Doreen emerged from the kitchen with a fresh batch of scones.
‘It’s a hotbed of passion in here,’ she chuckled, following my gaze. ‘Just goes to show, it’s never too late to find love.’
‘Evidently. Does he normally stay long?’ I asked, hatching a plan.
She laughed. ‘Stanley’s a regular fixture in the mornings, he usually has breakfast and a pot of tea.’
‘Right,’ I said stealthily, slipping my hands into a pair of rubber gloves and picking up the bleach. ‘While Nonna is occupied, I’m going to tackle the toilets.’
I started in the Ladies and gave everywhere a good scrub. The place really needed a makeover: the tiles needed regrouting, one of the taps leaked and the lino on the floor was ripped. Doreen was right; it was far too much for Nonna to manage on her own. If only she’d admit that she needed help, it would make things far easier.
I made my way into the men’s loos, trying not to breathe too deeply, and knelt down in front of the toilet brandishing my bleach. I was still pondering my dilemma: how to put it to Nonna that the café was ready for an overhaul without insulting her …?
‘Well, you are honoured. Being allowed to work here.’
I retracted my arm from the U-bend and turned to see my mum, leaning on the doorframe with her arms folded, a twinkly smile playing at her lips. The smell of her perfume was a welcome relief after the aroma of my surroundings and I smiled back.
‘Hmm. Honoured. Yes, that’s just the word I was looking for.’ I knelt back on my heels and tried to rub an itch from my forehead with a clean bit of arm. ‘Scrubbing toilets. For free.’
‘It’s further than I got,’ she laughed, her brown eyes shining at the memory. ‘I only suggested adding paninis to the menu and got the sack.’
‘Note to self,’ I grinned, ‘no messing with the menu.’
‘Doreen sent me to tell you that Stanley will be off shortly.’ She flicked imaginary pieces of fluff from her neat blouse, straightened her skirt and smoothed her hair, which was still thick and dark like mine but threaded with silver. I liked the fact she didn’t dye it; she didn’t need to, she always looked fabulous. I, on the other hand, probably looked and smelled considerably different.
‘Oh heavens.’ I climbed to my feet. ‘I’d better get back in the kitchen before Nonna wonders what I’m doing.’
‘Forgive me for asking silly questions, but what are you doing?’ Mum wrinkled her nose, either in confusion or at the smell, I couldn’t tell.
‘Aha. Join me at the counter,’ I said, stopping just short of tapping my nose with a bleach-soaked finger, ‘and I’ll tell all.’
‘She’s seventy-five,’ I whispered, once I’d washed my hands, given Mum a proper hug and fetched us both a glass of water. ‘She won’t let Juliet or Doreen do anything other than their nine-to-four duties. And it’s too much for her. I’m trying to intervene without her noticing but already I can see it’s not enough. When is she going to admit it’s time to hang up her apron?’
‘Darling, I’ve been asking myself the same question for years,’ Mum replied wearily. ‘And I still don’t have the answer. I love your nonna dearly but she’s a closed book to me. She never opens up. Ever. But I do know the café means the world to her. I don’t think she can imagine any other sort of life.’
I nodded thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps that’s the key; helping her to see what else life could hold?’
‘It’s a nice thought to help out,’ Mum said, pulling the it’ll-all-end-in-tears face that she used to do when Lia and I bought something between us claiming we’d share it nicely. ‘But your grandmother won’t thank you for it. I should know,’ she added with a sniff.
I gave her a sideways glance. The difference was that I wasn’t planning on ‘telling’ Nonna how to run her own business, I was simply going to help in small subtle ways, without her noticing. I didn’t blame Mum for trying, but unfortunately both she and Nonna were strong women, neither liked to back down.
‘Anyway, Mum,’ I said, sensing that a change of conversation was in order, ‘how’s your new role on the parish council going?’
‘Well, I’ve only attended one meeting so far,’ she said happily. The valuable part she played on her endless committees was her favourite topic. ‘Just between you and me, it’s a good job I joined. The state of their reports!’
I let Mum talk while I made a cheese-and-tomato toastie, two pots of tea and a latte.
‘… but I said, we can’t have the next meeting then, it clashes with the local history society AGM. Well, you should have heard—’
Just then Nonna and Stanley erupted into laughter and Nonna leaned forward and smacked his arm playfully as she walked him to the door.
Mum’s jaw fell open. ‘Is she flirting with him?’
‘Outrageously,’ I said with a giggle. ‘Great, isn’t it? I think romance is on the cards.’
‘Doubt it.’ She sipped her water. ‘She’s been like this before: a man shows a bit of interest and she goes along with it for a while before giving him the brush-off.’
‘Shame,’ I said, looking at the pair of them waving to each other. ‘A boyfriend might be just what she needs to see that there’s life outside of work.’
Mum looked at me pointedly and cleared her throat.
‘Which reminds me …’ I said, willing my cheeks not to blush. I reached into my apron pocket for my phone and scrolled through my emails. ‘I should really check in with my recruitment consultant and see if he’s found me a job yet, or else I’ll be stuck here for fifty years too.’
Chapter 3
‘We need two more forks and a spoon, Alec,’ said Mum, wafting a hand in front of her face.
‘Have you got any more forks, Rosie?’ Dad asked, his voice muffled.
He had a towel over his face while he rummaged through the cutlery drawer. ‘I can only find five.’
‘Try the bottom of the washing-up bowl,’ I replied, from the doorway of my cottage where I was fanning the room with the door to deactivate the smoke alarm and remove the worst of the smoke.
I’d invited the family to my cottage for Sunday lunch. This was a first for me. Normally at weekends, I’d have some report or other to catch up on or I’d be glued to my iPad answering tweets on behalf of clients, grabbing a quick snack every couple of hours when I felt hungry. But as I no longer had a proper job, I’d decided to make some proper food for once instead.
In all honesty, my invitation to lunch had two ulterior motives: firstly, having spent a few days at the café I was shocked how fumbly and slow I was in the kitchen; and secondly, I was hoping that somehow we’d be able to bring the conversation round to Nonna’s future plans for the café.
I was probably being a bit ambitious.
Dad winced as he pushed up his sleeve and plunged a hand into a bowl of grey sludgy water. ‘Yuck.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, unable to stop myself from laughing.
My dad was a lecturer of philosophy at Derby University. Monday to Friday he wore a uniform of tweed jacket, corduroy trousers and check shirt. At weekends he wore exactly the same. Even now he had his jacket on. He had fine blond hair and fair freckled skin, which had always made him stand out on family holidays as the rest of us only had to look at the sun to get a tan.
‘Got ’em.’ He waved a handful of dripping cutlery triumphantly and squinted at me through the haze as I pointed out the cloth for him to dry them on. ‘How is the pork looking?’
I glanced at the black lump, still smoking in the roasting tray. ‘Well done.’
I’d thought a couple of minutes under a hot grill would crisp up the skin on my joint of pork nicely. Unfortunately, I’d got sidetracked trying to get my potato purée as smooth as Nonna’s and now instead of golden crackling, it resembled a charcoal brick and there was a thick cloud of grey smoke hanging over the dining table.
Lia and my brother-in-law Ed had escaped to the garden with Arlo for some fresh air, Nonna was beating the lumps out of the potato
with the back of a wooden spoon and Mum was trying to make room for six adults and a high chair around my tiny table. And Dad … well, Dad was just obeying Mum’s orders as usual.
The downstairs of my cottage was open plan: kitchen in one half, living room in the other with a dining table in the centre and a small log burner set into the thick stone walls. The stairs ran up the far wall to a single bedroom and bathroom. It was tiny but gorgeous and the views from the window above my bed across the village and way out to the hills beyond made me feel anything but hemmed in when I woke in the mornings.
‘Check in the drawers for napkins, will you, Alec?’ said Mum, squeezing the gravy boat in between the apple sauce and the buttered carrots.
‘Sure.’ Dad began rummaging again. He found a handful of battered paper napkins decorated with poinsettias left over from Christmas and began tucking them into the wine glasses.
‘I’ll carve the meat,’ Lia announced, waving her hand in front of her face as she came back inside. ‘I’ve been watching cooking shows. Did you know you can pay over five thousand pounds for a Japanese white steel knife?’
‘Dicky heads,’ Nonna muttered with a tut. ‘More money than brain, some people.’
‘See how you get on with this beauty,’ I said, tongue in cheek, presenting my carving knife to her as if it was a precious sword.
‘Is it Japanese?’ Lia said, wrinkling her nose up at my wobbly, plastic-handled supermarket knife, specially purchased for today.
‘Close,’ I said. ‘Made in China.’
‘It’ll be a squash,’ said Mum, standing back to admire the table she’d laid. ‘But I’ve done it.’
‘I don’t mind squashing up next to you, Luisa,’ said Dad, pressing a kiss to his wife’s cheek.
‘Not now, Alec,’ she said, batting him off. ‘Can you fetch our two spare chairs from the car?’
He clasped her hands to his chest, filled his lungs and began to belt out, ‘Everything I Do,’ from the Bryan Adams song from a Robin Hood film years ago.
I dived to the oven to rescue the roast potatoes to hide my giggle. Dad was an enthusiastic singer, but not terribly good. He had a loud, high-pitched voice which Mum normally only allowed him to exercise when he was right at the bottom of the garden.
Mum pressed a finger to his lips. ‘You’ve got many talents, Alec, but singing isn’t one of them. Now, those chairs?’
Dad slunk off and my heart leapt for him. He was a man of simple pleasures; his loves were Derby County Football Club, pork pies and Dolly Parton. Not necessarily in that order and none of these passions compared to his unwavering devotion to his wife. But Mum always seemed too busy to give him any of her time. She loved him, but it always seemed to me like he was somewhere halfway down her to-do list.
‘Is it safe to come back in?’ Ed asked from the doorway.
‘Lunch is ready, we can almost see through the smog again and Dad’s stopped singing,’ I said, ‘so yes, it’s perfect timing.’
He had Arlo in his hands and was swooping him through the air, much to the little boy’s delight. Mum held her arms out to take her grandson from him and Ed rubbed his hands together with glee.
‘I’ll sort out drinks, then.’ He poured out glasses of wine and handed me a generous measure with a wink. ‘Here you go, favourite sister-in-law.’
I smiled and took a sip. I liked Ed a lot. He was a gentle soul with big muscles, cropped dark hair and dimples in his round cheeks. He worked hard for his father’s haulage company and was a hands-on dad. Lia was lucky, I thought, very lucky.
‘Come on, family,’ I said, pulling out a chair for Nonna. ‘Let’s eat.’
I wouldn’t go as far as to say that lunch was a triumph, but it was edible and there was plenty of it. My zabaglione had been polished off, although Lia had declined any, and now we were having coffee and dark chocolate truffles to finish.
‘How is Rosie getting on at the café, Nonna?’ Lia handed Arlo a softly boiled carrot stick, which he mashed instantly into his face. He pointed longingly at the chocolate to no avail. ‘Are you pleased with her?’
‘She not doing too much yet,’ said Nonna, talking about me as if I weren’t there. ‘I break her gently.’
‘I think you mean break her in gently, Mamma,’ Mum corrected.
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Nonna huffed. ‘She doing okey cokey.’
Lia and I exchanged grins; that was high praise coming from our grandmother.
Actually, Nonna was right first time; the work was breaking me. I was aching all over and my nails were in shreds. Little did she realize that as soon as her back was turned I was hard at work scrubbing everything from the floors to the furniture. On Friday, she’d had a doctor’s appointment and had left me to lock up. Between us, Juliet and I had stripped the big oven down and cleaned every part of it inside and out. It had taken two hours to remove goodness knows how many years of grime. I’d never worked so hard in my life.
‘I think I’ve done quite well,’ I said, ‘considering how different working in the café is to my old job.’
‘You always could turn your hand to anything, love,’ said Dad kindly, helping himself to sugar. ‘Well done, Rosie.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Mum, picking up her coffee cup. ‘Here’s to Rosie for sticking to her principles and handing in her notice. I’m proud of you, darling.’
Nonna drained the last of her wine. ‘You good girl, Rosie. You do well. As long as you don’t start tell me what to do, we stay friends, eh?’
‘Oh, Mamma,’ said Mum with a frown. ‘When are you going to accept that at your age—’
‘Dio mio!’ Nonna thumped the table angrily. ‘When you gonna accept that my business is my business, eh? Keepa nose out.’
Mum and Nonna glared at each other. The only sound in the room was Dad crunching on a piece of leftover crackling. Eventually he swallowed it and took a swig of his wine.
‘That’s one tough pig,’ he said, shaking his head.
Ed made a sound halfway between a cough and a laugh; I didn’t dare look at him.
‘I would love to help at the café,’ said Lia wistfully. ‘I love cooking.’
Ed wrapped his arm round her waist and pressed a kiss into her hair. ‘But you’re enjoying your maternity leave, aren’t you? Precious time, just you and Arlo. You’ll be at the leisure centre again soon enough. There’s no need to go back to work earlier than necessary.’
Lia was a swimming instructor at a busy leisure complex just outside Derby. She’d been there for years, going down to three days a week when she found out she was pregnant. I hadn’t heard her mention going back to work since Arlo was born. She’d never been particularly ambitious and part of me wondered whether she’d bother going back at all.
She sighed. ‘I do love being with him. Obviously. But I’m feeling … I dunno. Look, forget it.’
She pushed her chair back and ran upstairs so fast that I almost missed her trembling bottom lip.
For a split second, the rest of the family was silent.
‘I’ll go after her,’ I said, jumping to my feet.
Lia was sitting on the edge of my bed facing the window, fiddling with the corner of one of the magazines on my bedside cabinet. Tears bulged at her eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Everything. Nothing. This,’ she said, grabbing a handful of her tummy and wobbling it.
‘Don’t be daft.’ I nudged her arm. ‘You’ve just had a baby!’
‘I mean it,’ she said. ‘I hate looking like this, I hate turning on the telly or opening a magazine and seeing some size-eight celeb holding a six-week-old baby saying how hard she worked to fight the flab. I hate seeing pretty clothes in the shops that I can’t fit into. I have to make do with leggings and baggy jumpers. I’d give anything to be as slim as you.’
‘Are you crazy?’ I gasped. ‘You’re beautiful. And you’ve earned the right to those curves. That body looks like it does because it’s amazing. You’re very lucky, actually.’
Lia’s eyes widened. ‘That’s a lovely way of looking at it, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I said, meaning it. I might have been the sister with the career, but she had a family, she loved Ed and he loved her back. In my eyes, that was priceless and totally enviable.
‘The thing is …’ she said, not meeting my eye. ‘Don’t laugh.’
I stroked her arm. ‘I won’t.’
She lowered her voice. ‘Being this shape makes me feel such a failure. A fat failure with a repulsive body.’
‘Never say that,’ I said fiercely, poking her in the chest. ‘Because if you do they’ve won. Don’t be bullied by what the media say you should look like or what you should weigh or how you should behave. That’s why I had to leave Digital Horizons; I was in danger of becoming part of the problem. Jesus, it’s the twenty-first century and women are still being manipulated and objectified and pressured into doing things they don’t want to do with their own bodies.’
‘OK.’ Lia stared at me, straining away from me as if I’d struck her. ‘Point taken.’
‘Sorry.’ I took a calming breath. ‘But it makes my blood boil. Anyway, what else?’ I prompted. ‘You said everything’s wrong.’
She stood up, leaned on the window sill and looked out into the distance.
‘I’m ready for something new. I’m ready for a challenge. I don’t want to go back to being a swimming teacher, but I have no idea what I do want. And as much as I love Arlo, I need some adult time. A chance to be me again. Ed doesn’t understand. He goes off to work and as soon as he drives away he’s himself again. I’ve forgotten who I used to be, what I used to do when I wasn’t changing nappies or wiping up drool or puréeing minute portions of baby food. My life is ruled by Arlo’s sleep and how much I can do during his naps.’
‘How about putting him into a nursery or with a childminder for a few hours a week, to give yourself some headspace?’ I suggested.
The Lemon Tree Café Page 3
