I felt a horrible twinge of fear, and was only mildly cheered when she added, ‘But they keep saying it’s early days and we’ll have a much better picture a few weeks from now.’
‘Right, well, give him my love, as always, and tell him the bowl is fantastic.’
Mum laughed. ‘Bless him, he spent weeks making that for you.’
‘Well, it was worth the effort because it’s gorgeous.’ I swallowed hard on the lump in my throat. ‘And tell him I’d quite like a box with compartments for knives, forks and spoons if he’s got time in his busy schedule!’
‘I’ll tell him.’ She sighed. ‘I wish we could come and see you, love, but your dad’s too weak at the mo to make the journey. And to be honest, I’m quite exhausted myself what with all the hospital to-ing and fro-ing. Still …’ She injected a note of brightness into her tone. ‘We’ll get there! Your dad’s been as strong as an ox all his life – that’s bound to stand him in good stead, don’t you think?’
‘I do, Mum. Nothing can keep that fella down for long. Not even bloody cancer! Sorry for swearing.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, love. I’ve said some pretty choice words myself over the past six months. I stood in the empty house and told the cancer to fuck off back where it came from the other day!’
‘Mum!’ I hooted with laughter, both shocked and amused. My mum is the type of person who says ‘shoot’ instead of ‘shit’.
Then she said, ‘Sorry, I haven’t even asked how today is going. Spectacularly, I hope?’
‘Oh, yes, yes. Fantastic.’ I was glad she couldn’t see the awkward heat creeping into my face. ‘We’ll have those mortgage payments in hand in no time!’
I made an excuse to get off the phone so I didn’t have to tell her any more lies. The last thing I needed was for them to be worrying about money, on top of everything else …
Chapter 18
It’s Friday afternoon, nearly a week after my decidedly unremarkable opening day, and The Twilight Café is having another of its all too frequent lulls in business.
In other words, it’s empty.
‘This is just a blip in your new career,’ says Paloma, with an airy wave of her hand. ‘Just a tiny fly in the ointment.’
I grunt. ‘A bloody great giant hornet, you mean.’ I pass her a complimentary espresso.
‘So defeatist. Do you think Alan Sugar gave up at the first hurdle? No. He dusted himself off and came back stronger than ever.’
‘You just made that up.’
‘Well, yes, but it’s probably true.’
I scowl at her. ‘It’s a big fat cliché. That’s what it is.’
She folds her arms and fixes me with a penetrating stare. ‘So let me get this straight. You’re actually going to just sit back and let Lucy Slater steal your thunder and your customers? Without at least putting up a teeny-weeny little fight?’
I gaze at her unhappily. ‘But what can I do? It’s obvious Lucy’s tapped into a whole new niche in the market. Clean eating is the buzz word of the moment.’
‘Well, technically, it’s two words.’
‘But you must admit, it was bloody clever of her to highlight the whole issue of fitness and staying healthy with this charity 10k run of hers, before magically springing a clean eating café on everyone.’
‘Sneaky, if you ask me. Everyone thought she was so good, raising money for children’s charities with the run, but all the time, it was just a ploy to brainwash people into thinking they need the sort of food she’s serving in her stupid café in order to be healthy.’
‘I wonder what the food’s like,’ I murmur gloomily.
‘Bean sprouts and cabbage, no doubt, with a side order of unseasoned bulgur wheat and cardboard.’ She makes a face. ‘Yuk.’
I smile at my best friend, grateful for her support. But I know she’s only saying these things to make me feel better. Lucy’s not stupid. ‘The food must be good,’ I point out. ‘They’ve been open a week and yesterday when I lurked behind the post box to observe, the queues were showing no sign of diminishing.’
‘Only because they’re still offering a ridiculous fifty per cent off people’s first visit. How the hell can they hope to make a profit like that? No, mark my words, all the excitement will die down when people start having to pay full price for a bowl of lettuce and turnip soup.’
‘I’m desperate to know what really is on their menu.’ I give a loud groan of frustration and droop over the table, burying my face in the soft wool of my sleeves.
Paloma grins. ‘Well, be desperate no longer. Because I have a plan …’
*****
I can’t believe we’re doing this.
We’re in Paloma’s car, parked in a side street a few doors along from Lucy & Olivia’s Clean Food Café, and I’m admiring my startling reflection in the sun visor mirror. Paloma, who’s sporting a long red wig, sunglasses and an enormous straw sunhat that flops over her face, is doing the same on the driver’s side.
‘Not bad,’ she murmurs, adjusting the brim of the hat, turning this way and that in the mirror, and pouting ridiculously. She looks across at me and snorts with laughter.
Having closed the café for an hour to go on this mission, I’ve wound a big, poppy-splashed scarf around my head and tied the ends together at the side in a big floppy bow. My sunglasses are huge, covering most of my face. If I walked into a café like this, even I wouldn’t recognise me …
‘You look like a pirate,’ says Paloma.
‘No I don’t. I look … glamorous. Like one of those movie stars from the nineteen-fifties. They wore turbans.’
‘Which movie stars?’
‘Marlene Dietrich? She made them famous.’
‘Who?’ Paloma looks mystified.
‘Audrey Hepburn!’ I shout out. ‘She wore them.’
‘Yes, but I’m sure the elegant Audrey never resembled Long John Silver in drag.’
‘Rude!’
She grins. ‘Arrrr! Land ho, me hearties! Shiver me timbers and rattle me cannonballs.’
I start to laugh, although it borders slightly on the hysterical. ‘Come on, then. Let’s do this.’
‘Really?’ Paloma looks unsure, which is not like her at all.
‘Well, it was your idea,’ I remind her. ‘Going undercover to stake out the competition.’
‘I know, but looking like this, we stand out like bird poop on a black welly. What’s the betting Lucy will take one look and rumble us instantly?’
I shake my head firmly. ‘We can carry it off. Come on.’ I’m already opening the door, extreme curiosity – at seeing the inside of the Clean Food Café for myself – propelling me out of the car. Lucy and Olivia are obviously pulling in the crowds and I need to know what they’re doing right. Because if I don’t want to end up with a total turkey on my hands, I need to somehow start drawing in the customers myself.
‘You know, what you said about having a USP was absolutely spot on,’ I say thoughtfully, as we brave the high street in our disguises.
Paloma nods. ‘Lucy’s Unique Selling Point is the “clean eating” angle. I hate to admit it, but it does make her café stand out from the rest.’
I almost chicken out as we near the entrance, my heart is racing so fast, but Paloma pulls me inside, on the coat-tails of a couple just going in. I shuffle along behind the man, who’s very tall, taking quick peeks over my sunglasses to locate Lucy and Olivia. I spot them, standing behind the counter.
Paloma pulls her hat brim down so far, she walks right into the antique umbrella stand. It rocks alarmingly and looks like it might go crashing to the floor, but she grabs it and steadies it in time.
Lucy’s hawk-eyed gaze swings over in Paloma’s direction and my heart plummets. But a customer distracts her. I watch – through the ghostly gloom of my gigantic shades – as Lucy points over to the cutlery, plastering on a fake smile, which vanishes the instant the woman leaves the counter.
‘Careful,’ I hiss, nudging Paloma.
T
he place is heaving, so we sit down on the only two seats remaining – a couple of high stools at a long shelf-like table in the window, facing out onto the high street.
‘This is good,’ Paloma mutters, wriggling on the stool to get comfortable. ‘It means we’ve got our backs to Lucy and Olivia. Less chance of them spotting it’s us.’
‘But it also means I can’t get a proper look at everything.’ I peer round in what I hope is a discreet manner, noting the fresh, airy feel of the décor, the French café posters on the walls and the simple but stylish pale wood tables and chairs.
‘What do you think?’ Paloma is also giving the place a subtle once-over, shading her face with her hat brim.
‘They’ve done a good job.’ I stare at her gloomily. ‘I hate to admit it, but I actually like it.’
Paloma nods reluctantly. Then she grins. ‘Shame the patrons are utter cows, though.’
‘The customers don’t know that.’
‘True. But they’ll no doubt show their true colours eventually – especially Miss Lucifer Slater – and then where will their business be?’
We glance at each other, uninspired. We both know Paloma is just talking bollocks to try and cheer me up.
‘I suppose the testing time for them will be when the period of special introductory offers is over.’ I pick up the cute white ceramic salt shaker and turn it around ruminatively in my hands. ‘Will the customers pay full price for …’ I swivel to look at the day’s specials on the blackboard menu ‘… tofu burgers with roast Mediterranean vegetables or Grilled Halloumi cheese with a herby omelette, sweet potato fries and salad garnish.’
‘Actually, it sounds quite nice,’ says Paloma. Then she grimaces. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, it does.’ I shrug. ‘I’m depressed as hell. There, I’ve admitted it.’
‘And how are you two ladies today?’ Olivia’s school-ma’am voice at our shoulders makes me freeze with fright, and my heart rate zips into overdrive.
I can’t speak. She’ll recognise my voice. And the last thing I want is Lucy knowing we’ve gone to such great lengths to spy on them, because then she’ll know she’s won!
Paloma clears her throat. ‘Eeh, we’re fair t’middlin’, thanks fer askin’.’
I swivel my eyes at her in astonishment. Her voice has gone deep, like a man’s. A man from Yorkshire, weirdly.
‘Mind, it’s chuffin’ roastin’ out.’ She wafts her hat brim vigorously. ‘Eeh ba’ gum, I’m absolutely sweatin’.’
‘Good, good,’ murmurs Olivia politely. ‘And what can I get you both?’
I turn slightly so I can see her expression. She’s staring down at Paloma as if she can’t quite believe her eyes.
‘Eeh, gi’us one o’ them butties each and a mug o’ tea and we’ll be ’appy as pigs in muck!’ Paloma points at the food on the next table and a bemused Olivia goes to write something down in her order book then stops.
‘Erm, those sandwiches are made from rye bread?’ she says hesitantly, pen poised in mid-air, as if no one with such a thick Yorkshire accent could possibly want anything other than the sort of stodgy white processed bread that sticks to your teeth.
Paloma nods approvingly. ‘Aye, that’s champion, flower.’ When Olivia walks off, Paloma says, ‘Eeh, she were nice, considering she’s not from Yorkshire!’
I hold in my laughter until Olivia walks away. ‘I can’t believe you did that. That accent was a sort of a weird combo of Geordie and Yorkshire.’
She grins. ‘Aye, it’s reight grand oop north, apparently.’ She glances behind her and her face falls. ‘Oh, bugger, I think she might have clocked it was us.’
‘Really?’ I look over at the counter. Sure enough, Olivia and Lucy are in deep discussion and they’re frowning in our direction.
Lucy starts walking over and I groan.
‘I knew this was a bad idea!’
‘No, you didn’t, you were all for it,’ reminds Paloma, trying not to smile.
I adjust my sunglasses and look round at Lucy, psyching myself up for her catty comments.
‘Ladies, hello,’ she says. ‘Was it the salad on rye you wanted or the humus?’
There’s a brief silence.
I’m so relieved Lucy appears not to have recognised us, my whole body relaxes. ‘Salad please.’
Lucy nods and turns away. Then she stops.
I gaze at Paloma in a panic. Why didn’t I let my Geordie Yorkshire friend answer?
Lucy carries on walking, picks up a newspaper from a display by the counter, and walks back to our table. She opens the newspaper to a certain page, folds it over and beams at me. ‘Nice to see you, Twilight. Having a morning off? Shouldn’t you be catering to your hordes of customers right now? But maybe The Twilight Café is so popular, you’ve had to hire extra staff already.’
She drops the newspaper onto the table in front of us. ‘A little reading material for you. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting. I presume you’d like to cancel the sandwich order?’
She tosses her head and walks off, leaving Paloma and I staring after her.
Chapter 19
I turn to the newspaper story, swivelling it slightly so Paloma can read it, too.
Sparkling Clean Café is a Hit in Hart’s End!
The heading, in big bold type, makes something die inside me. But I read on with a sort of horrible fascination.
‘Clean eating’ is the buzz phrase of the moment in the health and fitness world and two enterprising young women have brought this trend to Hart’s End – with great money-spinning success.
Lucy & Olivia’s Clean Food Café, situated on the village high street, opened just a week ago, but already, the establishment is proving to be a runaway triumph.
Lucy Slater and Olivia Bright, both 32, share a firm belief that ‘we are what we eat’, and they’re on a mission to prove to locals that they can improve their health and wellbeing immeasurably, just by making changes to their diet, eating the kind of vegan-based food the café provides.
Says Lucy, ‘All our food is extremely wholesome, but please don’t assume we frown upon goodies like cakes and biscuits. We have an absolutely delicious courgette cake on the menu, or why not try our heavenly pumpkin breakfast cookies?’
On the opposite page is a cut-out coupon that announces: Eat at Lucy & Olivia’s Clean Food Café and feel on top of the world! Plus, bring a friend and they can eat FREE!
I stare at the advert, a queasy feeling inside. All my determination of earlier has vanished completely. How can I hope to compete with an offer like that?
Paloma slides off her stool, snatching up the newspaper, and I follow her out of the café with a heavy heart. She shoves the paper into the mouth of a public waste bin that’s right outside the café.
‘No, I want to keep it,’ I tell her, pulling it out again, and in doing so, something underneath catches my eye.
Staring into the bin, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. It’s one of my missing posters.
‘Look at this,’ I say to Paloma, pulling it out. ‘Is it a coincidence that this should be found in the bin outside Lucy’s café? I think not!’
Paloma looks amazed. ‘The scheming little cow. So she’s the one who made your posters “disappear”. Might have bloody known.’
Now that I’m out of sight of the windows, I tug off the scarf part of my disguise. I never suspected Lucy of removing the posters because at that stage, there was no reason to. But now … well, now it’s fairly obvious it was her.
‘I’d like to know how she managed to get that story in the paper,’ grumbles Paloma. ‘I mean, really it should be an advert, not bloody news!’
‘I know exactly how she managed it.’ Irritably, I smooth my hair down and pull off my sunglasses. ‘Her dad’s a businessman with fingers in so many pies, he should be running a bloody bakery! No doubt he’s done a “favour” in the past for some head honcho on the paper and now it’s his turn to get the preferential treatment.’
Paloma nods. ‘
Namely a glowing advert in the form of a “news story” for his darling daughter’s brand-new enterprise. Ha! Nice publicity if you can get it.’
‘Got time for a coffee?’ I ask on the way back in the car.
She glances at her watch. ‘Wish I did, but I’ve got this impatient client chomping at the bit for something to look at by the end of the week, so it’ll be nose to the grindstone for the next few days.’
‘Have you heard from that woman, Sylvia, with any news about your birth mum?’
Paloma’s eyes light up. ‘No, but I’m convinced I will. I can just feel it. My real mum’s out there somewhere, Twi, and I’m going to find her!’
I smile at her, sensing a new energy about my best friend. She’s never referred to her birth mum as her ‘real mum’ before. For some reason, I think of Rowena and her lost daughter …
‘Can you imagine?’ she says. ‘If I find Mum, I might even discover other relatives I never knew I had! Wouldn’t that be amazing? We could have proper family Christmases together!’
My smile slips. I can’t help worrying for Paloma. She’s so enlivened by the prospect of finding a family, but what if the trail goes cold, right there on that woman’s driveway? How devastated will she feel then?
Softly, I say, ‘I know. It would be incredible. And in the meantime, you’ve got me and my family. We love you.’
She leans over to hug me, her eyes bright with tears. ‘I know you do. Thank you.’
I wave her off and let myself into the café, keeping the ‘closed’ sign in place for a little while longer so I can drink a strong coffee and get rid of my disguise. It’s not as if I’m in danger of losing customers by having closed up for an hour or so. I’d bet not a single person has been along during the time I’ve been away with Paloma, scouting out the competition. Except maybe Betty and Doreen, who call in most days for refreshments. I doubt they’d be surprised to find me closed, though. They fully understand that I’m just treading water here really, while Lucy and Olivia continue their crusade to take over the village with their café and their charity run.
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