The Cherry Tree Cafe (7 page)

‘In you go then,’ she said nervously, ‘see what you make of it. Is it how you remember it?’

I stepped across the threshold and blinked as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom.

‘Well?’ Jemma whispered close behind me, her change in tone stamping all over her previous enthusiasm about fixing up the flat. ‘Oh god, we don’t stand a chance, do
we?’ she groaned.

I spun round to face her as Tom flicked on the lights.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s a disaster, isn’t it?’ she sobbed. ‘A dark, dingy nightmare! No one will ever want to eat in here again!’

‘You silly sod!’ I laughed, wrapping my arms around her. ‘It’s brilliant, exactly as I remember it, but with bags of potential. You’re going to make it so much
better than it was before.’

‘You really think so?’ she sniffed.

‘I really do!’

I stepped further in, refusing to see the place as Jemma currently did. I walked the length and width of the Café floor thinking of ways the space could be quickly and cleverly repackaged
and relaunched.

The tiled floor was sound and the walls down here at least didn’t appear to be damp. A lick of paint, some fresh curtains, one hell of a clean and the place would be back in business.

‘Have you thought about a colour scheme?’ I asked, lifting down a couple of the chairs that were stacked on the tables.

Jemma opened her mouth to answer but was stopped in her tracks by a barrage of expletives coming from the kitchen.

‘Tom!’ Ben hollered. ‘Is that you? Get your arse in here quick!’

We all dashed around the counter and into the kitchen to find Ben hunched on all fours with his head in a cupboard and a puddle of water spreading with alarming speed across the floor.

‘Give us a hand, would you?’ he shouted. ‘My hands are so cold I can’t feel my fingers any more! I think it just needs one more turn.’

He leapt aside and Tom dived into the cupboard and fiddled with something before reappearing shaking his head.

‘Just a bit of a leak,’ he said, purposefully keeping his tone light as he spotted Jemma’s worried expression. ‘Nothing we can’t sort, hey, Ben?’

‘Absolutely,’ Ben nodded, his teeth chattering as he rubbed his hands together, ‘just thought it best to turn the water off as a precaution. I’ll have it sorted by the
end of the day, no problem, and the shelves will be up as well so don’t worry, Jemma.’

‘Assuming you haven’t died of hypothermia, of course,’ Tom grinned.

‘You better get that shirt off,’ Jemma said, shaking her head, ‘give him your jacket, Tom.’

I turned away as Ben stripped to the waist but not before I’d caught a glimpse of his toned and tanned torso.

‘Come back through to the Café with me,’ I said to Jemma as I quickly turned and walked away, ‘and tell me what you’ve got planned décor-wise.’

‘We haven’t got that far,’ she admitted as she followed on behind me, blissfully unaware that my insides felt as if they had turned to marshmallow.

‘To be honest, Lizzie,’ said Tom, following on with Ben, ‘we haven’t got any idea about how to make it look good. All the money we’ve saved has been sunk into
buying the place and sorting the kitchen and loos and now we can’t see the wood for the trees when it comes to making it look appealing. With the constraints of our bank balance, image- and
design-wise we’ve drawn a blank.’

Jemma nodded despondently at his side and Tom took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

‘Well,’ I said, brushing down the table I had cleared of chairs, ‘if it’s saving money you need to be thinking about, then I would definitely re-use everything
you’ve already got in here.’

‘Really?’ Jemma and Tom chorused.

Ben stood and shook his head as he blew on his numb fingers.

‘Of course,’ I carried on, ‘you can up-cycle all these tables and chairs for a start. Give them a rub down and a fresh lick of paint and they’ll be as good as new, better
in fact because they’ll be a nod to the past but very much about the Café’s future. The old clientele will love that.’

Ben thrust his hands in his trouser pockets and began moodily kicking the floor.

‘And the counter,’ I continued, determined not to be put off by his apparent scepticism, ‘that can have the same treatment so it will all match. You need to come up with a
design that will complement Jemma’s amazing baking of course, that will bring it all together . . . what?’ I shouted, as Ben let out a shuddering breath.

‘Oh nothing,’ he said breezily, ‘you just carry on.’

‘I take it you don’t agree?’ I snapped, wishing I’d been privy to his caustic comments and presumptuous personality years ago. I could have saved myself years of
yearning. ‘You probably think they should bin the lot and start again, is that it? Take out a huge loan and fill the place with brand new soulless stuff instead!’

‘Um, not exactly.’

‘Well, what then?’ I demanded. ‘If there’s no money left and even less time, then I can’t see the harm in using what’s to hand . . .’

‘Neither can I,’ said Ben defiantly.

‘What?’

I frowned at Jemma and Tom who stood together looking shame-faced. Tom self-consciously cleared his throat, but it was Jemma who finally answered.

‘Ben’s been making the same suggestions as you, Lizzie, practically ever since we picked up the keys, actually.’

I sighed and threw my hands up in the air.

‘So why haven’t you got on with it, then? You’ve wasted weeks. “We’ll be opening in the spring,” you told me, Jemma. Why haven’t you done anything with
all this lot?’

‘I guess we couldn’t really see it,’ Tom admitted. ‘But the kitchens and loos are beginning to look tip top! They’re almost there actually.’

‘Well, that’s great,’ I nodded sarcastically, ‘you’ll have all the appropriate licences to hang on the walls, but what’s the point if you can’t tempt
people in to eat?’

‘She’s got a point,’ Tom whispered to his wife who finally looked as if the penny was about to drop.

‘I’ve been so preoccupied with thinking about all the food I’ll be able to bake that I kind of got side-tracked. I guess I hadn’t really thought about all this,’
she gestured, indicating the Café shop floor. ‘But you’re right, Lizzie; if we can’t get customers through the door then no one’s going to know how great my cupcakes
are, are they?’

‘Exactly!’ I laughed. I knew how much Jemma’s cooking and baking meant to her, but to me the image of the Café would have been of equal, if not higher, priority.

‘Sorry, Lizzie,’ Jemma smiled, sounding disconcertingly like her daughter.

‘Never mind me!’ I scolded. ‘What about Ben? By the sounds of it he’s been talking to a brick wall for the last few weeks. Where’s his apology?’

I couldn’t help thinking that I owed him one as well. Just as well he hadn’t been privy to my peevish thoughts.

‘Sorry, Ben,’ Jemma and Tom muttered in unison. ‘We should have listened to you, mate.’

‘Oh don’t worry about me,’ Ben rumbled, evidently not seeing the funny side. ‘I mean, given my track record, I can understand why you’d think I was talking crap and
there’s nothing unusual about me not having a say in things of importance, is there?’

‘Oh come on, mate,’ said Tom, crossing the Café floor and throwing his arm around Ben’s shoulders, ‘I thought you’d moved on from all that.’

I looked to Jemma for an explanation but she just frowned and shook her head. Clearly there was something I didn’t know about our bearded companion, but I wasn’t going to find out
what it was from her.

‘I have, I have,’ Ben muttered stiffly. ‘Sorry, I’m just having one of those days, you know? For some reason it’s all come flooding back.’

He shot what could only be described as a killer stare in my direction and I guessed that my presence wasn’t welcome, but what was it exactly that I was supposed to have done? Clearly I
wasn’t the only one who’d landed on Jemma and Tom’s doorstep with more than renovating the Café in mind, but I couldn’t see how targeting his aggression towards me
was going to help anyone.

Despite his rugged appeal and mesmerising eyes I was beginning to like Ben Fletcher less and less. Clearly he wasn’t the person I’d dreamt he was and neither was he going to be the
‘getting over Giles’ distraction Jemma had hoped for.

‘Come on,’ she said coaxingly, drawing my attention away from the boys, ‘let’s have a look at everything else and then we’ll go up to the flat!’

The kitchen and loos were shaping up as well as Tom had suggested. Rewired and repainted, there were just the appliances left to install and with a bit of last-minute tweaking
and leak-fixing the place would be good to go.

Fortunately, and in spite of Jemma’s reservations, the same could be pretty much said for the flat above, however I was still relieved that I’d seen the Café before we headed
upstairs. It kind of gave me a heads-up regarding what to expect, and having been so enthusiastic about the shop floor I could hardly refuse to see the potential in the space above, could I?

It was dank and drab, but only because it hadn’t been lived in for so long. There was a damp patch in the back bedroom but the large windows offered great views of the Café garden
and there were some super vintage kitchen units along with an open fire in the little sitting room. On closer inspection even the damp patch wasn’t as bad as I’d been expecting.

‘I reckon that could be the result of the dodgy guttering,’ Ben frowned, nodding at Tom as they followed me back into the bedroom, ‘and now that’s been sorted, I reckon
if the room’s given a decent airing and some gentle heat, it’ll sort itself.’

‘Yeah,’ said Tom, running his hand over the wall, ‘I reckon you could be right.’

‘There you are then!’ I smiled at Jemma who was standing in the doorway. ‘Happy days. It’s not quite what I’ve grown accustomed to . . .’

I was just about to add that it was even better because it was so homely, but out of the corner of my eye I spotted Ben rolling his eyes. Was I imagining it or was he still pissed off with me?
It wasn’t my fault if Jemma and Tom had taken onboard my cheap and cheerful makeover suggestions over his, was it? I watched him walk past her out of the room and turned my attention back to
Jemma, who was looking at me expectantly.

‘. . . and that’s exactly why I love it!’ I said. ‘This is going to be perfect. Living over the Café will keep me on my toes. It’s going to be so busy and
exciting that I won’t have a chance to sit and brood about everything else that’s happened.’

Jemma stepped forward and gave me a hug.

‘I just want you to be happy,’ she said tearfully.

‘I will be,’ I told her, squeezing her back, ‘just give me time, OK?’

Mercifully the flat walls were painted, not papered, and the carpets would be fine after a good steam clean. I lingered in the kitchen and pictured myself hanging up the bunting I had made
whilst the guys had another go at tempting the boiler, which was housed in a cupboard at the top of the stairs, back to life.

‘It is small,’ said Jemma as she squeezed into the kitchen with me, ‘but it’s a start, isn’t it? I know you’ve been used to all that space . . .’ her
voice trailed off as she looked over at me. I knew she was trying to decide if she was pushing her luck.

‘To tell you the truth,’ I shrugged, ‘I never really liked the place. It never felt like home.’

‘Not even with Giles there?’ she ventured.

‘Not even then,’ I admitted.

The boiler refused to succumb to the guys’ ministrations and as the flat was beginning to feel colder than outside, we admitted defeat and headed back to collect Ella.

‘I’ll get Bob Skipper who sorted the Café heating to have a look at it on Monday morning, Lizzie,’ said Tom.

‘Good idea,’ said Jemma.

‘If I’d known you were coming a bit sooner, I would have got him to sort it when he was here before, but not to worry. However, it does leave us with another problem,’ he
continued, shaking his head, ‘this means you’re gonna be stuck with us for a couple more days at least!’

I’d already thought of that.

‘You’re going to be stuck with me, you mean. Jemma, shall I phone my mum and see if I can go there until the flat defrosts?’

My suggestion was met by a sharp intake of breath from all sides.

‘No, you certainly shall not!’ Jemma was first to pipe up. ‘The whole point of you being here is to rest and recuperate, not endure a grilling.’

Even Ben nodded in agreement.

‘Take my word for it, Lizzie; you aren’t strong enough for that yet.’

I’d already guessed that Ben’s mother and mine were shelled from the same pod but I still couldn’t shake off the feeling that everything he said to me was a thinly veiled
criticism.

‘Ben’s right,’ Tom joined in, clearly not feeling the same sting from his friend’s words as I did, ‘give yourself at least a fighting chance! Hey, Jemma, how about
we send Ella off to your mum’s tonight and head down to the Mermaid?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I began to protest, ‘you just said I needed to “give myself a fighting chance” – I’m not ready to face a pub full of locals
yet!’

‘Band-aid treatment. I’ve done it, so I’m sure you can,’ Ben announced. ‘Doesn’t apply to overbearing mothers, though.’

‘Sorry?’ I frowned, wondering what had happened in Ben’s life that meant he too had had to brave a pub full of curiosity and gossiping. ‘
What
treatment?’

‘Band-aid treatment. You know, rip it off quick; get it over and done with.’

‘He’s right,’ Jemma called over her shoulder. ‘You can front it out with the help of alcohol in the pub. Your mum, on the other hand, will want you stone-cold
sober!’

‘Yep,’ Tom joined in having the final word, ‘you have to work your way up to these things, Lizzie! Pub it is then!’

To help cushion the impact of walking into a pub full of people I hadn’t seen since I floated out of town aboard a heart-shaped cloud, Tom offered to go on ahead with
Ben, get a round in and secure a table in a shady corner. Jemma reckoned that if I kept my hood up and my head down I would be able to sneak in and down a couple of stiff ones before anyone
recognised me.