The Little Bakery on Rosemary Lane

by Ellen Berry

  She slicked on a little pinky-brown lipstick and dabbed some powder, which would have to do for make-up.

  ‘Stanley!’ she called out, and he scuttled towards her. ‘Come on, little man. We’re going to a party tonight, and you can be my plus-one.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Before Roxanne had even walked into the shop, she could see through the glass door panel that the place was full already, milling with faces both familiar and unfamiliar, with every age group accounted for, from the impressively ancient to small children, whirling around.

  It was just gone six o’clock.

  This never happened in London. If a party was due to start at eight there really wasn’t much point in showing up before nine, because who wanted to be that first guest, looking all stranded and lonesome, giving off the overly eager, delighted-to-be-invited vibe? At Ned’s parties, some of the guests didn’t turn up until it was getting light. Here, though, the party had been officially open for four – no, three – minutes and the whole world and his dog had seemingly piled in. While Roxanne was applying her lipstick upstairs, a vol-au-vent stampede had been going on. She glanced down at Stanley who was looking up at her. ‘C’mon then,’ she murmured, pushing open the door. ‘Looks like we’re already late.’

  She fixed on what she hoped was a confident smile as she greeted Nicola the hairdresser, Len from the garage, and Irene who had been so concerned about her traumatised LK Bennett pumps. Naturally, with new businesses having sprouted up in the village, she didn’t know everyone – a fact that Michael seemed to pick up on instantly, as he proceeded to whisk her round for introductions.

  ‘This new extension is wonderful,’ said Loretta, who owned the greengrocer’s. ‘It’s the most gorgeous bookshop – so welcoming and inspiring. Truly, you should be very proud …’

  ‘Thank you. Of course, it’s all Della’s work – you do know she’s had to go away, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, we all know about Berlin,’ chipped in Nicola. ‘Thank goodness you’re here, Roxy, saving the day!’

  Her smile set at Nicola’s insistence on using her childhood nickname. ‘I’m just sort of manning the fort,’ she said, then quickly made her excuses and, tailed by Stanley, went to greet Elsa, who was setting out her utensils and ingredients on the island unit.

  And then the band, an amiable and ramshackle bunch in tatty jeans and checked flannel shirts, arrived. Roxanne didn’t even know what sort of music they played. It now felt as if everything had just sort of happened, and somehow the party had all come together – but then, Della had been planning it for weeks.

  A slightly awkward-looking Jude glided by with a tray of wine glasses, and she took one gratefully.

  Still more guests were arriving, the chatter and laughter now filling the entire two rooms of the shop; the newly acquired space merged beautifully with the existing room, as if they had always been one.

  The band started, and Roxanne was relieved to discover that they were an acoustic, country-type outfit, enhancing the atmosphere rather than dominating the proceedings.

  ‘Hey, looks like you’re coping okay,’ a voice called from behind her.

  She turned to see Frank standing beside her. ‘So far so good,’ she said, hugging him.

  ‘So, what d’you think about Della’s mercy dash?’

  ‘She had to do it, I guess.’

  He nodded and sipped his beer from the bottle. ‘Shame for her – but this all looks fantastic …’ He nodded towards a family who had just wandered in. ‘Come and meet the Wilsons. They bought your old house …’

  ‘Really?’ Roxanne turned to the new arrivals.

  ‘This is Lucinda and Ivan,’ Frank announced, ‘and their children are, um …’

  ‘Marnie and Sam,’ Lucinda said quickly, meeting Roxanne’s gaze with a bright, clear smile.

  ‘Lovely to meet you,’ Roxanne said. ‘I actually grew up in Rosemary Cottage.’

  ‘Oh, did you?’ she exclaimed. ‘We love it, don’t we, Ivan?’

  A red-headed man in a crumpled white T-shirt and navy corduroys turned and smiled. ‘Yes, it’s wonderful. Brilliant garden for the kids, and the house itself – well, you know it. So characterful and unique.’

  ‘It is, yes,’ Roxanne replied. ‘I’m really glad you’re happy there.’

  Then she was called away by Michael to alert her that Elsa wanted to run through the proceedings for the doggie bites workshop.

  As she made her way through the crowds, the singer from the band – a man who was easily well into his late sixties – caught her eye and winked suggestively.

  Roxanne laughed and quickly went to Elsa.

  ‘How d’you want to do this?’ she asked.

  ‘I was thinking I’ll make up a batch of mixture,’ Elsa explained, ‘and get the kids to help with stirring, rolling and cutting out, and then we’ll bake them. Does that sound okay?’

  ‘That sounds perfect.’ Roxanne wanted to hug her but held back. She wasn’t with her huggy magazine crowd now.

  ‘The oven’s on, heating up,’ she added.

  ‘Oh – I didn’t even think of that!’

  Elsa beamed at her. ‘It’s fine. Stop panicking. They only take twenty minutes to cook so we should be fine – the children can take them home with them. And I’ve brought a batch I made earlier for the kids to decorate, because they won’t be able to ice their own biscuits until they’ve cooled down.’

  Roxanne laughed in amazement. ‘I can’t believe how brilliant you are, Elsa. You really think of everything. How d’you know how to do all this?’

  Elsa pulled a face and laughed. ‘I think you’re forgetting something. I do work in a bakery, you know.’

  The band finished a song to enthusiastic applause, and Roxanne made a brief announcement to thank them, and to introduce Elsa. ‘There’s been a slight change of plan,’ she explained to the assembled crowd. ‘I think everyone knows that Della, who owns this wonderful shop, has had to dash off to Germany on a sort of family emergency. So, as I lack my sister’s flair with a seventies cocktail shaker’ – there was a ripple of laughter – ‘we have changed our demo today from cocktails to making the most delightful doggie treats – and here, to show us exactly how to do that, is the brilliant Elsa from the Bakery on Rosemary Lane.’

  There was more applause, and all the children gathered around as Elsa started to explain what to do. As promised, Roxanne hovered nearby, handing Elsa utensils, greasing a tray for baking, ready to assist when needed. In fact, she wasn’t needed, which gave her an opportunity to take in what was actually happening, for the first time tonight.

  She gazed around the new-and-improved shop, with its balloons and streamers and fairy lights, a grotto of treats filled with Della’s friends, neighbours and loyal customers. The swell of support for her sister’s venture was quite moving, and she experienced a sharp pang of regret that Della wasn’t here to see it.

  Roxanne skimmed the room, filled with so many faces she remembered from her childhood, much older now, obviously, but still comfortingly familiar. Then she saw another face in amongst the crowd, smiling at her but holding back, as if trying to be inconspicuous. It wasn’t a face from her life here – but from London, from her life now. Sean was standing right there, clutching a glass of red wine and a plate of canapés, in the middle of her sister’s shop.

  At first, a crazy part of her brain told her it couldn’t be him; it was just someone who looked very like him, and her mind was playing some kind of trick, just to stress her out. But it was Sean, and he’d raised his hand in greeting. Her heart seemed to lurch as she smiled stiffly. Elsa’s workshop was still in progress, and she didn’t want to interrupt the proceedings by dashing to his side. Her gaze skimmed the room, then back to Sean. Even in the short time she’d been here she had almost forgotten how strikingly handsome he was; tall and slim and lightly tanned, with that flirtatious smile, his dark brown hair curling over his neck. But she wished he’d called to tell her he was coming.


  Why hadn’t he warned her?

  Elsa’s demonstration ended, and as the shop filled with applause, Roxanne made her way through the crowds to greet him.

  ‘Hey, baby!’ He kissed her lightly on the lips.

  ‘Darling …’ She was stuck for words for a moment. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He pulled a mock-confused face. ‘Er, maybe I’ve come to see you? Could that be it, d’you think?’

  She laughed and shook her head. The sheer audacity of the man. Why couldn’t he just do things in a normal, predictable way?

  ‘When you called me this afternoon I was halfway here,’ he added.

  ‘You were driving?’

  ‘No, I’d stopped at a service station for a coffee. That was the cafe I meant – a Moto service station on the M1.’

  ‘But why didn’t you just say?’

  ‘I wanted to surprise you, baby!’ He flung an arm around her shoulders and gazed around in wonderment. ‘Look at this amazing shop – this party. It’s so much more, I don’t know … professional than I’d expected. All that wonderful food …’

  ‘Yes, Michael from the local bakery made everything—’

  ‘Honestly,’ he cut in, ‘I had no idea this place was so impressive. I’d imagined a dingy little shop with a few mouldering second-hand books. So, where’s Della?’

  Roxanne grimaced. ‘She’s gone to Berlin to rescue Sophie …’

  ‘Sophie?’ He frowned.

  ‘Her daughter, remember?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course!’

  ‘She was travelling around Europe and split up with her boyfriend, then her money and passport were stolen …’

  ‘Della just upped and left on the day of her party?’

  ‘Yesterday actually – but it’s fine. It’s all gone amazingly well so far …’

  ‘That’s good. Clever you.’ He looked around the room. ‘So, um, are you going to introduce me to your new friends?’

  Roxanne laughed awkwardly and sensed herself flushing. Michael was standing nearby. Although she knew she was being ridiculous, and there was no reason whatsoever that they shouldn’t meet, that moment with the rainbow still shimmered in her mind. She cleared her throat and she found herself introducing him first to Frank and Eddie, then Nicola, Irene and a whole bunch of other villagers and regular customers, until she caught Michael’s quizzical glance and took Sean over to meet him.

  ‘Erm Michael – this is Sean. He’s just come up from London …’

  ‘Hi, good to meet you.’ Michael shot out an arm and shook Sean’s hand.

  ‘Good to meet you too. Decided to drive up and surprise her.’ Sean chortled. ‘Maybe that wasn’t the best idea, huh, darling?’ He turned to Roxanne. ‘I have to say, you didn’t exactly look delighted to see me …’

  ‘It was just a bit of a shock,’ she said, reddening again. ‘Um, Michael owns the village bakery. He’s been a huge help with the party …’

  ‘Oh, we just put together a few nibbles,’ Michael said.

  ‘Nibbles.’ Sean smiled. ‘How quaint.’

  ‘Michael’s daughter did the demo,’ Roxanne added, prickling with awkwardness for the first time since the party had started. Why had he said ‘nibbles’ in that faintly patronising way when he reckoned he’d have been happy with Pringles at his own do?

  ‘That was sweet of her,’ Sean said vaguely. After a little more small talk, during which Roxanne was conscious of jamming her back teeth together, Michael excused himself to track down Jude, and Roxanne continued her tour of the shop with Sean. She was aware of a flurry of interest around this rather striking new arrival, who clearly wasn’t from around here. If Roxanne had felt a little like a minor celebrity that night in the Red Lion, then she imagined Sean must be experiencing this tenfold right now.

  ‘You’re a photographer?’ Len exclaimed, clutching a glass of white wine. ‘What kind of stuff d’you do?’

  Sean told him, affecting the slightly humble voice he used when encountering non-media people, but stressing the ‘advertising and editorial mainly’ angle, presumably so as to discourage Len from asking him to photograph his cat.

  ‘Met anyone famous?’ Len wanted to know.

  ‘No, not really.’ That was a lie – countless celebs had posed in Sean’s studio – but, understandably perhaps, he didn’t want to go into that right now. Roxanne had heard him being quizzed before. Give someone a smidgeon of celebrity gossip and it opens the floodgates for a whole tidal wave of probing questions.

  The band started playing again, and during a break between songs Roxanne enlisted Elsa to help her to announce the raffle winners. Len scooped the hamper, and when Frank won a bottle of champagne he insisted on opening it and divvying it up to share out.

  It was almost 10 p.m. when the party finally started to wind down. Roxanne did the rounds, saying her goodbyes, keeping a lookout for Michael so she could make a point of thanking him.

  ‘I think Dad must have gone home,’ Elsa said with a shrug. ‘D’you need me to stay and help clear up?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Roxanne said quickly. ‘Thanks, but Sean can help me with that.’ She tried to shake off a snag of disappointment that Michael had snuck off without saying goodbye. Had she upset him in some way, or had he felt awkward too, when she had introduced him to Sean? She hoped he realised how much she appreciated his help.

  And so the final guests drifted out into the night, leaving a curious stillness behind them.

  ‘Well, that seemed like a success,’ Sean remarked as they started to gather up glasses and plates.

  Roxanne nodded. ‘Della would have been pleased. I’ve taken loads of photos with my phone – and Elsa has too …’ She stopped, conscious of him studying her as she collected the empty wine bottles.

  ‘Is was okay for me to come up, wasn’t it?’ he asked hesitantly.

  ‘Yes, of course it was,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘It’s just, you did seem a bit taken aback …’

  She smiled as he wound an arm around her waist. ‘No, honestly – but it’s great, darling. I’m just a bit done in, that’s all. There’s been a lot going on …’

  ‘It all happens in the country,’ he teased, and Roxanne laughed.

  ‘You’d be surprised – and it’s been quite a night.’

  He nodded and kissed her forehead. ‘Well, you were brilliant, flitting about the place, charming everyone.’

  Roxanne smiled. ‘I did my best.’

  ‘I’m proud of you,’ he added.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, pleasantly surprised by the compliment as she turned her attentions back to tidying the shop. Saturdays were generally the busiest day of the week, and it needed to be spick and span for the morning – but how would Sean amuse himself while she was manning the place? She caught herself fretting that he’d be bored here, just as Della had tried to foist belly dancing classes upon her. Of course he’d be fine. She was just worrying too much as, despite the party going brilliantly, everything felt a little out of kilter now. She could only put it down to two different compartments of her life being slammed together, and everything muddling up.

  It was gone eleven by the time Elsa arrived back at the bakery. While she was delighted at how well her demonstration had gone, her dad seemed subdued when she found him stretched out on the sofa, watching TV, remote in hand, and she couldn’t understand why. Oh, there were plenty of possible reasons – she knew he’d found it difficult to socialise since her mum had left – but why tonight particularly? The party had been wonderful, and Roxanne had obviously appreciated him being there.

  ‘I’ll give Bob his night walk,’ he said when she came in, getting up from the sofa and fixing the red leather lead onto their dog’s collar.

  ‘Okay, Dad. I’m just going to wrap Mitzie’s birthday present for her party tomorrow.’

  Michael nodded. ‘See you in a few minutes. Put the kettle on, would you, love?’

  ‘Sure.’ Alone now – Jude had retreated to his room – Elsa filled
the kettle and clicked it on, then wandered through to her father’s bedroom in search of Sellotape. She was always taking things from his room – pens, phone chargers, the occasional book – and she knew it annoyed him. However, she only wanted to wrap her best friend’s gift, and she’d put it back as soon as she’d finished.

  She opened his desk drawer and spotted a roll of tape. As she made her way out of the room, her foot caught the waste-paper basket and it toppled over. Elsa picked it up and dropped the discarded newspapers back into it, and reached for a crumpled sheet of blue notepaper that was lying on the floor.

  Frowning, she stopped and studied it. It was covered with her dad’s funny old-fashioned handwriting. Curious now, she smoothed it out on his desk, realising it was a letter he’d written – to Roxanne.

  Why was he writing to her? Ridiculously, she panicked that it was something about her. Had the two of them been discussing her aversion to school, or something? Elsa suspected she was being irrational, but since her mother had walked out she had been prone to bouts of anxiety that kept her awake at night with a racing heart and too many convoluted thoughts tumbling through her head.

  Elsa knew she shouldn’t read it. She’d go mad if she ever discovered that her dad had read anything private of hers – not that he ever would – yet she simply couldn’t help herself. It was as if she had lost all control of her eyes. He’d obviously found it difficult to write; there were a couple of crossings out, and her heart twisted for him. Her funny old dad, always trying to do things properly; who even bothered to write letters anymore? But he was like that: sort of old-school. His mobile was a tragic brick phone and he’d no more have a Facebook page than a tattoo. He always said he had no time in his life for social media, and she conceded that he had a point. Her father worked harder than anyone else she knew.

  She perched on the chair at his desk and read the letter quickly. So he was apologising for being a bit of a grump after the sourdough workshop and inviting her to lunch. It was a sweet letter, a little awkward, perhaps – a bit like him really. It just made him sound endearing. Funny, she thought, smiling now, how you can sense shyness coming off a page.