The Cherry Tree Cafe (13 page)

‘It’s not your mum I’m worried about,’ muttered Tom, holding the door open for yet another delivery.

‘Don’t worry about Dad!’ Ruby laughed coquettishly. ‘I can wrap him round my little finger!’

I smiled to myself and carried on setting out the plates of Jemma’s cakes and delicate fancies. Rather than take individual orders for the launch, we’d decided to dress the tables
with a variety of afternoon tea treats from the menu. That way she and Tom wouldn’t be spending the whole time running in and out of the kitchen. It was important that they mingled with the
customers and hopefully the local press, whilst Ruby and I served drinks.

Excitement was at fever pitch as we stood in our matching aprons waiting for the town clock to strike one, which was when Jemma was going to cut the ribbon and invite everyone inside.

‘Thank you for this,’ she smiled at me, as we gathered under the branches of the now blossoming cherry tree, ‘if it wasn’t for you we wouldn’t be doing
this.’

‘Yes you would,’ I smiled back, dismissing her gratitude and not wanting a fuss, ‘you’d have found a way.’

‘No we wouldn’t,’ she said, tears suddenly appearing, ‘we wouldn’t. Without your help and investment the only thing we’d be doing now is looking at a For Sale
board!’

‘Oh god, she isn’t crying again is she?’

Tom and Ben had appeared with celebratory bottles of local elderflower cordial. I turned to face Jemma and scrutinised her expression. She laughed and pulled her handkerchief from her apron
pocket.

‘Almost!’ I announced. ‘It was a close run thing but I think the crisis has been averted!’

Right on cue, the crowd that had gathered began counting down, the press arrived and the sun began to shine. It felt like spring had really arrived and I couldn’t help thinking about how
much we’d achieved in such a short space of time.

‘This is a wonderful thing you’ve done,’ Ben whispered in my ear.

His face was close to mine as he bent to make himself heard above the crowd. I took a step back, trying to avoid his gaze.

‘You would have done the same,’ I whispered. ‘They’ve done so much for us, individually I mean, over the last few months. All this is the least I could do.’

‘But even so,’ Ben smiled, ‘it’s still a wonderful thing.’

‘Five, four, three, two, one!’

Jemma snipped the ribbon to rapturous applause and Tom, having quickly passed Ben the bottles of cordial, swept his wife off her feet and carried her across the threshold.

‘We declare,’ they laughed together, ‘the Cherry Tree Café open for business!’

The crowd cheered and the photographers snapped away as we jostled back inside to begin our new adventure.

‘So,’ said Jay, the freelance reporter who was covering the launch for the local paper, ‘Tom tells me that you’re going to be running some sort of
sewing courses here in the future. Is that right?’

I looked across the Café to where Tom was clearing tables and laughing with Ben about something or other.

‘Nothing’s been decided yet,’ I told him honestly, ‘it was just an idea a friend of Jemma’s came up with.’

‘Well, I got the impression that it was more than just an idea! Apparently people have been asking about when they can sign up and what you’ll be offering all afternoon.’

‘What?’ I frowned.

I knew that customers had been asking about the designs I had come up with, but I had no idea the crafting course rumour was still running amok amongst the local population. I could feel a heady
mix of fear, apprehension and excitement creeping up as the idea once again took hold of my imagination.

‘Hello, darling!’ My mother sidled up. ‘Congratulations! You’ve done an amazing job. Jemma tells me you’ve done all this! It looks like you’ve transformed the
place single-handedly.’

‘Not quite,’ I muttered.

‘Is this your sister, Lizzie?’ Jay asked innocently.

I wanted to cry when I heard him say that. There would be no stopping her now. I spotted Dad loitering by the door, clearly ready to go. ‘Sorry!’ he mouthed with a shrug.

‘No,’ I smiled through gritted teeth, ‘my mother actually.’

‘And is she the clever lady who taught you how to sew?’

‘No,’ I said, more bluntly this time. ‘It isn’t. My gran, that is my dad’s mum, taught me how to . . .’

‘Well, I must have taught you something, darling!’ Mum cut in, clearly wounded that I wasn’t prepared to let her take any of the credit.

‘Mother,’ I declared sternly, ‘you know perfectly well that only a few weeks ago you told me that messing about with sewing was a waste of time.’

‘Oh no,’ Jay smirked, understanding the situation perfectly, ‘surely not! Your daughter is clearly extremely talented! As I understand it customers are crying out for . .
.’

‘Well anyway,’ I said, desperate that Jay wouldn’t say another word.

I didn’t want Mum knowing anything about the potential courses. It was still, in my mind, unlikely that they would really happen and I certainly didn’t want to give her anymore
‘wasted opportunity’ ammunition! She had a barrel full already.

‘Right, we’re off!’ Dad said, giving me a quick kiss and forcibly steering mum by the elbow towards the door. ‘Well done with everything, darling, it looks wonderful.
Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Jemma! See you later, Tom.’

I let out a relieved sigh as they disappeared through the door and Jay began packing away his camera.

‘If you do decide to run those courses,’ he smiled, ‘give me a bell.’

‘Why?’ I asked. ‘You don’t look like the crocheting kind.’

We both started to laugh and I looked at him properly for the first time: piercing blue eyes and just the right amount of stubble, nice. However, I couldn’t help thinking he would have
looked more at home amongst the ranks of the paparazzi than the dowdy offices of the local rag. I felt myself blush as I realised he might have seen my faux engagement announcement a few weeks
back.

‘No, I’m not the crocheting kind,’ he laughed, ‘but I might know someone who would be interested in covering the story for you. I thought perhaps I could tempt you with a
bit of free advertising.’

He held out his card but I didn’t take it.

‘I don’t even know if the courses will be happening yet,’ I murmured, shaking my head. ‘It all seems a bit pie-in-the-sky to me.’

‘Well, take it anyway,’ he said, carefully laying the card on the table. ‘Maybe you’ll decide to call me even if the courses don’t go ahead.’

‘I think,’ said Tom, draining his champagne flute for the third time, ‘that was what you call a raging success!’

The Saturday launch afternoon had flown by so quickly and we were so exhausted after clearing up that our own private celebration took place the next day in the Café garden. The sky was
bright and clear and for the first time it was possible to feel some real warmth from the sun.

We sat together under the cherry blossom with blankets around our legs, sipping champagne, the excitement already mounting for the next day when the Café would open properly for the first
time. Jemma had spent the morning baking and prepping whilst I tidied and primped with the boys and now there was little left to do besides count down and see who would be first through the
doors.

‘Have you thought any more about the crafting courses, Lizzie?’ Tom asked, holding up his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the spring sun as he scrutinised me.

‘She’s thought of little else!’ Jemma laughed, without even glancing in my direction.

‘Yes, Tom,’ I answered, totally ignoring Jemma and her telepathic powers. ‘I have been giving the idea some consideration.’

‘And?’

‘Well,’ I began.

‘She wants to give it a shot,’ Jemma cut in, ‘but she’s going to find an excuse to begin with. For example, she’s going to tell us that she thinks we should wait
and see how the Café does first. She wants to give it a couple of weeks and see what business is like.’

There was an edge of ‘know it all’ sarcasm to her tone that I really didn’t appreciate but unfortunately as always, she had hit the nail on the head. Along with unmasking the
mysterious caller, I had been thinking that it would be a good idea to see how well the Café took off before making a decision, but apparently Jemma wasn’t prepared to settle for such
a flimsy reason for not pushing on and taking the plunge.

‘Of course, the problem with that,’ she continued in a singsong voice, ‘is that everyone who was interested may well have forgotten about the idea or got so fed up with waiting
that they will have found somewhere else further afield to go to and in the meantime forgotten all about our little Café.’

That was actually a very good point and one that I had failed to consider.

‘I think,’ Jemma finished cunningly, ‘that if people knew Lizzie was really planning to offer these sessions from the word go then we’d have an edge. We’d be
offering added value from the very first time we open the door. We’d stand out as offering something extra and currently unique in this area. However, if we wait even just a few weeks,’
she added sadly, her theatrical pout reminding me of Ella, ‘it might look as if the Café was struggling and we were tacking the courses on, no pun intended, to try and turn things
around.’

I opened my mouth to say something but no words were forthcoming. Tom sniggered and leant forward to pat my leg and give me a knowing wink.

‘She’s good, isn’t she?’ he smiled proudly. ‘Definitely the brains of the outfit!’

I brushed him off and turned my attention to Ben. Would he be a more cautionary adversary, I wondered?

‘What do you think, Ben?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I completely agree with Jemma,’ he said, without stopping for even a second to think it over. ‘I mean, you’ve got a financial interest in the place now so
you’re in it for the long haul, aren’t you?’

‘Well yes . . .’ I began, but Ben cut me off.

‘I would have thought you’d be desperate to see it succeed and Jemma has often spoken about the plans you had when you left college, so it’s hardly a bolt out of the blue, is
it? The idea seems like a rather logical progression to me.’

I glared at him and he raised his eyebrows and smiled back in what I can only describe as a flirtatious manner. My stomach flipped and I quickly looked away but it was too late. I let my hair
swing forward to cover the tell-tale blush that flooded my face. No wait and see cautionary advice there, then. Deep down I knew everyone’s opinions made perfect sense but of course they
weren’t privy to my other little secret, were they?

‘So that’s settled!’ Tom announced, swaying slightly as he stood to refill our glasses. ‘Lizzie will be running crafting courses with immediate effect! Better let the
local press know! They or should I say, a certain someone who works for them, will be clamouring to hear the news!’

‘Tom!’ Jemma shouted. ‘Sit down, for goodness’ sake!’

‘No, hang on,’ I cut in, ‘what exactly do you mean by that, Tom?’

‘Jay,’ Tom whispered conspiratorially, trying to tap the side of his nose but missing, ‘he phoned last night begging for your number. I think you’ve got yourself an
admirer, Lizzie!’

I could feel myself blushing again and bit my lip to keep myself quiet.

‘What, Jay as in the press guy you used to play football with?’ Ben frowned. ‘The one who was at the launch?’

‘The very same!’ Tom grinned.

‘He’s a total prick,’ Ben scowled, ‘I’ve never could stand him, on or off the pitch.’

I stole a furtive look at Ben, curious as to why he had reacted so aggressively to Tom’s admission. His jaw was set hard and his steely glare focused on the poor crystal champagne flute
that looked ready to buckle in his uncompromising grasp.

‘Well,’ Tom continued, apparently unaware of his friend’s disapproval, ‘he’s sharpening his pencil for you, Lizzie, so you’d better watch out.’

‘Ignore the pair of them,’ Jemma snapped. ‘I told Tom not to say anything.’ She shot her husband a fearsome glance. ‘He’s just being an arse. He’s
always like this after champagne. Obviously I didn’t give Jay your number, Lizzie.’

I didn’t know what to say to any of them. Now, not only did I have the mystery caller to identify, but it also transpired that I had unwittingly aggravated Ben and was going to have to
contend with the unwanted advances of the local rag man on top of everything else.

The Cherry Tree Café’s first week of trading was a huge success and business was brisk. Every day ran like clockwork, thanks to Jemma’s organisational
skills, and her observations about the potential of the courses were spot on as well. Barely a day went by without someone mentioning them, and by the end of the week she and Ruby had somehow
convinced me to commit to offering a taster session the following Friday.

‘Left side down a bit,’ Ruby shouted at me through the Café window, ‘that’s it. Stick it there and then everyone’ll see it.’

I stuck as instructed and joined her outside to see how the poster looked. I let out a long breath as I stood staring at it and wondered just what I was letting myself in for.

‘Looks good!’ Ruby beamed, linking arms with me. ‘I bet you’ll be fully booked by the end of the day.’

‘That’s what worries me,’ I told her, ‘I’m still not really sure about all this.’

‘It’s bunting!’ Ruby laughed. ‘Jemma told me you’ve been making bunting practically since you could walk! It’s not exactly rocket science, is it?’

‘No,’ I agreed, ‘and that’s the whole point. Why are people going to want to pay me to show them how easy it is to make, when they can buy metres of it for a few quid in
any of the shops in town?’

‘Don’t you ever watch TV?’ Ruby frowned.

‘Sometimes,’ I admitted.

‘Well then, I’m sure you’ve seen the likes of Kirstie Allsopp spouting on about upcycling and the joys of making your own, haven’t you?’

I nodded at my youthful companion’s wise and intuitive words.

‘And besides, it isn’t just about money or convenience. It’s a social thing, isn’t it?’

‘I guess so,’ I murmured, thinking back to the City Crafting Café and the laughter the customers had shared during their morning together.