Paloma gets to her feet and they shake hands. ‘The man who reads books about crochet,’ she says, smiling up at him.
‘He was translating it,’ I explain hurriedly. ‘He’s a book translator.’
‘Really? How fascinating.’
‘Is it?’ He laughs. ‘Well, thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever been described as fascinating before.’
I feel a stab of irritation. Paloma’s staring up at Theo Steel as if he’s the eighth wonder of the world. ‘Right, well, I’m off home. I need to put some frozen peas on my ankle.’ I smile at them and start heading off across the green.
‘Wait up!’ Paloma runs after me. ‘Have you hurt yourself? Let me see.’
‘Congratulations on your time, Twilight,’ calls Theo, and we both turn.
He’s standing with his hands on his hips, grinning over. ‘Very impressive. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you must have come by bus.’
Chapter 13
When I get into Paloma’s car next morning, I heave a sigh of relief and slump back in the seat. ‘I can’t believe I’ll finally have proper furniture for the café.’
We’re on our way to Lake Heath to collect it from Rowena.
‘And it’s not too shabby, either!’ Paloma grins. ‘Except that it is.’
‘Yeah, shabby chic. Just the effect I wanted – and I won’t have to do a thing to it because it’s already in such great condition.’
‘Just as well since it’s only two days until the grand opening!’
It’s been a real roller coaster of a week on all fronts.
Mum was worrying me. She kept saying everything was fine when we spoke on the phone, but for some reason I started to suspect she was protesting too much – and eventually, after a bit of delicate probing, it emerged that Dad isn’t responding to the treatment the way the consultant had hoped he would, and Mum has been trying to protect me from this news. We were both in tears on the phone and I made Mum promise never to keep the truth from me again.
Things on the café front weren’t going swimmingly, either. The big ‘Twilight Café this way’ sign that Paloma created is a real triumph, but it kept on falling down from the fence where we were trying to moor it. So in the end, I gave in and hired a local hoardings company to fix it in place. It’s all money, though, and the cash is slipping through my fingers at an alarming rate.
So when Rowena Swann said I was welcome to look at the furniture she’d had in her ice-cream parlour with a view to taking it off her hands, I practically cheered down the phone. Paloma and I went to see it and it was perfect. When I asked Rowena how much she wanted for it, she mentioned a cash sum that was so reasonable, I took her hand off there and then – although I insisted on throwing in a free cake and coffee every week for a month, which she seemed quite delighted about. I think she was just really pleased to get the furniture out of her garage.
And now, Paloma and I are off to collect it.
I’m expecting her to start the engine and drive off. But instead, she takes a deep breath and turns to me, her eyes sparkling.
‘I did it!’ She clutches my arm. ‘I knocked on the door with the old-fashioned bell-pull.’
My eyes open wide with shock. ‘Oh my God! What happened? Did you find out about your mum?’
Paloma shuffles in her seat so she’s angled towards me. ‘Well, a lovely woman called Sylvia answered the door and we had a long chat about my search. She said the people she bought the house from were called Banbury, but that obviously wasn’t Mum’s family because her name is Margaret Green. At least, it was. Obviously if she’s married, her name will have changed.’
‘So what’s next?’
‘The woman, Sylvia, is going to ask around her neighbours and see if anyone can shed any light on where the Green family went. I gave her my number to text me if she finds anything out.’
‘Gosh. That’s so great. I guess the more people who know you’re searching for her, the better.’
Paloma gives an excited little nod.
I lean over and give her a quick hug. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed.’
‘Come on, then. Let’s get this furniture.’
When we arrive at Rowena Swann’s modern semi-detached in Lake Heath, she already has the garage door open ready for us. She greets us with a big smile and a thumbs-up and helps us load the furniture into the back of Paloma’s estate car. It’s like a giant puzzle, trying to fit as many chairs in as possible at weird angles and it’s fairly clear it’s going to take several trips to collect the whole lot.
When we’re loaded up, we stand chatting in the driveway.
‘So are you putting your feet up now you’ve retired?’ asks Paloma.
Rowena laughs. ‘I hate that word “retirement”. It makes me feel as if I’m a poor old horse being put out to grass. No, there’ll be no lazing around. I plan to stay very active and take up loads of hobbies I’ve never had time for.’
I smile. ‘That’s what my Auntie June was planning – until she stepped into the role of chief babysitter for her granddaughter. Not that she minds, of course.’
‘Of course not.’ A shadow passes across Rowena’s face. ‘I don’t have any family, so I guess my time is my own.’
There’s a brief silence. Then Paloma says, ‘I’m not even sure I want kids, but I suppose I’ve got a while to decide.’
Rowena nods, a pensive look in her eyes. ‘Children are such a blessing,’ she murmurs. ‘I never realised that until …’ She breaks off and smiles. ‘Anyway, hope this furniture is okay for you!’
‘I hope you’ll be there on opening day,’ I say as we get back in the car. ‘Remember your free coffee and cake.’
‘I’ll be there, Twilight!’ She waves gaily. ‘Along with hundreds of others, dying to sample your coffee and your baking!’
‘Hundreds?’ I turn to Paloma as she motors carefully down the driveway, mindful of the shifting load in the back. ‘I wish.’
‘Hey, you never know.’ She grins and turns slowly out onto the road. ‘We’ve put up all those posters in prominent places. It wouldn’t surprise me if you had a queue out the door on Saturday.’
I’m thinking about Rowena. I glance behind and she’s still standing there, staring after us. I wave but she mustn’t be able to see me because she doesn’t respond.
‘Rowena seemed sad when we talked about family,’ I murmur.
‘Yes, I think she lived in Brighton until she moved here to take over the ice-cream parlour a few years ago. Perhaps her family is back in Brighton.’
I frown. ‘But I’m sure she said she didn’t have any family, full stop. Which is sad.’
Paloma nods. ‘Family is certainly an emotional topic. Speaking of which, have you heard from your parents lately?’
‘Just last night, actually. Dad’s got a surprise for me, apparently. Mum said she’s sent it in the post.’
‘Aw, bless him. He’s so lovely, your dad. He really doesn’t deserve …’ She trails off.
A lump fills my throat. ‘You don’t deserve the hand fate dealt you, either. You must miss Linda so much.’ Her adoptive mum was such a lovely, kind-hearted woman and so full of fun. I can’t imagine the chasm she must have left in Paloma’s life. ‘I so hope you find your birth mum.’
Paloma pastes on a smile. ‘Well, if I do, she couldn’t possibly be as lovely as Mum. Linda, I mean.’
I nod sadly. ‘You’re probably right.’
*****
We’ve just finished unloading the third and final batch of furniture when a familiar car drives up and parks on the forecourt.
‘Oh, great,’ I murmur, agitation rising up inside me. ‘My all-time favourite person.’
I only hope Lucy has come to bring me the curtains. The café is going to look pretty bare without some form of window dressing. Although I’m still not sure I trust her, despite her kind offer to donate the curtain material free of charge.
She emerges with a bag and I can see she has the curtains inside.
<
br /> ‘I just need to check the length against the windows,’ she says, brushing straight past me and making for the café entrance, her high heels tapping on the concrete. She’s wearing a couture trouser suit in navy with cream braiding.
‘Feel free.’ I roll my eyes and we follow her inside. Paloma shakes her head in amused disbelief at Lucy’s rudeness.
‘She’s a little charmer all right,’ I mutter, and Lucy swings round suspiciously.
‘With ears the size of dinner plates, apparently,’ murmurs Paloma, without moving her lips.
‘Who’s a little charmer?’ Lucy demands.
Paloma shakes her head and says, with a charming smile, ‘No, no, Twi was just saying she’s feeling a little calmer now you’ve brought along those gorgeous curtains. She’s been so stressed out about the café opening. Haven’t you, Twi?’
I nod solemnly. ‘Very stressed. So thank you, Lucy, for lightening my load.’
‘It’s no problem,’ she says, narrowing her eyes at us in suspicion ‘Come here and hold this end, would you?’
We do as we’re told, and I wonder for the millionth time how Jason can go to bed with someone so glacial every night.
I suppose she isn’t cold with him, though.
Immediately, I brush the thought away.
I really don’t want to think about that …
Once Lucy has established the length is correct, she bundles the curtains back in the bag and clack-clacks her way over to the door, clearly not intending to give me any idea of when they will be back and in position.
‘Erm, when will you be bringing them back?’ I ask nervously, not wanting to rock the boat. I’m hoping she’ll say tomorrow morning, then we can get them up in good time. I’m still half-expecting her to snatch the curtains out of the bag and drop them in a muddy puddle out of spite.
She doesn’t even bother to reply until she’s back in the car. Rolling the window down, she shoots me a frosty look. ‘I’ll put them up for you tomorrow night.’
‘But we open the following morning,’ I say, dismayed, thinking of all the other things to be done the next day.
‘Yes, I know that.’ She sounds impatient.
‘Well, it’s just that we’re cutting it a little fine, that’s all. And I’ll be so busy.’
‘I don’t need you there,’ she snaps. ‘I can do it myself.’
I nod, still not sure. But she’s doing me a big favour, so I can hardly say it’s not convenient for me.
‘I hope you’re not suggesting I’ll muck it up,’ she says, frowning.
‘No, of course I’m not.’
‘You’re just nervous about Saturday, aren’t you, Twi?’ puts in Paloma, and I nod gratefully.
Lucy gives me another look that would instantly freeze the water in a hot tub, and drives off furiously, scattering gravel everywhere.
‘Bloody hell,’ breathes Paloma. ‘She’s a bit stressed. Perhaps life chez Lucy-and-Jason isn’t the bed of roses she’d like us to think it is.’
‘Maybe.’ I turn away to start setting up the tables and chairs. The state of Jason’s relationship with Lucy is not a road I want to venture down …
Chapter 14
Friday rolls around – the morning before Saturday’s big café opening – and I bound out of bed. Standing in the shower, I tick jobs off on a mental list.
The cakes and scones need to be perfectly fresh, so I’ll be baking and icing all the cakes today, then getting up very early tomorrow morning to bake the three different flavours of scone.
Adrenalin is already pouring through my system, making me feel nervous, excited, apprehensive and ecstatic all at the same time. I can’t believe my dream of owning my own café is finally coming true! I suppose I always thought of it as just a lovely fantasy, but now circumstances have conspired to turn that dream into a reality.
I think of my parents and the excitement subsides. If only those circumstances didn’t involve my lovely dad’s fight for survival. A lump fills my throat. I need to phone Mum when I’ve got a minute, so they can feel involved in tomorrow’s big opening. I know Mum really wishes they could be here, but it just wouldn’t be wise for Dad to make the tiring and uncomfortable journey to Hart’s End. In any case, I don’t think the hospital would allow it.
Paloma comes over soon after eleven. When I open the door, she walks in sniffing the air appreciatively. ‘I could smell the aroma of baking frenzy just walking up the garden path.’
We go straight into the kitchen, where my two Cherry Bakewells in the big, shiny new flan cases I bought are almost ready. I peer into the oven. They’re beautifully golden on top and I reckon they’re done, so I grab the pink gingham oven gloves Paloma presented me with yesterday and take them out. My brand-new mesh trays are lined up on the bench, ready to be laden with cooling bakes. I go to my list and tick off ‘Cherry Bakewells’. So far, so good. I need to work steadily and methodically today and keep a cool head. Then, hopefully, I’ll be all prepared for tomorrow at ten a.m.
Tomorrow at ten a.m.! It seems a long way off. I might actually expire with excitement before then!
Before I start on the next bake, I grab the keys and we head over to the café to admire the work we did the previous afternoon.
Rowena’s tables and chairs seem as if they were bought specially to fit the space, they look so perfect. And there’s a single purple freesia in a little vase on every table, along with a simple white menu with navy type, designed by Paloma. I pick one of them up and try to imagine I’m a customer, looking at the menu for the first time. Would I be impressed?
‘Oh God, you haven’t found a spelling mistake, have you?’ asks Paloma anxiously.
I smile and shake my head. ‘No. It’s just perfect.’
I glance around at the lovely polished wood counter with the pretty cake stands on top and the second-hand till that scrubbed up really well. The shiny knives and teaspoons standing to attention in their stainless-steel containers alongside the white dish full of tiny paper tubes of sugar. The large pastel pictures of single flowers on the walls and the pretty pale wood flooring. The only thing needed now is the curtains to make the place perfect. And Lucy has said she’ll be here at seven this evening to hang them herself.
A strange feeling trickles through me. A sort of foreboding that takes me by surprise and makes me shiver. It’s all too perfect. What if something goes wrong? What if I’ve forgotten something vital? What if I’ve spent all my savings on a café that turns out to be a failure?
Next moment, Paloma shouts, ‘Is there any of that lilac paint left? I’ve missed a spot over here.’
‘Jeez, you just can’t get good staff these days,’ I joke, heading into the back room to look for the paint can. The uneasy feeling has passed. I’m just super nervous about tomorrow, that’s all …
Paloma gets to work touching up a dodgy area near the skirting board while I make yet another of my lists. I need to go to the bank later so I have plenty of change for the till. Phone Mum. Check the big sign on the main road is still in place …
‘By the way, I bought this,’ says Paloma, pressing the top on the paint tin, then pulling what looks like a rolled-up poster out of her bag. ‘I couldn’t resist.’
She grins at me. There’s a smudge of lilac paint on her cheekbone, which – weirdly – tones in with her eye-shadow. She opens out the poster to show me. It’s a picture of a giant cupcake with pink frosting, and the words: The More You Weigh, The Harder You Are To Kidnap. Stay Safe. Eat Cake.
I giggle. ‘That’s brilliant.’
‘I saw it and thought it would be perfect for the café.’
I pause, thinking. ‘It would be far more perfect in my kitchen.’
‘Not in here?’ Paloma frowns.
I sigh, not wanting to rain on her parade. ‘It’s just I’m not sure that’s the message I want to put across, is it? Come here and eat cake and put on weight?’
She laughs. ‘You sound like Olivia.’
‘I know. Weight is s
uch a tricky subject, though, isn’t it? It’s hard to know what you can and can’t say without offending.’
‘You’ve got a point,’ she says cheerfully, rolling up the poster. ‘Best just keep the message simple: Cake is brilliant!’
I nod. ‘A little of what you fancy does you good?’
‘Everything in moderation.’ She hands me the poster. ‘For your kitchen wall. Consider it a launch gift.’
‘Thank you.’ I smile, taking the gift. ‘I’ll treasure it. By the way, you’ve got paint on your face.’
Back at the house, I get on with the mix for my chocolate fudge cakes, which came out on top on cake-tasting day. Paloma lingers over a coffee, checking her phone for messages. I know she’s hoping to hear from the bell-pull lady, Sylvia, with news of where her birth mum moved to. She puts down her phone looking dispirited, so there’s obviously no news. To cheer her up, I kid her that the only reason she’s still here is because she’s waiting for the chocolate cake bowl to lick. She firmly denies it but when I go to put the empty bowl in the sink, she shouts, ‘Oh no you don’t!’ then grabs it out of my hand and gets to work with the wooden spoon, scraping it out.
I can’t help laughing. Paloma is like a big kid sometimes.
I just wish she could meet a nice guy to appreciate her amazing qualities, but every time I bring up the subject, she says she’s far too busy with work to even think about romance.
I blame Rufus Black, the egotistical artist she went out with several years ago.
She was in awe of his talent and he swept her off her feet with his charm and his intensity. Paloma is quite a practical – some would even say cynical – sort of person. Definitely not a romantic like me. But she fell heavily for Rufus and I’d never seen her so deliriously happy. Their relationship lasted a year, during which they even talked about moving in together … until Paloma discovered that on the nights he told her he was ‘working’, he was actually paying sneaky visits to his ex-wife for bondage sessions.
Rufus was arrogantly unapologetic. He seemed to think Paloma should understand. She had, after all, laughed at the pink wireless vibrating nipple clamps he gave her for her birthday, telling him she’d sooner wear them as earrings if it was all the same to him. Surely Paloma didn’t expect a man like him – a true artist – to suppress his natural creativity so brutally? His self-expression absolutely had to be given free rein, otherwise his art would suffer and his devoted fans would pay the price. Surely Paloma didn’t want that?
Love Among the Treetops Page 10