You've Got My Number: Warm your heart this winter with this uplifting and deliciously romantic story!

by Angela Barton

  ‘Hello, what can I get you?’ asked the assistant.

  ‘We’ve come to view the property. We have an appointment at eleven.’

  ‘Just a second.’ The girl yelled through a door behind her. ‘Jimmy! Someone to view the property.’

  The room quietened and Tess cringed. ‘Now the world knows why we’re here,’ she whispered.

  Tess and her parents stood to one side while the next customer was served. The door behind the counter opened and a large man with a ruddy face walked into the room. Balanced precariously on the end of his nose was a pair of half-moon glasses. He boomed a hearty greeting, shook hands with each of them and invited them through the internal door.

  ‘Not one for tact, that one,’ Jimmy wheezed as he climbed the stairs. He beckoned them to follow him. ‘Face of an angel, voice of a fog horn.’

  Having viewed two bedrooms and the bathroom, the final room to see upstairs was at the front of the building, directly above the teashop. Tess was taken aback when the door was opened. Sunshine streamed into the room through a large bay window, highlighting a cream cornice edging the high ceiling. All the furniture in Rose Cottage would fit in this one room. Tess and her parents were drawn to the large bay window overlooking the harbour. It was a scene that could grace any postcard. In the distance she could see the ferry that travelled backwards and forwards across the estuary to Rock. She watched the hustle and bustle of the holidaymakers going in and out of the gift shops. The reds, blues and yellows of the painted hulls reflected in the water and bunting flickered in the breeze. Tess’s mind buzzed at the opportunity this could give her, in a place she loved.

  ‘Just the kitchen to show you now,’ said Jimmy, leaving the room.

  Back downstairs the kitchen was quite roomy, but disappointingly old-fashioned. The odour of onions accompanied the burnt liver-coloured walls. Cupboards were lopsided and the upright oven looked sad and unused. The Crimptons obviously bought their cakes in from elsewhere. Tess’s imagination was in overdrive again. She imagined revamping the kitchen and bringing it alive with the smells of lemon, vanilla, cinnamon and chocolate.

  ‘Well, that’s your lot.’ Mr Crimpton scratched his head. ‘If you’re still interested you can come back and have another look when we’re closed one evening. The agents have all the accounts for serious buyers to look at.’

  Tess shook his hand. ‘Thank you. I’ll give it some serious thought.’

  That evening, having collected paperwork from the estate agents, Tess and her parents were mulling over the tearoom’s figures.

  Celia pointed to the expenditure on cakes and pastries. ‘You’ll save money here by making your own.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Graham, ‘but before Tess starts planning a menu, she’ll need to make a checklist because every step will be crucial to its success.’

  ‘Dad, I’m not thinking of planning a menu. I’m not sure I want to move back to Cornwall. I’ve had a look today and I can see how it would be a great business for someone, I’m just not sure it’s me.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ asked Celia.

  ‘I’m not experienced enough. I haven’t baked commercially or run my own business.’

  ‘But you’ve made beautiful food for your local pub and now you’re cooking for an exhibition, and besides, once upon a time Richard Branson hadn’t run a business. Everyone has to start somewhere.’

  ‘Your mum’s right, and one huge benefit is the café’s location. Padstow’s full of visitors throughout the year and the building’s already fit for purpose. All the plumbing and electrics are in place, the fridges, display cabinets and seating are included in the price and the permits and licenses won’t be a problem.’

  Tess felt excitement and fear plaiting together to form a tight knot in her stomach. In her fantasies, she imagined handing over a delicious piece of homemade chocolate gateau and a floral china cup of tea to a customer, before accepting a five-pound note in grateful exchange. Her dreams didn’t include licenses, a supply chain, hiring staff, security systems, marketing and promotions.

  She let out a long breath. ‘I promise I’ll think about it over the next week or two.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Distracted by his mobile phone ringing, Daniel stopped stuffing paint-splattered clothes into the washing machine.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Daniel, it’s Denise.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. I was just thinking about calling you.’

  ‘Anyone would think we were twins with a psychic connection.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’ve had a phone call and have an appointment to get my results on the third, that’s Tuesday. I’m feeling more positive because although it might be my imagination, I’m sure the lump’s got smaller. Simon’s been great. I don’t know how I’d have got through the last few weeks without him.’

  ‘I’m thinking of you and hoping it’ll be good news. All the same, get lots of rest and look after yourself.’

  ‘I will. You okay?’

  ‘Yes. Good thanks. Things are running smoothly for the exhibition. I’ve emptied the room next to the main dining room and had it repainted ready to hang my canvasses.’

  ‘Wow, that’s a huge room. Do you really have enough artwork to fill it?’

  ‘You’re joking. I could do with two rooms but I’ve decided to keep the guests to one area of the house.’

  ‘Good idea. How’s the catering coming along?’

  ‘I took your advice and asked Joe at The Royal Oak. He put me in touch with someone local who’s shown me a few ideas over a cup of coffee. I think she fits the bill perfectly.’

  ‘Fits the bill for what? A girlfriend or a caterer?’

  Daniel laughed. ‘Don’t start.’

  ‘Is she pretty?’

  ‘She is actually.’

  ‘Hmm!’

  ‘She also has a boyfriend.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Girlfriends won’t come knocking on the door looking for you, you know? You have to get out there and meet people. You’re no spring chicken at thirty-two. If you don’t socialise you’ll turn into a grey-haired recluse with long fingernails.’

  Daniel distractedly looked down at his nails and nibbled off a smudge of paint. He heard a beep on his mobile that meant someone else was phoning him. He ignored it. They’d leave a message.

  He pacified his sister. ‘Let me just get this year and the exhibition out of the way and we’ll see what happens.’

  Denise’s husband, Simon, shouted down the phone, ‘About time we had a pint.’

  ‘Tell him to get his lazy butt down here if he wants a pint.’

  Denise passed on her brother’s reply. ‘Simon’s giving you the thumbs up, but I hardly see him myself during the week so I’ll be hanging on to him at weekends, if that’s okay?’

  Daniel was delighted that Denise was sounding much brighter than when he saw her last week. Hopefully the results would be clear, the exhibition would go well and then they’d all have a great Christmas in London. He loved spending Christmas with his sister. He could play with all his nephews’ new toys and he got on well with Simon.

  ‘I’ll let you get on then. Let us know if we can help with anything for your big night.’

  ‘It’s all in hand, thanks. I’m looking forward to you all coming to stay for a few days.’

  ‘We are too. Perhaps I can have a word with your attractive caterer when I’m down there, and tell her she’s crazy for liking anyone else but my gorgeous brother. What’s her name?’

  ‘Tess.’

  ‘You’re usually hopeless at remembering names. You’ve got a soft spot for her, haven’t you?’

  Daniel squirmed. Denise had an uncanny knack of appearing to see into his innermost thoughts.

  ‘Like I said, she’s seeing someone else and besides, I’m far too busy to get involved with someone right now.’

  ‘You don’t fool me, but I’ll stop teasing. Sorry must dash, Peter’s stuck on maths homework and S
imon’s useless at anything that isn’t creative.’

  ‘Den,’ said Daniel, more seriously. ‘I’ll be thinking of you. Will you let me know straight away?’

  ‘Of course I will. Love you. Bye.’

  Daniel ended the call and looked pensively at his mobile. He couldn’t bear it if he lost his sister too. He shivered, suddenly feeling cold. He threw the last few socks into the washing machine. Goya and Gogh were asleep, curled nose to tail in front of the Aga, making little twitching movements as they slept. His phone beeped, reminding him that he’d a missed call. Whoever it had been, they’d left a voice message.

  ‘Hi. We’re having a tasting on Tuesday evening, as a practice run of the food for your painting night. You’re invited. It’s just a casual thing, any time after sex… six. See you there. Rose Cottage. Hopefully you’re free. I mean, you know, no plans kinda free. Bye.’

  He frowned. It didn’t sound like Tess, but who else could be inviting him around to Rose Cottage to taste food for his painting night. He imagined his invitations reading, An Invitation to Daniel Cavanagh’s Painting Night. It sounded like an open evening for a nursery school.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘Answer your damn phone!’

  Blake threw his mobile on to the passenger seat while pressing his foot on the accelerator. That was the fourth time he’d tried calling Tess. He was approaching traffic lights that had turned to amber but he couldn’t afford the time to stop, so pressed his foot harder on the accelerator. With one hand on the wheel, he bit the cuticle around his thumb until it bled. It had become a regular habit, leaving him with red and sore fingertips. Why couldn’t Tess stop bloody interfering?

  He turned a corner and stamped on the brake as a man stepped on to a zebra crossing ahead. Impatiently, Blake moved back up the gears and knew he was travelling too fast for a residential area, but what choice did he have? He had been sitting at his desk at the office when he received a text from Tess.

  Calling in at the library to borrow some cook books for tomorrow’s tasting. It’s near your GP so will call in and see if a prescription is waiting for you. It’s the least I can do to help. X

  She could be so irritating. What if she asked the receptionist questions? What if she demanded to speak to a doctor? Why couldn’t she leave him to get on with things and recover from this supposed illness by himself? He wished he’d never lied. Living with the stress and anxiety of his deceit was spoiling everything and affecting his concentration at work. Look at him now. Stressfully negotiating traffic to get to his GP surgery before she’d finished in the library. He wasn’t supposed to have left the office.

  He stopped in the surgery’s car park sending a flurry of gravel spraying along the ground. ‘Shit.’ He could see Tess leaving the building and she looked angry. He climbed out and went to see how he could salvage the situation.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Tess.

  ‘I was valuing an apartment nearby when I got your text. I thought I’d say hello.’

  ‘I’m livid.’

  Blake felt sick – really sick. ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t believe what I’ve just been told.’

  ‘Tess…’

  ‘I asked a woman in the pharmacy section whether you had a good supply of tablets. I was checking to see if a prescription was waiting for you. I didn’t know if you were running low so I told them that as I was in the area, could I check on your medication. I said you were ill and it would save you a journey. Do you know what she told me? I’m bloody fuming.’

  Christ, thought Blake, feeling a rush of heat to his head in panic. Tess rarely lost her temper. He could see that she was shaking with anger. Did she know something? Did she know everything? He had to smooth it over right now. ‘Tess, I’m so sorry—’

  ‘She said I should ask you what medication you’re on and bring in the correct tear-off counterfoil from your last prescription.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘No, it gets worse.’

  ‘Christ. Tess, I can explain—’

  ‘She said that she couldn’t let me know because of patient confidentiality. She didn’t even look on the computer. She made me feel like a stalker instead of your girlfriend who’s trying to help. She had such a superior attitude. It’s wrong that some stranger should know more about your medication and illness than your girlfriend.’

  Thank God for patient confidentiality, thought Blake, forcing himself not to sigh with relief. He put an arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Thank you for trying to help, but I can manage.’

  Tess sighed loudly. ‘I’m sorry for ranting. I just feel so helpless because I can’t even collect your prescription.’ She paused. ‘What did you mean when you said you could explain?’

  Blake surprised himself with the speed of his reply. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be allowed to discuss my personal details so I was hoping to save you the journey.’ He pulled her to face him and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘There, that’ll keep me going all day now,’ he said.

  She smiled at him. ‘Softy.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  October had arrived and on Tuesday afternoon, Denise and Simon climbed into the car and fastened their belts in silence. The boys were at school and were going to be collected by a good friend who also had children there. Thankfully, Peter and Sam were oblivious to the maelstrom of emotions their parents had been feeling recently. Before Simon turned the ignition, he reached over and laid his hand on top of his wife’s clenched fingers.

  ‘You can do this, love. I’ll be with you every step of the way.’

  ‘I know.’

  He squeezed her hand then started the engine. Within an hour they’d know the results of her biopsy. Denise felt lightheaded. She had the same churning feeling in the pit of her stomach that reminded her of the anxious minutes before an exam or an interview. Looking out of the window, she couldn’t focus on anything in particular. Her mind was elsewhere. Would she see her boys grow into young men? Would she see them choose a wife and be a proud mother at their weddings? She took a deep breath to ward off tears that were threatening. No, it would be fine. She must remain positive. Chances were that they’d be driving back in an hour’s time with relieved smiles on their faces.

  Simon parked the car in the multi-storey car park that was connected to the hospital. They walked purposefully towards the lift, focusing on each footstep. The doors squeaked open and they stepped inside the small dimly lit lift. It smelt of pine disinfectant. The lift reached the ground floor with a jolt and the doors once again squeaked open. They held hands and walked in silence towards the main reception area.

  It was bustling with people. Patients were strolling in dressing gowns, porters scurried on errands, people were asking for directions, visitors were buying flowers from a little kiosk and nurses weaved their way through the melee. Denise remembered the way and turned towards the long corridor that led towards the Breast Clinic. As she walked towards the reception desk, she noticed that the waiting room was much quieter today. The receptionist looked up from behind the desk and smiled.

  ‘Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘Yes. At two thirty with the consultant, Mr Simmonds.’

  The receptionist ticked off her name from the list and pointed to a door. ‘If you go through there and take a seat, someone will call you shortly.’

  They took a seat and looked at each other, resting their foreheads together for a few comforting seconds. Denise breathed deeply trying to keep her nerves in check. She shivered involuntarily and looked around the room. They should replace the carpet in their hall with this lovely warm oak flooring, she thought. So much easier to clean when the boys come running in from the garden.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when a nurse walked through the swing doors from the main reception room. She smiled at them and knocked gently on Mr Simmonds’s door, then leant inside. Denise heard a mumbling and the nurse turned to them.

  ‘You can come through n
ow.’

  Taking a few steps towards the consultant’s door, Denise stopped. Her eyes were drawn to a colourful poster at the far end of the room. She felt a surge of adrenalin rush through her veins, making her heart pound. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she absorbed what she was looking at. She turned to look at Simon. He had seen it too. The poster was full of exotic brightly-coloured birds under the heading, Parrots of the World.

  Denise somehow managed to make her legs move again and walked into the consultant’s room. The nurse continued to smile and hold open the door. Mr Simmonds was sitting behind a highly-polished desk in a high-backed leather chair. Two further leather chairs had been placed in front of the desk and Mr Simmonds indicated for them to sit down. He reached over the desk and shook their hands.

  ‘Hello, please take a seat.’

  Denise and Simon sat down.

  ‘It’s nice to see you again. How have you been?’ he asked.

  ‘Okay. Worried, but okay, thank you.’

  ‘That’s only natural. I’m sure it’s been difficult.’

  ‘Yes, it has.’

  ‘Well, Denise. May I call you Denise? What do you prefer?’

  ‘I don’t mind. Friends call me Den or Dee Dee.’

  ‘And are you Denise’s husband?’ he said, looking at Simon.

  ‘Yes. Simon.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Simon. I’m glad you could come.’

  He turned back to Denise and paused. ‘We’ve received the results of your biopsy and I’m sorry to tell you that it’s not the news we were all hoping for. Unfortunately the pathology lab did find cancerous cells in the breast tissue.’

  Unfortunately… unfortunately. The word repeated in her head. Her skin felt hot. She heard the words but couldn’t help but fixate on Mr Simmonds’s tie. Here was an eminent consultant sitting in a grand office, telling her that she had cancer, and he was wearing a Mickey Mouse tie. Lots of tiny Mickey Mouse characters were printed upside down, on their sides and standing up, all over his tie. What was he thinking this morning when he got dressed? ‘Today I’m going to tell someone that they have cancer and might die young. I think I’ll wear my Mickey Mouse tie to cheer them up.’