‘No, he needs feeding,’ I tell her. ‘You really thought it would be better for him not to have anything?’
‘Of course not,’ she replies. ‘I got him a bowl of vegetable soup.’
‘Eight-year-olds don’t eat soup,’ I point out.
‘No, they eat the equivalent of three slices of bread, a few grams of saturated fats and a bar of chocolate, shaped like a frog.’
‘What’s wrong with Freddo?’ I ask, defensively. Freddo is iconic – he was a part of my childhood too. I won’t have a word said against him.
‘They give junk food pretty packages and cute characters to appeal to children and it’s not right,’ she rants. ‘Do you really think this chocolate would appeal to him as much, were it not in the shape of a frog?’
I don’t point out to her that, last Christmas, someone bought him a poop emoji shaped chocolate, which we both gleefully ate as we watched Home Alone and Home Alone 2 back to back in our pyjamas.
‘It was his first day,’ I point out. ‘He also mentioned that none of the other kids would play with him, he said they knew who he was…’
‘Ah, yes.’ Mrs Snowball removes her glasses from her nose, allowing them to hang on their chain, around her neck. ‘It would seem that the locals are familiar with your agenda in our town, and no one is happy. Children’s brains are like sponges, if they hear their parents talking about the new family that’s moved in to threaten jobs, well, they’re going to pick up on that.’
‘Mrs Snowball, that is not what is going to happen,’ I insist. ‘He said the kids are saying I’m evil. Don’t you think that’s extreme?’
‘Simon Dawson’s dad is our local butcher,’ she points out. ‘Ella Carr’s dad is the baker.’
‘Whose dad makes the candlesticks?’ I quip. Gosh, I really need to quit cracking these jokes.
‘Bart and Bernadette’s parents are responsible for all of our milk, cheese and yogurt.’
Wow, they sound like cool parents. Not.
‘I appreciate what you’re saying, I really do, but I haven’t come here to take over from these people. I run a deli. We don’t sell four pints of milk, we sell speciality products, make sandwiches with them…’
‘There’s a lovely old lady called Clara who runs a café – how do you think she’ll feel about you selling sandwiches?’
The thought of upsetting Clara, after she was so lovely to me, breaks my heart a little.
‘We’re living in a tourist town,’ I point out. ‘There’s more than enough room for all of us.’
‘Well.’ Mrs Snowball claps her hand as she stands up. ‘I’m just the messenger. And I’ll try and help Frankie to make some friends today.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply. ‘And, if you could let him eat his lunch…’
‘Is there a bagel in there?’
No, just a couple of lines of coke and a Stanley knife for playtime.
‘No bagel today,’ I reply. ‘Just two slices of bread.’
‘Well, OK then. Work today, is it?’ she asks, ushering me towards the door.
‘Yes,’ I reply, glancing at my watch. ‘Actually, I’d better get a move on, or I’m going to be late.’
‘Oh yes,’ she laughs. ‘Punctuality doesn’t seem to be your strong suit, does it?’
Nope. Making awkward jokes and killing my child with carbs is my thing.
I smile and say goodbye, before I’m tempted to play Godzilla with her little village.
I walk out of the school gates, passing a few mums on my way. I pass a gaggle of four of them, only to feel their eyes burning holes into my back. I turn around and smile, only to see them hurry inside the building. I’m guessing they’ve heard of me.
Oh, I so hope Frankie makes some friends today. It seems so unfair, that just because of my job, no one is being nice to him.
Life in Marram Bay is proving to be much harder than I thought it would be. Still, we’re better off here than we were in London. Safer too, given recent events.
Chapter 8
I pull the sleeve of my black jumper dress down over my hand before placing it over my nose. I’ve never been great with strong smells, least of all the smell currently coming from the deli bathroom. Sadly, it’s not a very thick dress – it is still summer after all – so it’s not doing much to disguise the pong.
‘It’s the drains,’ Mike insists. ‘Someone flushed the lav today, not knowing about the drain problems we’ve been having.’
‘So when is it getting fixed?’ I ask from behind my hand.
‘Well, that’s the problem, darling. No one wants to fix it.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
Mike, clearly unfazed by the smell, grabs a doughnut from a box on the side and chomps down on it as we chat.
Mike, who is in his forties, has got that rough and ready workman look and charm, only made even friendlier by his jolly apples-and-pears accent. His dimpled cheeks give him this cheeky glimmer than makes you instantly warm to him, even when he’s giving you news you don’t want to hear.
‘We’re having a bit of bother with local tradesmen,’ he explains. ‘None of them want to help us out.’
‘I mean…they know they’ll get paid, right?’
‘’Course,’ Mike replies. ‘Even tried offering them extra.’
‘So they’re turning work down because they protest the deli?’
He nods.
Well, isn’t that just a special kind of stupid? These people are so worried that the deli will harm local businesses, they’re actively turning down business – which is harming local businesses. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.
‘The gaffer thought it might help sweeten up the locals, to hire some of them for work, but they ain’t having it,’ Mike says, reaching for a second doughnut. I suppose doing a job like his burns a lot of calories – maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. Still, I’m not about to go and dabble in the drains.
‘OK, well, I guess you’ll have to hire the tradesmen you need from outside the town,’ I say plainly.
‘Do you think they’ll like that?’ he chuckles.
‘Probably not, but we don’t have much choice. Perhaps it will show them that we’re serious about staying here. And at least it will keep work ticking along until I think of a real way to get everyone on board.’
‘You’re the boss,’ he says with a cheeky smile. ‘I’ll get on it.’
Left alone at the counter I glance at the plans laid out in front of me. It really is a shame the locals are set against this place, it is going to be so amazing, and I’m not just saying that because I feel like it’s my baby.
I can see the doughnuts out of the corner of my eye, but my usual inclination to eat one just isn’t there. It’s this horrible sewage smell, filling the room, that’s proving to be an excellent appetite suppressor. I’m sure we could make a lot of money with it, were this the location of a SkinnyKwick Club meeting, but we’re a deli and we want people to buy food.
‘Lily,’ I hear Mike calling as he heads back in. ‘I’m on with a plumber, he says he can do it, but he wants his travel expenses covering. He’s coming pretty far.’
‘OK, sure,’ I say reluctantly. Well, it’s not exactly my own money I’m throwing around, is it? My bosses have given me an impossible job to do, and I’m doing the best I can. ‘The sooner he can come, the better.’
‘He says he’ll be right over,’ Mike replies.
‘Great,’ I reply, semi-sarcastically. Well, it’s not great that we have to fork out for plumbers from afar, but it will be a lot easier to get some work done here once the smell is gone.
‘I’m going to go outside and scope out the area,’ I say.
‘OK, sure. You get some fresh air,’ Mike laughs. I think he’s onto me, but I can’t think straight around this smell.
I step out of the main door and onto the paved area out front where I finally take in the view for the first time. We might not be on the seafront, but we’re right at the top of the main street that
leads down to it, which means that, for the customers who sit outside the deli to eat their lunch, they’ll be able to see the sea. It’s still quite warm and sunny for early September, so I take my oversized sunglasses from my bag and put them on to get a better view.
Before moving here, I knew that there was an island just off the coast but I had no idea just how close it was, or how big. It’s a bizarre and beautiful sight that makes the islands we’re used to seeing on the Thames pale in comparison. I really should take Frankie sometime, maybe at the weekend to celebrate his first week at school.
I set off down the cobbled main street, extra carefully in my heels. While I may be blonde, I’m not ditzy…that said, I’m not sure why it never crossed my mind to swap out my stylish heels for some more sensible ones. I supposed I assumed the north was paved.
The main street is not only cobbled, it’s steep too. If I were to fall, which is something I’m prone to doing from time to time, it would not be one of my more graceful tumbles. Not on this hill, in these shoes, wearing this dress that doesn’t quite reach my knee.
My most graceful fall to date happened two years ago while Frankie and I were ice-skating at the Natural History Museum outdoor ice rink. Frankie was having a blast, zipping around on the ice whereas I carefully clung to the edge and moved just a few inches at a time.
‘Come on, Mum, it’s easy,’ he assured me. He was only six at the time and I figured, if a six-year-old can do it, then so can I. I was wrong. Holding Frankie’s hand, I left the comfort of the outside edge and skated into the middle of the rink, to get a closer look at the big Christmas tree that sits in the centre.
‘You did it, you did it,’ he chirped, bursting with pride, sort of like I did when he took his first steps.
The only problem was, Frankie figured I’d be fine after that, so he skated off on his own again. That’s when the fear kicked in. I think half my problem with ice-skating was a confidence thing, and without Frankie to hold on to, I was too scared to move. Kids and adults were zipping past me with ease so, after psyching myself up for a few minutes, I made my move, skating out, taking it a few inches at a time, and I was doing it, I was really doing it…and then I got too confident, I forgot to be careful, and I lost control. It felt like I was flailing around, completely out of control for a long time, but I don’t suppose it was more than a few seconds. By some miracle I managed to not only stay upright, but glide into the arms of a tall, blond, handsome man, and for someone who struggled to meet men – let alone introduce herself – this was almost too good to be true.
‘Hi,’ I blurted.
‘Hey,’ he replied.
‘Do women always fall at your feet or am I the first?’ I joked awkwardly, like I do.
‘Erm, just my wife,’ he replied, nodding to the leggy brunette to his left.
The flirting might not have been great, but the fall – and the recovery – were excellent.
My least graceful fall to date was six months ago, in Tesco, where I literally slipped on a banana skin and ploughed into a display of toilet rolls. The landing was soft, at least.
The main street has a real mixture of shops, from quirky little gift shops to a shop, hilariously called Fruitopia, that appears to sell nothing but jam.
There’s a shop that sells women’s clothing, but if the mannequins in the window are anything to go by, it’s probably not to my taste. The next shop along, though, is a cool gallery cum bookshop that looks like it might have some interesting stuff inside.
I step inside the large white room to the murmur of a classical music tune that I recognise, but couldn’t name. It feels lovely in here, with the cool air blowing down on me as I browse the photographs and paintings on the walls. It seems like most of them were taken or painted locally, which is cute. The books all seem to be similar in theme too – perhaps I could pick up something to give me an insight into the local area.
‘Hello,’ I say brightly to the man sitting behind a desk in the centre of the room.
‘Hello,’ he replies, taking off his glasses. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I was after a book about the local area.’
‘We have lots of them,’ he replies straight-faced.
‘Yeah.’ I laugh awkwardly. ‘I was hoping you could maybe recommend a specific one. Whichever is your favourite.’
‘Oh, sure,’ he replies.
He casts an eye over a table of books before picking one up and handing it to me.
‘This one should do it. It’s all about the history of the area, places for tourists to visit, local customs, etcetera.’
‘Brilliant,’ I reply. ‘I’ll take it.’
The man, an awkward thirty-something who, for some bizarre reason, is wearing a beanie hat on a sunny day, scans the book.
‘Can I interest you in some postcards featuring stunning local scenes for the folks back home?’ he asks, loosening up a little, as he points to a rack of cards to his left.
I glance at them.
‘No thanks,’ I reply, my smile dropping.
I can’t help but think about the postcard in my bag, the one from someone back home, and if there’s one thing I don’t wish, it’s that he were here.
Chapter 9
Standing in the playground, waiting for Frankie to finish school, I fantasise about taking my shoes off, and maybe soaking them in the bath for a couple of hours before dinner. It’s been a long day at the deli, making sure that everything is going to be ready in time, but at least the plumber turned up and fixed whatever problem was causing the smell. I damn near gave him one of my kidneys and he left, pound signs rolling in his eyes as he counted his money (which included his travel bonus). This only reminds me that I would never, ever, in a million years be able to afford to open my own deli, because even if I could gather some money together, you never know when you’re going to have to pay a big plumbing bill – if this really were my place, I probably would have had to give him a kidney. It’s all good though, because tomorrow when I turn up for work, it’s going to smell glorious, like fresh wooden counters, and it’s going to remind me that, even though we’re running into problems, I’m solving them.
I notice the gaggle of women from this morning, staring at me once again. They’re probably just curious, wondering who I am. If it were up to me I’d stay here, at the opposite side of the playground, hiding behind my sunglasses, but I know that I have a lot of work to do here, and it would probably be good for the business if I go over and introduce myself, show them that I’m a normal mum, just like them, and not at all ‘evil’.
By the time I walk over there are just three women left, all standing in a line, facing me, anticipating my introduction.
‘Hello, ladies,’ I say, wearing the biggest smile my face can accommodate. ‘My name is Lily Holmes, I’m Frankie’s mum. We’ve just moved into Apple Blossom Cottage and, erm, I’ll be running the new deli on Main Street.’
I continue to smile as I wait for their reply.
‘We know who you are,’ the woman in the middle says. It’s funny she should say that, she looks familiar to me too. ‘We knew you were coming, we just didn’t know who you were. Now we can put a face to the person who is trying to ruin this town.’
And, here we go. It’s so funny, the way she describes my arrival, like it’s some prophecy you hear at the start of a horror film before the monster turns up.
‘Listen, I know there’s a lot of animosity towards the deli—’ and me, apparently ‘—but I’m not here to make trouble. There’s nothing even close to a YumYum Deli in town, and there are lots of hungry tourists. There’s room for all of us. I promise, I am no threat to your or your families’ livelihoods.’
I feel my face fall into a more relaxed smile, happy with my response.
‘Do you know who I am?’ the woman in the middle asks.
If she’s asking, I must know her from somewhere.
To her left is a short, plump woman with a mess of black curls on her head. She’s wearing a beautiful p
air of tortoiseshell Gregory Peck-style glasses that I would love if I didn’t wear contact lenses most of the time. I’d ask her where she got them from, although I suspect a compliment right now would seem insincere.
The mum to the other side is tall and skinny, with her mousey brown hair in two plaits that go down almost all the way to her waist. With her make-up-free face and her plaid shirt and jeans combo, she looks fresh off the farm.
And then, in the middle, there’s the ringleader of the three angry stooges. I stare at her for a moment when it hits me – I have seen her before. She looks a little different, without her Forties dress and her victory rolls, but it’s her all right. The woman from the seafront, who was staring at us the day we arrived. Oh, and these two must have been the women standing either side of her that day. Wow, I wonder if they always have to stand in the right order, like Ant and Dec do.
I’m just about to tell her where I recognise her from when she speaks again.
‘This is Jessica,’ she says, nodding to her short friend. ‘Jessica Dawson, as in Dawson’s Butchers, that she and her husband own.’
‘Oh, “burger me”,’ I blurt giddily. ‘I found one of your husband’s signs outside the deli. He’s a very pun-ny man.’
‘This is Mary-Ann,’ she continues, unamused, nodding towards her tall friend. ‘She and her husband run the dairy farm.’
I nod in acknowledgement. She looks like the kind of woman who would name her kids Bernadette and Bart.
‘Is your husband the baker by any chance?’ I ask. What is it with the women in this town? Other than the females working in the school, it’s like they’re all defined by their husbands’ jobs.
‘No, I’m Avril Newman, wife of Bradley Newman – the local plumber.’
Oh carp.
‘I passed the deli today,’ she tells me, as though I don’t know how this one is going to end. ‘There was a plumber’s van parked outside. A plumber from a town fifteen miles away.’
‘We did call your husband,’ I tell her. ‘He didn’t want the job.’
‘Well, of course he didn’t,’ she replies. ‘We don’t want to be seen supporting a business that the locals don’t want here. But you giving the work to another plumber, from out of town, well, that’s taking food off our table, out of our little Jacques’ mouth.’
Summer Secrets at the Apple Blossom Deli Page 5