The Lemon Tree Café

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Ah,’ Doreen and I chorused dutifully.

  ‘Anyway.’ She stuffed her phone back in her pocket. ‘I was thinking that we could perhaps be a bit more adventurous with the menu.’

  Doreen paused from cleaning the coffee machine.

  ‘We are adventurous,’ she said, looking put out. ‘Half the people round here had never had sourdough bread until we started doing it as an alternative toast option.’

  ‘Toast is not adventurous,’ Lia scoffed. ‘That’s what I’m talking about. We’ve got a proper kitchen through there but most of what we do is simply an assembly job: quiche with a salad garnish, jacket potatoes with bog-standard fillings, rolls filled with the usual suspects. Everything is fresh and delicious, but we don’t stand out from the crowd as much as we could.’

  Doreen flicked her plait over her shoulder and stared at Lia. ‘Why would we want to stand out?’

  ‘We’re an Italian café in a Derbyshire village,’ I said. ‘I think that makes us already stand out.’

  ‘Italian decor, maybe. But if we’re going to attract more of those sorts of people,’ she nodded towards the conservatory, ‘we should jazz things up a bit.’

  She had a point; the table of business people had scanned the menu rather despondently when ordering lunch. I’d steered them towards the pasta salad in the end, suggesting that it was easy to eat with one hand, seeing as none of them seemed able to put their phones down for more than two seconds.

  ‘Refreshing the menu is a good idea,’ I said diplomatically, ‘as long as we don’t upset our regulars with too much change.’

  ‘Fine.’ Lia sighed and trotted back to the kitchen.

  ‘She’s right.’ Doreen picked up her cloth and started attacking the dried-on milk splashes on the coffee machine with gusto. ‘The whole café is ready for an overhaul. I s’pose you’ll be wanting to get rid of an old-timer like me soon too.’

  ‘No way!’ I cried. ‘The café wouldn’t be the same without you. Remember when Lia and I used to come in after school to see you?’

  She chuckled and nodded. ‘You both always wanted a fresh crust thick with butter and I used to have to cut both ends off a new loaf.’

  I smiled at the memory. ‘Best part of my day that was.’

  ‘That’s nice to hear.’ She heaved a deep sigh. ‘And I’m glad; I’d hate to leave. This café has been the hub of the community for donkey’s years. Whenever there’ve been problems, the whole village has always congregated here to get things sorted. Like when the sewers got blocked with disposable nappies years ago and the village green flooded.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Clarence Fearnley drove down from the garden centre on his little digger. He scooped out the blockage into a big mound.’ She winced at the memory. ‘Not a pretty sight. Or smell.’

  I shuddered. I’d had the pleasure of changing Arlo’s nappy once or twice and that had been bad enough.

  ‘And then everyone helped with spades and big black bin bags,’ she went on, misty-eyed. ‘Anyway, the point is that your nonna made this place the centre of it and, despite the stench and the state of the floorboards, it was great fun. Really brought the village together.’

  I liked the idea of the Lemon Tree Café being the hub of the community. It was what I wanted social media to achieve, but it looked as though we’d been doing it for years anyway.

  ‘And,’ she tapped her nose, ‘the till didn’t stop ringing all day. We sold out of everything.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said one of our business customers, waving her hand in the air to attract our attention. ‘Could you clear? We’re ready for coffee now. Four Americanos with milk. Oh sorry!’ she said with an apologetic laugh. ‘That’s just four normal coffees.’

  ‘Thanks for explaining that,’ Doreen muttered under her breath.

  ‘And can we have another couple of chairs? We’ll be joined by two others shortly.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, wiping my hands on my apron.

  ‘I’ll clear and bring chairs from the table right next to them,’ said Doreen, picking up an empty tray. ‘You get the normal coffees on.’

  I set four cups into saucers and felt a presence at my side. Lia whistled under her breath and pointed out of the window. ‘Isn’t that Gabe?’

  A tall man was striding purposefully to the door. It was Gabe, but dressed so differently to the last time I’d seen him in his jeans and T-shirt that I had to look twice. He pushed the door open, checked his watch and scanned the café.

  In a navy linen suit and soft pink shirt, he exuded style and assertiveness, helped in bucketloads by those intelligent grey eyes and confident smile. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  ‘Check you out,’ I said.

  ‘Scrub up all right, don’t I?’ Gabe held his arms out to the side. ‘Good old Mum; those boxes of stuff turned up just at the right time. I haven’t dressed like this since I was an office boy. Although the least said about the patchwork quilt Noah decided to make while you and I were out on deck, the better. Fabric scraps everywhere.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I cringed, imagining Mimi’s wedding dress in tatters. ‘My fault for suggesting it.’

  ‘Don’t apologize,’ he said, giving me a look that made my insides melt. ‘It kept him occupied all weekend. And making a memory quilt is a lovely idea. Thank you.’

  ‘So you had a good weekend?’

  ‘Yes. Busy. Football on Saturday with your dad, then Clementine came round on Sunday, asking for help. Before I knew it, it was Monday, Noah started school and I took Clementine to see her bank manager.’

  So she had taken him up on his offer of help; I was so pleased.

  ‘How did we all manage before you arrived?’ I said playfully.

  ‘It’s a nice feeling to be useful,’ he said shyly.

  A man like Gabe could be very useful in all sorts of imaginative ways, I reflected, noticing a pinging in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘Why are you grinning like that?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ I shook myself. ‘Are you going to order something?’

  ‘Actually, I’m here for an appointment.’ He inclined his head discreetly to the business meeting in the conservatory. ‘With Clementine’s bank and an … other person.’ He cleared his throat, as if realizing he’d given too much away. ‘And Clementine will be here any moment too. I suggested holding it here rather than at the bank or the garden centre. I thought it would make a traumatic meeting less emotional for her if it was on neutral territory.’

  ‘Oh right.’ I blinked. So much for thinking it had been my amazing marketing skills that had brought them in. ‘A lovely thought, thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Here she is now.’

  Sure enough, the door opened slowly and Clementine, looking pale and gaunt in a black dress and pearls, glided towards us, her head high.

  Gabe held out his arm and she clung on to it. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really.’ She exhaled a shaky breath. ‘But let’s get it over with.’

  Chapter 14

  ‘One pound?’ Nonna and Mum exclaimed together.

  Their indignation was so fierce that the two cyclists who’d pinched Stanley’s usual spot in the window paused from chewing their flapjacks.

  Mum handed Arlo to Lia, who covered his face in kisses after their time apart. Mum’s hair had gone frizzy round her hairline and smelled of swimming pools; she looked tired but happy. Much like Arlo.

  ‘Is that all?’ Doreen scowled, her eyes taking in Clementine’s dishevelled appearance. Her short wiry hair was sticking up in all directions; I could see Doreen itching to smooth it down.

  Clementine nodded wearily. ‘The bank has sold the garden centre, or rather passed its debts on to an investor of some sort. And all that changed hands was one pound.’

  I felt sick; they’d just spent upwards of eighty pounds on refreshments.

  ‘Dicky heads,’ spluttered Nonna, passing Stanley a cup of tea. ‘That a good business.’
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br />   Clementine raised an eyebrow. ‘Hardly. As has now been proven.’

  The business meeting had finished at three o’clock. The four suited strangers had swept out with curt nods of thanks after settling their substantial bill just as Mum had returned with Arlo from their swim. Gabe had dashed off to collect Noah from school, leaving Clementine alone at the table amongst the debris of abandoned crockery and a plate of lemon shortbread. Nonna sat down next to her with an espresso.

  ‘Daylight robbery,’ said Doreen, stacking the bankers’ plates together angrily and piling them on a tray. ‘And those are the sorts of people you want in here, Rosie?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ I picked up the copy of the receipt they’d left on the table; it was the largest bill we’d had since I’d been here. ‘But I’d rather they spent money with us instead of some city café.’

  Nonna and Stanley had not long arrived after a day out together at the market in Chesterfield and Nonna had been carrying a bunch of tulips from Nina’s flower shop.

  Stanley hovered near the cyclists for a few minutes, willing them to leave his table, but eventually he gave up and brought his tea over to the little circle of commiserators gathered at Clementine’s table.

  ‘I know it’s very traumatic,’ I said. ‘But at least you know where you stand now. You can stop worrying about what’s going to happen.’

  ‘True,’ Clementine acknowledged. ‘It can’t get any worse.’

  ‘If they’ve got money, why haven’t they paid a fair price for Fearnley’s?’ said Doreen over her shoulder as she stomped to the kitchen with the tray. ‘And so much for Gabe’s expert help. I’m sure I’d have done better than that myself. A pound.’

  ‘Gabe Green was brilliant,’ said Clementine, rallying slightly. ‘Such a lovely boy.’

  ‘Oh I’m so pleased.’ I breathed a sigh of relief. Even though I trusted Gabe to do his best, I’d been thinking along similar lines to Doreen. I looked up to find Mum watching me, a smile playing on her lips, and I felt my face heat up.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for Gabe, I’d have lost the house too,’ Clementine continued. ‘It was mortgaged up to the hilt. Gabe was adamant that I be allowed to stay in my home. At least I’ve still got a roof over my head and I own it outright. I bet he was a great solicitor. Firm but fair.’

  ‘But only a pound. For all that land. It does seem a little parsimonious of them,’ said Stanley, eyeing up the leftover shortbread. ‘Anyone mind if I …?’

  Clementine nudged the plate towards him with a shaky hand. ‘Take it. I couldn’t swallow a thing.’

  ‘I made those,’ whispered Lia to Stanley. ‘What’s parsimonious?’

  ‘Miserly.’ He bit into a piece of shortbread. ‘Whereas these are utterly butterly.’

  Lia smiled proudly and helped herself to half of one. ‘Quality control.’

  Nonna tutted at the pair of them. ‘Stuffing faces is not helping Clementine.’

  ‘It’s too late for help.’ Clementine’s teeth began to chatter. ‘It’s over.’

  ‘Shock,’ Mum whispered in my ear.

  ‘I’ll make her some sweet tea,’ I said, glad of something to do. I darted behind the counter and rummaged around for something reviving amongst the boxes of herbal tea.

  ‘Not tea,’ said Nonna gravely, following me. She reached into the back of a cupboard and brought out a small bottle of limoncello. ‘Something stronger.’

  ‘But we’re not licensed—’

  I shut up, recognizing the look on my grandmother’s face. It was the one she reserved for traffic wardens and people who leave dogs in cars without air and water.

  ‘This is emergency.’

  She poured a generous measure into a glass and put it into her friend’s hand. ‘Sip slowly.’

  ‘Life’s a bugger and then you die. Cheers,’ said Clementine.

  She knocked it back in one, gasping as the alcohol hit the back of her throat. She brought the glass down on the table with a thump and eyed the bottle. Nonna sighed and gave her a top-up.

  ‘Last one. You in shock.’

  ‘Course I’m in bloody shock. When Clarrie died I thought I’d sell up and retire to the coast. Now I’m going to have to get a job. Me! Even I wouldn’t employ me. And I’ll have to … Oh, too many things to contemplate. It’s the end, the end.’

  She slumped forward and rested her head on the table.

  Stanley pulled up the chair recently vacated by the woman who thought that us country bumpkins wouldn’t know what an Americano was – not that I was still annoyed about that – and took Clementine’s hand.

  ‘I know you’re grieving for Clarence,’ he said, ‘but it’s not the end, believe me.’

  ‘Mine and Clarrie’s entire life’s work is gone,’ Clementine said, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘All gone. Lock, stock and barrel. Well, I say stock, that chappie never even bothered to walk round everywhere. That’s what makes me so sad. He’s probably from a firm of property investors. The place will be bulldozed. All our nursery beds, our polytunnels, gone.’

  Nonna’s dark eyes blinked rapidly behind her glasses. ‘So they not know what they buying?’

  Clementine shrugged. ‘I dare say they’re more interested in the land than in all my lovely plants and shrubs. There are trays and trays of unsold seedlings and more covering every surface at home. I suppose technically I should take them back to the garden centre. They’re not mine any more.’

  The doorbell dinged and a couple of mums came in with their children; school had finished and the café would be busy for the next hour.

  ‘I’ll go and serve,’ said Doreen.

  ‘Thanks.’ I took the chair next to Lia at Clementine’s table and made faces at Arlo. ‘When does the garden centre change hands?’ I asked.

  ‘Midnight officially. The investors will be there tomorrow doing some sort of stock inventory. But I suppose once we finish trading today … Oh God.’ Clementine covered her face with her hands. ‘I need to tell Tyson he’s redundant. I ought to get back.’

  ‘Wait a minute. I have idea.’ Nonna frowned. I could almost see the cogs whirring in her brain. ‘If they don’t know what stock is there, they not know if anything is missing, do they?’

  Clementine smiled, although it didn’t reach her eyes.

  ‘I don’t have any lemon trees, Maria, if that’s what you’re thinking. In the forty years we’ve been in business the only ones we’ve ever sold have been to you.’

  Nonna waved a hand. ‘I not think of that. I think of you. How many seedlings you have?’

  ‘Hard to say. Five thousand? More?’ Clementine shrugged. ‘There are some in the big polytunnels, the new greenhouse, the old greenhouse, the ones outside hardening off …’

  ‘Take them,’ Nonna hissed, hunching over the table. ‘They never know. And they better with you than left to die at garden centre. What if they not come quickly enough to water, what then? They all die and worth nothing. So. You take them.’

  ‘But then I’d have tomatoes, courgettes and green beans coming out of my ears. What am I going to do with them?’ Clementine grumbled.

  ‘Oh!’ Lia’s eyes lit up. ‘Ratatouille?’

  Clementine gave her a withering look.

  ‘I’ll get my coat,’ Lia murmured and kissed me goodbye. ‘Home time.’

  I sucked my cheeks in to hide my smile. Stanley chuckled too until Nonna flicked him with her cloth. ‘Eh. This not funny.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said contritely. ‘But listen, when I was a postman …’

  Nonna rolled her eyes. ‘Not the story about when big spider run up your trousers and you have to strip off in graveyard?’

  ‘Maria, that was private,’ he said, flushing. ‘No. I was going to say that I noticed that most houses in the village have greenhouses. Perhaps we could get the seedlings fostered, ask people to look after them until …?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Clementine shrugged. ‘Until what?’

  ‘Until we organize a village event,’ I said
suddenly, trying to shake off the image of an elderly trouserless postman. ‘So that you can sell them and at least get something for your efforts. Not enough to retire to the coast, but at least maybe a holiday at the seaside.’

  ‘A holiday,’ Clementine said wearily. ‘What’s one of those?’

  ‘A village event,’ said Mum with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Barnaby’s good at those. Remember the Queen’s Jubilee, the Millennium New Year’s Eve party? And I’ll help.’

  Nonna slapped the table. ‘It settled then. We go tonight. In the dark.’

  Stanley’s eyes gleamed. ‘An undercover mission.’

  The pair of them were relishing the drama. I, on the other hand, was desperately trying to think up what sort of event I could run from the café involving five thousand delicate seedlings …

  Just then Noah ran in, closely followed by Gabe who placed an order at the counter with Doreen. Noah waved a book in the air and made a beeline for me.

  ‘Rosie, I can read!’ he said, forcing his way on to my lap and making himself comfortable.

  ‘You’re a genius,’ I said calmly, even though my heart was looping the loop at his gesture.

  He held up his book and flicked through the pages, which had one word on each. I kissed his cheek; his jumper smelled of school but as I leaned closer I caught the smell of shampoo and grass and biscuits.

  ‘Hello again.’ Gabe grinned at Noah sitting on my knee. ‘Sorry for the intrusion. Looks like you’re all up to something.’

  ‘We are,’ said Nonna, grabbing an unsuspecting Gabe by the shoulders and kissing his cheeks. ‘We planning a burglary. Are you in?’

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  Noah regarded his father severely. ‘Daddy! That’s fifty pence in the swear box.’

  ‘That’s steep,’ said Clementine with a whistle. ‘You can buy half a garden centre with that.’

  At seven thirty a crack team of seedling thieves in a convoy of vehicles crept up the long lane leading to Fearnley’s Garden Centre, next door to Clementine’s house. I was with Dad in his Volvo with the back seats folded down. Lia had reluctantly stayed at home to put Arlo to bed but Ed had brought a van home from work and had given Nonna and Stanley a lift. Doreen and Juliet had roped their husbands, Alan and Dean, in to the mission and the other businesses around the village green had turned up to help too: Adrian from the pub was there in his posh Range Rover, and Ken from the Mini Mart, Biddy and Nina all had vans. Lucas only had a tiny Smart car so he’d stayed at the café with Mum. She was phoning round the village to find foster parents for the seedlings and Lucas was going to keep in touch with Clementine to direct vans to the right houses.