The Cherry Tree Cafe (11 page)

‘I know you probably won’t believe me,’ he breathed, his face close to mine and his pupils dangerously dilated, ‘but I’ve actually always loved your
hair.’

‘Oh?’ I said, taking a gulp of freezing air, my eyes locked on his face.

What exactly did he mean by ‘always’?

‘Um,’ he smiled, still a little too close for comfort, ‘you stand out from the crowd, Lizzie, you always have. You’re unique.’

The spell was broken as quickly as it was cast.

‘Don’t say that!’ I snapped, stepping back and losing my footing again.

‘What?’ Ben laughed, grabbing my arm to stop me falling. ‘Can’t I pay you a compliment?’

‘It isn’t a compliment,’ I shouted, shaking my head.

‘It was meant to be,’ Ben said more gently.

Unwanted shuddering great sobs erupted from nowhere and the tears that I’d been holding back ever since I arrived on Jemma and Tom’s doorstep refused to stay unshed a moment
longer.

‘Hey,’ Ben soothed, pulling me into his arms and holding me tight.

‘It’s what
he
used to say,’ I sobbed, trying to pull away, ‘before he changed me, before he turned me into someone else. Before he made me fit in with his stupid
notions of what a woman should be.’

‘God, I’m sorry, Lizzie,’ Ben whispered, kissing the top of my head and holding me tighter. ‘I had no idea.’

I allowed myself to relax, safe in Ben’s solid embrace until my tears stopped flowing. I don’t know exactly how long we stood locked in each other’s arms, but Ella’s
little hands were freezing when she reappeared and tugged at my coat.

‘Come on!’ she shouted. ‘They’re back! Mummy’s made cake!’

The familiar smell of Jemma’s famous Devil’s Chocolate Cake, although welcome, warned me that it wasn’t good news. That kind of indulgence in Jemma’s baking world was
equivalent to downing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s or chain-smoking twenty cigarettes.

I hid in the utility room on the pretence of sorting coats and boots until I had regained my composure then joined everyone in the kitchen. I glanced over at Ben to gauge his reaction to the
cake and from the look he gave me in return I knew he was in on ‘the code’.

‘What’s the matter, Lizzie?’ Tom asked the second I appeared. ‘Have you been crying?’

‘No, of course not,’ I laughed dismissively. ‘This is how I always look when I’ve come in from the freezing cold! We were just outside for too long, but we had a great
time, didn’t we, Ben?’

Ben nodded in agreement and kindly steered the conversation back to Jemma and Tom’s appointment at the bank.

‘So it wasn’t good news, then?’ he asked tentatively as he took the loaded plate Jemma offered him.

‘Depends on what you mean by good news,’ Tom said bitterly. ‘We can have the money, but not until we start to turn a profit.’

‘But how can they expect you to turn a profit when . . .’

‘You can’t afford to open,’ Ben cut in, finishing my sentence despite having a very sticky mouthful of cake.

I nodded and waved my fork at him.

‘Exactly,’ I said, my own mouth now crammed with the luscious layers of sponge and creamy frosting.

Jemma dumped herself into a chair and pulled Ella onto her lap. She hadn’t even cut herself a slice. This was bad, I realised, really bad. Looking at their expressions, it hit me that they
might have to put the Café back on the market and face the heart-ache of seeing someone else capitalising on all their hard work, seeing someone else’s name above the door.

‘Have you thought about taking on a partner?’ I suggested, ‘or asking someone to invest?’

Why hadn’t I thought of this before they went to the bank?

‘Like who?’ Tom laughed. ‘Our parents have done all they can already.’

‘And you know how I’m set,’ Ben joined in. ‘Sorry, guys.’

Although my curiosity was again piqued as to exactly why Ben, an intelligent and highly qualified architect in his early thirties, was living out of a suitcase in his best mate’s house, I
knew now was not the time.

‘I could do it,’ I said quietly.

All eyes turned from Ben to me.

‘What?’ Jemma frowned.

‘I could do it,’ I said again, quietly laying my fork on my now empty plate.

‘But you’re as skint as I am!’ Ben frowned. ‘And in fact, you’re worse off than me. You’re sleeping on the sofa. At least I’ve got a room!’

‘Shut up, Ben!’ Tom snapped,. ‘You can’t take out a loan, Lizzie. You’ve got no way of proving you can pay it back.’

‘I wouldn’t have to take out a loan,’ I smiled, ‘I’ve come into some money. Not a huge fortune but enough to join forces with you at the Café, if
you’ll have me.’

‘But when?’ Tom demanded. ‘How?’

‘Your dad,’ Jemma said quietly. ‘He’s given you some money from your granny’s estate, hasn’t he?’

I nodded.

‘You can’t use that, Lizzie. That’s your future. There’s no guarantee that you’ll ever see it again.’

‘Jemma’s right,’ Tom agreed. ‘What if it all goes wrong and you lose every penny you’ve put in? We’re best friends, Lizzie. We’d never do anything that
would jeopardise our friendship.’

‘Then we’d better make sure it’s a huge success, hadn’t we?’ I laughed. ‘Because I’m in, and nothing you can say will make me change my mind!’

We were all so busy with the last minute preparations to the Café that the first signs of spring passed by almost unnoticed. I’d been secretly dreading spending
Valentine’s Day as a singleton but I needn’t have worried. I had barely a spare second in which to reminisce about the hearts and roses fest it had been the year before, or the romantic
and totally unexpected trip to New York Giles sprung upon me the year before that.

We were so pressed for time that there was absolutely no time to do anything about the décor in the flat before I moved in either, and as the days quickly turned into
weeks I was rather grateful for that. Dad, much to my mum’s annoyance, had hung on to some of my grandmother’s furniture and the smaller pieces fitted in perfectly with the dated
décor and old-fashioned fittings.

My favourite piece was a small wooden painted chair. Dad told me he could remember Granny sitting on it when she bathed David, his younger brother. It wasn’t financially valuable but to me
it was precious, a treasured family heirloom and it fitted perfectly next to the little sitting-room fire with my childhood ragdoll and knitted cushion adorning it.

The rest of the flat was furnished in a similar fashion and I loved it. Thankfully the damp in the back bedroom had disappeared, as Ben and Tom had predicted, and the boiler was more than
capable of keeping the place warm and cosy even on the chilliest spring day.

Living above the Café ensured there was never a dull moment and I had even been brave enough to take on a couple of shifts at the Mermaid. I was thoroughly enjoying settling into my new
life back home and looking forward to the Café launch very much, however there was one recent development that was beginning to prey on my mind a little more than it probably should and was
a clear indication that Wynbridge was already helping me see the sunny side of life again.

‘Your phone’s buzzing!’ Ben called to me from the Café kitchen.

‘Just leave it!’ I called back as I straightened up to admire my painting skills.

‘It might be the print guy!’

‘He phoned this morning!’

‘Well, what about the jam woman? Jemma said we weren’t to miss the jam woman!’

‘She hasn’t got my mobile number. Just leave it.’

Ben wandered through from the kitchen.

‘It’s stopped.’

I nodded as he placed it on the counter and struggled to ignore the urge to see if whoever had called had left a message. A number I didn’t recognise had registered a week before and
called every day since. I’d never managed to answer before it rang off and as yet no message had been left, but part of me was considering the obvious: was it Giles? There was nothing out of
the ordinary about me not recognising his number. He was constantly changing his phone so my theory was perfectly plausible, but if it was him, what did he want? And more importantly, why was my
pulse rate even slightly agitated by the thought that it might be him, when I was so contentedly settled in Wynbridge?

Helping to renovate the Café had been the perfect distraction for my broken heart, but these mystery phone calls had stirred up my emotional cauldron and bubbling away on the surface was
the idea that Giles might be trying to get in touch to ask me to take him back.

At night I dreamt of all the good times we had shared; the trips we’d taken and the way I couldn’t even glance at something without it appearing gift-wrapped a few days later, but
more importantly than all the material and social trappings were the memories of the way he looked after me, the way he made me feel so safe.

I couldn’t deny I’d
always
been a fully paid-up member of the ‘one true love club’ and now my fickle heart was deliberating whether my new life would be even
better if I gave an old love a chance to play a part in it.

I hadn’t forgotten that Giles had treated me badly in the run up to our break-up or that he’d gone out of his way to change me, but he had never behaved like that when we were
together in Wynbridge. If my hunch was right and if I could tempt him to leave London for my hometown, then perhaps there might just be a way for us to rekindle the magic we’d had at the
beginning.

My embrace with Ben had resurrected feelings I had naively thought I was going to be able to lock away forever. Weak perhaps, to admit it, but I missed Giles. I missed the intimacy and warmth of
having a man in my bed. I looked at Jemma and Tom and knew, deep down, that I wanted what they’d got. I wanted my very own happy ever after.

‘What do you think?’ I asked, shoving the paintbrush back in the pot and turning away from the phone and my weakening resolve to cut Giles out of my life for good. ‘Not come up
too bad, have they?’

‘They look great,’ Ben agreed, ‘really great, and it won’t matter if they get a bit chipped and distressed – that will just enhance the look. The best thing is
they’ve cost practically nothing. Jemma and Tom will love them!’

‘I hope they will!’ I laughed. ‘They’ve taken long enough but it was your idea, remember?’

Ben looked at the carefully prepared and painted Café tables and chairs. Where there had once been battered orange pine there was now a sea of pristine matt cream. It was amazing how much
lighter and airier the whole Café felt now it was rid of its dark furniture and heavy curtains. Simple blinds and tablecloths had been ordered with my cupcake design printed on them and the
Cherry Tree Café sign had been carefully stencilled on the door. The place was coming together just as I’d imagined it would.

‘You thought of it as well,’ Ben said generously.

‘But you came up with it first,’ I reminded him.

Ben nodded but didn’t say anything else. Our relationship since the snow day had thankfully shifted from tense to the comfortable side of tolerant. Even though we hadn’t talked about
what had happened, the air between us was considerably clearer and I couldn’t help thinking that he had got over his unfathomable reason for disliking me. Any probing as to why he had moved
back to town however, no matter how gentle, was quickly brushed aside and I was still none the wiser.

‘Are you coming to the pub tonight?’ I asked.

‘Maybe, I’m out for dinner but I might wander down after.’

‘Hot date?’ I teased.

‘Just a meal with my mother,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve been putting it off but I reckon I’m about due another grilling.’

I thought back to the first night I’d arrived and how we’d compared maternal notes.

‘Does she have your father tucked away somewhere?’ I asked, fighting the urge to ask what the grilling would be about. ‘Mine’s allowed some respite courtesy of the garden
shed, but not for long.’

Ben shook his head.

‘No,’ he replied, ‘my father lives in Spain. He’d had enough of her by the time I’d grown up and left. He took early retirement to the sun and now enjoys the
company of Rosita, my stepmother who is actually young enough to be my sister!’

‘Go Dad!’ I laughed, imagining the absurdity of my own father moving abroad with a tanned young beauty.

‘That accounts for a lot of my mother’s bitterness,’ Ben sighed, ‘and now of course I’m a huge disappointment as well.’

‘I don’t see why,’ I said, hoping he was finally going to explain the mystery behind his return.

‘No,’ he smiled, ‘I know you don’t. I still can’t believe Jemma hasn’t told you anything, but I’m grateful she hasn’t.’

‘She’s a loyal friend,’ I agreed. ‘She hasn’t told me a thing.’

‘She and Tom are the best.’

I nodded.

‘You see, the thing is, Lizzie . . .’

‘Oh well done, you’ve finished! God they look amazing! Don’t they look amazing, Tom?’

Tom staggered in behind Jemma and gently lowered his precarious pile of boxes on to the counter top.

‘I can’t believe these are the same ones!’ Jemma carried on. ‘Are you sure you haven’t traded them in, because I can’t believe these are the ones you started
out with.’

‘You’ve already said that!’ Tom interrupted, rolling his eyes.

‘But look Tom,’ she breathed, ‘it’s all coming together! This is really going to happen, isn’t it?’

I wandered over and gave my friend a quick squeeze and Tom a sympathetic glance.

‘And you’re living with this, aren’t you, mate?’ I laughed.

‘It’s like having two Ellas in the house,’ Tom groaned, ‘and I can’t get away from either of them! I’ve got Jemma jumping up and down about the Café
and Ella bouncing about like Tigger because it’s almost her birthday. I’m exhausted,’ he admitted. ‘Ben, I have no idea how you’re coping but I promise that when you
move out you’ll get a medal for all you’ve had to put up with!’

‘I’d be disappointed if it was any different,’ Ben smiled as he disappeared back into the kitchen.

‘Are you OK?’ Jemma asked, as she helped me clear up the paint and newspapers.

‘Of course,’ I nodded, ‘I’m fine. Over the moon about all this!’