‘Eh,’ muttered Nonna. ‘It not that bad.’
‘It’s fashionable, Mamma,’ said Mum with a laugh. ‘Lots of people like shabby chic. So everyone is happy. Are you going to come in? There’s a snake charmer on next.’
I promised we’d only be a few minutes and off they toddled. Lia refilled her glass and knocked it back in one.
‘What was that about you not being the favourite?’ she said drily. ‘Mind you, I’d be crap at running the café so you’re welcome to it. I just want to cook a few pies and stuff.’
‘I’ve just accepted another job, remember?’ I dropped my head in my hands and groaned. Now what was I going to do? I’d gone from no jobs to two. ‘Do I stay or do I go?’
‘Ooh that’s a song,’ Lia giggled, draining her glass. ‘SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW.’
‘You’ve probably had enough wine,’ I said.
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
If I took the job with HitSquad, what would happen to the café? Nonna would have to carry on working; she’d probably never sell up. And that would be sad. But if I stayed at the café that would be the end of my career in social media. I already felt out of the loop and I’d only been gone for a month. You snooze you lose in that industry.
‘Is that bargey thing coming here?’ Lia pressed a hand over one eye. ‘I can’t tell.’
The narrowboat did seem to be getting closer to the jetty.
There was no point talking to my sister about it. Or anything else. She was probably too squiffy to give me her full attention anyway. I’d been about to tell her about Callum, but after Nonna’s announcement, it could wait.
‘So clever how they drive boats,’ she said, gazing out at the water. ‘I struggle with a car and that’s got wheels and things.’
‘It has got a steering wheel, Lia.’ I followed her gaze as the narrowboat aimed for the only free mooring spot at the end of the row.
‘There’s a little boy on board,’ said Lia. ‘Shall we shout hello?’
‘No,’ I laughed. ‘I really think you need to slow down with the wine.’
The man jumped down from the boat on to the path.
‘Careful, dude,’ he called to the child. ‘Keep back from the edge.’
‘Do you think he’s a traveller?’ Lia said in a loud whisper. ‘Like Johnny Depp in Chocolat?’
‘All sorts of people live on boats,’ I said. ‘I know someone who does. Remember Gabe, Verity’s friend, the ex-solicitor? Gave it all up for a simpler life as a French polisher. From what I remember he was drop-dead gorgeous in a scruffy-jumper sort of way. What was the name of his boat? It’s on the tip of my tongue.’
‘The Neptune,’ said Lia, squinting in the dim light.
My stomach dropped as I followed her gaze. ‘That’s it. The Neptune.’
The man turned at the sound of our voices and a smile spread across his face. He raised a hand.
‘Hurry up, Daddy!’ The little boy was jumping up and down in excitement.
‘Whoa, Noah, wait,’ said the man, darting forward to lift him to safety.
Noah? The breath caught in my throat; it had to be. But it couldn’t be, could it? I slowly got to my feet and walked towards the man and his son.
‘Gabe? Is that you? And Noah?’
He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the hotel lights. ‘Rosie?’
‘It is you!’ I laughed, waving to Noah. ‘Hello.’
‘Oh my God,’ I heard Lia squeak behind me. ‘Gorgeous.’
‘This is incredible!’ He stepped forward to kiss my cheek and beamed. ‘Verity told me where to find you, but I didn’t expect to bump into you as soon as we arrived. What are you doing out here?’
‘Honestly? My sister is getting rat-arsed and I’m contemplating my future.’
He raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Sounds fun.’
Lia nudged me out of the way with her hip.
‘Hi, I’m Lia. Her sister. We’re here because our dad’s inside dressed as Dolly Parton drinking vodka with Russian Cossack dancers and samurai warriors.’
‘With real swords?’ Noah breathed, eyes as big as saucers.
‘Oh yes, and snakes. It’s just your average Thursday night in Barnaby,’ I said casually. ‘What about you two?’
Gabe glanced over his shoulder at his boat and then back to us. ‘We’ve just moved in. This very second. Well, I brought my van down last week,’ he nodded towards the car park, ‘and took the slow boat to Barnaby after that.’
The white van with French polishing written on the side … we parked next to it in the car park when we came spying on Dad.
‘And tomorrow we’re stargazing, aren’t we, Daddy?’ Noah piped up.
Gabe was moving to Barnaby? How had Verity forgotten to mention this?
‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’ said Lia, pinching my arm.
I shot her a look and bent down to talk to Noah on his level. ‘Do you remember me? I’m your Auntie Verity’s friend, Rosie.’
Noah nodded.
‘Daddy says you look like Katy Perry.’ He put a hand to his mouth and whispered loudly, ‘He likes Katy Perry.’
Gabe groaned and ran a hand through his wavy sandy hair. ‘Cheers, buddy. Sorry about that,’ he added softly.
‘Do you like stars?’ said Noah.
‘I do,’ I said, melting at the way Noah clutched his daddy’s leg for comfort. ‘And I especially love the moon.’
‘Today is a super new moon,’ said Noah, bouncing on the spot. ‘Jupiter is bright, bright, bright.’
He made twinkling actions with his hands.
‘Yes, I read about that,’ I said, smiling. ‘This week is a really good time to see Jupiter.’
Lia draped herself over my shoulders and crooned in my ear, ‘Somebody is star-struck.’
I could have cheerfully tipped her in the river …
‘You’ve made a friend for life now,’ Gabe said, a proud smile lighting up his face. ‘Right, come on, Noah. It’s way past your bedtime and we’re going to have to start getting you in a routine ready for school.’
‘I’m going to big school,’ Noah announced shyly.
‘In Barnaby?’ I stared at Gabe.
He nodded. ‘All a bit last minute, but yes. That’s why we’ve moved here. On your recommendation, according to Verity. Bit of a disaster with the school I’d planned to send him to.’
‘We went there,’ Lia said with a hiccup and lurched towards him. ‘And we turned out all right.’
Gabe grinned at us both. ‘I can see that. Well, goodnight. Lovely to see you.’
He took Noah’s hand and started towards the boat but then changed his mind and stopped.
‘I don’t suppose you fancy joining us tomorrow, do you?’ He rubbed his face. ‘For a bit of stargazing?’
‘Yes!’ Noah did a bit more on-the-spot bouncing. ‘Come, Rosie. Hot dogs will be there and marshmallows on sticks.’
‘Ow.’ I rubbed my side. Lia was elbowing me so hard that I’d have a bruise in the morning. ‘If you’re sure, I’d love to. Thank you both.’
‘Some ladies make cakes,’ said Noah slyly. ‘Are you those ladies?’
‘Sorry. Again.’ Gabe clapped a hand over his son’s mouth and rolled his eyes. ‘See you tomorrow then. About seven?’
We grinned at each other; Gabe waved self-consciously and lifted Noah back on board.
Lia looped her arm through mine as we walked across the terrace to find the others.
‘I’d forgotten how exciting flirting is,’ she giggled.
‘That wasn’t flirting. That was talking to a friend of a friend and his son.’
‘Whatever.’ She snorted. ‘So tonight you’ve got two new jobs and a date with a very handsome man. Not bad for a Thursday.’
‘Two handsome men,’ I said, glancing over my shoulder at The Neptune. Noah was waving furiously; I waved back. ‘And it’s not a date. But no, not bad at all.’
Lia looked at me, each of her eyes darting in diffe
rent directions. ‘So what’s it to be, Rosie, an exciting new job in Manchester or a life in an apron?’
‘You are so drunk,’ I laughed. ‘And I don’t know. I guess I’m going to have to sleep on it.’
My career had sustained me for so long, giving it up to manage the café would be a massive change for me. On the other hand, I’d had a feeling of dread at leaving ever since Michael first set me up with an interview at HitSquad.
I took one last look at Gabe before going back inside the hotel. A thrill of an emotion I’d kept long hidden took my breath away for a second and I was smiling as I went through the door. Life in Barnaby had just got a whole lot more interesting …
PART TWO
A Storm in a Teacup
Chapter 11
It was the morning after Dad’s Dolly Parton debut. The café had opened as if nothing had changed. Except that everything had changed. Despite a hangover, Lia was in the kitchen making soup. I’d suggested to her last night that she came in for some work experience to see if cooking for a living was really for her. I thought she’d forget, but she was here, downing cans of Coke and furiously chopping vegetables as if she was auditioning for MasterChef. Dad was in the conservatory giving an interview to a junior reporter from the Derbyshire Bugle called Robin Barker. And Mum, with Arlo playing with wooden spoons on her knee, was in deep conversation with Nonna about the university of the third age and all their fabulous outings. Nonna, it seemed, was keen to start her new life of leisure as soon as possible.
And I had taken over as the manager of the Lemon Tree Café.
‘One pot of tea and two caramel slices,’ I said, sliding a tray across the counter to Mr Beecher, the school caretaker, who’d come to do the crossword with Stanley.
‘You still here, then?’ he said, eyeing me from under two tremendously hairy eyebrows. ‘Thought you’d have been back off to the city by now.’
‘And leave all this behind?’
I nodded at the view through the café window. The bank leading down to the stream along the edge of the village green was dotted with pale yellow primroses and children were splashing in the water. The church spire was just visible behind the pub and the striking green and brown slopes of the Peak District in the distance contrasted sharply with the cloudless blue spring sky.
The urban offices of HitSquad could never have come close.
‘Good point,’ he said gruffly and dropped a pound in our tin marked ‘Tips’. ‘Have a cup of tea on me.’
‘Thank you.’ I smiled. ‘I shall have an espresso, I think. I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
After tossing and turning, drifting in and out of consciousness and mulling over the two job offers I’d received yesterday, I’d finally come to a decision at around five o’clock. With the help of strong coffee, I’d composed a second text to Finnegan at HitSquad, sending my apologies and explaining that, despite accepting his job offer yesterday, I would now have to decline it after all. And I’d typed an email to Michael, thanking him and saying that I regretted letting him down but that I couldn’t envisage anywhere I’d rather be right now than at the Lemon Tree Café.
I took a deep breath, enjoying the momentary lull at the counter. Friday was always our busiest weekday and, coupled with the fact that it was the Easter holidays, the little bell above the door had been dinging away non-stop with the arrival of each new customer.
In the conservatory, Dad and the young reporter were getting to their feet and shaking hands.
‘Nice chap,’ said Dad, when Robin had left. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Think I’ll have a beef tea to celebrate my five minutes of fame.’
His phone rang as I passed the mug across the counter.
‘That’ll be Vegas,’ Juliet smirked, popping a whole banana into the blender, ‘wanting to know if you’ll headline at Caesar’s Palace this summer.’
Dad’s eyes lit up as Juliet turned on the blender and he scuttled off to a quieter spot to take the call.
‘Oh that’s a shame,’ he said, returning two minutes later. He popped his phone in his pocket and produced a pork pie in a paper bag from Ken’s Mini Mart.
‘No six-figure contract, hen?’ Juliet cocked an eyebrow.
‘It was Ed. He can’t make the football match tomorrow. He’s working.’ Dad tutted.
Dad and Ed often went to see Derby County together. Dad was a huge fan and had used football as a way of vetting our potential boyfriends. Ed, who in fact was more of a rugby man, had tactfully professed an interest in the game when he first started going out with Lia and Dad had approved of him immediately. My poor brother-in-law still hadn’t got round to telling Dad the truth.
The door flew open and Lucas from The Heavenly Gift Shop ran in and headed for the customer toilets.
‘Morning, lovelies! A hot chocolate and a sausage roll, warmed until it goes baggy but not soggy,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Thank you!’
Juliet and I exchanged surprised glances.
‘Where’s the fire?’ she muttered.
‘At least he said thank you,’ I said, reaching for a jumbo sausage roll.
‘Oh dear.’ Juliet jabbed me with her bony elbow. ‘That doesn’t look good.’
Clementine had pulled up outside. Her assistant Tyson was in the passenger seat. Both of them were holding tissues to their faces. But before I had the chance to comment, Lucas emerged from the men’s loos.
‘So sorry,’ he said, smoothing his hair. ‘My own loo is out of action at the moment.’
I liked Lucas. He was possibly the best dressed man in the village and looked like something out of a Burberry catalogue. He also had extremely good taste; since he’d taken over the gift shop last year, it stocked beautiful cards and the sort of items that you bought with the intention of giving to someone else and then found you couldn’t bear to part with.
‘No problem.’ I opened the microwave and removed his steaming sausage roll. ‘How’s that for bagginess?’
‘Perfect,’ he said, doing a little shimmy as he handed me some money.
Dad eyed him up doubtfully. ‘Don’t suppose you fancy coming to the Derby match with me tomorrow? Free ticket?’
‘Football?’ Lucas recoiled as if Dad had invited him to wrestle with starving alligators. ‘Gosh, no thank you. It would remind me of my ex-wife too much.’
‘Oh was she a Derby fan?’ Dad said, discarding the jelly out of his pork pie.
Lucas shook his head.
‘She played. “On the wing”, whatever that means.’ He fanned his face. ‘I’m getting palpitations just thinking about Sundays spent on the sidelines, in the freezing cold, watching her and her friends thunder up and down the pitch.’
‘I’d have loved that,’ sighed Dad.
Clementine opened the door and ushered Tyson in.
‘I’ll get these,’ she said to him, barging ahead to reach the counter. ‘A hot chocolate and a cream horn, is it?’
‘No,’ Tyson said forcefully, chin high. ‘Allow me. While I can still afford it. A herbal tea and sticky ginger cake for you?’
Clementine was dressed in a pair of tatty overalls and looked even thinner than usual. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes were big and red-rimmed and she didn’t look like she had the energy to argue.
‘All right. That would be lovely.’
Nonna’s ears pricked up and she was at Clementine’s side within seconds. ‘What happen? Dicky-head tax man?’
Clementine and Tyson raised tissues to their eyes again and Nonna waved a hand. ‘Never mind. This all on me. Rosie, get them whatever they want.’
Nonna put her arm round Clementine’s stiff shoulders and Tyson’s head sagged.
‘It’s not fair,’ he mumbled into his tissue. ‘She’s such a lovely person.’
Juliet and I grimaced at each other; Clementine had hinted that the garden centre had been having money issues. It looked as if things had deteriorated even more since her husband’s funeral.
Juliet added the whipped
cream and marshmallows to Lucas’s hot chocolate while I went digging through the boxes for the herbiest of teas.
‘It’ll feel better after a cream horn,’ Lucas promised, patting Tyson’s arm.
Tyson looked him up and down appraisingly and gave him a shy smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘I know what’ll cheer you up, lad,’ said Dad. ‘Free ticket to Derby County? Pies on me at half-time?’
Tyson shuddered. ‘Sorry, not a football fan.’
‘Snap,’ Lucas said and took a tiny nibble of sausage roll. ‘It was one of the many nails in the coffin of our marriage.’ He paled. ‘Whoops, sorry, Mrs Fearnley. Shouldn’t have said coffin.’
Clementine dabbed a tissue to her eyes and waved a hand. ‘Forget it. People seem to have some sort of bereavement Tourette’s around me these days. The more they try to avoid talking about death, the worse it gets.’
‘Come sit down, you look dead on your feet,’ Nonna soothed, leading her away to a table.
‘You were married?’ Tyson stared at Lucas, from his diamond earrings to his dainty moccasins.
Lucas pushed the sleeves of his cashmere jumper up to his elbows. ‘Yes. To a girl called Tanya until she divorced me for not being butch enough.’
Tyson’s jaw fell open. ‘How rude!’
‘I know!’ Lucas pouted.
Both men shook their heads in solidarity.
Lia appeared from the kitchen, two pink spots on her cheeks and a frizz of curls framing her pretty face.
‘Minestrone soup, anyone?’ She deposited a heavy tureen on the warming plate. ‘Genuine Italian recipe.’
I lifted the lid and inhaled. ‘Smells amazing.’
Lia took a swig from her Coke can and belched softly into her hand. ‘I thought we should make a bit more of our Italian heritage. I might ask Nonna for any old family recipes. On the other hand, a lot of this old furniture should go, Italian or not.’
‘Word to the wise, hen.’ Juliet banged two lemon-patterned plates on to the counter, plonked a cream horn on one and a slice of ginger cake on the other. ‘I tried that before and she bit my head off.’
‘True.’ I nodded. ‘Nonna is touchy about her past. And it’s my first day as manager; I don’t want to upset her by making too many changes at once.’
The Lemon Tree Café Page 11
