‘I had an odd dream,’ said Alys. ‘Well, a nightmare, really. Took me a while to get back to sleep. I’ll be all right when I’ve had a shower.’ For some reason, she felt unwilling to share any further details of her dream. Somehow, it all still felt too real.
‘Sure?’ Moira looked doubtful. ‘I can manage without you for a bit if you want to catch up on some sleep?’
Alys looked out of the window. The weather had cleared, the sun was shining and it looked set to be a glorious day. She would have dearly loved another hour or so in bed, but she said, ‘I’ll be fine. Looks like we might be busy today. Give me ten minutes to get ready, then let’s bake.’
Alys’s assumptions proved correct. The tourists, trapped indoors the previous day by the dire weather, were out in full force. The bell on the café door sounded constantly as customers thronged in, and by the time they shut the doors at the end of the day, the cake stands were bare.
‘Every scrap has gone!’ Alys was amazed. The day had been so busy that she hadn’t had time to think about being tired. Now her legs felt leaden and her eyes gritty and sore.
‘An early night for you, I think?’ Moira was looking at her with some sympathy. ‘We’ll have to be up early again to bake in the morning, though. The weather forecast is good until the end of the week.’
Despite her exhaustion, Alys felt a little thrill. The café was doing well and she loved it when there was a constant stream of customers. Plus, she’d got a couple of new recipes that she was looking forward to trying out. The Celestial Cake Café had had a great review in the local press and there’d even been a mention in The Yorkshire Post. Alys teased her aunt that they’d be featured on Trip Advisor before long but although Moira smiled, Alys had the feeling that she didn’t really know what she was talking about.
The previous night’s bad dream felt very much in the past as she and Moira walked home, the sun still warm on their faces and the air filled with the calls of swifts swooping overhead, delighted by the insect bonanza brought about by the change in the weather. She was still keen to learn more about Alice, and her family history, but this didn’t feel like the right moment to broach the subject again, and perhaps Moira wasn’t even the right person to ask?
Chapter Two
Alys closed the oven door and sighed. The lemon poppy-seed cake had come out of the oven sad. Very sad, in fact: it was decidedly flat and the weight of a brick. She knew it had been a mistake to try out a new recipe she’d found on the Internet – something about it hadn’t seemed quite right. No time to start again now, though. She might manage to turn out some flapjacks or coconut cookies instead. They were quick to make, and usually sold well. Alys checked the larder – there were plenty of ingredients here for either recipe. She took butter, sugar, flour, coconut. She’d make the cookies, she decided. Then there’d just be time to check her emails before she set off for the shop.
With the cookies in the oven and the washing-up done, she flipped open the laptop. A succession of pings told her that she had mail – not all of it welcome, she realised as she stared at the screen. There was an email from her mother – without even opening it she felt guilty. She’d contacted her the day after she’d arrived to give her an update on Aunt Moira but now she came to think of it, she hadn’t been in touch since. How many weeks had she been here? Her heart sank – her mum was going to be upset with her. She’d send her an email later, she decided, a lengthy one, full of news. She hesitated, fingers poised over the keyboard. Should she open Kate’s email or was it going to make her grumpy all day. Reasoning that if she didn’t, it would just weigh on her mind anyway, she opened it. ‘Hope all is going well,’ it read. ‘I know you must be busy but would love to hear your news. How is Moira feeling? Send her my love, Mum xxx’
Now she felt even worse. The tone was very restrained; really, her mother would have been well within her rights to have a rant. She’d send her some photos along with the email tonight, she decided – she’d take some in the café today. Alys didn’t think that her mother would really want to see the photos of flowers and landscapes that had filled her phone since she’d been here. Cakes, the café and Moira it would have to be.
The buzzer on the oven warned her that the cookies were ready. She took them out, inhaling the rich, sweet aroma. They’d need to cool on the baking tray, then on the wire rack, before she could take them to the café. Which meant that she had time to look at the other emails, the ones from Tim.
There were three of them, sent on consecutive days. It dawned on Alys that she hadn’t been checking her mail regularly – back in London she would have looked on waking up, at lunchtime and more than once in the evening, not to mention keeping an eye on Facebook and Instagram. She’d gradually stopped doing that while she’d been here, for no reason other than she’d been busy and it hadn’t seemed important. And, she realised, she’d barely thought of Tim since she’d posted the letter to him. He’d emailed her pretty swiftly once he’d got the letter, an email in which he had made a lot of sweeping assumptions about what she was thinking, which had only served to annoy her. She’d resisted firing back an answer straight away and had left it a couple of days, then replied with an email focusing on the café and her Aunt Moira and how her help was going to be needed there for a good few weeks. She knew she had rather dodged the issue, and she’d continued to do so, replying to his texts with smiley faces and messages along the lines of ‘Must rush – catch up later’, before she’d stopped replying at all. She’d answered a couple more emails, keeping things deliberately light, noncommittal and brief.
So, should she read his latest emails now? And if so, start with the earliest or the latest one? Aware that she had compressed her lips and gritted her teeth, she sighed and opened the last one. Tim had clearly been very wound up by her failure to reply to his previous emails. ‘So, I suppose your lack of response is part of your grand plan to have nothing more to do with me? You thought you could just vanish out of my life without giving me a good reason? I thought better of you Alys. If I sound upset, that’s because I am.’
Alys snapped the laptop shut and sat back. Her instant reaction was a feeling of rage, but she fought it down by reasoning that Tim was justifiably annoyed by her failure to respond to his earlier messages. If she replied now, she would have to draft and re-draft before she had crafted a suitable response. Far better to leave it until this evening, she reasoned. And in any case, Moira would be needing her, and the cookies, at the café.
Fifteen minutes later, Alys arrived at the café to find a tractor parked outside and Rob inside at the counter, chatting to Moira.
‘There you are,’ Moira said. ‘Rob has just been asking how you were getting on, and I said you were at home baking.’
Alys opened the cake box and handed it to Moira. ‘Here you are. Probably still a bit warm but just in time for the eleven o’clock rush.’
Rob leant over the box and sniffed. ‘Mmm – they smell good.’
‘Take one,’ Moira offered.
‘No thanks – I’ve got my coffee. Better get my tractor off your doorstep,’ Rob said with a grin. ‘Oh – and next week for the trip?’ he asked Moira, who nodded assent as he left.
‘What trip?’ Alys asked her aunt as she watched Rob swing himself up on to the tractor’s seat and set off, his takeaway coffee clutched in one hand.
‘Oh, a little surprise,’ Moira said. Alys thought she was looking rather pleased with herself. ‘I’ve asked Rob if he’ll take you to see something nearby. A sight that’s really worth seeing.’
‘Not in his tractor?’ Alys asked, watching his progress up the village street and admiring the way he deftly skirted his way around the parked cars.
‘His tractor?’ Moira asked, looking puzzled. ‘No, of course not.’
Further enquiry was prevented by the arrival of an influx of customers and Alys immersed herself in arranging the cookies on display and serving coffee, all thoughts of their conversation swept away by a busy day. As they we
re washing up and tidying at the end of the day, she had a light-bulb moment in relation to the lemon poppy-seed cake recipe and hurried back to Moira’s, determined to give it another try that evening. Her emails languished, awaiting responses, completely forgotten.
Chapter Three
The surprise trip was to Hobbs Hill, the one place in the area that Alys absolutely must see according to Moira and, as it was best reached by car, her aunt had asked Rob if he could drive her there. Privately, Alys doubted that anything was going to beat the immediate area around Northwaite, but she was happy to have a morning away from the café for a change, especially as the weather was so lovely on the chosen day. As they drove along, sunshine was pouring in through the open window on her side of the Land Rover.
Rob was fiddling with the radio controls. ‘Always seem to lose the signal round about here,’ he said. Alys was just about to tell him not to bother; that she was happy to experience the full glory of the view in peace, when he picked up a station. Through the static crackle, Alys made out a familiar beat, something that she hadn’t heard in a while. She laid her hand over Rob’s and he turned to look at her, startled.
‘Can we just listen to this for a minute, please?’ It was ‘Free’ by Ultra Naté and she’d loved it when she was at school, dancing around her bedroom to it whenever it came on the radio. Already she could barely keep still in her seat and her fingers were tapping out the rhythm on the door. She was painfully aware that an inane grin was plastered across her face and she fought down the urge to sing along, for Rob’s sake, but if she’d been alone she would have been belting it out.
The sentiment felt perfect for the moment. She was free, living her life as she wanted to, doing what she wanted to do. Corny though it was, it felt like a moment of affirmation. Here she was, on the road to Hobbs Hill with stunning views in every direction for miles as the sun burnt off any lingering morning mist. Her spirits soared along with the music, the track finishing just as they pulled into the hill-top parking area. No one else was around yet. Alys flung open the door of the Land Rover and took deep breaths of the air, which was faintly scented with wood smoke that drifted up from the wood burners in cottages far below. As Rob turned off the engine she was initially struck by the silence, until her ear became attuned to faint sounds: a distant tractor ploughing its way through the patchwork of fields down below, a skylark spilling its rapturous song from on high. Rob had already started out up a little grassy bank and Alys followed, feeling the pull in the backs of her calves. Heart pounding and rather more out of breath than she cared to admit, Alys reached the summit. She paused to take in the view, revolving slowly, drinking it in from every direction.
‘I never realised it was so beautiful up here. Thank you so much for bringing me!’ She turned to Rob and beamed. He looked taken aback and not a little embarrassed, but also pleased and proprietorial.
‘We’re lucky it’s such a glorious day. You really can see for miles. Look.’ Rob moved closer to Alys and pointed down into the valley. ‘That’s Northwaite over there. You can just see the church tower. And there’s Nortonstall beyond – it’s almost hidden in the bottom of the valley, but you can see where the river runs through it. And see those chimneys along the river?’ He pointed out the single brick-built chimneys, in varied states of disrepair, poking up through the trees all the way along the valley. ‘Those are all that’s left from the days of the cotton mills.’
Alys shivered, whether in response to the realisation of how small she was in such a vast landscape, or simply because her summer dress didn’t offer much protection from the brisk breeze on the summit, she wasn’t sure. Rob had noticed though.
‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘Sit yourself down here, you’ll be out of the wind.’ And he steered her to a sunny spot in the lee of the hill. ‘Give me a minute. I need to get something from the boot.’
Alys sat in the little grassy dip and hugged her knees to herself for warmth. She’d put on her favourite vintage frock this morning, cornflower blue crêpe-de-Chine, sprigged all over with white daisies, but she wished now that she’d thought to bring the English summer essential – a cardigan.
Rob reappeared with a blanket, a jumper, a flask and a box that looked as though it was from the café. He spread out the rug and offered Alys the jumper. ‘Here you go. Found this in the back. Probably smells of sheep but it’ll warm you up a bit.’ She pulled it on gratefully, feeling warmer in an instant. The wool was a bit scratchy and it did indeed have a smell of the fields but also something else: an indefinable scent that she realised with a start belonged to Rob.
‘Thank you.’ Alys lay back and stared up into the sky, deepest blue and infinite, with white wisps of cloud scudding across. She searched for the skylark, still pouring out its song from on high, and thought she’d spotted it, a tiny dot hovering, but it was lost again in the blink of an eye. She scanned the sky again for it then raised herself up on her elbows as she caught the scent of coffee.
‘This is a treat,’ she said, watching as Rob poured coffee from the flask into two takeaway cups, and opened the box.
Rob smiled ruefully. ‘You’ve got Moira to thank for it. She planned ahead, luckily, and gave me this when I picked you up.’
Alys raised her coffee cup and touched it to Rob’s. ‘To Moira!’ she said. ‘And what have we here?’ She peered into the box. ‘Looks like lemon poppy-seed cake!’
Rob looked doubtful. ‘Mmm? Cake for breakfast?’
Alys laughed. ‘Try it. You’ll see. You’ll be a convert. It’s a recipe I’ve been trying to perfect for a while and it’s already a favourite in the café.’
They sipped their coffee and ate their cake, Alys chasing every last crumb from the box with her forefinger. Warmed by the coffee and the increasing power of the sun, she pushed up the sleeves of the jumper, then eventually pulled it over her head and wrapped it around her neck. Rob rolled up the sleeves of his checked shirt. They sat and gazed at the view in companionable silence, Rob occasionally pointing out one or two more landmarks. Alys had an almost overwhelming urge to lean into him, to rest against his arm and feel the warmth of him against her, to catch his scent. She checked herself just in time, taken aback at the sudden intensity of her feelings and trying to push away uncomfortable thoughts about Tim. At that moment Rob glanced at his watch and sighed.
‘I’d like to stay here all day, but I need to drive over Haworth way and check on a delivery that’s due. And I promised Moira I’d get you back in time for the late-morning rush.’ He turned to look at Alys and, to her surprise, leaned forward and brushed the tip of her nose with his fingers. ‘And you’re catching the sun. Your freckles are coming out!’
Chapter Four
After their trip to Hobbs Hill, Rob had taken to dropping in regularly to the café for a takeaway coffee whenever he passed through the village, continuing to park his tractor outside, to Alys’s initial amusement. No one else had batted an eyelid, of course, and soon it was as normal to her as it was to them.
Alys had found herself looking forward to these visits. Although she was busy and exhausted a lot of the time, she missed the company of someone her own age. Most of the customers, local or passing through, were Moira’s age or older. The thought of going to a pub on her own, either in Northwaite or Nortonstall, just didn’t appeal. So, when Rob suggested another outing, she leapt at the chance. He’d dropped in to pick up a coffee as usual and had turned back just as he was about to leave.
‘Don’t suppose you fancy a night out in Nortonstall on Saturday?’ He’d directed this at Alys, and Moira, overhearing as she was clearing the tables, had suddenly discovered some urgent washing up that needed doing in the tiny kitchen area at the back.
‘There’s a band on at The Royal. Quite well known, apparently, and trying out some small gigs before they head out on tour. I’ve not heard of them, but it might make a change?’
He had been quite offhand about it. Alys wasn’t sure if he was worried about being turned down pub
licly, or he was genuinely not bothered whether he, or she, went or not. She’d been in Northwaite nearly two months now, though, and she was ready to try something different.
She looked directly at him, taking in his three-day stubble, hair that looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb since he’d got out of bed, and his deep brown eyes. ‘This Saturday. Yes, why not? Sounds good.’
Rob looked momentarily startled by her acceptance, then recovered himself. ‘I’ll pick you up from Moira’s. Eight o’clock?’
‘See you then,’ she said, wondering at their sudden formality.
Rob nodded briefly and left. Alys, watching him go, admired as usual the ease with which he hauled himself up into the tractor cab, then turned to find Moira watching her with a half-smile.
‘What?’ she demanded, feeling her colour rise.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ Moira busied herself rearranging cakes on plates and Alys was prevented from interrogating her further by the arrival of a party of walkers, their morning hike over and all of them in urgent need of coffee and cake. It was an hour or so before she had a chance to mull over Rob’s suggestion, as she did the washing up, and she was surprised to discover it was quite to her liking. Not just the chance of a night out, but the company involved.
By the time Saturday evening arrived, however, Alys had managed to get herself wound up. What would she wear? Was this an actual date? Was she even in a position to consider dating again? After all, she wasn’t sure that Tim had even got the message that she had been trying to convey to him, given that she’d been ignoring his emails. It was more than a bit stressful and not helped by Moira finding it all very amusing.
‘For heaven’s sake, you’re just going to the pub with a friend. You’re getting in a state about nothing,’ Moira said as Alys, at five minutes to eight, suddenly decided that she needed to change again. Her bed was already piled high with discarded outfits; she had dithered over a dress or jeans, a top and leggings, or something smarter. Did she even have anything smarter with her?
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