Somehow, we managed to put solid plans into place. The church and reception venue were booked, Penny had chosen a gorgeous bridesmaid’s dress and I’d whittled my dress options down to three. We sent out save the date cards (I went with the cream) and ordered handmade invitations with a matching guestbook. Joel chose his best man (and Penny vowed to cop off with him at the reception), we pored through holiday brochures in search of a dream honeymoon and we chose our rings and the engravings we wanted on the inside.
Everything was on track. In six months I was going to walk into the church as Madeleine Lamington and emerge as Madeleine Harris. Mrs Madeleine Harris.
And then it all went wrong and I never even made it to the church. Never took the vows or exchanged the readings we’d agonised over during the build-up to our big day. My life was changed, but not in the way I ever expected or would ever wish it to be.
I thought I’d met my soulmate, that I would live happily ever after with Joel, but I’d been wrong. So very wrong and I – and my poor, battered heart – had paid the price for it. The only consolation I could offer myself was that I’d never put myself in the position to be hurt so spectacularly ever again.
Chapter Nine
‘Just leave it, yeah?’ I say when Nicky suggests – again – that I go and speak to Birdie’s grandson. And by ‘speak’ she means flirt, which isn’t going to happen. ‘He’s spending some quality time with his daughter. Birdie told me he’s had a tough time with his ex lately and hasn’t seen much of his little girl. I’m not going to go over there and ruin their afternoon together.’
Nicky shrugs. ‘Fair enough.’ She pops a tiny square flapjack into her mouth – the fourth in as many minutes, but I don’t blame her as they’re so soft and buttery you can’t help yourself – and leans casually against the counter. ‘So what do you think about Tom? Do you think he likes me?’
I try not to roll my eyes. I really, really have to try. ‘He’s twenty-two, Nicky.’
‘So?’
‘And you’re not.’
Nicky does roll her eyes, overdramatically and with a heavy sigh for extra effect. ‘I’m hardly drawing my pension.’
‘You’re almost thirty,’ I point out. ‘He’s not far off twenty-one.’
‘Age is just a number.’ Nicky licks the flapjack crumbs off her fingers. ‘Besides, he might like a more mature lady.’
I snort, both at the ‘mature’ and ‘lady’ parts of that sentence. ‘Or he might like going out, getting trashed and having meaningless one-night stands. Like many other twenty-two-year-olds.’
‘Is that what you did when you were twenty-two?’ Nicky asks and I find myself thinking about Joel and the one-night thing that turned into a five-year relationship, an engagement ring and a wedding that didn’t happen because it turned out the groom-to-be was a lying scumbag who couldn’t keep his willy in his pants.
‘I’m going to get his number off Victoria,’ Nicky says when I fail to answer. She pushes herself away from the counter, grabbing one last mini flapjack before she heads over to the face-painting station in the corner. Victoria is putting the final touches to Cara’s sparkly butterfly design so Nicky settles herself on a chair, which happens to be next to Caleb. I send a few telepathic, anti-meddling messages in Nicky’s direction before Mum snatches my attention away. She and Ivor are leaving as they have dinner plans with friends this evening and they have a drive across Manchester ahead of them.
‘Thank you for coming,’ I say as Mum loops a silk scarf around her neck. She knots the scarf before leaning in to kiss my cheek.
‘It was our pleasure. It’s always lovely to pop in. You should be proud of yourself.’ I’m not so sure about that, given the pretty dire turnout, but I say that I am anyway. I don’t want my parents to know how troubled I am by the business. ‘Will you say goodbye to your dad for me? He looks busy and we really must dash.’
I look across the teashop, where Dad is chatting to Birdie at one of the tables by the window, their little apple crumble dishes empty in front of them. I sneak a glance at Nicky and Caleb, who are still chatting, even though Cara is no longer having her face painted by Victoria and is, in fact, on the other side of the teashop, chomping on a jammy dodger.
My stomach churns as I realise they’re probably flirting away over there, so I shift my gaze before I can feel anything ridiculous, such as jealousy. I don’t fancy Caleb and I don’t want to flirt with him myself, so why shouldn’t Nicky have some fun? I sometimes wish I could be as fun-loving and carefree as my friend, but then I remember the devastation when Joel broke my heart and something shuts down inside me. I can’t – won’t – let that happen again.
I lead Mum and Ivor to the door with the handful of treats I’ve insisted they take with them. Mum opens her mouth to say something, but as I already know what it’s going to be and have no desire to hear it (it’s the same thing every visit or phone call), I cut her off before she can utter a word of it. ‘I’ll tell Dad you said goodbye. Have fun tonight!’ I give Mum a nudge over the threshold and into the drizzle, waving as they make a dash for the car before returning to the teashop.
It’s almost four o’clock so the party – if you can call it that – is due to end soon. It doesn’t look like we’re going to entice any more new customers so I think we can officially label this afternoon as a flop. A dud. A complete waste of time, effort and cake.
‘What are we going to do now?’ Mags asks the next morning as we prepare the teashop for opening. We avoided the subject as we baked a few of the morning essentials, but there’s no escaping the fact we need a new plan of action before we sink completely.
‘I really don’t know.’ If I had the money, I’d advertise the teashop far and wide, but the cash Gran left me has been eaten up by deposits, mortgage repayments and equipment and if I empty my account, I’ll have nothing to pay wages or buy ingredients with. I’m in a bind and I can’t see a way out of it. ‘Maybe it’s time we called it quits.’
‘You what?’ Mags’s face morphs quickly from shock to anger.
‘I’m a baker,’ I say. ‘Not to sound arrogant, but I’m damn good at it. But I’m clearly not a businesswoman. As much as I love this place, I don’t think I’m cut out to run my own teashop.’
‘Nonsense.’ Mags shakes her head. ‘We’ve had a rocky start, but we’ll get there.’
‘How?’ I’m out of ideas. I can bake cakes morning, noon and night but there’s little point if there’s nobody in the teashop to buy them.
‘We need a gimmick,’ Mags says. ‘Something to draw people in.’
‘But what?’ If offering free cake wasn’t enough to drive new customers to the teashop, I’m not sure what else will.
‘That’s the conundrum,’ Mags says as she switches the sign on the door to open. It’s something we both ponder as we serve the trickle of early morning customers. I’m happy to see one new face among the familiar, but it isn’t enough to save the teashop from closure.
‘How about baking classes?’ Mags suggests when there’s only Robbie and his milkshake sitting in the teashop.
‘But then won’t everyone bake at home and leave us with even fewer customers?’
‘Hmm, quite possibly,’ Mags concedes while mentally popping her thinking cap back on. We still haven’t brought any new ideas to the table when The Builders descend at lunchtime, filling the teashop with chatter as they thump their way to the counter in their big boots.
‘You’re looking radiant this afternoon, Mags,’ Owen says. ‘If I were ten years younger, I’d leap over this counter and snog your face off.’
Mags bats off the compliment with a wave of her hand. ‘What are you talking about? You’re not much older than I am.’
‘I know but my leg’s giving me jip.’ Owen stoops to rub his thigh as Mags and the other builders laugh. ‘Want to massage it for me?’
‘I’d rather not.’ Mags rubs her hands together. ‘What can I get you today? Cake-wise before you get any mucky ideas.’
‘Are you eating in or out?’ Mags asks.
Owen leans his elbow on the counter. ‘I’ll eat in if you’ll join me. It’ll be our first date.’
‘I’m working,’ Mags points out. ‘So you’ll have to either take it out or date one of your buddies here.’
‘I’ll put out if you’re paying,’ Connor jokes.
‘Then I’m definitely not,’ Owen tells him before turning to Mags. ‘I’ll eat in. Alone.’
‘Take a seat; I’ll bring them over,’ Mags says before moving on to take Little Jordan’s and Connor’s orders. I make the coffees and teas while Mags transfers the cakes onto plates. The teashop always comes to life when The Builders are in. They can be boisterous but fun, and today is no exception. I’d love it if the teashop was like this all the time but I have no idea how to make that happen and it’s only a matter of time before Owen and the lads finish their job and move on. I’m dreading that day and I’m pretty sure Mags is too. Despite her protestations to the contrary, I think she rather enjoys the banter with Owen.
‘What about sponsorship?’ I say later, once The Builders have returned to their site. ‘We could sponsor a local football or rugby team. Nobody big, obviously. I’m not talking Woodgate Warriors or anything, but a pub team or something.’
‘I don’t need to check the books to know we can’t afford that,’ Mags says with a little shrug.
Money, money, money. The root of all evil – and all my problems, it seems.
‘We’ll think of something.’ Mags pulls me into a hug but I’m not sure either of us believes her. But it turns out that she’s right. We will think of something, just a few days later, and it’s an idea that is, quite literally, sitting under my nose.
Chapter Ten
Victoria practically bursts into the teashop on Friday morning and I’m surprised the door is still on its hinges with the force. She usually tries to maintain a cool, sometimes even standoffish demeanour, but this morning she’s carrying a huge smile and has a jittery, kid-at-Christmas vibe going on.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask because it’s Victoria’s day off. As much as she loves the teashop, it’s still her workplace and everybody needs a rest from that.
‘I have news and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to tell you.’ Victoria clutches her hands together and gives an excited little yelp. ‘And I sort of need a favour.’
‘Spill then.’ Intrigued, I lean across the counter towards Victoria and she does the little yelp again.
‘Terry Sergeant came to see us play last night and he wants to see us at his office tomorrow.’ Victoria’s words gush out in a breathtaking rush. ‘If it goes well, he might sign us!’
There’s the yelp again, louder this time. I scuttle out from behind the counter and throw my arms around her. Not one for physical contact, Victoria allows me to hug her for three milliseconds before she squirms out of my grip.
‘That is amazing! I’m so happy for you. You deserve this.’ I give a little yelp of my own. ‘You’re going to be famous! I can’t believe I’m going to have a famous friend. Do you think you can send all the celebrities you meet this way?’
Victoria laughs. ‘Terry hasn’t signed us yet.’
‘But he will.’ I’m positive of that.
‘Then of course I’ll send all the celebrities this way. We’ll be the coolest place to hang out.’
‘We?’ I ask. ‘You’ll be hanging up your apron soon. Superstars don’t waitress in little teashops.’ I’ll be sad when the time comes as Victoria has become a good friend as well as a colleague, but I want this for her so much.
‘Speaking of hanging up my apron …’ Victoria says. ‘Do you think I could have the day off tomorrow? The meeting with Terry isn’t until late afternoon but we’d like to get in as much practice as we can beforehand, just in case he needs us to play again for him.’
‘Of course.’ I’d planned to go over to Dad’s, but he’ll understand if I put my visit off for a couple of days. ‘Do you have time for some celebratory cake? I’d have made some peanut butter blondies this morning if I’d known.’
‘An orange sponge finger will do,’ Victoria says and she sits down at the Russian-doll-patterned table while I pop three orange sponge fingers with tangy lime icing onto a plate. I call Mags out from the kitchen and pour cups of tea and coffee, taking them and the cake to the table. Victoria shares her news and Mags is as delighted as I am.
‘To our little megastar in the making,’ she says, raising her cup of tea. Victoria and I raise our own cups, though we don’t clink them as dripping scalding hot tea over your hands is hardly a celebratory move. ‘You won’t forget about us little people, will you?’
‘Of course not.’ Victoria narrows her eyes and bites her lip. ‘What was your name again?’
‘Funny.’ Mags bites into her sponge finger as the teashop door opens so I get up to greet Birdie. I already have a bag of dog biscuits in my apron pocket so I pop outside to say hello to Franklin while Mags serves Birdie’s usual apple crumble with custard. His bum starts to wiggle as soon as he sees me, his claws clattering on the pavement in his excitement as he knows he’s in for a treat.
‘Who’s a gorgeous boy?’ I coo as I scratch Franklin behind his ears. ‘Here you go.’ I hold out a biscuit and pat him on the head as he takes it between his teeth. ‘Good boy.’
I head back into the teashop and pass on the remainder of the dog biscuits before I wash my hands in the kitchen. When I step back into the teashop, I’m surprised to see Dad sitting with Birdie by the window.
‘I didn’t know you were coming in today,’ I say, stooping to kiss his cheek.
Dad winks at me. ‘I was lured by the smell of freshly baked apple crumble.’
‘I see.’ Apple crumble, eh? Or could it be another apple crumble fan has enticed him into the teashop? ‘I’ll just go and let Mags know we need two portions then.’
Leaving Dad and Birdie to chat, I rush into the kitchen, where I grab Mags while making the same excited yelping noises Victoria was emitting earlier.
‘Dad and Birdie!’ I hiss. ‘Come and look.’
Pulling Mags towards the doorway separating the teashop and kitchen, we both peer out at the pair as they chat easily across the table. I can’t quite believe Dad has struck up such a quick and easy companionship with Birdie Conrad but, now that I think about it, he barely noticed Mum at the so-called party at the weekend and spent most of his time chatting with his new friend.
‘Do you think Dad fancies Birdie?’ I whisper, which makes me giggle. I press a hand to my mouth to smother my childish reaction.
‘And why not?’ Mags asks. ‘She’s a lovely woman.’
‘She’s nothing like Mum though.’ Mum’s more refined with a sleek blonde bob and subtle make-up. She wears skirt suits, heels and silk scarfs whereas Birdie’s more robust-looking with greying brown curls and a ruddy complexion. She wears comfortable slacks, flat shoes and an anorak.
‘Have all your boyfriends been the same?’ Mags asks. There haven’t been that many, to be fair, but Joel was completely different to the short-lived romances I’d had before. ‘I know I’d never go for a man like Graham again.’
‘Is Owen like Graham?’ I ask the question casually but Mags tuts.
‘Oh, stop it. I’m not interested in Owen and he isn’t interested in me. It’s a bit of fun, that’s all. But no, Owen is nothing like Graham at all. Graham couldn’t even change a light bulb, never mind build whole houses. He was a bit useless, really.’
I can’t help thinking of Joel. He wasn’t very good at DIY either, despite being a property developer, but he had many other talents. Fidelity not being one of them, it painfully transpired.
‘Oh, look.’ I forget about Joel as I hear laughter from the teashop. Dad is chuckling while Birdie has thrown her head back for a full-on chortle. ‘I really do t
hink they like each other.’
I’m so pleased. Not only has Dad found a woman who just may help him finally get over Mum, but it’s also all down to me. Well, me and my apple crumble. I always knew cake was special but I didn’t know it had Cupid-like powers.
‘Oh my God, that’s it!’ My sudden outburst is so loud it attracts the attention of Dad, Birdie and Victoria. I tug Mags deeper into the kitchen, out of view of our new audience, and lower my voice. ‘I’ve got it! The hook that might bring people to the teashop.’
‘What is it?’ Hearing the commotion, Victoria has rushed into the kitchen to find out what’s going on.
‘Love,’ I announce, a huge grin spreading across my face. ‘Or rather dating.’
I think it’s a marvellous idea and I’m already picturing my little teashop full to bursting point with loved-up couples (who will then, of course, frequent my teashop now it’s on their radar) but Mags and Victoria don’t look convinced. In fact, they look quite bewildered.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Mags asks, which seems to be the question on Victoria’s mind too judging by the frown on her face.
‘I’m talking about matching people up with their favourite cakes,’ I say, almost giddy with the prospect. ‘Like Dad and Birdie and the apple crumble that brought them together. We’ll set up a dating service in the teashop.’ I’m pacing the kitchen now, my hands flying about the place as I try to explain my vision. ‘There’ll be five men and five women who all love a certain dessert and they’ll chat to each other in turn while they enjoy their chosen dessert. It’ll be like speed dating … with cake!’
‘Won’t people be a bit bloated after five lots of cake?’ Victoria asks as we sit down to discuss my idea further now the teashop is empty. Dad and Birdie have finished their apple crumbles and gone their separate ways and although Victoria should be getting back to Nathan and the boys for band rehearsals, she’s decided to stick around for a few more minutes to iron out a few details. ‘Being stuffed to the brim with cake hardly makes you feel sexy, does it?’
The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts Page 6
