly make a great drinking festival.”
“Because it’s all about showing you’re a man, isn’t it Alan.” Rosalyn’s voice sliced through the jeers. Her heeled boots stabbed the floor and the sharp click snapped everyone to attention. She strode to the front, her coat billowing in her wake.
Alan coloured and his posture tensed with antagonism.
“It’s all about how many pints you can down then puke up on the way home. Even better if your obedient wives clean up after you.” Rosalyn fixed him with a glare. “Is that how you prove your masculinity, Alan?”
The sneer on Alan’s face was vicious. “No, Rosalyn, it’s not. Would you like me to show you how I prove my masculinity?”
“Oh ho.” Jeers and whoops erupted around the hall, and Alan’s cronies eyed Rosalyn like wolves.
She remained unruffled. “If that’s showing what you do with your tiny prick, which used to vanish in the cold showers at school, I suggest you find a better way.”
Alan’s face blazed with fury.
“Besides,” Rosalyn continued with disdain, “you have the demographic for Aberrhiw Cider all wrong. He’s an artisan business, a very successful one, producing premium ales and cider for discerning customers, and I would include women in that. Much more so than you volume drinkers.”
“What’s your problem, Rosalyn?” Alan had stood and shouted at full volume. “You left here, too good for us all. And now what? You can’t stand that some of us are successful so you resort to spreading gossip and sending anonymous complaints.”
The two council workers who’d been suspended glowered next to Alan, venomous hatred in their eyes.
Dai whispered in Poppy’s ear. “Was it Rosalyn? The one who complained about Gareth and Glyn?”
Poppy stuttered, too stunned by the proceedings to talk clearly. “I don’t know. She said nothing to me.”
All eyes turned to Rosalyn.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m very disappointed you’ve been reinstated. You must have friends in the right places.”
There was a collective intake of breath and people s
hook their heads or turned away. Alan and his friends gloated at Rosalyn and the crowd’s surprise.
“But there wasn’t any evidence was there,” Alan chided. “It was supposition, a few statistics and circumstantial evidence.”
“Is that right, Alan? You seem well informed for someone who doesn’t work in the council offices.”
“Get away with you,” Alan spat. He turned and dismissed her with a wave of the hand. “Now come on, Cerys. Let’s get back to this hopeless fair of yours.”
Poor Cerys looked mortified. Her head twitched back and forth. A stream of syllables poured from her mouth, but none formed a coherent sentence.
“Why don’t you tell us how your advertising campaign is going?” Alan taunted.
“Actually,” Cerys stuttered, “it hasn’t been going well.”
There were hoots of laughter and Gareth and Glyn heckled.
Rosalyn asked, “Did you have any luck with the feature for the County Times?”
“No.” Cerys shook her head. “I can’t understand it.”
“And adverts? Any interest from stall holders after they’ve been published?”
“I missed the deadline for last week’s they said, even though I popped it through the door myself on the right day.”
“Gosh that’s odd.” Rosalyn’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “You know, I’ve heard of advertising going awry for other businesses too. Perhaps we should check with the editor. Does anyone know who that might be?”
Dai whispered, “Isn’t it Gary Gittins? The bloke who was Alan Watkins’ best man?”
Poppy’s heart sank again. “I think that’s what she’s getting at,” she said and she couldn’t bear to lift her eyes and watch the scene.
Alan scoffed. “You’re going to raise a complaint against Gary Gittins, are you?”
“Perhaps.” Rosalyn regarded him. “But for now, let me raise a question.” She paused and a hush fell over the audience. “Why are you, businessman extraordinaire, present at this insignificant meeting for what you term a ‘hopeless fair’? And what possible interest do your henchman have in this? And isn’t it funny how a network of friends in the Welshpool Rotary Club have an undue influence on the affairs of nearby villages like Wells.”
No-one talked.
“It’s as if there were some advantage in a coordinated strategy of draining attention and money away from places like Wells so, maybe, a place like Welshpool benefits. And wouldn’t it be odd if those same people had businesses in that town. What do you think?”
Alan appeared to be on the back foot. “Now, there could be sound business reasons for all of that. Concentrating resources in a town with good infrastructure, there’s nothing out of the ordinary about that.”
“True.” Rosalyn was unperturbed. “But there’s such a lack of subtlety about it all, as if masterminded by a rather average intellect with a larger than average chip on his shoulder. Someone supported by people so inept and incapable of unsupervised subterfuge they rejected every single business planning application for expansion in Wells for the last five years.”
A group of men jumped to their feet around Alan, their anger directed at Rosalyn. The clamour of male voices and frenetic chatter of the crowd filled the air and Poppy felt like burrowing into the ground.
“Dew dew.” Dai shook his head. “I know you’ve become friendly with Rosalyn again, but that’s quite a conspiracy theory she’s got going there.”
Poppy didn’t know how to respond. Rosalyn’s outburst and venom made her nauseous.
“And I know the boys drink a few too many now and again, but it’s pretty normal isn’t it?”
Poppy nodded her head, not agreeing or disagreeing.
“I don’t know why Rosalyn has a problem with Alan Watkins. He offered good advice at the last meeting, and to his credit the fair is going exactly the way he said it would.” Dai peered at Poppy. “I know we both love the place, but with the best will in the world, Wells isn’t a major destination. It can’t support an event like this.”
Poppy was flooded with too many thoughts and feelings to contribute and Dai carried on. “I don’t remember if there’s a history between them at school, but if anything, to me, it seems like she’s the one with a bloody great chip on her shoulder.”
Poppy didn’t know who had the larger grudge. Even if Alan Watkins were prejudiced, Rosalyn had a personal agenda of her own. Poppy felt sickened by the scene and another of Rosalyn’s vitriolic attacks on Wells.
“You’ve got away with things for too long, Alan.” It was Rosalyn again, her voice vicious. “Just because locals in this town are too stupid or generous to notice, doesn’t mean you always will.”
“Now steady on,” Dai almost shouted.
The comment cut deep and Poppy blushed with humiliation to her roots. Whether Rosalyn meant it or not, it was difficult not to take her attack personally, and the feelings from the encounter the night before engulfed Poppy again. Unable to bear any more she clutched her stomach and rose. With her thoughts in turmoil, Poppy left the room and the braying voices behind.
She dashed across the square, her clipped footsteps echoing in the empty dusk. She rattled the key in the shop door, her fingers trembling, and was about to close the door when she heard urgent footsteps approach.
“Poppy, I’m sorry. That didn’t include you.” Rosalyn’s face was full of remorse. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
Poppy turned on her. “Really? A stupid and generous local?”
“Of course that isn’t you.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you to call me that.”
“Poppy, I wouldn’t—”
“And even if you didn’t, do you seriously expect me not to be offended?”
Poppy glared with a ferocity that still blazed with indignation from the confessions of the night before and for a moment Rosalyn faltered.
“You were unspeakably rude to everyone in the room and the village – my parents, my sister, friends. How can that not affect me?”
“I’m sorry.” Rosalyn put up her hands in defence. “It was wrong to damn everyone. I value some of the people here very much, including you. But some in this village have nothing but their own interests at heart, and much to the detriment of everyone else.”
“But can’t you see how it comes across? You treat everyone with disdain. And with this council and fair business, you seem to have a personal vendetta against the blokes in Wells.”
“Like Alan Watkins?”
“Yes.”
“Well now you mention it, I do.”
Poppy slapped her hands to her face in exasperation.
“Poppy, how can you let him get away with this? Alan and his mates have been draining this village for years to line their own pockets.”
“Oh come on. Alan and his so-called collaborators at the council? Seriously?”
“Yes. He’s a dodgy bastard who pushes the limits at every turn.”
“But people here trust him. They like him.”
“Who? Other blokes who don’t respect the arts of Cerys and your mother? Gullible villagers who couldn’t spot the crook if it were painted on a bilingual sign on his forehead?”
Poppy bristled.
“You know Alan for what he is, Poppy. He’s a vindictive misogynistic little shit who, if he’s not criminal, then he steps very close to the line.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a pompous business man who’s a bit full of himself.”
“But the trouble is, he’s so full of himself there’s no room for respect for anyone else.”
“The same could be said about you,” Poppy spat.
Rosalyn was quiet a moment, the wind taken from her sails. “By you?” she asked.
“No.” Poppy looked down. “Not by me.”
“Good. Because that’s all that matters to me.”
“Well it shouldn’t be.” Poppy glared at her. “This is the problem. I don’t exist in a vacuum. You can’t be friends just with me. You can’t respec
t me if you disparage everyone and everything I care about.”
Rosalyn looked pained. “Poppy, I adore your parents and Pip is a fabulous young woman. But I can’t turn a blind eye to the imperfections of Wells, and neither should you.”
“But you despise the place. You don’t have a good word about anything or anyone here.”
Rosalyn seemed unrepentant.
“It’s done you no favours.” Poppy said. “In fact, it’s done us a great deal of harm.”
Rosalyn blanched. Her face was ghostly in the dim light. She took a while to recover but then rediscovered her voice. “I stand by what I said last night. It would have been a blood bath if I’d come out at school. They would have torn me to pieces.”
Poppy snapped her hands to her hips. “Your problem is you think too ill of people.”
“And yours is you think too well.”
Rosalyn’s retort was sharp and they stood divided as their accusations echoed around the square.
Rosalyn breathed in. “Apart from your reservations about me, you take everyone at face value.”
Poppy looked to the skies. “And what’s the point of doing anything else? Even the most mendacious don’t lie all the time. I would spend my whole life second-guessing people, and I’d get it wrong twice as often as right. Would it be any better?”
Rosalyn simply stared in response.
“At least this way, I can smile and have a happy day.”
Rosalyn frowned. “But sometimes, there’s something critical wrong and it casts a shadow over every happy day.”
“This is your prejudice showing,” Poppy said exasperated. “You still have an axe to grind after all these years. Why can’t you let things go?”
“Because this is important to me and I’m not giving up.”
“Why?” Poppy wanted to scream. “I don’t understand why you’re still here even.”
“Really?” Rosalyn looked bitter towards Poppy for the first time. “Do you have no suspicion at all?”
“No,” Poppy snapped.
Rosalyn took a step back with her anger before speaking again. “I came back originally to make peace with my father when I thought he might die. But that’s not why I stayed.” She peeped at Poppy, her face passionate and fearful. “I admit I’ve become distracted. I’ve been enticed by a dear friend and someone I loved.”