They had never seen Greg. They did not know he was dead.
Now, sitting at Mrs Potts’ table with a veritable feast of cabbage before her, she wished with all her heart she’d not burned her bridges so thoroughly behind her. She put a small mouthful of cabbage to her lips, gagged, pushed her plate away, and stood up.
“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t do this any more.”
She walked away from the table, away from Mrs Potts’ ugly house. She looked neither left nor right as she made her way down the street. Even when she walked past Sweet Treats she did not raise her head. When she reached the beach, she wandered towards the bench seat, so much further away than Laud Mayor’s beach chair, but so much less lonely. She sat on it, staring at the small grains of sand blown up on the footpath. Eventually she lifted her reddened eyes a little, to take in the dark shadow of the sea. She could make out the deeper shadow of land in the distance, could even see the odd twinkling light in the simple baches she knew were hidden there among the tall kauri and the bracken.
She stretched an arm along the back of the seat. There was room here, she thought. Room for Greg and her parents. There had always been room enough but she’d refused to see it.
“Stubborn pride,” she said into the darkness. “And look where it’s got me. Eating cabbage.”
She got up and wandered back to Mrs Potts’ house. She would call her parents. She might not be able to leave Sweet Treats right now, but she could call them.
She broke into a run. Now. She must speak to them tonight. Now. Her heart thundered in her chest, and blood whooshed in her ears. She slammed the gate shut behind her and took Mrs Potts’ steps in one leap.
“May I use your phone?”
Mrs Potts turned up the volume on the television. Nina turned away. She’d asked and been ignored. She’d take that for a yes.
She had taken the phone from its hook when Mrs Potts spun her armchair to face her. “Put my phone down,” she shouted. “I never gave you permission to use it.”
Nina dropped the phone into its cradle, her eyes wide with shock. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
It was as she brushed her teeth that Nina realised there had been no dial tone. Either the connection was pulled from the wall or Mrs Potts did not have a telephone account. When the grandmother clock chimed eleven and her mind still raced, she flicked on the bedside light. She needed a book, but she didn’t have one.
Instead, she took a picture from the wall, and held it tipped towards the light. She’d never thought pictures very interesting – she’d been perfectly capable of reading whole picture books to Greg without taking any notice of the pictures at all – but she liked this picture. It was like a story, neatly told within a wooden frame. She promised herself she’d find out some more about the artist.
She fell asleep long after she heard Mrs Potts clumping down the hallway, but not before remembering that Maudie would have a phone. Bryn would have a phone. Only Mrs Potts and Miss Clapham didn’t have a phone. She’d buy herself a cell phone. Everybody had cell phones these days, didn’t they? Everybody except her, raised to believe that the rays emitted would surely cause brain cancer.
Tonight she didn’t much care. Tonight, she’d have chopped off her right hand if it meant she could speak to her parents.
When the cat yowled, Nina kept right on sleeping. Her first thought on waking was that she had not slept long enough. Where had the dreams been? And the wakeful moments?
When she opened the curtains, she gasped. The sun was well up. Not a shadow of the night remained. She flung on her clothes, ran the brush through her hair, thanked God for bonnets, and ran all the way to Sweet Treats.
“Porridge!” Mrs Potts called after her. “You must eat your porridge!”
Chapter 34
c. AD 800, MIDDLE EAST: after meals, Arabs rinse with mouthwash and polish their teeth with a small stick and tooth powder; IRAQ: Arab merchant sailors in the Persian Gulf trade sugar, candied capers, rose water, and fruit syrups; FRANCE: King Charlemagne collects honey and beeswax as a tax from farmers.
Maudie was at Sweet Treats. She had stoked the fire. She had measured the ingredients. She had turned the little sign to open. “I’ll look after the customers. I can stay another fifteen minutes,” she said.
“Could I use your phone first? Please?”
“Sure,” Maudie said. “Go in the back door. It’s on the wall by the fridge.” Nina didn’t see the odd look Maudie gave her, nor did she see Maudie’s gaze flicker uncertainly from the empty sweet plates to the pile of ingredients on the table, to the cast iron pot beside the stove.
Her parents’ number, when she dialled it, had only a message. “This number has changed.” A new number was recorded. The voice was that of her father, not an automated voice message from the service provider. She called the new number, her hands clammy, knowing her voice would break when either of her parents spoke.
There was a recording on the second phone too. A mono-toned voice said, “We are not available at present. Please leave your name and number and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” Nina did not even consider leaving a message. She could not think what to say. That she loved them? That she was sorry? It would be better for everyone if she were to turn up on their doorstep. They could welcome her in or shut the door in her face. It would be better by far than a faceless and awkward conversation across the airwaves.
She put a fresh apron over her dress. There was work to be done. She’d best get on and do it. She’d call her parents again later.
*
The day sped by, busier than any day she’d experienced in Sweet Treats. At 1pm, Nina tried to call again. Still there was no answer. At 2pm she decided once more that she wouldn’t call them. She’d visit. At 5pm, as she closed the shop, she asked Maudie if she could borrow her phone one more time. “I’ll give you money,” she begged.
“Have you got through at all?” Maudie said.
Nina buried her face in her hands. “I wish I had,” she said. “I wish I had…” But she couldn’t finish the sentence. There were so many things she wished she’d done that she didn’t know where to begin.
“My mother always said a burden shared is a burden halved. Makes sense to me.” Maudie spoke softly, so softly it seemed an age between the words leaving her mouth and Nina’s ears taking in the message. She took a deep breath. She had too many burdens, too many secrets, and not another person in the world could take the load from her.
“It’s nothing,” she said brightly, but even she could hear the falseness in her voice. “Nothing at all. It’ll be better in the morning.”
“Good,” Maudie said. “His lordship came to the shop this morning. Early. He wished to advise you that the rates are due on December 1. And he hand-delivered the rates notice for next year, so we can prepare, I suppose.”
“But that will be the end of everything,” Nina said, staring at the astronomical number at the bottom of the page.
Maudie nodded.
“Oh well,” Nina said. “Won’t Miss Clapham be surprised when she comes back and Sweet Treats has gone.”
“It will be a sad day in paradise,” Maudie said. “Have you heaped coals of fire yet?”
“It’s not right, is it?” Nina said, suddenly furious. “One man can’t call all the shots. Where is the rest of the Council?”
“Good question,” Maudie said, pleased to see Nina with a little fire in her veins. “He is the voice of the Council, I suppose.”
“But why? Why does he want this little village to be erased from the map? It’s in the perfect spot for tourists. You’ve seen them – buses and cars and campervans, even cyclists on their great south to north cycling adventure. And the locals. I know the township is small, but there are farmers and tradespeople and families in the hills and valleys surrounding us. Where will they go for their shopping?” Nina paused, and the fury in her face subsided. “I suppose they’ll all travel to one of the Mayor’s gro
wing towns. An hour to drive there, an hour to drive back. Not far in the big scheme of things, but every day?”
“Perhaps it’s enough that Sweet Treats goes out with a boom?”
“A boom?”
“The fete is on November 30.”
“Never mind any kind of boom,” Nina said. “Sweet Treats isn’t going out, full stop. Sweet Treats is staying right where it is, doors open six days a week. I won’t kowtow to the whims of one egotistical wee man.”
“Well, go you!”
Nina wheeled around to see Bryn leaning against the doorframe. Against the bright light, he looked a mere silhouette. Quite a nice silhouette. “What do you want?”
Maudie laughed. “Oh so friendly,” she said. “You two crack me up.”
Bryn changed the subject. “Those papers Mrs Potts brought in. You still got them?”
“Yes.”
“You read any of them?”
“No.”
“Wish you would,” Bryn said. “Read them myself a while ago. Something beneath the surface of the story that I can’t quite figure. Thought you might have an idea.”
“I’ll read them tonight,” she said. “What am I looking for?”
“It was a court case, sometimes on the front page, sometimes on page four. Three girls and a bloke, all un-named, but some connection to the art community.”
It didn’t seem relevant to their situation at all, but Nina had agreed to read the papers, and as Mrs Potts and Bryn both seemed to think them important, she thought it best to indulge them. At that moment, Maudie let out a shriek.
“I’ve just put two and two together!” she gasped. “No! No, no, no, no! Please no!” She groaned, and hit her forehead with her palm. “I used the papers to get the fire going.”
“You. Have. Got. To. Be. Joking.” Bryn was icy.
“All of them?” Nina, not knowing exactly what she was missing, was more blasé.
“I wish I was joking,” Maudie said in a small voice. “The fire wouldn’t light this morning, so I used a lot of paper.”
“What now?” Nina said.
“Internet,” Bryn said. “Maudie, go and tell Mrs Potts Nina won’t be home for dinner. If she’s upset by the late notice, you should eat with her. When you’re done, come home. That’s where we’ll be.”
“What will you be eating?”
“Something,” Bryn said. “But you can be sure it won’t be cabbage.”
“I’ll tell her Nina wants her dinner saved for breakfast, shall I?” Maudie’s weak attempt at humour went entirely unnoticed.
I shouldn’t have slept in. I shouldn’t have left the papers beside the fire. I should have read them last night. I should have, I shouldn’t have....
“How stupid!” Nina said when Maudie had gone.
“She means well,” Bryn said.
“Not Maudie. Me.”
“Can’t see why you’d say that,” Bryn said. “Can’t see at all.”
Chapter 35
c. AD 850, CHINA: diners nibble sugared or honeyed jujubes; MIDDLE EAST: the most expensive rose water is made from rose petals collected by maidens at dawn.
“The online newspapers won’t let us search back far enough.” Bryn leaned back on the office chair and stretched. “We’ll have to search the microfiche files. Not much use sending Maudie. It will have to be one of us.”
“I can go,” Nina said. “Where’s the library with the files?”
“About four hours drive south,” Bryn said.
“There’ll be a bus,” Nina said. “I wonder if I can get there and back in a day.”
“Unlikely,” Bryn said. “There’s not many buses leaving here at the beginning of the day. We’re in the middle of a route.”
“It’ll have to be overnight then,” Nina said.
“Pity you’ll have to be shut,” Bryn said. “Don’t really want to draw attention to ourselves at this stage.”
“No,” Nina said. “But better me than you.”
“Don’t think closing one shop rather than another will be any less obvious,” Bryn said.
“What will be will be,” Nina said.
“You could take my car.” Bryn was uncertain. Nina wondered what he drove. Whatever it was, she wasn’t keen to drive anything on the rough and winding roads that had led her to this little village. She experienced a sudden change of mind.
“You should go,” Nina said. “You’re familiar with the car and the roads. I could look after Staceys.”
Bryn looked doubtful. “I’d rather you went and I stayed here.”
“Well, I can’t go,” Nina said. “It would be a stupid waste of everything. It’s got to be you.”
Chapter 36
c. AD 900, MIDDLE EAST: Arabs sprinkle nuts, fruits, spices, and sugar on their cakes; NORTH AMERICA: aboriginal kids suck “sapsicles” that form at the ends of sugar maple twigs on cold late-winter mornings; CENTRAL AMERICA: Mayans tend hives of stingless bees whose honey is used in ceremonies.
Maudie barged in. “That was the most disgusting dinner I’ve ever been made to eat,” she said. “My stomach feels like a waterwheel with ducks, I’m going to have bad dreams, and I will never, ever look another cabbage in the face again.”
Nina laughed. “What did she give you?”
“Cabbage,” Maudie groaned. “Cabbage, cabbage, cabbage. Overcooked, over-oiled, oversalted, and over-heaped-on-the-plate. I ate slowly in the hopes she’d take it away because I must be full. That didn’t work, so I tried cutting it into tiny pieces, hoping it would just kind of disappear before my eyes. That didn’t work either. I hoped Mrs Potts would leave the room, but she shambled about, picking things up here, putting them down there. She wouldn’t leave me alone even for a second, so down the throat it all went. Waste not, want not, she kept saying until I thought I would scream and scream and scream. But then I was afraid that cabbage might overflow out my ears, out my nostrils…”
Bryn held up a hand. “Stop, Maudie!” He could barely get the words out for laughing so hard.
“And then I put two and two together,” Maudie began, which reduced Nina to laughing hysterically, “and decided I would just take the plunge and tell her I was full, couldn’t eat another mouthful.”
Nina knew exactly what would happen next.
“‘I’ll put it in a container and you can have it for breakfast,’ Mrs Potts says as calm as you please. Dead serious. I thought she was joking, but then I realised she wasn’t joking. So I put two and two together…”
“No!” Nina and Bryn shouted together. “You can’t put two and two together. Not again.”
“Well, I did,” Maudie said. “I put two and two together and realised that I’d rather have her bawl me out and give me a container of cabbage, than sit there and try to squeeze another fork-full down my throat. Best decision I ever made,” she said. “And here it is. I’m taking bids for it.”
Bryn got up from his seat, and picked up the offending container. “Mrs Potts wants the container back?” he asked.
“S’pose so,” Maudie said.
“Then we’ll get rid of this right now.”
“You’ve got to taste it,” Maudie said.
“I’ll take your word on it,” Bryn said, calmly dumping the offending meal down the waste disposal. “We need to bring Nina up to speed on more of our village life,” he continued. “Miss Clapham knew everything, so we’ll make sure Nina knows everything and then she can be a proper help at solving the problem of the mayor.
“I’ll keep it brief,” he said. “You know about Miss Clapham, Sweet Treats, and Staceys.”
“And the café,” Maudie said.
“Now. Mrs Potts. Staceys was originally owned by Mrs Potts’ father. He built it. He took great pride in stocking it with a good variety of food and a few other bits and pieces, selling them to his customers at excellent prices. There was no scalping the villagers, that’s for certain.
“Her father’s one failing was that he did not see the point of bequeathing an
ything of value to a woman, not even his own daughter who knew the business inside-out. Her husband could possibly have inherited but he died six months before her father.”
“He gave it to Miss Clapham?” The whole story seemed like an outlandish episode from a soap opera.
Sweet Treats Page 9
