by Liz Eeles
Becca gives me a shy smile but carries on pacing until I step out from behind the counter and stand in front of her, wiping cake crumbs from my chin.
‘Are you feeling stressed about the bake-off?’
‘How did you know?’ asks Becca in amazement, as though I’ve just performed one of Luna’s mind-reading tricks.
‘Just a wild guess – plus, you’re carrying a folder with Bake-Off in big letters across the front.’
‘Oh, yeah. Bit of a giveaway.’ Becca winces and thrusts the brown manila folder at me. ‘Here. I’ve made a Honeyford Bake-Off plan.’
I open the folder and unfold the sheet of A3 paper inside. It’s a spreadsheet with actions and deadline dates dotted across it:
Put up posters; Get coverage in local media; Find judges; Print entry forms; Sort out prizes.
‘This all looks fabulous.’
‘My friend Zac helped me to lay it out. There are separate columns for what needs doing before the event and when, and what needs to happen on the actual day, with timings.’
‘Looks like you’ve got it covered. So what’s the problem?’
‘The problem is I thought everything would be OK, at first. But then I realised I’ve never done anything like this before and I’m worried that I’ll mess things up and let you down.’ Becca swallows and screws up her forehead as though she’s in pain. ‘Why don’t you or Callie take it over? You’ll do a much better job than me.’
‘I doubt that. Look what a great job you’ve done in The Cosy Kettle. We couldn’t run it without you.’
‘But this is part of Charter Day and it’s a big deal and I’m not sure I’m up to it, really.’ Becca stops and picks nervously at her nails as I try to decide what to do for the best. I’m hoping that the bake-off will help to bring me closer to the community in Honeyford and I can’t risk it going wrong.
The easiest thing would be to take it away from Becca, which is what Malcolm would do in a heartbeat. He’d say her anxieties would hold her back and she wasn’t the right person to take on the task – just like he told me I wasn’t the right person to take on Honeyford Bookshop.
But I took a chance on the shop and Callie took a chance on Becca when she hired her to help out in the café. Becca’s confidence has grown since I first saw her in the throes of a panic attack. She simply needs people to believe in her so she can start believing in herself.
‘Just do your best, Becca,’ I tell her, putting the spreadsheet into the folder and handing it back. ‘That’s all any of us can do. I’ve never run a bookshop or a café before and it’s really scary.’
‘You’re not scared,’ scoffs Becca, tucking the folder under her arm. ‘Are you?’
‘Don’t tell anyone, especially not Millicent, but I’m absolutely terrified of getting it wrong and letting you and Callie down.’
‘Gosh.’ Becca’s moss-green eyes open wide. ‘I thought you were, like, confident about stuff to do with work.’
Oh, Becca. If only you knew. My state of mind can veer from fluttery excitement to abject fear within moments – and fear is starting to win when I think about Charter Day. I don’t have an organisational spreadsheet, S.R. Kinsley could decline our invitation, and Stanley might do something crazy at the parade. No, Stanley will definitely do something crazy at the parade.
‘So what do you want?’ asks Becca, shifting from foot to foot.
What about my old, safe life back? murmurs a little voice in my head. But I plaster on a smile and point at the folder. ‘I want you to do what it says on your spreadsheet, carry on organising the bake-off and I can help when you need me to. Does that sound all right?’
Becca pauses before giving a tight nod and a beaming smile. But the corners of her mouth drop when the shop door opens and Malcolm walks in, wearing the cream shirt I bought him a few weeks ago.
My heart sinks as he marches towards me and words stick in my throat. How am I supposed to greet him? ‘How lovely to see you!’ is far too friendly. ‘How’s Marina?’, though understandable, is too provocative for an opening remark, and ‘What the hell do you want?’ is too aggressive.
I sigh and limit myself to a low-key ‘Hi, Malcolm,’ as he reaches me and grabs hold of my hand.
‘Flora, we need to talk,’ he announces, glancing at Becca. ‘Not here where everyone can overhear us.’
‘I can’t drop everything to talk to you, Malcolm,’ I say, pulling my hand away. ‘I have a business to run and I’m busy.’
‘I can see that.’ Malcolm stares at the coffee and strawberry cake and raises an eyebrow. ‘But this can’t wait. I told you I was coming in and I have something urgent to tell you. It’s something to your advantage.’
‘The café’s pretty quiet at the moment,’ squeaks Becca, fiddling with the row of silver studs in her left ear. ‘If you go in there, I can watch the shop for you.’
‘The café it is, then. Better than nothing, I suppose,’ says Malcolm, already heading for The Cosy Kettle. I trudge after him, before doubling back for my coffee and cake. No point in letting them go to waste.
The café is quiet for a change, apart from a couple of tourists huddled over a map in the corner. The gleaming coffee machine is silent.
‘What do you want, Malcolm?’ I ask, sitting opposite him, underneath a double row of colourful bunting that’s looped across the ceiling. Phyllis is on a sewing splurge at the moment and we have strings of the stuff all over the place.
‘I have good news,’ he announces, staring at the shiny copper kettles lined up on their shelf.
The dents that Caleb inflicted are visible from here, but I don’t mind. The flaws highlight the kettles’ long history and make them more interesting.
‘What sort of good news is that, then?’ I pluck a strawberry off the top of the cake, drag it through the cream and take a bite, daring Malcolm to comment about calories.
His face twitches slightly but he sits back in his chair. ‘I’ve left Marina. I’ve chosen you!’ he declares, and then stops.
Um, is he waiting for me to thank him, to cry with relief, to throw my arms around him? I pick up my coffee with shaking hands.
‘I was under the impression that you left Marina a while ago.’
Malcolm blinks rapidly. ‘I did, as soon as you walked out and it fully hit home that I risked losing you. She’s been badgering me ever since to get back together so, yesterday, I told her in no uncertain terms that I choose you because it’s you that I truly love.’ He reaches across the table and grips my arm. ‘Please, pumpkin. I’ve been such a fool and I can’t wait for you to come back to me and our proper life. I miss you so much and I know you miss me too.’
He gives me a soppy grin while I carry on sipping my lukewarm coffee. He’s right, damn him. Even though Malcolm’s behaved incredibly badly, I do miss having him around – and people get over their partners having affairs, don’t they?
‘We can move away from Oxford and start somewhere new, if that’s what you want,’ he says, gripping my arm tighter.
My coffee’s almost cold but I keep on sipping as my brain goes into overdrive.
Having my old life back is tempting, especially when my new life makes me feel I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. I’m currently a lodger with no idea of where I’ll end up. And who am I kidding that I’ll ever be a real part of Honeyford? Luna’s been here for years and still hasn’t been properly accepted, according to Daniel. Maybe it would be easier to give up the bookshop and The Cosy Kettle, move somewhere new with Malcolm and start over – with no Charter Day to organise or anxious Becca to sort out, and no book club to placate or Daniel to avoid. Life could go back to normal.
I pull my arm out of Malcolm’s grasp and put my coffee cup down. How could life ever be normal again? My trust in my husband has been eroded and my perception of ‘normal’ has shifted.
‘I thought you’d be happy.’ The corners of Malcolm’s mouth turn down. ‘It’s you and me back together again, Flora. I’ve changed and given up Marina.
For you.’
‘You’ve said that already, but it isn’t that simple.’
‘Of course it is!’ Malcolm looks so genuinely confused I want to slap him. ‘I had a silly midlife crisis, Flora. That’s all.’
‘That’s all?’
The tourists in the corner glance up when I scrape my chair across the floor, jump up and rush through the back door into the small walled garden. A warm wind is wafting across the potted petunias, and I can breathe out here. The garden’s looking wonderful as summer beds in. But the beauty of our tree budding with apples and the purple-flowering clematis spreading along the pale stone wall is lost on me today. The children’s windmills that Becca ‘planted’ in the soil are gently whirling in the breeze. And it strikes me that they mirror my life right now, as they go round and round, getting nowhere.
Ah, get over yourself, says a blunt voice in my head which, disturbingly, sounds a lot like Daniel.
‘What’s going on, Flora?’ Malcolm is standing behind me. His familiar aftershave smell of woody musk drifts into the summer air. ‘I thought you’d be happy that you’ve won.’
‘Won?’ I spin round and face him. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his upper lip. ‘It doesn’t feel like winning, Malcolm. Not after what you’ve done.’
‘Do you want me to apologise? Is that what you need?’ He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘OK, I’m terribly sorry for what happened, Flora. I’m sorry that I was tempted by Marina, but I was lonely because you were so busy with this place. Come on, Flora. You can’t prefer living at that weird woman’s house to living with me.’
An image of me and Daniel sitting together in Luna’s conservatory suddenly springs into my mind. What was it Daniel said about my husband? ‘He sounds like a dick.’
I pull myself up as tall as I can. It’s time for me to really tell Malcolm how I feel. ‘This place is my business, Malcolm.’
‘The restaurant is our business.’
‘No, the restaurant is your business. It was your dream to be a restaurateur and I went along with it, but it was never my dream. I know you find it hard to understand but running this bookshop and The Cosy Kettle are my dream. Whether they sink or swim is down to me. And I care what happens to Becca and Callie, and to people like Millicent and Phyllis and Stanley and Dick and Mary.’
Malcolm looks at me blankly, even though I’ve often talked about these people.
‘They belong to the afternoon book club. Look, what I’m trying to say is that my business here gives me purpose and fulfilment, and it’s definitely not a hobby.’
Malcolm pouts. ‘Don’t bear a grudge, Flora. That’s most unbecoming. I only referred to this place as your hobby because I was so frightened of losing you.’
‘Why would you lose me because of a bookshop and café?’
‘I lost your attention. Of course I didn’t mean your business was a hobby. You’ve done a fantastic job here and I’m hugely proud of you.’ He swallows so hard his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. ‘I want the shop and The Cosy Kettle to succeed for your sake, Flora, and I’ll support you all the way.’
‘Do you mean that?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’ Malcolm draws an imaginary cross over his chest. ‘I will do everything I can to make your dreams come true too. So please pack your case and come home.’
He pulls me towards him and I let myself be held. Resting my cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, feels so familiar. This used to feel so right. So forever. I never thought my life would change. But it has.
‘I’m not sure I can come home today.’
‘Why not?’ blusters Malcolm, colour flaring in his cheeks as he pushes me away. ‘You can’t like living with that witchy woman. We belong together, Flora. You and me, together forever. And it’s not as if you’ve got anyone else.’
It’s the laugh that does it. The incredulous little laugh that implies no other man would be interested in me and I’d only ever contemplate spending my life with him. I fold my arms and hunch my shoulders. ‘You can’t just breeze in and say everything’s all right now and we can get back to normal. It doesn’t work that way. You’ve hurt me, and I need to get my head around this.’
‘Are you saying you won’t ever come back home?’
‘No, I’m saying I need time to work out how I’m feeling and to make sure that you’re telling me the truth.’
‘I always tell…’ starts Malcolm, but he stops and bites his lip when I glare at him. ‘OK, I admit it. I behaved badly but I’ve ended things with Marina because I love you. So how long is it until you’ll come home?’
‘I don’t know. I need to be sure that we’re going to be OK.’
‘We will be,’ says Malcolm soothingly. ‘I’ve learned my lesson: you’re the only woman for me and I’ll back you and your plans all the way. Your business dream is now my business dream.’
‘Things have changed, Malcolm. I’ve changed. Or at least, I’m changing. I don’t know. Everything’s so confusing.’
Malcolm leans forward and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. ‘I was confused too, Flora, but now I’m thinking clearly. Will you please consider what I’ve said?’
When I nod, he holds my gaze as he backs out of the garden and into the café. Then he gives me a sad little wave before turning and walking away.
‘Has he gone?’ Becca pokes her head around the door and steps into the garden.
‘I think so.’ I self-consciously brush away a tear that’s dribbling down my cheek.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘About your husband. I know it’s not my place but I wondered if you’re going to go back to him. Only…’ She gulps, panic flaring across her pale face. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t.’ Becca’s eyes open wide, as though she can’t quite believe what she just said. I can’t believe it either. Becca never comments on personal stuff. Not with me anyway.
‘You don’t know anything about the situation,’ I say, trying to keep my voice level. Becca’s stressed and she’s not behaving rationally at the moment; I know what that’s like.
‘No, but I know about men like Malc… um, your husband.’ She clasps her hands and starts wringing her fingers together. ‘Sorry. He reminds me of my dad, that’s all.’
Becca rarely talks about her mother and has never mentioned her father before. My head’s still reeling from my conversation with Malcolm, and all I want to do is sit in a dark corner and shove what’s left of the strawberry cake into my mouth. But I can hardly just dismiss Becca if she’s volunteering personal stuff.
‘Tell me about your dad,’ I say, taking her elbow and guiding her to one of the metal chairs on the tiny patio. She sits down and I sit opposite, looking at her across the table. Sunshine is warming my back but Becca’s under the shade of the table’s striped parasol.
She blinks and clasps her hands in her lap. ‘My dad loves my mum in his own way, but he’s not good for her. He’s squashed her spirit, really. And I know that sounds stupid and you probably think I’m mad, but he chips away at her confidence and tells her that she can’t do stuff. So she works in a job she doesn’t really like and spends the rest of her time running round after him or ringing me in a panic to make sure I’m not dead.’
Becca gives a hollow laugh as I wonder if her spirit was squashed, too, along the way.
‘And it just struck me that Dad reminds me of your husband. My dad’s not a sleazeball. Oh!’ She claps her hand to her mouth and starts shifting in her seat as though she’s about to bolt. ‘I’m not saying that your husband is a… I mean, that’s not what—’
‘It’s OK, Becca.’
‘Only I know I shouldn’t be poking my nose in and you’re probably going to fire me ’cos it’s none of my business.’ She starts twisting a strand of navy hair round her middle finger. ‘I wasn’t listening in deliberately but I couldn’t help overhearing some of what he was saying and I’ve kind of gathered what’s going on. I�
��m not stupid.’ She stops abruptly and starts drumming her fingers on the tabletop.
‘You’re definitely not stupid. Don’t forget that you are the supremo in charge of the grand Honeyford Bake-Off,’ I say, leaning across the table and putting my hand on top of hers. Her fingernails are painted black and bitten to the quick.
She looks up and gives me a shy smile. ‘Sorry. I tried to keep quiet but I couldn’t because I wanted to help. I like working here and I like you.’
Becca’s simple honesty hits me straight in the heart and makes my eyes water. ‘I’m not always sure that you do. Like me, I mean.’
Becca thinks for a moment. ‘I was scared of you at first, because you were so together and kind of perfect. But now you’re just a mess like me, with a life that’s a bit shit. Um, I don’t mean—’
I cut across her before she can apologise again. ‘So we’re kindred spirits?’
‘Yeah. Kind of. A bit. Sorry for being so blunt.’
‘Don’t worry, there’s a lot of it about,’ I say, moving my hand back into my lap and thinking of Daniel again, which makes me feel guilty. Shouldn’t I be thinking of Malcolm right now, rather than a man I’ve only known for a couple of weeks? There’s the sound of someone coming into the café and Becca jumps up in a flap. ‘I left the shop unattended! I expect half our stock is gone.’
‘Only if the shoplifter had a transit van waiting outside. Go and sort out our customer. Oh, and Becca,’ I add as she gets to the door. ‘Thank you for trusting me enough to talk about your dad.’
She shrugs. ‘S’all right. I know I said all that stuff about my dad but I do still love him. You can still love people, even when they’re prats.’ And with those words of wisdom, she disappears indoors.
Becca could probably do with a hand. I expect we’ll have an influx of locals soon for a lunchtime coffee. But I sit a little bit longer in the garden, soaking up the sunshine that feels like a warm hug.
Chapter Twelve