Time to Move On (12 page)

She was further cheered when she stepped into Badgers Brook. The house was warm and welcoming and she made a snack and sat beside the fire, lit as usual by her kindly neighbours, Kitty and Bob, and relaxed in the tranquillity of her lovely home. Anger completely faded and she was wrapped in the soothing atmosphere of the old building, comforted and at peace. It no longer mattered whether or not she was offered the job; whatever she had to do to earn her living, she would stay in this magical place.

She saw Kitty early the following morning when she went to ask if she needed any shopping brought. Still in her dressing gown, Kitty sat beside the newly lit fire and patted the chair beside her. ‘I saw your face when I asked Luke about his wife. You didn’t know he was married, did you?’

‘No, but it doesn’t matter. We’re only casual acquaintances, he walked me home because of the deep snow, that’s all. Now I’d better be off,’ Seranne said briskly, ‘Or I’ll get the sack instead of the job of
manageress
!’ She stopped long enough to give her friend a humorous account of what had happened before the interview and left laughing, as though the disasters had all been nothing more than a joke.

She looked up at Badgers Brook as she passed. Such a wonderful place, it calmed her and made her concentrate only on the really important things. ‘And Luke isn’t one of them!’ she added aloud.

Friday came and went and there was no word from Mr Griffiths about the vacancy. On Saturday, she left work early and went to see her mother. It was after seven o’clock when she arrived and she was surprised to see the tables in the tea rooms hadn’t been cleared and her mother was out. She let herself in and began to clear the debris of the day with some concern. This was something she had never know to happen. Her mother
was never off duty until everything was clean and ready for the next day Even on Saturdays, with a day off to follow, the routine had always been the same. She was further disconcerted to see that the leftover scones and cakes were from a bakery and not made by her mother.

The curtains were pulled across the large windows and it was a few minutes before she noticed that all the beautiful ornamental teapots and plates were gone. She didn’t worry too much, they had probably been taken down for washing. She climbed up and washed the shelves ready for their return and was surprised at the dust that had gathered. They hadn’t been cleaned for some weeks, she decided with a frown. What was going on?

She checked her room and found everything in order, even though she hadn’t told her mother she was coming. That would never change. The room was hers wherever she chose to live. She sat surrounded by her familiar things and thought about Paul. He had married her mother so quickly. ‘Swept her off her feet’ was a cliché, but that was what had happened, he had married her without giving her time to think, yet her mother seemed to be happy. So what is it that’s worrying me? she asked herself. It was something more than the state of the tea rooms. Money was a concern. Paul didn’t appear to be earning any unless the factory ran itself without needing his presence. He spent all his time driving around in that car of his or taking her mother out. He had persuaded her mother to employ Pat Sewell and was letting the café run itself down, so were they using her mother’s savings? Would he leave her when they ran out?

It was almost midnight when the door opened and her mother and Paul came in, laughing as they came up the stairs.

‘Mum, it’s me,’ Seranne called.

‘Darling! What a lovely surprise!’

‘Sorry we were out, Seranne,’ Paul added. ‘I took your mother dancing again.’

‘I hope you didn’t go into the tea rooms,’ Jessie said, rolling her eyes.

‘I’m afraid we left it all till tomorrow.’

‘And why not?’ Seranne said, hugging her mother. ‘I’m sure it won’t take long.’

Jessie looked at her, head tilted and said, ‘You’ve dealt with it, haven’t you? Oh I’m sorry, dear, you should have told us you were coming and we’d have made sure it was done.’

‘I’m glad I didn’t because then you’d have missed a lovely night out.’ ‘It’s Pat Sewell’s weekend off and I’m afraid we cheat a little and leave
everything until Sunday.’

‘What about the books? They used to take us most of Sunday
morning
.’

‘Oh, Paul deals with all that,’ Jessie waved her hand as though
brushing
the irritation aside. ‘I don’t have to look at them, thank goodness. He does the ordering too. He and Pat Sewell between them.’

‘After working every day? He must find it a bore.’

‘He’s just told me he doesn’t own the factory any longer. He sold it last week for a very good sum and my investment has done remarkably well. Isn’t that marvellous? Until he decides on his next business venture we’ll work here together, helped by Pat. She’s a wonder, isn’t she darling?’

Seranne glanced at Paul who looked suitably modest.

The following morning while her mother and Paul walked to the newsagent’s to buy an extra newspaper – an excuse, she suspected, to go out and talk – Seranne looked through the books and explored the once beautiful tea rooms. Her worries increased and she was seriously alarmed at the changes in the way the place was being run. Economies, mainly instigated by Pat Sewell and supported by Paul had altered the character of the place. There was no longer a cleaner, and it showed. The
tablecloths
were no longer white linen, the windows no longer sparkled, the chair seats, like she had tried to persuade Mrs Rogers to use, were no longer there and the chairs were in need of a polish. Looking through the daily lists and the bakery accounts, the more expensive cakes no longer appeared on the menu. The cakes and scones, for which the place had always been famous, were being bought from the local bakery and were more expensive for a less attractive product, from the remnants she had seen. The only savings were in time, giving her mother more time to spend with Paul. She looked around sadly. Jessica’s Victorian Tea Rooms had been reduced to nothing more than a cheap and shoddy café.

Later that Sunday morning, her mother took her for a walk before lunch while Paul stayed behind to deal with the weekly accounts. The day was cold and damp and the pleasure of seeing places she knew so well were lost beneath her worries. She didn’t have the heart to call on friends as she had intended. She tried to persuade her mother to talk about the tea rooms, to explain why it had been allowed to run down.

Jessie laughed and said, ‘Paul says life is for living and after spending most of my life working, I deserve a bit of fun.’

Everything her mother told her added to her concerns and when the rain began and they had to run back home, the weather seemed a
reflection
of her gloomy mood and she couldn’t wait to get back to Badgers
Brook.

Something was terribly wrong. Paul had taken over her mother’s life and the constant reminders of how valuable Pat Sewell had become and the way Jessie deferred to her abilities, suggested it was she who was now in charge of the business. It was Paul and Pat who dealt with the books and the decision-making and she wondered how much longer the place could survive without her mother’s guiding hands. That her mother was happy was in no doubt, but the once inviting tea rooms had lost its charm.

On her way back to Cwm Derw one of her mother’s neighbours sat next to her on the bus. Seranne didn’t need to ask questions for the gossip to be shared. Although cautiously spoken at first, it became clear that the tea rooms was no longer the most popular place for locals. It was also revealed that Paul had lost his business through neglect and indifference, it had not been sold, but handed over some weeks earlier to clear his debts.

What had really happened to the money her mother had invested? Paul must have used the money which Jessie had gullibly handed over, to bolster up his failing business. What could she do? There wasn’t a soul she could talk to, except Luke, and he was no longer a friend.

On Monday morning a letter arrived for Seranne in which she was told, with many regrets, that her application for the position of
manageress
had been unsuccessful. It ended by hoping that she and Miss Barbara Hopkins would work well together. Now she had to decide whether she could work with a person who had ruined her chances. Babs was waiting for her when she reached the café and unable to avoid her, she glanced at her coldly and said, ‘Congratulations.’

‘Mr Griffiths said he thought your previous experience in a high-class place was a disadvantage when dealing with a small café like this one. I’m sorry.’

‘Are you? Is that why you ruined the scones?’

‘Ruined the … what d’you mean?’

‘Come on, you can’t pretend you didn’t turn up the oven and burn them.’

‘I didn’t! How can you think that I’d do such a thing?’

‘You were the only one in the kitchen, except Tony and he had no reason to bother.’

Without a word Babs ran across the road back to the bakery and Seranne let herself inside, outrage tightening her lips. As she took off her coat, it caught a dish of duck eggs intended for making cakes and it
teetered on the edge of the table. She leapt across the room and managed to save it, but at the same time knocked over a pile of tins she had taken out ready for greasing. The noise was alarming and seemed to go on and on as the pile slithered across the floor, paused, then slithered some more. A figure appeared at the door and Luke stood there laughing.

‘What has upset you this time? Irate motorist? A dog? Wet roads? Burnt cakes?’

‘Now they’ll all have to be washed! D’you want something, or have you come to gloat?’

‘Because you didn’t get the job? Why would that please me?’

‘I don’t know. Everything that happens to me seems to be a cause for laughter.’

‘It’s the look of outrage on your face. I don’t know anyone else who can change her face from sunshine to thunder clouds in seconds. It’s fascinating. You are fascinating.’ He stepped inside and began to rescue the fallen tins, and he pushed the eggs further away from the edge. Then he filled the sink with hot water and dropped the tins in.

‘I can manage,’ she said haughtily.

‘I came to tell you that my auntie, Mrs Rogers, won’t be in today.’

‘What? But what am I to do?’

‘Manage, I suppose.’ He was wearing that irritating smile again.

‘Fine. I’ll do what I can.’

‘Mrs Cassie Evans is coming to help. She’s my auntie, too,’ he told her with a grin. ‘I’ll see you later.’

She dried the tins and glanced at the clock. Less than an hour before opening. She dashed around, putting the scones to bake, making a couple of large sponge cakes, preparing sandwiches and cutting slices of bread ready for toasting. She opened tins of beans and spaghetti and put them into pans, hard boiled some eggs and set the tables. As she opened the door to smile at and welcome the first customers, she looked across the road to the bakery. ‘How would Babs have managed what I just did?’ she muttered rebelliously.

Mrs Evans arrived at eleven o’clock. A woman in her sixties, she wore her grey hair in a bun at the top of her head allowing feathery fringes to fall about her rosy cheeks and wearing a constant smile. Seranne
disapproved
of the waving hair but ignored it, this wasn’t the time to criticize. Mrs Evans was soon helping to prepare the lunches and to Seranne’s relief she was quick, needed telling only once, and Seranne was grateful for her speed and efficiency.

Are you really Luke’s auntie?’ she asked as they were clearing up after
closing.

‘My mother had eight children. They all married, so Luke has seven aunties – including me – seven uncles and eighteen cousins. There’s even more on his father’s side.’

‘I’m an only child. It sounds wonderful to have such a large family.’

‘It is in our case, but not always. That Elsie Connors in the guest house had a sister but they haven’t spoken for years. There’s terrible, isn’t it?’

‘She’s very ill, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, and it’s only her poor husband and her sister-in-law, Betty Connors, who are there to help. Fancy being that stubborn when she’s so ill. You’d think she’d forgive her sister for whatever she did all those years ago, wouldn’t you? You haven’t any family?’

‘Only my mother and a stepfather. My father died when I was a baby. A stepfather adopted me but he left. Now there’s Paul Curtis.’

‘And that’s why you left home and came to Cwm Derw?’ Mrs Evans asked shrewdly. ‘Probably the best thing to do.’

‘The trouble is, like Elsie Connors, it might be too easy for me to stay away.’ Especially now, when everything has changed, she thought sadly.

When she reached home she was aware that the busy day had given her very little time to dwell on the situation with her mother and the tea rooms, or Paul and his factory. The problem of working under Babs Hopkins returned but she forced herself to clear her mind of all concerns and enjoy the quiet evening. She put some potatoes under the fire to bake for supper later on. For now a piece of cake and a cup of tea would suffice.

A knock at the door pleased her. It would probably be Kitty. She opened the door smiling but the smile faded when she saw Babs, wrapped up against the cold in coat, boots, scarf and a pixie hood that was complete with a couple of bobbles bouncing around her head. With a show of reluctance, Seranne stepped back for her to enter.

‘I’m not coming in. I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t touch the oven and I can’t believe you thought I could.’ Seranne began to apologize but Babs interrupted. ‘You really thought I could do that to you, didn’t you? Well, I’m sorry, but I’ll be in charge at the café from Monday and if you can’t trust me I think it’s best you leave.’

‘All right, if that’s what you want. You’d better come in so I can explain the routine.’ Babs was about to turn away, but the wind suddenly blew around the house and hit her with a cold blast that almost lifted her off her feet. ‘What was that!’ she gasped.

‘Come on in, there’s no point in freezing,’ Seranne said. Babs stepped
inside and Seranne gestured to a seat beside the fire. Refusing to take off her coat, and ignoring the offer of a chair, standing stiffly and
unforgiving
near the hearth, Babs glared at her one-time friend, waiting for her to speak. The wind howled around the roof-top for a few minutes then ceased.