I picked up my pace again as I approached the road, ready to cross to the café, and tried to regain my fleeting good mood …
Lia’s ideas for the menu had been inspired; the pizza party had gone down a storm and our customers had all but abandoned our regular food in favour of them. And for the last three days, she had devoted herself to satisfying demand. Lia was über-talented in the kitchen. This week had given her a huge confidence boost; she had an amazing palate, she was a super-quick worker and completely unflappable under stress, and no one was more surprised to discover she had these skills than Lia herself. And now that I’d bitten the bullet and offered her a job, she was in the process of sorting out some proper, regular childcare. Although Mum was happy to do a few hours a day, Lia wanted more. And as soon as she’d organized that, she’d be bringing her talents to the kitchen of the café permanently. So that was good news.
The other good news was that Stanley, with plenty of love from Nonna, had stabilized and the doctor had told him that he should soon be fit for surgery to mend the ruptured ulcer, which had been detected.
So, on balance, I thought, taking out the big brass key to the door of the Lemon Tree Café, there were plenty of blessings to count.
‘Eh, Rosanna!’
I turned round at the unmistakable sound of my grandmother’s voice. She was hanging out of the window of Clementine’s van and waving at me from the other side of the green. Clementine reversed wonkily around two sides of the green until the van was outside the café.
‘Morning, you two,’ I said, walking to Nonna’s side.
‘You up early?’ Nonna’s beady eyes scanned my face. ‘What happen, you wet the bed?’
She nudged Clementine and they both hooted with laughter.
I did a double take at Clementine. Her hair still looked like she’d let Tyson loose on it with a pair of hedge clippers, she was still wearing scruffy men’s clothes, but she had lost her haunted demeanour; she looked happier and more relaxed than I think I’d ever seen her.
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ I said, leaning in through the window and kissing Nonna’s wrinkled cheek. ‘Clementine, you look well.’
‘Thank you.’ She circled her shoulders back and took a deep breath in as if she was about to start yoga. Then she smiled serenely. ‘I’m going to the coast for the weekend after work tonight; staying with a cousin in a caravan. Got my regular radio slot this morning and then finishing digging a raised salad bed at the school this afternoon. Then I’m free. Free!’
Her thick eyebrows shot up at the last word as if she’d surprised herself.
‘Sounds great; a weekend off. Remind me what that feels like.’ I pretended to sigh and then smiled. ‘Actually, Nonna, I’m glad I caught you. I want to invest in a proper pizza oven. We’ve only got that one on loan from Ed’s parents and really it’s not commercial standard. It’s expensive but I’ve drawn up a plan …’
Clementine crunched on an apple while Nonna half listened to my idea to remove one of the ovens and replace the griddle with a smaller one to make room for a pizza oven. While I was talking she was rummaging through her purse counting out change.
‘What are you doing?’ I said eventually, a bit miffed that she wasn’t concentrating when I’d been up half the night finding a supplier who actually had a small oven available for immediate delivery and a willing workman whose next job had fallen through. If I gave him the nod today he’d come next week.
‘I need coins for hospital car park,’ she muttered, counting out silver into her lap.
‘Oh right,’ I said, chastised. I opened my handbag and took out my purse. ‘I didn’t realize that’s where you were going. Is everything all right?’
‘Hope so.’ Nonna sighed. ‘They operating on my Stanley this morning. That nice Indian nurse phone me. Clementine say she take me in early so I can see him … you know, see him before he goes.’
I nodded, I did know. Mamta, the nurse, had explained that there was a risk with surgery; Stanley’s spirit was willing, but his heart was very weak. And the longer his internal injury continued unchecked the weaker his body would be. Establishing the right time to operate on him was difficult; it was catch-twenty-two.
‘That’s good news; they must think he’s well enough! Give him my love,’ I said. ‘Ooh, just quickly before you go, sorry to push you about the pizza oven. I spoke to Paolo last night about it, he said—’
‘Paolo?’ A big smile spread across Nonna’s face. She looked at her friend. ‘My great-nephew. In Italy. Lovely boy.’
‘You might have mentioned him,’ said Clementine drily. She polished off her apple, core and all, opened the glove box and took out a leather coin purse. ‘What do we need?’
‘One more pound,’ said Nonna.
‘I’ve got that.’ I held up a gold coin but Clementine waved a hand.
‘Got loads of change in here.’ She closed the purse and started the engine again. ‘Let’s beat the traffic, Maria.’
‘Wait,’ I said, grabbing Nonna’s arm through the window. ‘I know you want to get off, but can I order the oven? There’s only one in stock and the installer has got a window next week.’
‘I dunno.’ Nonna shrugged. ‘You the manager.’
Clementine gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Rosie’s right, Maria. You’re the owner and a big investment like this has got to have your approval. I don’t envy you, my friend. Best pound I ever earned when I sold the garden centre. Now the biggest decision I have to make is which herbs to have in my tea.’
‘I don’t want decisions!’ Nonna cried. ‘I had enough of business. I old lady now, I just want to be with Stanley and enjoy time together.’
I cocked an eyebrow at her but said nothing. Wasn’t this exactly what Mum had been saying to her for years?
‘I understand,’ I said, extracting myself from the van. ‘You go; we can do this another time. Give him a kiss from me.’
I’d miss the order deadline and might lose the oven I’d set my heart on, but her mind was on Stanley, quite rightly. I was wrong to push her for an answer right now.
‘Right. Give me the pound,’ Nonna demanded, holding out her hand.
I held the money out to her, startled by her sudden change of mind.
Nonna prised it from my fingers. ‘Okey cokey. Sold.’
I blinked at her. ‘What is?’
She held up the pound between her finger and thumb. ‘Fearnley’s sell for a pound and now café too. Congratulations, cara, you just buy my café. You the new owner. You decide about oven.’
I stared at her. ‘Me, the new owner?’
She flapped a hand. ‘Yes. Can’t be bothered any more; life not all about work, you know.’
Clementine snorted.
My heart began to quicken. I’d never planned to run a café let alone own one. But … why not?
‘Really?’ I said, completely calmly even though my heart was beating so loudly I could barely hear my own voice.
‘Really, one hundred per cent,’ Nonna confirmed.
I could do this; I knew I could. And it was a damn sight more meaningful than a career in social media, cheerleading other people’s business, other people’s dreams. Besides, now that I thought about it, turning the Lemon Tree Café into an Italian pizza café had become a bit of a dream and what better than to completely own that dream, to be responsible for its every hiccup, its every triumph? Paolo had taken on his family business and made it his own, transforming it into something special. And I could do the same. The Lemon Tree Café could evolve and grow and be the hub of the community and be there for the next generation of Nonna’s family after me. I’d already got some ideas too; I had thought up so many during the last three sleepless nights that the notebook by my bed was covered in scribble.
‘About bloody time.’ Clementine was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Congratulations, Rosie. I can’t think of a better custodian to take on the mantle from your indomitable grandmother. Any tips on those lemon trees, come to me.’
My head was spinning. There was so much I needed to learn. About tax and employment law and environmental health … And really, let’s face it, I was a rubbish cook. But all that could wait.
I met Nonna’s gaze. Her eyes had a film of tears. Despite the nonchalance of handing over her business for such a paltry sum, I knew the price she was really paying. The café had been her life, her lifeline, for years. A way to stay in control, a place where no one had power over her. And now she was handing that to me.
‘I love you, Nonna.’ I opened the van door so I could give her a proper hug. ‘I promise I’ll make you proud of what we do.’
A thought struck me as I said ‘we’, and I realized exactly what I had to do.
‘Can we keep this between ourselves, just for now?’
Nonna shrugged. ‘Sure. Whatever you say, you the boss. Now, Clementine, put your foot on it, I got a man to kiss.’
‘Whoo hoo!’ cried Clementine. ‘Now we’re both free!’
‘Ciao, Rosie!’
The engine on the old van lurched off throatily into the early-morning sunshine and Nonna and Clementine waved hands out of the windows like an elderly Thelma and Louise.
I stood for a second, feeling dazed and wondering whether that just happened. And then I looked down at the brass key in my hand and started to laugh.
Rosie Featherstone, owner of the Lemon Tree Café …
I fitted the key into the lock, pushed open the door and breathed in the smell of all my tomorrows. The coffee machine was calling me, but before I could turn it on, there was something else I needed to do.
Dropping into an armchair, I took out my phone and called my soon-to-be business partner.
‘Lia,’ I said, unable to keep the smile from my voice, ‘this might seem an odd question at seven o’clock in the morning, but have you got fifty pence?’
Chapter 32
And so it was that Lia and I, quite unexpectedly, became the proud new owners of the Lemon Tree Café.
Nonna devoted her time to Stanley’s recovery, spending every hour she could at his bedside. She fended off his daughter’s demands to sell his bungalow and move into a retirement home in Bristol and she oversaw his move from the Intensive Care Unit to a general ward (neither of them liked the word geriatric). They were both counting down the days until he could come home.
We’d told Juliet and Doreen straight away, of course, as soon as Lia had accepted my proposal to each take a fifty per cent share in the café. Juliet had burst into tears, which was so totally out of character for her that we were most concerned until she explained that she’d been worried that Nonna would sell up or close down and she really, really couldn’t afford to lose this job; the money helped pay for her mother-in-law’s care. Doreen had congratulated us and then promptly asked to reduce her hours. Nothing personal, she added, but she had another grandchild on the way and wanted to be around more to help.
After that the next ten days had flown by in the busiest whirl that the little café had ever seen. Work on the new kitchen began immediately; we ordered the oven, booked the installer to come and knock the living daylights out of the kitchen, redesigned the menus, revamped the website, issued a press release, interviewed a new accountant … The to-do list had been extensive and exhausting. Even when the café had had to be closed for three days last week while the kitchen was out of action, we hadn’t stopped; we’d simply relocated to Lia’s house. We’d worked up some delicious brunch recipes and, following feedback from the pizza party, had finalized a pizza menu.
The paperwork had been straightforward enough; I’d used the same solicitor as I’d used to buy my cottage last year. And if my mind wandered occasionally to the fact that I’d really like to chat things over with Gabe, to get him to cast his sharp eye over the new lease that the café’s landlord had offered us, or the employment contracts we’d drawn up for Doreen and Juliet which included a yearly profit share, or mine and Lia’s new partnership agreement, then I quickly reminded myself that he was, from today as it happened, part of Garden Warehouse, ergo, the enemy, and the last thing we needed was the competition knowing our business.
And today, Monday, in the middle of May, we were reopening and the new pizza oven was about to be put to the test. Sitting outside, tilting my face to the morning sunshine, and waiting for Lia to arrive so we could open up together, I could scarcely believe my good fortune. The café was a world away from the media career I’d envisaged for myself, but it was a tangible thing and I loved how something as simple as a good cup of coffee could brighten up someone’s day. At eight o’clock on the dot, Ed’s car appeared and pulled up at the kerb. Lia jumped out and Ed followed.
‘How was Arlo?’ I asked, conscious that the upshot of all this excitement and upheaval was that my nephew was being shipped off to Gina’s for three days a week.
Ed puffed out his chest. ‘Took it in his stride. Hardly a peep out of him.’
‘Good,’ I said, nodding and wondering why I felt a bit tearful. ‘That is good.’
I met Lia’s gaze.
‘Our first day,’ she said with a shy smile.
We looked up at the café and then back at each other.
‘Yep.’ I nodded, my throat tightening with emotion.
Which was ridiculous because it was only a job, only a little café … But it wasn’t, a little voice nagged at me as I submitted to Lia’s silent hug. It was far more than that. The Lemon Tree Café had been a refuge for Nonna, a small piece of home in a strange land, a happy safe place, and now it was ours. Together.
‘Smile, you two,’ said Ed, holding up the camera on his phone. ‘One for the family album.’
He took the picture, kissed Lia goodbye and, wishing us both luck, he set off for work.
Lia watched his car disappear and sighed fondly.
‘Hashtag perfect man. Look what he gave me this morning as a surprise.’ She thrust her hand in my face. Resting on top of her wedding and engagement rings was a new platinum band studded with tiny diamonds. ‘He’s bought me an eternity ring.’
‘Gorgeous,’ I said, bending over her hand to inspect it in a bid to disguise the flush of envy to my cheeks.
That was three rings now that my sister had got from a man. I couldn’t even get a phone call. And whose fault is that, an annoying voice niggled in my head, when you yell ‘we can’t be friends’ at the only decent man you’ve met this millennium?
She gazed at it. ‘Apparently we’re not strapped for cash any more. The family business is doing well and Ed’s just had a bonus. And his dad is shifting more responsibility on to him so he can think about retiring.’
‘And he’s happy for you to do this?’ I eyed her carefully.
Ed would really like her to be at home and not work at all and if they didn’t really need the money which Lia would bring in, I hoped that he didn’t harbour any resentment towards her new business.
She nodded. ‘Being a parent is still my number-one job, but I need to think about myself too. I want to challenge myself, I know working at the family café isn’t exactly MasterChef, but it’s a new start for me. It’s close to home, so it fits in around Arlo, and I’m secretly quite proud of being responsible for our new menu and for kick-starting a career. Ed understands that.’
‘Good. And I’m proud of you too,’ I said, handing her a set of keys.
‘It’s hard finding a job you love and still be there for your family. I’m so lucky to have this one,’ she said.
I flushed, remembering how Gabe had said that his new job appealed partly because it would fit in around Noah’s school.
‘Well open the door, then,’ I said gruffly.
‘Sorry, boss!’ she tutted.
I tugged her hair, just like I’d done when we were kids. ‘Hey, partners, remember?’
‘Partners,’ she repeated and as the two of us stared at each other, I felt excitement bubbling inside me and I was sure she felt the same.
&n
bsp; We pushed the door open together, flipped the ‘Closed’ sign over and we were in business.
By eleven o’clock the sun was high in the sky and Barnaby was getting its first taste of summer. The café’s pretty new outside tables had arrived just in time.
Customers sat under the awning enjoying the sunshine while sipping their coffees and chatting with friends. Sun-cream had been smeared on to freckly noses and pale shoulders and the air was fresh with the smell of cut grass. Across the road, small children played on the village green in T-shirts and shorts and summer dresses, and a couple of teenagers lolled on top of each other on a rug by the stream, probably thinking no one could see them.
The view out of the café’s windows was about as quintessentially English as it could possibly be and we’d propped the front door of the café open to let in the gentle breeze.
A breeze which was very welcome indeed because the new pizza oven, we’d quickly established, generated an awful lot of heat and Rick, the photographer, was making us stand in front of it.
‘Excellent. OK, Rosie in the middle this time. Arms round each other and big cheesy grins!’
No one could accuse him of not being thorough, I mused, switching places with Lia.
‘Come and give us a cuddle, Juliet,’ I said to our prickliest member of staff. ‘You know you want to.’
‘If I must, hen,’ Juliet grumbled when I forced her to come closer. ‘But I’ll warn you; I’m sweating like a racehorse with this furnace behind me.’
I’d booked Rick to mark the pizza oven’s first day with some professional pictures so I could tell the world about our new menu. Both Juliet and Doreen were working today, just to ensure everything ran smoothly on day one. Rick had been here for an hour doing interior and exterior shots of the café, close-ups of Doreen rolling out the dough, Juliet sprinkling mozzarella and Lia shovelling pizzas into the oven. My pose had been on the doorstep under the Lemon Tree Café sign with my arms folded. Although privately I thought he’d captured my combative stance on business very well, I got him to do another one of me at the coffee machine looking smilier. Now we were having some group shots done, much to the amusement of our customers who found it very entertaining.
The Lemon Tree Café Page 31