The Cherry Tree Cafe (35 page)

August bank holiday weekend was upon us and I could hardly believe how much time had passed since I’d returned once again to Wynbridge and the comfort and healing warmth of family and
friends. Since Jemma’s pregnancy scare, Angela and I had been practically running the Café, but somehow I had still managed to oversee the crochet and knitting circles and run a dozen
more crafting and sewing sessions along with some holiday classes specifically for family groups.

The sewing classes had proved so popular that I now had a growing waiting-list and we were planning to employ more help for the Café so I could focus entirely on my own side of the
business. Bunting, aprons, tote bags and simple patchwork cushions adorned the shelves of the crafting area, along with a variety of crocheted mice and cleverly customised T-shirts.

I flushed with pleasure at the thought of the space so totally transformed. It was barely recognisable; the once barren bare walls sang with colour and pattern and my heart leapt at the thought
that that was my office. That was where I worked now.

Even Mum had been tempted to join the weekly knit and natter session. The fact that she was a shocking knitter hadn’t put her off. She was determined to get the hang of it and took my help
and advice far more calmly than she would have done in the past.

‘Good morning, my darling. I thought you might like breakfast in bed. You must be exhausted.’

I re-arranged my pillows and eagerly sat up ready to receive the loaded breakfast tray.

‘I’m OK, actually. I think I was so tired last night I just went out like a light.’

‘Tell me about it! Your snoring kept me awake half the night.’

Cheekily I stuck out my tongue and took a life-enhancing sip of hot sweet tea. Ben had moved into the flat when Jemma came home from hospital but it had taken him until last week to move into my
bed. My former plan to put romance in second place was now firmly consigned to the past, just as Angela had predicted.

I was now, as my mother so prettily put it, ‘blossoming’ in the relationship where my individuality was cherished, my opinions mattered and my rampant curls and freckles were allowed
to take centre-stage.

‘How’s the weather looking?’ I asked hopefully, crossing my fingers and squeezing my eyes shut.

‘Perfect,’ Ben grinned. ‘We couldn’t have picked a better day for a garden party if we tried!’

The celebration had actually been all Ella’s idea.

‘I wish we could have a party,’ she had moaned, looking out of the flat window one soggy Saturday at the end of June. ‘Perhaps if we had a party the sun might shine!’ she
added hopefully.

So far the summer had been far from bright. Long spells of rain had arrived along with temperatures that refused to rise to bare-leg level and had pummelled everyone’s spirits.

‘I don’t really think anyone’s got time to be thinking about having a party at the moment,’ I told her hurriedly, as I zipped about getting ready for the late afternoon
tea and cake rush. ‘I think everyone’s a bit too busy, don’t you?’

‘Exactly,’ she sighed, ‘no one has time to do anything together any more.’

‘What do you mean?’ I frowned. ‘We’re together all the time.’

‘I know,’ she said, with a shake of her head as she tried to explain. ‘What I mean is that even though we’re together all the time it’s only because of the
Café. No one ever has time to just sit around and chat any more.’

‘I thought you used to hate it when Mummy and I used to sit around and chat!’ I teased, trying to make her smile but she wouldn’t be distracted.

‘I can’t remember the last time you read me a bedtime story or played the shopping list game,’ she scolded glumly.

She was right, of course; we were all together every single day but never in a social capacity. Our lives had become all work and no play and in Ella’s cleverly perceptive world that had
indeed made us all a little dull.

‘All right,’ I promised, ‘if it’s a party you want it’s a party we’ll have, but it’s a secret and I’ll expect you to help!’

As I stood in the Café garden admiring our combined efforts, I couldn’t help but feel very pleased with Ella’s suggestion. Of course the party hadn’t stayed a secret but
that was just as well, given the amount of work that had gone into organising it!

‘How many are we expecting again?’ Ben asked, as he carried out the tables and chairs and I began to dress them with fresh flowers.

Every table had ribbon-edged glass jars and my ever-popular pastel painted tin cans crammed with fresh flowers; roses and carnations in pastel shades and alchemilla which added a lime green lift
and completed the look. They were a simple touch and easy to transport so every guest could take one away with them at the end of the evening.

‘Well,’ I said, reaching for the box of tea lights and jam-jar lanterns for later, ‘let’s see – Henry and Cass are definitely coming now . . .’

‘I daresay you girls will all be desperate for a sight of the ring then?’ Ben teased.

‘Ha, ha,’ I replied.

Henry and Cass had recently become engaged and I couldn’t wait to see the pair of them and catch up on their news.

‘And Heather and Deborah are travelling down from Norfolk.’

‘With the dog?’

‘Of course, you know they don’t go anywhere without Angus and his knotted kerchief!’

Ben rolled his eyes.

‘And then there’s Angela and her family who are still here visiting from Australia.’

‘And your mum, my mum and dad, Ruby, Jim and Evelyn, you, me, Jemma, Tom, Ella and bump.’

‘And a partridge in a pear tree!’ Ben sang.

‘It does feel a bit like that, doesn’t it? I grimaced. ‘I hope we’ve made enough of everything!’

We had, of course, and the simple little gathering was a complete joy. Jemma, bump proudly on show, was the centre of attention and Ella, suddenly so grown up, was put in charge of looking after
Angus and making sure he didn’t pinch any of the sweet treats off the tables.

‘I’m sorry about the dog,’ I whispered to Tom. ‘I guess this will give Ella’s campaign even more ammunition now.’

Tom shook his head and laughed.

‘Oh no, don’t worry about that,’ he smiled, ‘now she has a new baby brother on the horizon the whole dog debacle has gone out of the window!’

‘It’s a boy?’ I squealed, jumping up and down.

‘Tom!’

Jemma was glowering at her husband across the garden. I clapped a hand over my mouth, realising what I had just done.

‘It was supposed to be a secret,’ she scolded, half laughing.

The happy news spread like wildfire amongst the guests. Tom passed round glasses of champagne and everyone gathered
around the Cherry Tree where Jemma sat. Ben took my hand in his and kissed it affectionately.

‘Here’s to a bright and happy future at the Cherry Tree Café!’ he shouted, raising his glass.

Everyone followed suit and toasted our success.

‘To the future,’ I smiled, taking a sip.

I looked up at Ben and slipped my arm around his waist. Finally I had found myself, and someone who loved me for just being me. Now I had found my happy ever after; now I was truly home.

If it wasn’t for the love, support and encouragement of so many people
The Cherry Tree Café
still wouldn’t be open for business so this is my humble,
but heartfelt, thank-you to everyone who has helped hang the bunting, bake the cakes and open the door.

Firstly, thank you Paul for the precious gift of time, the first-class train travel and the never-ending supply of patience, love and understanding.

Thank you Oliver for not moaning when the TV room is out of bounds and thank you Amelia for listening when I talk at you about word counts, deadlines and plot twists.

Love and kisses to Laura, Claire and Aunty Barbara for loving Lizzie Dixon as much as I do and giving me the faith and courage to share her story with the world.

Thanks also to the RNA, the New Writers’ Scheme and the many, many authors who have offered endless support and advice, along with the wonderful Book Bloggers who have championed my work
and helped spread the word. I would dearly love to include names here, however there are limits and the list really would be endless.

Hugs all round for the entire Books and the City team at Simon & Schuster who, in the last twelve months, have made my literary dreams come true. An extra big squeeze for my wonderful editor
Clare Hey, who has held my hand on this incredible journey and shown me how to make my story shine, and of course an extra big kiss for Sara-Jade Virtue for simply being her thoroughly fabulous
self.

And finally, thank you dear readers. May your bookshelves, be they virtual or real, always be filled with fabulous fiction.

H x