A Year at The Cosy Cottage Café: A heart-warming feel-good read about life, love, loss, friendship and second chances

by Rachel Griffiths

  Something had come over Allie and she’d turned on the bench and taken Chris’s hands. She’d known deep down that things weren’t right with Roger but with the naivety of youth and the optimism that burned through, she’d been hopeful that everything would turn out for the best.

  But in that moment, as dusk fell, she’d leaned in close to Chris and kissed him. It had been clumsy at first, slightly awkward as the lines between friendship and romance blurred, but passion had soon carried them away and Allie had felt something she’d never felt before. That sense of coming home, yet being free, as if Chris held the answers to all the questions she’d ever wanted to ask.

  The next day, following the kiss, Roger had come home to Heatherlea for the rest of the holidays. Somehow, Allie had omitted to tell him about what had happened with Chris, and life had just continued as before. But Roger had been so affectionate, so full of promises that he would give her a lifetime of happiness. He’d also told her that he needed her, that she was his whole world and he couldn’t live without her. Looking back, she realised he must have been feeling guilty about something. But she’d been taken in, told herself that Chris was wilful and independent, that his dreams of being an author might not even be realised and that she wanted what Roger could offer. She’d convinced herself that Roger needed her more than Chris did.

  How she regretted that now, but she also knew that if she’d changed the course of their lives back then, she’d have missed out on having Mandy and Jordan, and she would never, ever wish them away. Sometimes things happened as they were meant to, and if you were lucky, it all worked out right in the end.

  After all, it seemed that life was giving her a second chance and she was fit to burst with delight.

  “Morning Mum.” Jordan stood in her doorway, his t-shirt rumpled and his hair sticking out at odd angles.

  Allie sat up.

  “Morning, angel. How’d you sleep?”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Good yeah.”

  “Where did you go after the party?”

  Allie had noticed that her son hadn’t come straight home. She’d been very aware of the fact that Chris had hung around long after everyone else had left – as he’d helped her to tidy up and to load the dishwasher – and she had worried that Jordan might have wondered why Chris was there for so long.

  “I went to Max’s.”

  “That late?”

  Jordan shrugged. “I wasn’t tired.”

  “What time did you come home?” Allie had slept so soundly she hadn’t even heard the key in the lock or her son’s heavy tread as he crossed the landing.

  “Around three.”

  “I hope Max’s mother and father don’t mind you being there so late.”

  “His parents are away at the moment. They’re visiting his mother’s sister in Birmingham.”

  “I see. You want some breakfast?”

  He nodded.

  Twenty minutes later, as they sat in the sunny kitchen eating scrambled eggs, Jordan put down his fork and sighed.

  “What is it, love?”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  Allie put her own fork down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. She’d been wondering when he’d tell her what was on his mind but hadn’t pushed him in case he wasn’t ready.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you for a while now but we always get interrupted by other people or I lose my nerve.”

  “Jordan, you can tell me anything. You know how much I love you and I’ll always support you.”

  “Well, see, Mum, the thing is…” He took a deep breath. “I’m in love.”

  Allie’s throat tightened and she took his hand.

  “That’s wonderful. Fabulous news.” And so close to my own! “But you haven’t been seeing anyone. Have you?” Allie thought back over recent weeks, trying to put a face to what Jordan had just told her, but she drew a blank.

  “Mum, I’m in love with Max.”

  Allie thought of the handsome young man who her son spent so much time with. He could have been a model with his tightly curled black hair, smooth dark skin and dazzling amber eyes. He took after his father in that respect and Allie had to admit to having a slight crush on Jerome Wilson when they’d first met. His mother was also beautiful and reminded her of Halle Berry with her effortless elegance and style.

  “You love Max?”

  “Yes.” Jordan watched her carefully and her heart cracked a little.

  “And you were worried that this would be difficult to tell me?”

  “Well, yes.” He bit his lower lip.

  “Oh my darling!” She jumped up and went around the table, leaned over and hugged him. “Jordan, I love you so much.”

  “So you’re all right with it?”

  “Why on earth wouldn’t I be?” She kissed the top of his head.

  Things that had previously crossed her mind about her son now fell into place – like he hadn’t had a girlfriend since primary school, although she’d just assumed he was shy or hiding his flings from her.

  “I’m glad you told me. I have never been anything other than proud of you and Mandy and all I’ve ever wanted is to see you both happy. If you love Max and he’s the one you want, then I am over-the-moon for you.”

  “I want you to be happy too, Mum,” he said, as he looked up at her. “I wish you could find someone to love.”

  Allie nodded.

  “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

  She would tell him about Chris and soon. But first she needed to know exactly what was happening, because until she knew herself, how could she explain it to her son?

  Allie was buttering a toasted teacake in the café the next morning when the door opened and Judith Burnley walked in. Her brown cardigan was buttoned up to the neck and she wore a scarf around her head, in spite of the heat. She closed the door behind her then removed her scarf as she approached the counter.

  “Good morning, Allie.”

  “Morning, Mrs Burnley. And how are you today?” Allie forced the question out, knowing that it would be greeted with a list of at least eight ailments, some of which would undoubtedly make her cringe. Why the older woman thought Allie would want to know about her piles or ingrowing hairs in certain crevices that never saw the light of day, she had no idea.

  “I’m not too bad, thank you.”

  Allie swallowed her surprise.

  “Good, glad to hear it. I just need to take this teacake over to table three then I’ll be right with you.”

  Mrs Burnley nodded.

  Allie gave her customer, eighty-seven-year-old Fred Bennett, his teacake.

  “Would you like anything else, Fred?”

  He raised watery grey eyes to meet hers.

  “No thank you, my darling. This is just perfect. Unless you’re ready to accept my proposal yet?”

  “Ah get on with you, Fred. And break the hearts of all the women of Heatherlea? I just couldn’t live with myself.” She placed a hand over her heart and sighed dramatically.

  “There is that, I guess. Maybe next week then.” He chuckled at their familiar exchange.

  Allie smiled then returned to the counter. Fred was a Monday-morning regular and he always had the same thing: a toasted teacake spread with real butter and a pot of Earl Grey tea. He’d sit at the same table and read the Sunday Times – that he’d saved from the previous day – from cover to cover, before paying and leaving to take his stroll around the village. Allie admired his energy.

  “Right Mrs Burnley, what’ll you have?” Allie pulled her small notebook out of her apron pocket and took the pencil from behind her ear.

  “One of those frothy coffees and an iced bun, please.”

  “Of course. If you’d like to take seat, I’ll bring them over when they’re ready.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Allie hummed as she made the cappuccino then dusted the top with chocolate. She wondered what coffee Chris liked. Years ago, there hadn’t been so much choice available, so it wasn’t something
she knew about him. It made her realise how much they had to learn about each other, which was exciting but also made her stomach flutter. Would they still like each other as much when they got to know more?

  She hadn’t seen him yesterday, wanting to spend quality time with Jordan after he’d told her about his feelings for Max, but she’d sent him a text to let him know that she would see him in the week. She was still apprehensive about taking up his time, still aware that he might have other things to do and other people to see. His reply had been sweet and relaxed and he’d told her not to worry, that he was still sorting through his mother’s things, and that he’d look forward to seeing her soon. He’d even ended the text with a kiss, so that had to be a good sign, right?

  Allie used the tongs to pick up an iced bun that she placed on a small plate then she took it with the coffee over to Mrs Burnley.

  “Thank you, Allie, this looks lovely.”

  “You’re very welcome. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Allie was about to turn away when Mrs Burnley put a hand on her arm.

  “Allie, I just have to tell someone.”

  Allie met the woman’s small hard eyes.

  “Tell someone?”

  “Yes! What I’ve seen this morning.”

  “Okay…” Allie pushed a few stray hairs behind her ears and glanced around the café. Apart from Fred, the only other customers were two delivery-men tucking into cooked breakfasts before heading out to spend the day driving around. She could spare Mrs Burnley five minutes. She pulled out a chair and sat down.

  Mrs Burnley took a bite of her iced bun then chewed slowly. Allie waited, fighting the urge to tell her to get a move on.

  “This morning, as I was making my way here, a very fancy car shot through the village.”

  “A fancy car?”

  “Yes, dear. It was bright red and very sporty looking.”

  “Nice.” Allie took a deep breath and released it slowly. What on earth this had to do with her or Mrs Burnley, she had no idea.

  “It stopped outside the Monroe cottage.” She paused and watched Allie, clearly waiting for a reaction.

  “Outside Mrs Monroe’s place, you say?”

  “Well, I guess we should say Chris Monroe’s place now, shouldn’t we? Seeing as how my dear friend has passed, god rest her soul.”

  Allie nodded, wondering what was coming next.

  “And… the woman who got out of it was just…” Mrs Burnley held out her hands and wiggled her fingers. “A vision of perfection.”

  Allie’s world lurched and she gripped her chair to steady herself. A woman had gone to Chris’s house? A woman who was a vision of perfection?

  “Of course, I’m not one to gossip.” Mrs Burnley shook her head.

  “No, of course not.” Allie forced the words out through gritted teeth.

  “But this woman knocked on the door and when Chris opened it, he scooped her up in what I can only describe as a passionate embrace.”

  “Oh.” Acid churned in Allie’s stomach. Chris had said he wasn’t seeing anyone and that he hadn’t even had a date in six months but perhaps he’d lied. Men did lie, she knew that from what had happened with Roger and he’d been her husband. Allie had no claim on Chris at all. They’d shared a kiss and some memories, but she didn’t even know that much about him anymore. In fact, she only knew the version of him that he’d presented to her.

  Dammit! She was a grown woman and she should have known better.

  Mrs Burnley finished her bun then took a sip of her coffee before asking, “Who do you think she is?”

  Allie wondered if the older woman was torturing her by divulging this information. But why would she? No one knew that Allie and Chris had become close again, except for Allie and Chris. Mrs Burnley was just sharing gossip, as she was wont to do.

  “I have no idea. What did…” She knew she shouldn’t ask but morbid curiosity overwhelmed her. “What did she look like?”

  “Tall and very slim. She was wearing some tight little dress with shiny black heels. Must have been about six foot, I’d say. Flowing dark hair and a tan that couldn’t possibly have been real unless she’s just come back from the Caribbean. Bet she didn’t have any white bits either. Chris was so glad to see her that I predict there’ll be a wedding there. Probably on a beach somewhere hot with the sea lapping at their toes.” Mrs Burnley smacked her lips then drained her coffee, which left her with a frothy moustache.

  “How lovely.”

  Allie forced herself to get up. She knew she should tell Mrs Burnley about the froth on her top lip but she couldn’t summon the energy.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No thank you, dear. I’m off to the post office next.”

  No doubt to share your gossip there too.

  Allie nodded then took the plate and cup from the table and went to the counter. She rang Mrs Burnley’s order through the till then went through to the kitchen and leaned over the sink. Her stomach was rolling so badly, she was afraid she’d throw up and her head throbbed with tension. She took a few steadying breaths, in and out, to the count of ten.

  She had been a stupid, stupid fool and let her heart run away with her. Chris was a best-selling author now and she was just Allie Jones, owner of The Cosy Cottage Café – a dumpy, widowed mother on the wrong side of forty. Why would Chris come back and want her when he could have a vision of perfection? Hadn’t Roger shown her that perfection was what all men wanted?

  She ran the tap then splashed cold water over her face.

  Well that was that.

  Enough!

  Time to get on with the life she’d made for herself. She had no time to waste fantasising about what might have been. She’d shared a kiss with an old friend and it had been nice, very nice in fact, but it meant nothing.

  At least not to him.

  10

  Allie turned the sign on the door to closed, then locked it. She walked to the window by the sofa to close the blinds and looked out at the garden. The past few weeks had been eventful, and she’d been on a rollercoaster of emotions as well as a journey of self-discovery.

  Quite frankly, she was exhausted.

  She rested her head against the cool glass for a moment and closed her eyes.

  Following Mrs Burnley’s news about the vision of perfection in the red sports car, the rest of Allie’s day had seen her yoyo between being stern with herself about staying strong and moving on, and fighting a deep sadness that made her cold to her bones and created an ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away.

  It was all so silly, really. Allie had jumped the gun and allowed herself to feel things about Chris that she had no right feeling. She’d been swept up in nostalgia and what-ifs, and it had ended badly. For her, at least. Apparently, Chris was making plans with a gorgeous raven-haired model.

  She exhaled slowly then opened her eyes.

  And screeched then staggered backwards.

  On the other side of the glass, was a white face, its eyes wide and dark, its mouth stretched in a grin.

  “Chris.” She covered her chest with her hands and willed her heartbeat to slow down.

  What was he doing here?

  He pointed at the door.

  She unlocked it with trembling hands, wishing she had a valid reason to refuse that wouldn’t make her seem completely insane.

  “Hey, Allie,” he said, as he came inside. “I’ve been meaning to pop over all day but I didn’t expect to find you sleeping against the window.”

  Allie offered a brief smile. “I just have a headache.”

  “Poor love.” He reached out and placed his palm against her forehead. “You are quite warm. Hope you’re not cooking something up.”

  Allie moved away from his hand. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okaaayyy.”

  He followed her to the counter.

  “What do you want, Chris?” Her tone was so icy it surprised her.

  “I came to see you.”<
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  “But why?” She met his brown eyes and saw them fill with confusion.

  “Because I wanted to see you. Because I like seeing you.”

  Allie swallowed a retort about him seeing enough of a six-foot model that he shouldn’t need to see her.

  “Well you’ve seen me now.”

  “Allie, what’s wrong? Have I done something?” He ran a hand through his hair and frowned at her. “I’m a bit confused. I thought we were… well, you know.” He shrugged.

  “I guess we both thought wrong.”

  She folded her arms over her chest.

  Chris shook his head. “I came to tell you that I’ve got some news. A plan, that is. Can I tell you about it?”

  Anger fizzed inside Allie. This man had come back to the village, to her home, and toyed with her affections. He had hurt her pride and wounded her confidence. And he still wanted her to be his friend.

  “You have a bloody cheek, you know that?” She spat the words at him and he flinched.

  “I do?”

  “Yes, you do. You come here and make me remember how it used to be and make all these damned feelings resurface then you… you’re shagging some black-haired, long-legged…” Allie tried to think of an appropriate term that would convey her anger without making her sound jealous, but nothing came to mind. “Thing!”

  “Wait a minute…” He held up his hands. “I’m shagging a black-haired, long-legged what?”

  “You know what I mean.” Her voice came out strangled. “You were seen this morning. Snogging on your doorstep.”

  She choked on a sob.

  The emotions swirling around inside puzzled her. She hadn’t felt such anger, fire or need for reassurance in years. Chris might have hurt her but she had to credit him with burning away the numb haze she’d been wading through since Roger died, at least.