I shake my head firmly. ‘There’s nothing whatsoever going on between me and Theo. But what about Lucy? I don’t think she’d like it if we dined out together.’
He shrugs. ‘It doesn’t matter what Lucy thinks any more. We’re over. For good.’
‘Really?’ I stare at him, shocked. I’d thought they were just having a break from each other …
He nods. ‘I should have broken it off a long time ago. We were never really right for each other.’ He smiles sadly. ‘If I’m honest, it was a bit of a rebound thing after you left for uni.’
‘Well, it’s certainly lasted a long time. There must have been something there.’
Reluctantly, he nods. ‘I suppose. She can be a horror, I know, but she was always good to me.’
‘Except when she was bossing you around?’
He looks sheepish. ‘I got used to that. Water off a duck’s back.’
‘You’re too easy-going for your own good sometimes,’ I tell him with an affectionate smile.
‘So is that a yes to dinner?’
I look up into his hopeful brown eyes and a warm feeling spreads through me. ‘Okay. Let’s do it. For old time’s sake.’
He nods, looking pleased. ‘I’m away on business next week, but as soon as I get back, I’ll phone you.’ He straightens up and raises his hand, and as I watch him walk away, a torrent of emotion rushes through me. Jason was my first real love. Actually, my only real love. But it was all so long ago.
Is it ever wise to turn back the clock?
What would love be like for us the second time around?
I watch Jason until he disappears, leaning back in my seat, trying to make sense of my feelings.
A movement to my left catches my attention. Paloma is walking quickly along the garden path towards me. She’s looking down so I can’t see her expression.
Please let it be good news …
I turn in my seat as she gets in. But one look at her tear-stained face tells me it’s not the news she was hoping for. Without even looking at me, she starts the engine and we move off.
‘What happened, love?’ I ask gently, wishing she’d stop the car and tell me. But she doesn’t reply; she just carries on driving, an awful dead look in her eyes, dashing away the tears as they roll down her face.
We draw up outside Honey Cottage and she turns to me at last, her face white as a ghost’s. ‘Mum died.’ She shrugs helplessly, staring at me as if there might be something I can say to prove her wrong.
‘Oh, Paloma. Really? Oh, God, I’m so sorry.’ I reach over and try to hug her, but her body is rigid. She must be in shock. ‘Look, come in and we can talk about it. I’ll make some tea. Or something stronger? A brandy? I think Mum’s got some in the cabinet.’
I’m talking too much, not really knowing what to say, and Paloma is just sitting there, bolt upright, her head in another space altogether.
She turns as if she’s just realised I’m there. ‘I’m all right. I’ll just go home if it’s okay with you.’
‘Of course it’s okay.’ I press her hand. It feels icy cold. ‘But are you sure you want to be alone?’
She nods, attempting a smile. ‘I’ll be fine.’
There are so many questions I want to ask her, but I can’t. Not until she’s ready to talk about it.
After I get out, I lean back in. ‘Look, if you need anything, you just pick up the phone and I’ll be right over, okay?’
She nods, her hands on the steering wheel, holding it together. ‘Thank you, Twi. I’ll phone you.’
Watching her drive off, I feel helpless and absolutely gutted for her. I have an awful feeling she’ll break down completely the instant she’s alone.
Chapter 28
I drag through the next few days, crushed that the treehouse café is now unlikely to become a reality, and increasingly worried about Paloma.
I resist the impulse to go and knock on her door to make sure she’s all right. She made it clear she would phone me when she was ready, so I need to respect that. I can’t help feeling she’d be better actually talking about her birth mum, though, and getting it all off her chest.
It doesn’t help my low mood that three days after Jake’s visit, he emails me some rough plans for the treehouse café. I stare at them for a long time, thinking that he must be a mind-reader; the artist’s impression looks so beautiful, I really wouldn’t change a thing about it. Then I get a lump in my throat when I realise how I’m going to have to disappoint Mum. And Betty and Doreen. I’d need to launch the café in high summer to give the project the best possible chance of success, and clearly, that’s not going to happen. So there’s no point in dreaming …
On Wednesday afternoon, the café is so dead that in despair, I get on my laptop and write an email to my old catering college, saying I’m considering returning in the autumn to complete my studies and would this be possible?
I desperately don’t want to have to give up my dreams and go back to Manchester, but I must face facts. The café is barely breaking even. I’m nowhere near bringing in the sort of cash I’d hoped would mean we could put an end to thoughts of selling Honey Cottage.
I send off the email and snap the laptop shut, feeling slightly sick.
Then I turn the sign on the door over to ‘closed’ and go home early, spending the rest of the afternoon on the phone to some of my old friends from college, which lifts my mood a little.
On Thursday morning, I decide to clean out the fridge for the second time that week, just for something to do. It’s nearly eleven, and my only customer is a dark-haired pleasant-faced woman in a smart business suit, sitting at a table by the counter reading a newspaper she pulled out of her briefcase and drinking a cappuccino. She’s been in a few times before and it raises my spirits to see her back again. I must be doing something right!
While I’m busy out the back, I keep popping my head round to make sure she’s okay, and on one occasion, she looks up and smiles. ‘Could I have the same again, please, and a slice of that gorgeously sinful-looking chocolate cake?’
‘Of course you can.’ Smiling, I set to at the coffee machine then cut her a big slice of cake.
‘Delicious,’ she says, taking a bite. ‘This is the best coffee stop I’ve discovered in a long time, and I travel all over the country with my job.’ She glances around her admiringly. ‘Lovely décor, so relaxing and the best cake for miles around. I don’t know why you’re not busier.’
‘Gosh, thanks.’ I feel quite flustered at such high praise. ‘I’m so glad you like it.’
‘Oh, I do. I tried that café on the high street once. The one that sells only “clean food”, whatever that is.’ She grimaces. ‘Wouldn’t go back. No atmosphere and the customer service isn’t great.’
‘Really?’ Ooh, tell me more!
She shakes her head. ‘You feel as if you’re on a conveyor belt. In and out, so someone else can have your table, and you feel slightly guilty if you linger over a second coffee.’ She shrugs. ‘Their dishes are full of very noble ingredients, but for me, a courgette really has no place at all in a Victoria sandwich cake.’
I smile a little awkwardly. I’m longing to say, ‘Yes, I think it’s pretty shit as well.’ But obviously that wouldn’t be very professional.
‘Oh, sorry, is the owner a friend of yours?’ She frowns. ‘I never thought. A small village like this. Everyone knows each other.’
I laugh, rather too loudly – bordering on the hysterical, actually – and she looks a bit surprised.
I shake my head. ‘No, no, Lucy and I definitely aren’t friends.’
‘Ah! A bit of café rivalry going on?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, you definitely have my vote. Your café is the clear winner by a country mile.’ She smiles. ‘Right, I’d better be off.’ She slides her paper into her briefcase and pays the bill, popping a very generous sum into Dad’s tip jar. ‘I’m Carole, by the way.’
‘Twilight.’
; We shake hands and her eyes widen. ‘Lovely name!’
I beam at her. ‘Thank you so much.’ For everything!
‘See you again very soon,’ she says, leaving with a cheery little wave.
After she’s gone, I go over to clear her table, but instead of stacking plates and cups, I slip into her chair and sit there, resting my chin on my hand, thinking. Carole has given me a totally different perspective on my situation here. She actually prefers The Twilight Café to Lucy’s place – by a country mile! And she definitely seems like a woman of taste. It’s interesting that she doesn’t think much of Lucy’s customer service, either, although obviously, I’ll do my very best not to rejoice at that.
Woo-hoo!
If only I had more time, I’m sure I could build up a loyal clientele – not based on special offers galore and ‘celebrity’ gloss, but through good old-fashioned care for the customer, a relaxing atmosphere and great food.
But unfortunately, time costs money. And money is something I don’t have.
Later, after closing up, I walk into the village to pick up a few groceries, and coming out of the supermarket, I bump into a friend of Mum’s called Marilyn, who lives in Hart’s End.
‘Twilight, love, so good to see you!’ After we hug, she frowns and digs in her shopping bag. ‘Look at this. I was reading it while I was in the hairdresser’s.’ She opens the magazine out at a full-colour spread and we look at it together. The heading in bold red type shouts, ‘No more cake for us (unless it’s a delicious parsnip sponge)’ There’s a big photo of a beaming Meghan Sparkle in the café with her hands on Lucy and Olivia’s shoulders, and the article is all about the café’s rise to fame, thanks to bride-to-be Meghan’s regular visits.
Marilyn reads a bit out loud in a fake posh voice. ‘“I’m determined to slim right down for my wedding day,” says lovely reality star Meghan, “and Lucy and Olivia’s Clean Food Café is the perfect place for guilt-free eating!” Guilt-free eating, for goodness’ sake! What’s so great about that, I ask you!’
I laugh. ‘I’ve seen Meghan Sparkle on YouTube and you sounded just like her there!’
‘Well, it makes me mad what that Lucy Slater did to you on opening day, making sure everyone went to her café and not yours. I’ve been in Spain for the past few weeks, but Betty told me all about it. And this—’ She flicks the magazine article distastefully. ‘Well, it’s nothing but a big, tacky publicity stunt, Lucy being friendly all of a sudden with a so-called “celebrity”. It’s so obvious Lucy’s just out to make money and get famous and that’s not what you want in a village café, is it? I’ve started telling everyone to boycott that place and go to yours instead, although of course, people do love a bargain. But mark my words, once there aren’t any more “introductory two-eat-for-one offers”, the tide will turn.’ She pops the magazine in her bag and pats my hand. ‘It will, you know.’
I smile gratefully, glad of Marilyn’s staunch support, and wave her on her way. That’s exactly what Theo said. The tide will turn …
Thinking of Theo makes my insides churn like a washing machine.
I’d love to believe he and Marilyn are right. But a few minutes later, when I walk past Lucy’s place, I can see that, as usual, most of the tables are occupied. They seem to be doing a roaring trade and I can’t help a little twinge of envy.
Not that it really matters any more, because by October I’ll probably be back at catering college and Honey Cottage will be up for sale.
A lump fills my throat and I have to put my head down and hurry back before the tears start. Safely home, I curl up in a ball on the sofa and sob as I haven’t done for a very long time – not since we first got Dad’s diagnosis a year ago. My bare arms are wet with tears and they just won’t stop. All the kind comments in the world won’t change things if I can’t get customers through the door …
The only bright spot on the horizon is my dinner with Jason, once he returns from his latest business trip.
At last, I get up and walk slowly to the bathroom, intending to wash the mascara streaks off my face. On the way through the hall, I notice the post on the mat. One of the letters is addressed to me. As soon as I pick it up, I know what it is.
Feeling sick, I yank it open. It’s from the building society, threatening action if no settlement of arrears is received within a fortnight. Even though I was expecting something like that, it’s still a shock to read the cold, hard words on the page.
Next moment, when my mobile phone rings, I actually laugh out loud. No doubt this will be Jason, calling to say he’s had second thoughts about dinner!
I’m tempted to ignore it, but something makes me pick up. If it’s more bad news, I may as well face it sooner than later …
It’s not Jason.
It’s Jake.
And what he tells me makes my head whirl madly like one of those old-fashioned spinning tops cranked up to high speed. I hang up and immediately start calculating timescales in my head.
Jake has managed to rejig his schedule. If I still need him, he can start work immediately. This is such amazing news, I feel like crying.
I pick up the phone to call my parents, picturing the delight on Dad’s face.
The Treehouse Café will open for business in August!
Chapter 29
After a sleepless night, during which I build The Treehouse Café in my imagination and design an entire fairy-tale interior (if money was no object), I phone Mum then Betty to break the good news.
Betty, especially, is really excited and I know the instant I hang up, she’ll be on the phone to Doreen to chat about it. Sure enough, ten minutes later she phones to tell me how delighted they both are that it’s all finally happening, and that she’d like to make a suggestion.
‘Of course. What is it?’ I smile, expecting Betty to say something like she wants to make the curtains herself so there’d be no raw fish in the hems this time.
‘Well, Doreen and I think you could do with a little break, what with all the stress you’ve been under. So we wondered if we could take over at the café for a couple of days.’
‘Take over?’
‘Yes. If we’re going to be helping out in The Treehouse Café when it’s finished, it would do us good to learn the ropes beforehand? So for those few days, we’d run the café and we could even do the baking if you like.’
‘Oh. Wow. That’s so kind of you. But are you sure you don’t mind?’
Betty chuckles. ‘Mind? We can’t wait!’
‘Well, in that case – yes, please!’ It’s only now that it’s being handed to me on a plate that I realise exactly how much I could do with a few days off from my usual routine.
They come round to the café later and during a quiet spell, I show them how everything works, and Doreen offers to bake the daily batch of scones, while Betty will make her favourite party piece, a black forest gateau.
I smile. ‘Very retro. I like it.’
‘You do?’ Betty peers at me anxiously. ‘We don’t want to be pushy. It’s your café.’
I laugh. ‘Listen, girls, it will be your café, too, soon, when the new place is ready, and I’m really going to need your help. You can’t expect me to cope with the hordes of hungry customers all by myself! I don’t know about you, but I have a feeling we’re going to make a brilliant team.’
*****
It feels odd having two days off and not having to think about the café – but in a good way.
My immediate thought is to go and see Mum and Dad. But Mum assures me she’s fine, that Dad isn’t really up to long chats, and that it would probably be best for me to just chill out at home for a while.
So instead, I take up Jake’s offer to show me the plans for The Treehouse Café in detail by going back down to visit his workshop again. He’s much more relaxed this time and I thoroughly enjoy my afternoon. He treats me to a ploughman’s lunch in the garden of the local pub and we spend a couple of happy hours chatting about the work he’s going to do, and poring o
ver his sketches and detailed plans.
It’s been another really sticky day with soaring temperatures and I catch the train back to Hart’s End, arriving in the early evening. I like Jake, I’ve decided. I know Paloma decided he was a bit of an arrogant arse, but I think that’s unfair. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter what she thinks of him, as long as he builds me a beautiful treehouse extension!
Exhausted but happy, I crash into bed at ten and fall asleep instantly, despite the fact it’s barely any cooler than it was during the day.
Next morning, the doorbell wakes me and, struggling up, I peer at the time on my mobile. Nine-thirty. I’ve slept round the clock! Diving into my dressing gown, I rush to the door, thinking it’s probably Betty or Doreen with a query about the café.
It’s Betty and she looks worried.
‘So sorry to disturb you, love, but we’re having trouble locating the cake.’
Puzzled, I laugh. ‘It hasn’t run off again, has it?’
She sighs. ‘Doreen excelled herself, baking that black forest gateau yesterday. Beautiful it is. But it’s gone missing. She put it in a box and asked her nephew to deliver it to the café on his way to work. He’s got a refrigerated van for his catering company and I think she was worried about the cream melting in this terrible heat. But it hasn’t turned up. She told him to leave it round the back of the café but when we got here, it wasn’t there, even though Tom swears he delivered it.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got fruitcake left and some of those lovely double chocolate chip cookies that seem to survive the heat pretty well. Come in and I’ll get them for you.’
Betty goes off with her Tupperware box, still apologising and saying she’ll phone Tom again.
Twenty minutes later, she phones back, mystery solved.
‘I can’t believe it!’ she wails. ‘He delivered the cake to the wrong café!’
My insides shift uneasily. ‘You mean Lucy and Olivia’s?’
‘Yes. What a bloody cock-up. Do you want me to drive round there and get it back.’
Love Among the Treetops Page 20