‘It’s all lies,’ I quipped. ‘It cost me a small fortune to get them to say all that.’
He smiled gently. ‘Looked pretty genuine to me.’
What response could I give? Yeah, but I’m a big, fat fraud. The best response was to remain silent.
Only Jed remained silent too.
‘I’m sorry about this morning,’ I said when I couldn’t stand the silence anymore. Better to change the subject.
‘Why? What happened this morning?’
‘I was rude to you, as usual.’
‘Were you? Here was me thinking it was a massive improvement on the recent low of “arrogant con artist”.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Considering what you thought I’d done; it was actually quite tame.’
‘You should have heard what I called you at the time,’ I said.
‘I can imagine.’
Silence.
‘I got your cheque,’ I said.
‘It was the least I could do.’
‘I tried to return it all week, but you weren’t there. You know I can’t accept it.’
Jed frowned. ‘Of course you can. It’s your money.’
‘Which your wife took from me. You can’t pay me back from your own money for something she did. It’s not right.’
‘What Ingrid did wasn’t right. If I’d known—’
I shook my head. ‘But you didn’t know. I really appreciate the gesture, but I will return it.’
‘You won’t.’
‘I will. I really am sorry for what I said. I wasn’t in a good place when I met you. I think you might have got the brunt of my anger at someone else and I’m ashamed to say I’ve held onto that anger for a very, very long time.’
Silence fell again and we both turned to face the sea. The sky was cloudless and speckled with millions of stars. The glow from the moon on the water looked like a silvery ribbon pointing to the shore. It was quite mesmerising watching it rippling, as though part of a rhythmic gymnastics’ routine.
‘I’m sorry about your parents,’ Jed said. ‘When I saw you looking up to the sky this morning, were you talking to them?’
The emotions started bubbling once more and a sob escaped from me.
‘Oh, Tara. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘It’s fine.’ I wiped my tears again. ‘As I said, it’s been an emotional evening. Believe it or not, I’m not one for tears, but everything seems to have set me off this past year. I burned some flapjacks last week and I sobbed for half an hour solid. How ridiculous is that?’
‘Not ridiculous at all. Nobody can stay strong all of the time.’
I looked into his eyes and smiled gently. Something about his tone suggested to me that he understood.
‘I’m so pleased you won those awards tonight,’ he said. ‘You’ve transformed that café. I hardly recognise it as the same place.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I was wondering about the name. It’s quite unusual.’
Another thing I’d never told anyone. I’d been asked about the name before and I always gave my pre-prepared answer: I wanted to specialise in chocolate and threw around a few ideas. The Chocolate Pot was my favourite one. I wasn’t sure Jed would buy it and, after the way I’d treated him, I didn’t feel right about fobbing him off.
‘My mum wasn’t well. She battled every day with her mental health and, because I was young and wouldn’t have understood depression, we used to call it her black cloak. She was never well enough to work so we didn’t have enough money for holidays. Dad had one of those Terramundi pots. You know what I mean? Those pots that you fill with coins and smash when they’re full? I can still picture it so clearly. It was brown but had white at the top with gold speckles on it. I always said it reminded me of a mug of hot chocolate – a family favourite – so it became known as “The Chocolate Pot”. If we managed to lift the black cloak only a little, Dad put a pound coin into The Chocolate Pot. If Mum had a good day, Dad would put in as many coins as he could find. One Saturday when I was seven, Mum woke up feeling great and suggested we all go to the seaside. Dad bundled us into the car and we had the most amazing day in Herne Bay, riding on a carousel and running along the beach. We called it The Best Day Ever because, quite simply, it was. We funded it from The Chocolate Pot although, of course, we had to smash the pot to get the money out.’ My throat tightened and I blinked away the tears again. ‘When customers come into my café, I want them to feel warm, happy and loved, just like I felt on The Best Day Ever. The Chocolate Pot made that day happen so I couldn’t imagine a more perfect name.’
Jed stared at me, his expression soft. ‘What a beautiful memory to be able to hold onto.’
I nodded, swiping at a couple more tears trickling down my cheeks. A sudden gust of wind whipped up the net on my dress and made me shiver.
‘I should probably get back inside.’ I stood up.
In an instant, Jed slipped off his tuxedo jacket. ‘I should have done this earlier,’ he said, leaning round me to drape it across my shoulders but he must have got a button snagged in my hair because my head suddenly snapped back.
‘Crap. I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘Hang on.’
As he untangled my hair, I found myself pressed against his chest, breathing in a fresh citrus scent.
‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘Nearly there.’
I wobbled on my heels and instinctively put my arms round his waist to steady myself. Balance restored, I knew I should let go, yet somehow I couldn’t seem to. He felt warm and solid and… oh my goodness, I hadn’t held a man for fourteen and a half long years. Every nerve in my body seemed to awaken and spark, my heart thudded, and I felt quite light-headed.
‘All free,’ Jed whispered, but he didn’t take his hands away from my hair and I didn’t move away from his chest. I felt his heart thudding and heard his breathing quicken.
‘We should get back in,’ I whispered.
‘We should.’
Swallowing hard, I reluctantly stepped back from his chest, my arms slipping down by my sides. I looked up at him and my heart raced even faster.
‘Thanks for the jacket.’
‘You’ve got a mark on your cheek. May I?’
Swallowing again, I nodded slowly. As he gently ran his thumb across my right cheek, a little sigh escaped from my lips.
He cupped my face in his hand, his eyes searching mine. Was he going to kiss me? I wanted him to. I had no idea why, but something had shifted between us. He was definitely going to…
‘Tara? Is that you?’
I stepped away from Jed and forced myself to smile at Maria. ‘Yes. It’s me.’
‘Oh, thank God. We were getting worried.’
‘I had a moment. It was all a bit much. I’m coming in now, though.’ I turned to Jed. ‘Are you coming back inside?’
He shook his head. ‘I have to go. I need to pick up my daughter from a friend’s house. She can’t drive yet. It’s in a village. So, erm… yeah. I have to go.’
‘Oh, okay.’ I shrugged his jacket off and handed it back to him. ‘You’ll be needing this then.’
As he took it from me, our hands connected and my heart raced once more at his touch. Oh no. This wasn’t good. I couldn’t go falling for the competition. I couldn’t go falling for anyone.
‘Congratulations again,’ Jed said. ‘Enjoy the rest of your night.’
‘Thanks.’
He didn’t follow us but I could sense him watching me as I walked beside Maria.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you were with someone,’ she said. ‘Are you two friends now?’
‘No. But I don’t think we’re enemies anymore, either.’
I turned back and looked along the walkway. Jed was now leaning against one of the pillars, looking out towards the sea. It took all my concentration not to run back to him and steal that kiss. No, we definitely weren’t enemies anymore. But could we be something more? Could anybody? I wasn’t sur
e if I was strong enough to try, but I needed to do something. Despite the progress I’d made this year, I was still existing, not living.
27
The sound of Hercules rattling on his cage awoke me as usual the following morning. Ooh, my head hurt. My head hurt a lot. How much wine?
Shoving my feet into my slippers, I padded across the flat, released Hercules from his crate and gave him a stroke before heading to the kitchen and downing a pint of cold water.
After we returned to our table at the awards ceremony, I’d been swamped with people offering congratulations. Some I knew well, others I recognised, and others were new contacts. And every single one seemed to think I was some sort of selfless hero. I smiled politely and drank wine. Lots of it.
‘Never again,’ I said to Hercules as I swallowed a couple of painkillers with some more water. ‘I need a coffee.’
I usually went downstairs to make a proper coffee but I wasn’t sure I had the energy for the two flights of stairs. Instant would have to do for now.
A combination of paracetamol, coffee, and a shower had me feeling slightly more human and, by mid-morning, I felt ready to tackle some work.
Logging into my email account for The Cobbly Crafter, I found an email from a company called Yorkshire’s Best:
To: The Cobbly Crafter
From: Yorkshire’s Best
RE: Stocking your products
Good morning,
Please forgive the unsolicited email. I’ve been looking at your products on Etsy and I love them. As well as the obvious skill involved in making them, what interests me most is that they’re handmade in Yorkshire, which is the reason for the contact.
I’m opening a shop called Yorkshire’s Best on 1st December and am seeking unique products that are only made in Yorkshire, ideally in North Yorkshire, as that’s where my shop is.
This is therefore an initial enquiry to see whether you might be interested in supplying your products to me. I appreciate you probably have commitments already for this Christmas and may not have the time or capacity to consider this just now, but might you be interested for next year? I’d be very happy to have a telephone conversation, FaceTime or Skype if you’d like to discuss this further.
Thank you in advance.
Yorkshire’s Best
‘What do you think, Hercules? Could we supply to a shop next year?’
To: Yorkshire’s Best
From: The Cobbly Crafter
RE: Stocking your products
Hi there,
Thank you for your email. I’m flattered that you like my products and I love the sound of a shop stocking only Yorkshire-made products. Great name, by the way!
I’m pleased that you’re looking at next year. Crafting is not my full-time job so time would be tight to fulfil an order for this Christmas although I would be happy to have a conversation around whether we could look at limited samples this year.
My main query would be about pricing. As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, the products you see on Etsy are priced based on what the maker would want to receive to cover materials and time. There’s potential for a little movement on this for bulk orders but not much. Therefore, a retailer would need to sell the products at significantly more than I do (too high for the consumer?) or accept a much smaller mark-up than usual. I’m sure you’ve already considered this.
It would be good to have a conversation one evening next week if that would be convenient. I would prefer telephone.
Best wishes,
The Cobbly Crafter
I spent the rest of the morning and the early part of the afternoon creating additional stock for Etsy, my hangover gradually subsiding. By mid-afternoon, a reply came through:
To: The Cobbly Crafter
From: Yorkshire’s Best
RE: Stocking your products
Great to hear back from you. I’m tied up for the next couple of evenings but how about a phone call on Wednesday (21st Nov) at 7pm?
You’re right to raise a concern about the pricing but please be assured that I’m not looking to massively knock you down on price. I have a specific business model in mind that is perhaps a little different from the norm. I’ll explain this to you when we speak.
I’m getting a new phone tomorrow so I’ll email you my contact details then. I’m more than happy to phone you if you prefer, but I appreciate you don’t know me and my website and social media aren’t up and running yet so I can’t direct you to anything. The challenges of setting up from scratch!
Enjoy the rest of your weekend and I’ll be in touch soon.
An hour later, it was time to go downstairs to see how the shift had gone.
‘Someone’s got an admirer,’ Maria said when I made my way into the kitchen. ‘Those are for you.’ She pointed to a gorgeous bouquet of purple and white flowers resting in a bucket in the corner of the kitchen.
‘Who are they from?’
‘I’m guessing Jed seeing as he’s the one who brought them over.’
‘Jed?’ I felt my cheeks burning. ‘Really?’
‘I asked him if he wanted to deliver them in person but he wouldn’t let me call you down.’
There was a small envelope taped to the front. I ripped it off the cellophane and fished out the card.
To the most outstanding business owner in the Bay.
Can we start afresh?
Jed x
PTO
I turned the card over and gasped at the words on the back:
PS I’m not opening a café
I should probably have made that clear earlier.
‘What is it?’ Maria asked.
‘Only the best news ever. Jed’s not opening a café. He’s not going to be competition.’
Maria looked over my shoulder at the card. ‘That’s great news. Any idea what he’s going to do instead?’
‘Doesn’t say. I’m just relieved it’s not another café.’
‘The lights are on over the road if you fancy nipping over to thank him and perhaps do a bit of digging at the same time,’ Maria suggested.
I looked across the street and nodded. ‘I might just do that. Do you need me for anything?’
‘No. Off you go. Hope he’ll tell you.’
Goose bumps pricked my arms as soon as I stepped outside. A coat might have been a plan. I wouldn’t be long, though. I dashed over the cobbles and knocked on Jed’s door. The glass on the door and windows had been whitewashed so I couldn’t see inside. I banged again but there was no answer. Stepping back, I looked up. There were lights on upstairs too so I suspected he would be up there. After another fruitless knock, I had to admit defeat and run back across to The Chocolate Pot, rubbing my arms to try and warm myself up.
‘No answer,’ I told Maria.
‘Then get yourself back upstairs with those flowers and have a celebratory drink…’ She took one look at my shocked expression and laughed. ‘No, maybe not more alcohol after last night. A celebratory bath, then.’
‘A bath sounds good. Thank you.’
As I lay back in the bubbles half an hour later, I smiled. Jed wasn’t opening a café; he’d sent me flowers and he’d put a kiss on his message. Closing my eyes, I pictured us under the stone walkway the evening before, looking into each other’s eyes. A shiver of pleasure rippled down my spine and my heart started beating faster.
They’d all been right about him. He really was exceptionally attractive. And if what I’d seen over the past couple of days was true, he wasn’t just attractive on the outside. I’d believed Garth to be someone he wasn’t. Had I done the same for Jed? Except this time, I’d thought Jed was the bad guy. It was looking as though I might have seriously misjudged him.
28
Wednesday signalled exactly a month until the first day of winter but, when I woke up, it felt like winter had prematurely arrived with a vengeance. Even though the central heating had kicked in, there was a definite chill in the air.
Wrapped in my dressing gown with the hood up fo
r extra warmth, I wandered over to the large arched window at the front of the flat and looked outside. It was white-over on the cobbles although I couldn’t tell if it was snow or a thick layer of frost.
Opening the front door to The Chocolate Pot half an hour later, after I’d showered and dressed, it became apparent it was a very heavy frost. I couldn’t resist stepping out and savouring the crunch beneath my boots. What a delightful sound.
Glancing over the road, I was surprised to see the first floor of Jed’s shop lit up. Either he was putting in some very long hours preparing for opening day or he was living there. Although his building was a different style and era to mine, it was a similar size, spread over three floors. Anastasia had told me that the second floor was a basic but clean unfurnished two-bed flat.
Shivering, I stepped back into the café and locked the door. That was quite enough frost-crunching for one morning. Time to start baking.
The cold didn’t keep the customers away. There was a steady flow across the morning, increasing for the usual lunchtime rush. Something about the frost seemed to have brought out the excitement of the festive season because there was lots of laughter and a general buzz of anticipation in the café. I received more enquiries about the Christmas decorations and handed out several business cards for The Cobbly Crafter, telling the team I’d asked her for a box of business cards due to receiving so many enquiries from my customers. I hated lying but nobody seemed to question the plausibility of this.
After my third enquiry of the day, my thoughts turned to my conversation with the manager of Yorkshire’s Best scheduled for later that evening. Although I’d received an email with their new phone number, I still didn’t know his or her name, but I hadn’t given them my name either. Could be an awkward start to the phone conversation: Hi, is that the owner of Yorkshire’s Best? This is The Cobbly Crafter. Hmm.
‘There’s something going on at the gallery,’ Sue, one of my full-timers, said as she cleared some pots from a window table.
Starry Skies Over the Chocolate Pot Cafe Page 18
