‘Thank you, Mr Pigeon.’ Clementine blew her nose and cleared her throat before unwrapping the butterscotch.
‘Stanley, please.’ He bowed sweetly to Nonna and murmured that she was looking lovely today. She giggled and flapped a hand at him and he left them to it, unwrapping a sweet for himself.
‘As I was saying,’ Clementine continued, ‘it takes a gentle grip, a cotton swab and plenty of stamina. Like this.’ She curled her fingers around an imaginary stem and mimed an up and down motion. ‘Shaky-shaky. Or if it’s too big a job I use an electric vibrator.’
‘I like to see that,’ said Nonna, who grew tomatoes in her greenhouse. ‘I do this sometimes, but mine smaller. I use a feather. A little tickle do the job.’
‘Good heavens,’ muttered Stanley, choking on his sweet. He sank down in his chair and tugged at his collar. ‘Oh my.’
I handed Nina her soup and we stuffed napkins in our mouths to stop ourselves from laughing. Poor Stanley.
‘I’ve just put the greenery into your Clarence’s wreath, Clem,’ said Nina, when she’d got her breath back. ‘Good choice on the old-fashioned roses, they are to DIE for.’
Clementine gave Nina the biggest stink eye I’d ever seen.
‘Oh balls. Sorry.’ She pulled a horrified face at me and pretended to put a gun to her head.
‘I’d better get back,’ she said, handing me some money. ‘Still got a couple of the smaller tributes to do. Give me a can of Coke as well. In case I warm up later.’
Clementine pulled her sleeve up and looked at her watch. It was an old-fashioned man’s watch with a large face and a stretchy gold strap. ‘Ought to be off myself; I’ve got three thousand courgette seedlings to water before the funeral car arrives.’
‘Do you want a hand to the car with these?’ said Juliet, who’d boxed up the food for the buffet while I’d been enjoying the tomato pollinating story. She was making an effort to be polite for once, I noticed, probably under instruction from Doreen.
‘Two ticks.’ Clementine gulped down her tea in one and stood up, slipping her arms into her oversized coat.
There was a revving noise outside and we all looked out to see Lia trying to jam her Mini into a small space behind Clementine’s parked van. She waved as she climbed out and held up some carrier bags from a posh supermarket before stowing them in the boot and coming in.
‘Been shopping?’ I asked.
‘Yes. On my own! Now Mum’s looking after Arlo I’ve decided to splash out on something nice for dinner.’
‘Lucky Ed.’
We smiled at each other with wonders-will-never-cease looks.
‘It’ll be our belated Valentine’s dinner. I was going to do this fancy lamb thing then, I had all sorts of romantic plans, but Arlo was ill and by the time I got round to reading the recipe I realized it needed four hours in the oven. So that was that. We had beans on toast in the end.’
‘I didn’t realize you were such a keen cook?’ I said, surprised.
I drew her to the counter where I needed to clear up from my mammoth sandwich session.
‘I’m more of an armchair enthusiast at the moment, I admit, but,’ Lia leaned in towards me, ‘since we had that little chat about my body shape, I’ve realized that starving myself was just making me miserable and actually, when I cook properly, I eat better and feel healthier for it.’
‘Good for you, sis.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s made me think that instead of just watching cooking shows, I should get in the kitchen and go for it.’
I grinned and handed her a damp cloth. ‘You can get in this kitchen and go for it right now if you like?’
She pulled a face. ‘I was thinking more this side of the counter with a chic little coffee while I research some recipes on my phone. I want to find a couscous dish to go with the lamb.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said and began to tackle the crumbs myself.
‘Before you go, Clementine,’ Nonna plucked a ripe lemon from one of her trees and handed it to her friend, ‘take this with you to make lemon tea. Do you good, full of vitamins.’
‘Ooh, I love lemons,’ said Lia. ‘In fact, I could eat a slice right now.’
‘If you crave lemon, you know what that means,’ Clementine said.
Juliet, who’d been valiantly holding a heavy box of food to stash in the van, slumped on the counter over the box of food.
‘Here we go, brace yourselves for some hocus-pocus,’ she muttered, earning herself a dig in the ribs from Doreen.
‘It isn’t a pregnancy craving, is it?’ said Lia, going pale. ‘Because my body hasn’t sprung back after the last one yet, another baby would probably just drop straight out.’
‘Thanks for that vivid image,’ I winced. ‘What does it mean, Clementine?’
‘The lemon is a powerful symbol in herbalism, mythology and even folklore,’ she said, holding up the fruit between her forefinger and thumb. ‘One theory is that eating lemons reflects the need to purify yourself.’
‘That’s me.’ Doreen gave a dirty chuckle. ‘I had very impure thoughts about Leonardo DiCaprio last night.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Nonna, ‘I have those all the time.’
‘Nonna!’ Lia squealed and jammed her fingers in her ears.
There was a choking sound from behind Stanley’s newspaper.
‘And another interesting one,’ Clementine continued, ‘is that they symbolize clearing and cleansing to separate a person from their ties to the past.’
‘So you’d surround yourself with lemons, if you wanted to make a fresh start?’ I pondered, with a sweeping glance round the café at the lemon trees and the crockery adorned with lemons and the lemon-themed pictures on the wall.
Nonna’s eyes narrowed and then she flapped a hand at her friend.
‘Juliet is right,’ she said with a harsh laugh, ‘hocus-pocus. Now come on, everybody; back to work.’
At quarter to two, the church bells began to ring out a solemn toll. It was nearly time for Clarence Fearnley’s send-off and both Nonna and Stanley reached for their coats.
‘Maria, would you care to come to the funeral with me?’ Stanley said, tucking his scarf into the top of his coat.
‘Stanley Pigeon!’ huffed Nonna as she pinned a black feathered hat over her tidy white bun. ‘What you suggesting?’
Stanley looked at the feather in her hat warily.
‘Nothing!’ he insisted, shaking his head. ‘I just thought … But nothing.’
To his surprise she tucked her arm through his.
‘I go to the funeral. You go to the funeral. We walk to church together if you want. But I not care to come with you, no.’
‘Rightio.’ Stanley glanced down at Nonna’s hand on his arm, looking utterly baffled.
‘It is not a date, nothing like that.’ She wagged a finger at him.
‘Good grief,’ spluttered Stanley, ‘the very idea.’
They reached the door and he held it open for her.
‘Although,’ he said in a wavering voice, ‘while we’re on the subject—’
The door banged shut and the end of his sentence was cut off.
‘Oh my God,’ Lia giggled, ‘he’s asking her out!’
We grinned at each other as the pair of them strolled towards the church arm in arm.
‘How cute are they?’ I said, resting my elbows on the counter.
‘Hashtag old-age goals,’ said Lia with a sigh. ‘Anyway, talking of true love, the way to my man’s heart is through his stomach, so forget the coffee, I’d better get home and start marinating that lamb.’
‘Good luck with the cooking,’ I said, pressing a swift kiss to her cheek. ‘I think it’s fab that you’re trying something new.’
‘Oh thanks,’ said Lia, going pink. ‘That means a lot.’
I walked her to the door and waved her off, then, still smiling, I turned back to the counter to commence cleaning duties. And what I saw sent chills down my spine: Doreen and Juliet were helping th
emselves to cash from the till and stuffing notes into their own purses.
Chapter 6
My heart raced. How could they steal from Nonna? How long had this been going on? She trusted them, and right up until this second, I’d trusted them too. They hadn’t spotted me, too busy counting out notes and coins from the till as soon as Nonna’s back was turned.
I looked away quickly and stared out of the window towards the green to collect my thoughts. This would break her heart. Unless, of course, I tackled the problem myself. I could confront them, catch them red-handed and force them to hand back the money and maybe if they promised never to do it again, Nonna need never know.
Mind made up, I whirled round and caught Doreen looking straight at me. She turned puce and nudged Juliet who slammed the till shut. The two of them looked at each other and then back at me. I took a step towards them, my stomach lurching queasily.
Doreen swallowed. ‘Rosie, can I just say—’
I held up a hand to silence her.
‘I saw what you just did,’ I said. ‘But I can’t believe it.’
‘Cooee! Look who I’ve brought to see you. Look, Arlo, it’s Auntie Rosie!’
Mum was holding the door open with one hand and struggling to manoeuvre Arlo’s large pushchair over the lip of the step. ‘Darling, give me a hand, will you?’
‘We’ll talk about this later.’ I shot the two women a stern look and turned to help Mum. ‘In the meantime, can you do a deep clean of the cupboards while Nonna’s out, please.’
Juliet frowned menacingly but Doreen pulled her away.
‘Oh, what a lovely time we’ve had.’ Mum wheeled the pushchair to an empty table. ‘We’ve just been up to the river to feed the ducks. This little chap loved it. Ducks, Arlo, ducks say quack quack.’
I unclipped Arlo’s straps while Mum slipped off her coat. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Doreen and Juliet conferring animatedly. As well they might. I mean, honestly, what were they thinking? I took a deep breath and smiled at my nephew as he held out a fabric picture book to me chuntering, ‘Ba-ba-ba.’
‘Do you want me to read this?’ I said, picking him up and blowing raspberries into his neck.
His warm body wriggled in my arms and I held him to me, breathing in his baby smell.
‘I had to read a great stack of them to him this morning,’ Mum said, fetching him a high chair. ‘I think he’s going to be a bright boy.’
I unzipped his jacket, slipped it off and popped him in the chair. ‘You’re really enjoying yourself with Arlo, aren’t you?’
Her face softened and she blinked in surprise. ‘I am. I really am. Shall we have tea? Do you have time?’
‘Yes,’ I said immediately. Anything to delay my unpleasant chat with Doreen and Juliet. ‘But can you go and order it? I’ve got my hands full here.’
She looked at the small fabric book in my hands. ‘OK.’
I flipped over the page and grinned at Arlo. ‘What do cows say? Moo, moo.’
Mum came back with two teas and found a rice cracker in her bag for Arlo.
‘You know, I only offered to have Arlo to help Lia out, and of course, in my usual manner, threw myself into it wholeheartedly.’
I suppressed a smile; she’d stepped down as president of the Women’s Institute, removed herself from the local history society and the parish council and sent her apologies to the school governing body, just so she could clear her diary to help.
‘But actually, life without endless committee meetings is very pleasant and I love the look on this little one’s face when he sees me every day. It makes me feel needed.’
‘You are needed,’ I confirmed, sipping my tea. ‘It’s done Lia the world of good having some time to herself and I think Ed is benefiting too, if tonight’s menu is anything to go by.’
Mum gazed at Arlo adoringly and sighed.
‘Perhaps the time has come to relinquish some of my voluntary roles permanently and spend a bit more time at home, with my grandson – and your father, of course. We could even go away this summer for a few weeks, just the two of us, on an adventure.’
My heart leapt. Dad would love that. He always complained that he had such long holidays from the university but no one to go away with because Mum was always so busy.
‘I think that’s a brilliant idea. Also, when I’ve gone back to my proper career, perhaps you’d be able to pop in here now and then and keep an eye on things?’
Like the staff pilfering, for example. I cast an eye over to the counter. Doreen was chatting with a customer, pouring frothy milk into a latte and Juliet was rearranging the cakes under their glass domes. They were both acting like nothing had happened. My heart felt heavy and sad.
‘Oh no,’ said Mum, recoiling. ‘I know she’s my mother and I love her dearly, but once bitten and all that. Hats off to you for lasting this long, but Nonna won’t thank me for poking my nose in.’
‘Hmm,’ I said vaguely, worried that I was about to poke my nose in too. ‘So are you going to book a holiday, you and Dad?’
She sipped her tea and rolled her eyes. ‘We’re discussing it. He wants to experience the golden age of British canal transport with a month on a narrowboat.’
‘Ah.’
‘Quite.’ Mum smiled mischievously. ‘I said I don’t mind canals but only if they’re in Venice. And it is high time I explored my Italian heritage. So the debate rolls on, but let’s just say I’ve sent my passport away for renewal.’
We both laughed. Somehow I didn’t fancy Dad’s chances of getting his way. But he wouldn’t mind. He’d be happy anywhere as long as he was with Mum.
Her watch beeped then and she took a baby bottle out of her bag, tipped milk powder into it and went off to the kitchen to warm it through. I took Arlo out of his high chair and cuddled him, thinking how lucky Mum and Dad were to have each other. They might not be the perfect couple, but they truly loved each other and I’d always casually assumed that a relationship like theirs would be easy to replicate.
How wrong could I be? I’d worked my way through various boyfriends at university, some lovely, some less so. I’d learned to love and learned to leave, trying to work out the sort of man who’d make me happy, searching for The One. And then in London I’d met Callum and the search had ended. Not because Callum was The One, but because what I’d found had frightened me. So I’d stopped looking. Too afraid to risk that happening again. Which I guessed meant that I was very unlikely to have an ‘Arlo’ of my own.
I blinked away the memories and focused back on my mother as she returned shaking the bottle.
I handed Arlo to her and helped her fasten on his bib. ‘I ought to get back to work.’
‘Before you go, have you noticed anything odd about your father?’
She settled Arlo on to her lap and he pulled the bottle towards his open mouth and was soon chugging away contentedly.
‘No. Why?’
‘He’s behaving oddly. Disappearing without telling me where he’s going. It’s been going on ever since I’ve been looking after Arlo. And the other day …’ She shifted in her seat and went pink. ‘I saw him looking at something on the internet.’
I resisted the urge to put my hands over my ears. ‘Go on.’
‘He was looking at fancy bras. I only wear plain boring ones. When he realized I’d seen him, he closed the lid of the laptop, muttered “It’s not what you think”, left the room and the next thing I knew his car was pulling off the drive.’
‘And what do you think?’ I asked, laughing. ‘Sounds like red-blooded male behaviour to me.’
‘I thought nothing at first and then … Oh God, this is such a cliché. Red lipstick on his collar. From another woman.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Couldn’t it be yours?’
Although Mum wearing bright colours was as unlikely as Dad having an affair. Mum’s lipsticks were all called things like ‘mink’ and ‘cappuccino’.
‘Not pillar-box red, no.’
‘Ther
e could be any number of explanations. A colleague at work, an accident in Boots, or he could be getting you a gift.’
‘You don’t think he’s having an affair?’ Mum nibbled her lip. ‘That he’s found himself another woman who hangs on his every word and doesn’t boss him about?’
A tsunami of warmth rushed over me for my mum; she always seemed so confident of her place in his heart and at least she admitted to being bossy.
‘Dad would never be unfaithful to you, Mum, it’s unthinkable. Far more likely that he’s planning to surprise you with some fancy undies. And perhaps while you’re having a reshuffle of your committees, you could schedule in a bit more time for him, let him know you appreciate him.’
‘Wise words, darling; thank you. I can’t think why someone lovely hasn’t snapped you up by now.’
I bit my tongue, preferring not to answer that one, and she hugged me tight just as my phone rang. ‘Michael’ flashed on the screen.
‘Ooh, I have to take this. It could be good news about a job.’
Mum blew me a kiss and I slipped outside into the cool grey afternoon to answer my phone.
‘How’s my favourite creative director?’ he gushed. ‘Bored with café culture yet?’
‘Life here is anything but boring,’ I said wearily, thinking of the next conversation I was about to have with my colleagues.
I wandered across the road to the village green, brushed a couple of leaves off a wooden bench and sat down.
‘I’d expect nothing less, darling,’ he said smoothly. ‘I bet you’ve installed wifi, set up a Facebook page and had the café trending on Twitter.’
‘Actually, no, but now you mention it, that’s not a bad idea.’
I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before; that was one positive change I could make to the café that Nonna wouldn’t see as intruding on her territory.
‘You’ll be too busy for all that,’ he said airily. ‘Because guess who’s got an interview in Manchester at HitSquad?’
‘Me? Yay!’
A job, a proper one where I didn’t need to wear rubber gloves or grate cheese, or go in men’s toilets …
The Lemon Tree Café Page 6
