Christmas at The Little Duck Pond Cafe: (Little Duck Pond Cafe, Book 3)

by Rosie Green

  I shake my head wearily. ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum. I’ll be the coffee girl. No problem.’ I get up from the table and Rich crosses his eyes at me and gives me a stupid grin, which makes me feel a little bit better.

  I run upstairs to clean my teeth and collect my coat and bag, then I go back down to the kitchen and fill a flask with the piping hot black coffee Rob swears he needs to perform well in the mornings.

  ‘By the way, of course I know you have a brain, Fen,’ says Mum sharply. ‘And I think you should use it to enter that baking competition.’

  I suppress a sigh. ‘Whatever.’

  As I’m leaving, Dad catches my free hand and murmurs, ‘I’m proud of you, whatever you decide, love.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’ A lump rises to my throat.

  His grey eyes twinkle. ‘You never know, that regional heat mightn’t be nearly as terrifying as you imagine.’

  I lean over and kiss his cheek. ‘I’ll think about it, Dad. But I’m not promising.’

  I head off, coffee in hand, to the barn where I know Rob will be hard at work. Mum wants the new café to be a real draw for visitors, so she’s sparing no expense getting the interior just right.

  When we first opened back in August, the café was a makeshift affair in the same old barn that is now being renovated, over the winter months, into a beautiful new place. And carpenter Rob, who we know through Sylvia – previous owner of The Little Duck Pond Café – was the natural choice to design the beautiful interior and furniture.

  Sylvia finally shrugged off her widow’s weeds to get together with lovely widower Mick earlier this year, and Rob is Mick’s thirty-year-old son.

  I like Rob. He’s the sort of guy who’s really comfortable in his own skin and has decided what he wants out of life, which I admire because I sometimes think I’ll never, ever know. I’d say Rob’s more of a strong, silent type - although when he does speak, people tend to listen. And he’s got a lovely dry sense of humour.

  When I first met him, back in the summer, we hit it off straight away. I really liked Rob so when he suggested we go for a drink, I agreed, and we ended up having a really fun night. It occurred to me then that maybe we could become more than just friends. And I sensed Rob thought that, too. He even suggested we go out for dinner next time. But in the end, it didn’t work out that way.

  My night out with Rob sticks in my mind even more because that was the time I made a total idiot of myself in the high street.

  We were coming out of the pub and I was turning to Rob and laughing at something he’d said, when I collided with Ethan, my biggest crush ever. I immediately slid into awkward, stammering mode and when I tried to introduce Rob to Ethan, I called him Bob. So embarrassing.

  Rob went a bit quiet after Ethan had gone. So to fill the gap in conversation, I told him that Ethan had asked me to join the am dram group.

  Rob nodded. Then he said, ‘Ethan must like you.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I do. Otherwise he wouldn’t have asked you to join the group.’

  I smiled happily, flushing all over again.

  When I asked when he was free to go out for dinner, as he’d suggested earlier, Rob looked a bit awkward and said he had a lot on. But maybe in the future . . .

  I was fine with that. In fact, it was a bit of a relief. It would have to be someone really special to make me risk my heart again, the way I did with Joe. I knew I’d take a risk for Ethan – but he was in a steady relationship with a girl called Alicia.

  That’s what I thought at the time – but after last night, it’s clear that Ethan is no longer with Alicia and hasn’t been for a while . . .

  Rob looks up from his lathe when I walk into the barn and runs the back of his hand over his brow. ‘Coffee. Fen, you’re my saviour.’

  I hand over the flask and he grins. ‘This will speed up the work.’

  ‘Are you in a hurry, then?’

  ‘I want to get ahead.’ He pours coffee into a nearby mug then runs his hands down the sides of his jeans, smacking them on his bum, from which clouds of dust rise up. He picks up the mug and takes a swallow of the coffee.

  ‘You’ve got sawdust everywhere.’ I grin, pointing at the bits nestling in his slightly ruffled dark blonde hair.

  ‘Hazard of the job.’ He rubs his hand briskly over his head, leaving it standing up even more. ‘No, if we’re going to Brighton on Sunday, I need to make inroads into getting these tables done.’

  Brighton?

  I stare at him in dismay. ‘Oh, damn!’ I’d forgotten we’d mentioned a run down there at the weekend. But Sunday is the meeting of the am dram panto group.

  ‘Something wrong?’ he asks, reaching for a length of wood and smoothing the edge with his forefinger.

  Digging my hands in my hair, I frown at him. ‘Sorry, it’s just I said I’d join the amateur dramatics group and I’ve been invited to a meeting. And it’s on Sunday.’

  An odd expression flits across his face, which puzzles me.

  I can’t imagine he’d be annoyed that we’ll have to postpone our trip. Rob’s the most laid-back person I know. And anyway, the idea of visiting Brighton – which we discovered was an old childhood haunt for both of us - was really just a loose arrangement; something we could do any time.

  Next second, he shrugs. ‘Hey, no problem, Fen. We can do it another time.’

  ‘Are you sure? Because I feel really bad. I can’t believe it slipped my mind. Honestly, I’m a proper airhead sometimes.’

  He grins. ‘You know, I’d have said you were the exact opposite of an airhead.’

  ‘Would you?’ I look at him in surprise.

  ‘Yes, I would. You’re super organised when it comes to work and you’ve helped turn The Little Duck Pond Café into the success that it is today.’

  I stare at him doubtfully. ‘Well, that’s down to Ellie, really.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I disagree. Who bakes every single cake that keeps the customers coming back for more? And who makes the best loaf of ciabatta bread ever?’ He grins. ‘My favourite, incidentally. Just for future reference, in case you ever had some going spare.’

  I laugh, colouring up at his praise. ‘Duly noted.’

  ‘Who helps keep the café running smoothly when Ellie isn’t around? And who came up with the idea of a weekly ‘old movie night’ that’s brought in tons of extra business?’

  ‘Me, I suppose,’ I say slowly.

  I guess I do work quite hard, hearing it reeled off like that by Rob.

  Apart from reading, my biggest passion is baking – which is just as well. Because I bake all the cakes, breads and scones for Ellie’s Little Duck Pond Café, including what’s required for the mail order range. I’ll also be baking for The Brambleberry Manor Café once it opens in March, although Mum is thinking of hiring a woman she knows called Rhoda Watson to manage the place.

  I did suggest that I could manage the café myself, since my shift at Ellie’s place is usually finished by eleven, and the Brambleberry Manor Café will open at twelve, along with the house itself. I pointed out that not having to hire Rhoda Watson would save money. But Mum said she’d rather it was all done properly, whatever that means.

  ‘I’d say you’re one of the most hard-working, efficient people I know, Fen.’ Rob smiles at me, his blue eyes twinkling with affection. ‘So stop doing yourself down.’

  ‘Okay.’ I do a mock salute, shrugging it off with humour. Secretly, I feel quite choked by his comments. And as I cross the grass to the car, I feel as if I’m somehow walking a little taller.

  Driving over to the Little Duck Pond Café to begin my shift there, I come to a decision.

  Rob seems to believe I’m capable of more than I think. So maybe I should just go to the am dram meeting on Sunday and see what happens. If I don’t like it, I don’t have to go back.

  I might not feel confident enough to attend the regional heats of the Bake! competition.

  But I will swallow down my nerves and go to
the panto rehearsal . . .

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It’s almost eight and just starting to get light when I arrive at the café.

  I’ve got a key to let myself in, as Ellie doesn’t usually come down from the flat to open up the café until around eight-thirty. She lives above the cafe with Zak and his cute five-year-old daughter, Maisie.

  I go straight through to the brand new kitchen extension at the rear of the café, taking my coat off on the way and hanging it on a peg in the tiny utility room adjoining the kitchen. Switching on the lights, I gaze around with satisfaction at what feels like my own personal domain. The kitchen – small but beautifully proportioned and well-equipped - was installed several months ago, after Ellie took over the café from Sylvia and gave it a facelift. But it still looks so new, with its lovely shaker-style units, gleaming double oven and oodles of granite work top space. I scrub it clean before I leave every day to keep it looking nice and new.

  Pulling on an apron and rolling up my sleeves, I get to work – and half an hour later, my spiced apple cakes are in the oven and I’ve started making the sultana scones. That’s when I hear footsteps on the stairs leading down from the flat, and a second later, little Maisie, her mouth smeared in what looks like strawberry jam, runs into the kitchen. Barefoot and still in her pink Frozen pyjamas, she hunkers down under the bench behind the door.

  I smile at her and she puts her fingers over her lips, mischief clearly on her mind. ‘I’m hiding from Daddy and Lellie,’ she whispers. ‘Don’t tell them I’m here, Fen.’

  I shake my head. ‘Of course I won’t.’

  Seconds later, Zak appears. He winks at me and says, ‘Been looking all over for Maisie. You don’t know where she’s got to, do you, Fen?’

  Solemnly, I shake my head. ‘I haven’t seen her, Zak. Perhaps she’s making herself a coffee in the café.’

  ‘Ah yes, of course, she loves coffee.’

  Maisie makes a horrified face at me from under the table and I wink at her.

  ‘Who, Maisie?’ Ellie pops her head round the door, smiling, having heard the tail end of the conversation. ‘Oh yes, coffee’s her favourite drink. She likes it even better than apple juice.’

  ‘No, I don’t. Coffee’s horrible!’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Zak makes a show of searching the room before finally looking under the table. ‘Ah, there you are, Maisie Moo! Come on, time to get dressed or I’ll have to tickle you.’

  Maisie shrieks in delight and scrambles out, and Zak sweeps her up and tickles her mercilessly anyway so she shrieks even louder.

  ‘Crikey, it’s not even nine o’clock and she’s hyper already,’ says Ellie with a pretend sigh. ‘Well done, Daddy!’

  We exchange a grin. I know from our many chats on the subject that Ellie loves Maisie to bits. They’ve haven’t even been in each others’ lives six months yet, but already, she, Zak and Maisie are a proper little family. Ellie had always wanted children. And meeting Zak and falling in love with him – and his daughter, too – has been a dream come true for her.

  Zak is wrestling Maisie out of the door. ‘Come on, if we don’t get a move on, the swimming pool will be closed!’

  Maisie looks at Ellie. ‘Are you coming with us, Lellie?’

  Ellie shakes her head regretfully. Then she lifts Maisie off her feet to give her a cuddle. ‘I can’t, sweetheart. I’ve got to work in the café today.’

  ‘Please?’ Maisie hooks her legs around Ellie’s waist and twirls a lock of Ellie’s shiny blonde hair in her small hand.

  ‘Sorry, Munchkin. But I’ll make pizza for tea tonight. How about that?’

  ‘Yes!’ Maisie punches the air with a jubilant smile.

  Zak drops a kiss on the top of Maisie’s dark head, then his eyes meet Ellie’s and he bends to kiss her lingeringly on the lips. I smile to myself. It’s so natural and easy, their relationship. Zak was a struggling single parent until he met Ellie. They were so lucky to find each other.

  All sorts of wistful feelings rise up inside me and I think of Sunday and the am dram meeting. If I want a chance at the happiness Ellie has found, I need to start being proactive about my romantic life, which at the moment doesn’t even exist.

  Zak prises Maisie away from Ellie, and Maisie glances shyly at me. ‘You can come if you like, Fen. We get ice-cream. Can you swim?’

  ‘I can, my love. But I need to bake lots of nice things for the café today.’

  ‘Oh.’ She nods solemnly. ‘Daddy’s teaching me to float on my back and the water really tickles when it goes in my ears.’ She giggles at the thought of it, then pulls on Zak’s hand, leading him to the door. ‘Come on, Daddy, we don’t want the pool to be closed.’

  Zak grins back at us. ‘See you both later. Yes, Maisie, I’m coming.’

  Cue more shrieks from his daughter as she runs up the stairs to escape his clutches.

  Ellie calls up after Zak, ‘Make sure you get her a non-dairy ice-cream.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he calls back.

  She looks sheepishly at me. ‘I know I probably fuss over Maisie far too much but I can’t help it. I couldn’t love her more if she were my own daughter. She’s allergic to dairy and she can get really sick a few hours after having cow’s milk.’

  ‘It’s so cute the way she calls you Lellie.’

  Ellie smiles goofily. ‘I know. She had trouble saying “Ellie” at first, bless her. So the name, Lellie, has stuck.’

  I spend the next hour happily baking, and by ten the little kitchen is full of the aroma of apples and cinnamon and fresh sultana scones. Loading up some Tupperware boxes, I take them through to the café where Ellie is making cappuccino.

  ‘Smells gorgeous,’ she murmurs and I laugh because she says that every single time.

  I’m arranging the scones on a platter when the door opens and a tall woman with dark hair enters the café. Her hair is short in a pixie cut that suits her heart-shaped face and she’s dressed in a sleek navy track suit and bright white trainers. She glances around briefly then walks quickly over to Ellie at the counter.

  I’ve never seen her before – and I recognise most of the regulars who come in here now. Perhaps she’s a jogger stopping off for a drink.

  ‘You must be Ellie,’ she says in a cool, confident tone. ‘Is Zak here?’

  Ellie looks a little taken aback. ‘Er, no, I’m afraid he’s not. But he’ll be back later.’ She smiles. ‘Can I give him a message?’

  ‘Yes, please. Can you tell him Sophie called to see him? I want to see Maisie.’

  Ellie freezes. And the woman repeats, ‘Maisie. My daughter?’

  A cold hand grips my heart.

  Ellie is staring at Sophie, clearly struggling to know what to say, and that’s not like her at all. At last, she clears her throat and murmurs, ‘Right. I’ll tell Zak when he comes back. Do you . . . want to leave your number for him to call you?’ She looks round for a pen and paper.

  Sophie waves away this suggestion. ‘Oh, no. I’m staying locally, at The Swan Hotel on the high street. Zak can bring Maisie to see me there.’

  She gives Ellie a cool smile and strides out of the café.

  Ellie holds it together until the door closes behind Sophie, then she slumps forward on the counter, running her hands through her hair, anguish written all over her face.

  I gaze at her worriedly. ‘That’s Maisie’s mum? I thought she walked out on them when Maisie was a baby?’

  ‘She did. So why’s she come back?’ Ellie looks at me in bewilderment.

  Having no answers, I shake my head.

  Two customers are leaving and Ellie forces herself to say a cheery goodbye.

  As soon as they’ve gone, her smile disappears. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. How could you possibly desert your child when she’s just a tiny baby, then waltz in here more than four years later wanting to see her? As if nothing has happened in the years between?’

  ‘I know.’ I feel aghast at the thought. ‘If I ever had a baby, they’d
be the most precious thing ever, and whatever problems I had going on in my life, I’d fight tooth and nail to keep that child with me.’

  I remember Ellie saying something about Sophie once having a drug problem which was the reason she walked out on Zak and baby Maisie. Perhaps she’s got herself off the drugs and is now trying to get her life back on track.

  Ellie’s face is pale with shock. ‘She didn’t seem the slightest bit apologetic about her lengthy absence.’ She shakes her head in disbelief.

  ‘I know. How do you think Zak will take this? And Maisie? She won’t even remember her mum.’ I frown. ‘In fact, as far as she’s concerned, you’re her mum.’

  Ellie’s eyes fill with tears and I wish I hadn’t said it.

  ‘The funny think is we were just talking the other night about asking Maisie if she wanted to start calling me Mum,’ she says sadly. ‘But now . . .’

  I put my arm round her shoulders. ‘It might all just blow over. She’s shown no interest in seeing Maisie since she left. Maybe she just wants to satisfy her curiosity. Then she might leave again?’

  I feel Ellie shudder. ‘I don’t know. She seemed pretty determined. And it’s only right that Maisie should get to know her real mum . . .’ She gives me a wan smile and my insides shift uneasily.

  Ellie fought through a bad relationship and uprooted herself from everything familiar to come to Sunnybrook and finally find happiness with Zak and Maisie.

  But what if Sophie is about to blow her little family apart?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  If I could escape now, I would.

  I thought I’d psyched myself up fairly well to come along to the panto meeting, bolstered by Rob’s kind comments – but being thrown into a group of strangers always has the same effect. I panic, my mind goes blank and I can’t think of a single thing to say. The only thing I can do is smile. But I’ve been smiling for a solid ten minutes now, probably looking battier than a demented clown, and my cheeks are starting to ache.

  I glance at the exit.

  I could be over there and out of the village hall in roughly ten seconds.