The Cherry Tree Cafe

by Heidi Swain

  ‘The very same!’ Tom grinned.

  ‘He’s a total prick,’ Ben scowled, ‘I’ve never could stand him, on or off the pitch.’

  I stole a furtive look at Ben, curious as to why he had reacted so aggressively to Tom’s admission. His jaw was set hard and his steely glare focused on the poor crystal champagne flute that looked ready to buckle in his uncompromising grasp.

  ‘Well,’ Tom continued, apparently unaware of his friend’s disapproval, ‘he’s sharpening his pencil for you, Lizzie, so you’d better watch out.’

  ‘Ignore the pair of them,’ Jemma snapped. ‘I told Tom not to say anything.’ She shot her husband a fearsome glance. ‘He’s just being an arse. He’s always like this after champagne. Obviously I didn’t give Jay your number, Lizzie.’

  I didn’t know what to say to any of them. Now, not only did I have the mystery caller to identify, but it also transpired that I had unwittingly aggravated Ben and was going to have to contend with the unwanted advances of the local rag man on top of everything else.

  Chapter 12

  The Cherry Tree Café’s first week of trading was a huge success and business was brisk. Every day ran like clockwork, thanks to Jemma’s organisational skills, and her observations about the potential of the courses were spot on as well. Barely a day went by without someone mentioning them, and by the end of the week she and Ruby had somehow convinced me to commit to offering a taster session the following Friday.

  ‘Left side down a bit,’ Ruby shouted at me through the Café window, ‘that’s it. Stick it there and then everyone’ll see it.’

  I stuck as instructed and joined her outside to see how the poster looked. I let out a long breath as I stood staring at it and wondered just what I was letting myself in for.

  ‘Looks good!’ Ruby beamed, linking arms with me. ‘I bet you’ll be fully booked by the end of the day.’

  ‘That’s what worries me,’ I told her, ‘I’m still not really sure about all this.’

  ‘It’s bunting!’ Ruby laughed. ‘Jemma told me you’ve been making bunting practically since you could walk! It’s not exactly rocket science, is it?’

  ‘No,’ I agreed, ‘and that’s the whole point. Why are people going to want to pay me to show them how easy it is to make, when they can buy metres of it for a few quid in any of the shops in town?’

  ‘Don’t you ever watch TV?’ Ruby frowned.

  ‘Sometimes,’ I admitted.

  ‘Well then, I’m sure you’ve seen the likes of Kirstie Allsopp spouting on about upcycling and the joys of making your own, haven’t you?’

  I nodded at my youthful companion’s wise and intuitive words.

  ‘And besides, it isn’t just about money or convenience. It’s a social thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess so,’ I murmured, thinking back to the City Crafting Café and the laughter the customers had shared during their morning together.

  Ruby was right, of course. I adored the length of bunting I had made that day because it was unique. I had selected the fabrics, I had been responsible for every snip and stitch and I loved it all the more for those very reasons. But of course I already understood all this, didn’t I? Afternoons spent with Granny had taught me all of that; how could I have forgotten so much of what she had taught me?

  ‘Finally!’

  I spun round to find Sarah peering over my shoulder for a better view of the poster.

  ‘I was beginning to think you’d given up on the idea!’ she laughed. ‘Put my name down, will you? You’d better put Rachel down as well, actually. She’d never forgive me if she missed out on your tutoring debut!’

  ‘Oh please don’t put it like that!’ I groaned, my insides squirming again.

  ‘Oh you’ll be fine!’ Sarah grinned. ‘You’re amongst friends, Lizzie! Now, what do we need to bring?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I told her.

  I had already decided that it would be easier all round if I supplied everything myself and because it was a simple project the outlay would be minimal.

  ‘I’ll have a variety of fabrics for you to choose from and we can take it in turns to use the two sewing machines I’ve managed to borrow. If the afternoon’s a success and people want to do more then I’ll draw up a list of potential projects and supplies and offer you the choice of sourcing your own things or buying from the selection I’ll have to hand in the Café.’

  Suddenly I realised just how much thought and effort I had been putting into planning the venture and for the first time I felt a real surge of excitement at the thought of being responsible for the sessions. I let out a long calming breath, knowing that deep down I really did want it all to work out, and a few seconds later when Ruby gave me a playful nudge I was smiling broadly.

  ‘Well, I hope those aprons will be on the list!’ Sarah said as she backed towards the gate. ‘I can just see myself flouncing about in the kitchen in one of those! It might even convince Mark that I am actually making some commitment to the household chores!’

  As Ruby predicted, all six spaces were booked by the end of the afternoon and along with my nerves my increasing sense of excitement had grown with every name that had been added to the list. There was just one thing left for me to do before I allowed myself to get completely carried away.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come to us for dinner?’ Jemma frowned. ‘I don’t like to think of you in the flat on your own every night.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I told her, ‘honestly. Now I’ve got the internet connected I’m going to spend a bit more time planning next Friday’s taster session.’

  Jemma looked at me, her eyes shining. I could tell she was exhausted but she was also on a real high. So far the thrill of running the Café had exceeded all her expectations and she was loving every minute of it.

  ‘Well fair enough then,’ she beamed, ‘I’m so pleased you’ve decided to give it a go, Lizzie.’

  I nodded, hating myself for not being completely honest with her. I was going to spend some of the evening organising the sewing session, but I had also decided that tonight was the night I was going to phone the mystery caller’s number and find out if it was Giles wanting me to take him back and if it was, would he be willing to move to Wynbridge.

  I knew I had to do it before next Friday because, assuming the session was a success, there was the thrilling possibility that it would take my life in a completely different direction. There was a huge part of me that still wanted my sewing and crafting to be a very key part of my future but there at the back of my foolish mind was still the faintest glimmer of hope that Giles might have changed his mind and if he had, then I might need to focus my attention on repairing our relationship and helping him settle into life in a small town rather than making bunting.

  In total I must have dialled the number a dozen times before I actually plucked up the courage to let it ring. Sitting on the sofa in my cosy flat I waited, my breath tight in my chest and the value of all that I had achieved and been a part of during the last few weeks pushed to the very periphery of my mind.

  Finally I let it ring and agonising seconds passed.

  There was no answer.

  The recorded message kicked in and informed me that the phone was switched off.

  Coupled with crippling disappointment there was the tiniest twinge of relief, but still I couldn’t shrug off the feeling that I had really wanted it to be Giles. My head was trying to tell me that I was better off without him, that he had broken my faith in men and shattered each and every one of my romantic dreams, but my heart . . . well, that was another story.

  ‘I’m ever so sorry to let you down at such short notice, Evelyn, but this will be the only chance I get to go.’

  ‘Well, it can’t be helped, I suppose,’ she sighed, ‘and I know how much this idea means to Jemma. You go, my love, and we’ll see you next week.’

  I climbed back into my car and turned the key hoping that Jemma would be as easy to convince.

  She wasn’
t.

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ she frowned. ‘Surely there are places closer to here that you can go to for fabrics?’

  I should have known better.

  ‘Yes, of course there are,’ I explained again, ‘but it isn’t just about buying fabrics. Deborah is already running the kind of sessions that we want to offer at the Cherry Tree. Her Crafting Café is a total hit and she’s too good a contact to ignore. This is the perfect opportunity for me to pick her brains before we really get going!’

  ‘So tell me again, when exactly did you meet this woman?’

  I explained as patiently as I could, with one eye on the kitchen clock, about how I had stumbled across Deborah and the City Crafting Café and the influence she and the place had on my initial decision to move back to the town.

  I had phoned her on a whim after drawing a blank with the mystery caller the previous evening, and arranged to meet and discuss my prospective business plans the following day. I was amazed Deborah even remembered me, but she insisted that with my hair and exquisite embroidery skills I’d been hard to forget.

  ‘It’s fate!’ Jemma laughed excitedly as she finally began to see the sense in what I was cunningly suggesting. ‘Perhaps I should come with you?’ she added enthusiastically.

  ‘You can’t!’ I panicked. ‘Who would run the Café tomorrow?’

  ‘Well, what about taking Tom then, or even Ben? He’s at a loose end right now. He’s finished the list of jobs I gave him and it would be a chance for the pair of you to spend some time together. He might even tell you a bit about why he’s back in Wynbridge.’

  As tempting as Jemma made that sound I shook my head knowing that her suggestion simply wasn’t compatible with what I really had in mind. Unbeknown to my dear friend, I had also arranged to spend the night at my former boss Henry’s flat, with the sneaky intention of picking his brains about Giles. The longer I stood talking to Jemma, the worse I felt, so I began stealthily edging back down the hall towards the front door and the sanctuary of my car.

  ‘No, I’ll be fine,’ I insisted. ‘I’m going to stay at Henry’s and he only has room for one guest. He sounded a bit down in the dumps actually; I think he needs cheering up a bit. Given the circumstances, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t appreciate a complete stranger tagging along. I’ll take him out to dinner after I’ve seen Deborah tomorrow and then drive straight back the next morning.’

  ‘OK,’ Jemma shrugged, ‘just as long as you’re sure.’

  She eyed me beadily and I knew it was time to go.

  ‘I’ll see you Monday, OK?’

  ‘Just let me know you’ve arrived safely, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The journey to London was hellish. Not only did I not enjoy the drive, I was also crippled with guilt every time I thought about Jemma’s enthusiastic reaction to my implied efforts at market research and developing contacts. She was my oldest friend and I was keeping her in the dark about my biggest secret, but I knew that if I told her about the plan I had formulated to reignite my relationship with Giles by bringing him back to Wynbridge, she would have told me to get a grip.

  She would have reminded me just how badly he’d treated me, how long it had taken me to heal the heart he had wrenched in two, but it was all right for her. She had Tom. I didn’t need to hear her telling me to see sense and get on with my life when she had the comfort of the love of her life standing firmly next to her. No, far better she found out after this visit, when Giles and I were reunited and she could see firsthand exactly what it was I was trying to achieve.

  It was almost midnight by the time I parked up outside Henry’s flat. Already in his pyjamas he buzzed me in to the building and waited tentatively on the threshold to welcome me.

  ‘Hello, old thing,’ he smiled. ‘Gosh, don’t you look well!’

  I gave him a swift hug wishing I could return the compliment and felt some of my guilt evaporate as I realised Henry really did look like he needed a shoulder to cry on.

  ‘Thank you,’ I smiled. ‘It’s really good to see you, Henry.’

  He ushered me inside and I followed him to the kitchen.

  ‘Crikey!’ I blurted out without thinking. The shock of looking at him from behind revealed why his usually all-encompassing hug had felt so different. ‘However much weight have you lost, Henry? You look almost thin!’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he said sadly. ‘It’s all stress, I’m afraid, nothing to do with a healthy new lifestyle.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I sympathised, ‘is it really that bad?’

  ‘You got out just in time, Lizzie,’ he told me. ‘It’s all far worse than I initially thought it was going to be.’

  I sat at the tiny kitchen table and waited for him to continue.

  ‘The department restructuring is really taking its toll,’ he explained glumly. ‘Everyone’s neck is on the block. There’s no knowing who’s going to get the chop next. You wouldn’t recognise the place; it’s practically empty. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee or something stronger?’ he offered.

  ‘Tea please,’ I smiled, ‘if it’s no bother.’

  I watched Henry making the tea for me and pouring himself a large whisky and thought about my old job. Truth be told, I hadn’t given it a second thought since I’d left and that went a long way to reinforce my conviction that it had never been right for me, but Henry on the other hand was crestfallen. He loved his job, he was committed to the company and passionate about providing a professional service for his clients, but now he looked as if he’d had the rug pulled out from under him.

  ‘So have you considered looking for another job?’ I prompted.

  From my very first glance at Henry I knew it would be insensitive to reveal my real intentions for my impromptu visit straight away. I decided it would be best to get work woes discussed and then I could spend the rest of the time endeavouring to lift his sagging spirits and weave my ulterior motive into the conversation gradually. I might want to question him about Giles, but I wasn’t so obsessed that I didn’t give any credence to timing.

  ‘You aren’t worried you might be next?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Henry, draining his glass in one mouthful. ‘They won’t get rid of me.’

  ‘Well, I should think not,’ I told him robustly, changing track, ‘you’re an integral part of the company machine!’ I laughed; it sounded funny reeling off the old managerial mantra that I had never cared a jot for.

  Henry laughed with me but there was an underlying bitterness to his tone that I had never heard before.

  ‘Perhaps I should have said they won’t get rid of me yet,’ he added.

  ‘Really? So you think you’re for the chop as well, do you?’

  Henry nodded resignedly.

  ‘I will be,’ he said sadly, ‘but not just yet, not until I’ve finished getting rid of everyone else on their behalf. They’ve designated me as the hatchet man, you see. I’m the one who’s responsible for the firing. I hate it.’

  ‘Oh, Henry!’

  ‘It is hell, Lizzie, it really is.’

  ‘So why don’t you quit? Get out now before they push you?’

  ‘I can’t,’ he sighed, ‘I think it’d be even worse if my own team were being culled by someone else. I’m trying to let them down gently, but at the end of the day it isn’t really making any difference. I’m still the one telling them they won’t be able to pay the mortgage next month, aren’t I?’

  The poor guy really was in a bad way. There was no one in the company with as much heart as Henry and I couldn’t help wishing that some of his compassion and consideration had rubbed off on Giles.

  ‘What time are you meeting your friend tomorrow?’ Henry asked, tossing back another gargantuan nightcap.

  ‘Early,’ I said, ‘around seven. Deborah and I agreed it would be easier to talk before the shop opens. I hope that’s OK? I won’t disturb you, will I?’

  Henry shook his head.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he si
ghed, ‘but you better take this.’

  He threw me a key from a hook below the light switch.

  ‘Just in case,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t tend to surface very early at the weekends these days; nothing worth getting up for.’

  ‘Not even me, Henry!’ I joked. ‘After I’ve come all this way!’

  ‘Yes well,’ he said with a grim smile, ‘I’ve got a feeling you aren’t really here for me, are you? But we’ll talk about that tomorrow as well.’

  Chapter 13

  Not surprisingly I didn’t sleep well that night. Henry obviously knew exactly why I had blagged a night at his flat and his words and hurt expression stuck in my mind as I tossed and turned in his sparse spare room. I could quite easily have fallen asleep around five but forced myself out of bed and into the shower, determined not to be late for my smokescreen meeting.

  Deborah was already at the Crafting Café when I arrived just before seven. She looked as daunting and efficient as I remembered, but her welcome was warm and her advice both concise and practical.

  ‘Stick to what you know to begin with,’ she told me, ‘the sort of thing you can do standing on your head. Yes?’

  I nodded enthusiastically and made frantic notes in the pretty fabric covered notebook she had presented me with on my arrival.

  ‘It’s all very well making things for yourself in the comfort of your own kitchen or sitting room but when you’re showing someone else, who has practically no skill with a needle, how to do it, well you’ll soon discover you need the patience of a saint and the confidence of a king!’ she warned me. ‘People will be paying you, Lizzie, never forget that. They’ll be expecting to learn something and they’ll want to create something they are proud of, something they can really use or display.’

  ‘I’m starting with bunting,’ I told her feebly.

  I couldn’t help feeling a bit of a fraud as I sat and listened to this confident and accomplished businesswoman whose achievements I was going to try to emulate. Fortunately, Deborah didn’t seem to notice my lack of self-assurance and rushed on.