by Debbie Young
He strolled slowly down to the C shelf, so slowly that I realised he was playing for time, hoping that Carol might return if he hung about long enough. He probably hadn’t forgotten the stale cakes at all. This was simply a pretext to return. He was getting braver.
I followed him down the aisle to talk to him without Tommy joining in. “Ted,” I began tentatively. “It is Ted, isn’t it? Do you remember we met at the nativity play? My boyfriend, Hector, was tucking into those delicious pitta breads you donated. I wrote the play.”
He set the tray of cakes down again and turned to offer his hand for me to shake.
“Yes, of course, you’re Sophie, aren’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
His wide brown eyes disarmed me for a moment. Though his handshake was strong and manly, he had the helpless look of a fawn.
“Tommy told me you’d left Carol a birthday cake. That’s really kind of you.”
“And a card.” He looked anxiously to the counter to make sure it was still there. I hoped his eyesight wasn’t sharp enough to recognise that it wasn’t his handwriting on the envelope now. “I was rather hoping I might catch her here earlier, but she was at the hairdresser’s. I expect she’ll be back soon.” He glanced hopefully at the door.
“If you haven’t got any more deliveries to make, I’m sure you’ll be welcome to wait,” I said gently.
He stood up a little straighter. “You don’t think she’d mind?”
I smiled. “I should think she’d be delighted. It’s not every day a tall, dark, handsome stranger brings you a home-made birthday cake.”
He thought for a moment. “Well, if you say so…”
“I do. It’s very kind of you to make her a special birthday cake, and I think you deserve to be thanked in person. And you never know where it might lead…”
I stopped short, realising I might be overstepping the mark.
“But if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to Hector’s House. I work there with him, and we don’t close for another hour. Do call in any time you’re passing, if you fancy a cup of tea. We’ve got a very pleasant tearoom, and we’ll always be glad to see you.”
He reached out to shake my hand in farewell. I noticed what muscular fingers he had, even though he was quite old, fifty at least. Very good hands for a baker, I thought, brilliant for kneading bread.
Deciding to bring my gift back later to give to Carol in person, I scurried towards the door, but not too soon to hear Tommy calling out, “Here, are you Minty?” followed by Ted’s startled reply, “A bit – I did take a breath mint before I came in.”
I’d like to have been a fly on the wall to hear the rest of that conversation.
7 Counter Spy
I’d barely had time to regale Hector with the news about the birthday cake when Ted appeared in our doorway.
“Carol turned me down,” he said glumly, striding over to join me in the tearoom.
My jaw dropped. I’d have thought Carol would have grabbed with both hands the opportunity for a date with a man like Ted. Or indeed the man himself. He seemed so suitable and keen. If I’d been twice my age, I might even have fancied him myself.
Hector, busy replenishing the historical fiction section, turned around to cast a sympathetic look in Ted’s direction. “I’m sorry to hear that, mate,” he said gently. “Did she give you a reason?”
“She told me there’s someone else.”
“Really?” I could hardly believe it. “I can’t imagine who.”
When Hector shot me a restraining look, I realised my comment might have sounded a bit rude.
Ted sank down into a chair at a tea table. “Do you think she was just saying that to get rid of me?”
I put a clean cup and saucer in front of him and switched on the kettle. I didn’t need to ask. The man needed tea.
“No, of course not. Maybe you took her by surprise. Perhaps she was a bit overcome, it being her birthday and everything.”
He shook his head sadly. “I don’t know, she sounded pretty sure of her answer. She cancelled my cake order too. I don’t know, I don’t seem to be able to get anything right lately.”
I went to join him at the table.
“That boy Tommy who was hanging round down there, is he her son or her nephew or something? He was asking me some odd personal questions. Then he asked me for my autograph.” He sighed. “It’s probably my own fault. Perhaps I didn’t ask in the right way. I was a bit overwhelmed when she arrived back from the hairdresser’s, looking lovely. I must have made a hash of it. That’s the story of my life.”
I smiled sympathetically. “I hope Tommy didn’t put you off. Count yourself lucky he didn’t ask you for your fingerprints.”
“Oh, but he did,” said Ted. “But only after he accused me of being Carol’s daughter’s father.” He looked wistful for a moment. “I wish. She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Becky? Yes, she is.” I got up to fill the teapot and brought it over to the table.
Ted shook his head. “Becky’s pretty as a picture, but I was meaning Carol. I’ve always thought women get more beautiful as they get older, when their experiences have been etched on their faces. I like women with character. And you can see Carol’s good nature in her face, with all those smiling lines. You can see in a woman’s lines whether she’s got it in her to be happy.”
“That’s our Carol all right,” said Hector quietly. I suspected he was as touched as I was by Ted’s candid tribute. “By the way, don’t worry about Tommy. He’s harmless enough, just a little boy playing policemen with his Christmas detective kit.”
I poured us each a cup of tea, and we added milk in silence, as if it was a bonding ritual – which I suppose it is, really. I was on the brink of offering Ted some of Hector’s alcoholic cream to cheer him up, but then remembered he was driving, and I was meant to be on the wagon.
“You leave it with me, Ted,” I said, patting his hand. “We’ve got your phone number. Hector’s still got your card from the nativity play. I’ll have a quiet word with Carol on your behalf, then I’ll call or text you. It’s probably nothing but a misunderstanding. She’s not always the best person with words.”
He smiled wistfully. “Yes, I’d noticed that. It’s very endearing.”
When Ted had gone, Hector refilled our cups, tipping the pot right up to drain it.
“Are you sure you know what you are doing, Sophie? You don’t know Ted from Adam. All we know is that he bakes dreadful cakes and fabulous bread. Is that enough to justify setting him up with a dear but vulnerable friend?”
I wrinkled my nose. “There’s something about him that makes me think he’s perfect for Carol. There are few enough single men passing through this way. Who knows when Carol will get another opportunity like this for a date? Especially now she’s got competition from the beautiful Becky.” I pictured Ted’s kindly face. “He’s got lovely warm eyes. And a very firm handshake.”
Hector looked arch. “Warm hands, cold heart?”
I shook my head. “No, he’s a teddy bear. But Carol’s refusal – now there’s a mystery that needs solving.” I got up and cleared the table. “Where’s Tommy when you really need him? I’m off to make discreet enquiries.”
“Carol, what were you thinking, sending that nice baker packing?” On my way home, I called in to see her and deliver her birthday present from me and Hector. Well, from Hector, strictly speaking, as he let me take it off the shelf without paying for it.
Carol avoided eye contact, fiddling with the gift-wrapped parcel.
“You can open it now if you like,” I said “It is your birthday.”
She grabbed a sharp knife from under the counter and slit the sticky tape to remove the wrapping paper without damaging it. After folding the paper neatly and setting it to one side, she held up the book of knitting patterns to show me, as if I wouldn’t have known what the parcel contained.
I smiled approvingly. “Some of those things will look lovely on lit
tle Arthur. Now, tell me, why did you turn down Ted’s invitation for a date? He seems ever so nice. An utter gent.”
She sighed. “I can’t lie to you, Sophie. The thing is, there’s someone else with a prior claim on me.” She leaned forward confidentially, although there was no-one else in the shop now
“What? Only last night you were telling me you wanted to meet a new man for your birthday. What happened? Were you swept off your feet by a stranger at the hairdresser’s? Now that’s what I call a lightning courtship.”
She looked away for a moment, as if wondering how much to tell me.
“Go on,” I said, intrigued.
She sighed again and stared at the counter. “Sophie, please don’t tell a soul – not Becky nor Billy, nor even Hector.”
I crossed my heart with my forefinger.
“It’s Becky’s father. He phoned me this morning.”
“What?” That was the last answer I was expecting. “How did he even know where to find you?”
She pressed her lips together into a thin line. “I’ve been in the same place all my life. The shop phone number’s the same as it’s ever been. My home address hasn’t changed. I’m not exactly hard to trace. But there’s worse. He knows that Becky’s here. And Arthur.”
“But he hasn’t had anything to do with them. He hasn’t even met them before, has he?”
She shook her head. “No, he was a clean pair of heels before Becky was even born. And I hadn’t heard a word from him since. Then this morning he phoned my home number, and Becky answered. She had no idea who was calling, and when a strange man asked if that was Carol speaking, she said, ‘This is her daughter, Becky.’ He fell in at once, even though he didn’t know what name I’d given her before I… before, well, you know… before she was taken off by the adoption people.”
She stopped to blow her nose and wipe her eyes. I felt awful for making her cry on her birthday. When I was a little girl, we used to say if you cried on your birthday, you’d cry every day for the rest of the year.
“Arthur was shouting in the background, and Becky said to Bertie, ‘Please excuse my noisy little boy’, so of course he put two and four together.”
“I hope you put the phone down on him.”
She put her hands to her flushed cheeks. “How could I? He’s Becky’s father. And he’s fallen on hard times.”
“Self-induced, no doubt. Did he ask you for money?”
For a moment she didn’t reply.
“Yes, he asked me for money,” she said finally.
I gasped. “How dare he? You didn’t offer him any, did you?”
“No. But he’s returning to Wendlebury. So I could hardly say yes to Ted with Bertie hanging over my head, could I?”
I tried to put that image out of my mind.
“He’s not expecting to come and stay with you, surely?”
“No, at the bed and breakfast at The Bluebird.”
I frowned. “I didn’t know Donald did b and b.”
“He doesn’t. I told him The Bluebird’s accommodation was closed twenty years ago by the previous landlord, but Bertie wouldn’t believe me. He told me he’d come anyway. He said it would be a good idea if we got back together for the sake of the children.”
“I hope he’s not thinking he can waltz in and start playing happy families after what he did to you?”
Carol shook her head. “I told him that was out of the question. Besides, I’ve nowhere to put him. Becky and Arthur have got my spare room. I suppose he could stay with his brother Billy. They might still keep in touch, for all I know. Billy’s the only close relative he’s got left now, and even though they fell out years ago, blood’s thicker than beer.”
I couldn’t believe the man’s nerve. “How is it going to help Becky or Arthur to have a reprobate who abandoned you without remorse hanging around them? God knows what bad habits he’s acquired while he’s been away. He might be a drunk or violent or an abuser—”
Carol’s tears were flowing freely now. “He was all that before he left Wendlebury in the first place. But he is still Becky’s father, so doesn’t he have rights? Doesn’t Becky have rights to him? And little Arthur to his granddad?”
“The person whose rights I’m most concerned about is you. Bertie abdicated his rights to any part in your life before Becky was born. You’re just starting to build a precious and meaningful relationship with her and the baby, so don’t let him spoil things – or sponge off you, either. Besides, you’ve got enough new financial responsibilities with Becky and Arthur to care for.”
Carol sniffed, trying to pull herself together. “You’re right. And honestly, I know it’s unkind of me, but I’ve never really forgiven him for what he did to me and my parents. Things could have been so different.” She gazed down at the book of knitting patterns, the cover of which showed a picture of four beautiful children, from a baby up to a four-year-old. “Now I stop to think about it, you’ve made me see him in a different light. And I realise now how angry I am deep inside. Honestly, Sophie, if he turned up on my doorstep, I don’t know what I’d do, but it wouldn’t be pleasant for him.”
I tried not to look as pleased as I felt at her change of heart. “All the more reason not to turn Ted down. Surely you deserve another chance with a decent guy after all these years. Perhaps if you just told Bertie straight out there was someone else, especially a tall, strong man like Ted, he’d stay away.”
“Yes, but I couldn’t bear to tell Ted all the shameful details of my past. He would go right off me.”
I took her hand. “Carol, I know you’re a very honest person, but sometimes a little white lie can be for the best. Bertie will have no way of knowing that Ted isn’t your long-standing partner. For all he knows, Ted might have swept you off your feet like a knight on a white charger, and be standing by, ready to skewer with his lance anyone who dares to upset you.”
Carol brightened. “What a lovely thought.”
“Besides, you don’t need to tell Ted about Bertie if you don’t want to. Or you could tell him an edited version of events. Your version. It’s your call.”
She covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh, Sophie, what have I done? I’m so mixed up I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve turned the wrong one down. And I’ve cancelled Ted’s trial cake order. Though to be honest, I should have done that ages ago, because his cakes are terrible. I only kept ordering from him because I liked him. So I’m scuppered. Again. Still—” she sniffed and forced a smile “—at least I’ve got Becky and Arthur. Although for all I know, they may only be staying because they’ve got nowhere else to go. It’s probably only a matter of time before they leave me too.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think that. The longer they stay with you, the more they’ll come to know and love you. And what better place than Wendlebury to raise a family?”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Even if they don’t stay around that long, you’ll have had the chance to get to know each other, and I’m sure she’ll stay in touch.”
“But what if Bertie turns up?” Her voice cracked. “I fear I’ll do something drastic. He’s hurt me so much, all I want to do is to hurt him back. Which isn’t like me at all.”
“Well, all the more reason to cut him dead if he phones again,” I said. “When someone starts turning you into someone you are not, that’s the time you ought to say goodbye to them for good.”
8 All A-Twitter
Spending Sunday alone while Hector visited his parents, I was able to concentrate on building Hermione Minty’s new Twitter account – the first step in raising her profile beyond Hector’s House. I found it easy to set up her account as I’d used social media quite a bit when I was working abroad. It was a good way to share news and photos of my travels in my peripatetic teaching jobs without having to contact friends and relations individually. I’d even made reluctant tweeps out of my parents. My dad didn’t follow anyone but me on Twitter, showing my mum every post on his pho
ne. It was just as well we shared a surname, or people would have thought he was a stalker.
I was glad Minty had such an unusual name so that I could nab @HermioneMinty as her Twitter handle. I cobbled together a description for her profile, and found online a royalty-free photo of a woman in a floaty dress, her face screened by lustrous wavy blonde hair. I added an alluring header image with a backdrop of misty honeysuckle. The perfume would have been heavenly.
Next I made a long list of tweets to send, each coupled with the cover of the appropriate book, and a link to where readers could buy it.
I felt very clever.
Then I raided Auntie May’s ancient Oxford Dictionary of Quotations for quotes about love and romance and added lots of those. People often retweet memorable quotes.
Next I made Minty follow everyone in the Romantic Novelists’ Association, in hope that they’d follow her back.
By the end of the evening, Hermione Minty had 237 followers and had tweeted forty-six times.
When I checked the clock, wondering why my eyes felt so tired, it was gone midnight. Proud of my efforts, I made Minty say “Goodnight and sweet romantic dreams” to all her followers, before retiring to bed for some sweet romantic dreams of my own. These were slightly marred by Hector being attired throughout in a long floral dress and a white linen bonnet.
“Hermione Minty’s been retweeted by Katie Fforde,” I said proudly next morning, showing Hector the evidence on my phone. “It doesn’t get much better than that.”
I clicked across to Katie Fforde’s account to share one of her tweets out of courtesy. Then I checked Minty’s overnight followers and followed them back, before realising an obvious omission in the set-up.
“Oh gosh, she’s not following Hector’s House!” I quickly rectified my error, then retweeted Hector’s latest post about our January sale of diaries and calendars.
“I’d better make sure Hector’s House follows Hermione,” said Hector, gamely. “I wouldn’t want her to think me rude.”
