The Lemon Tree Café

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Awful out there,’ he said. ‘But I step in here and it’s like being on holiday.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ I helped him out of his wet anorak and he looked round automatically for Nonna.

  ‘And when Maria smiles at me, it’s like the sun comes out. Where is she this morning?’

  My heart lunged again: someone else whose day was brightened by the existence of another.

  ‘Gone to see Clementine,’ I told him, as he settled himself into his armchair with the crossword. ‘For moral support when the new people turn up at the garden centre next door.’

  ‘Maria is a dear soul,’ said Stanley. ‘Such a good loyal friend.’

  ‘And always at the centre of any trouble,’ I added with a grin.

  I could just imagine the pair of them at Clementine’s front window waving their fists in defiance as the buyers arrived to claim their investment.

  ‘In that case, I’ll have a bacon sandwich with both slices of bread buttered please,’ he said with a wink and spread his paper out on the table. ‘But don’t tell your grandmother.’

  Nonna had been keeping an eye on his cholesterol since Clarence’s heart attack. Stanley pretended not to like it, but it was obvious he loved being cared for.

  ‘Sneaky,’ I replied. ‘Your secret’s safe with me, but in return, if you have any bright ideas to help Clementine sell those seedlings, do share them. I’m really struggling. All I’ve got so far is a buy-one-get-one-free promotion and I can’t see that attracting much interest.’

  Stanley withdrew a pen from the breast pocket of his blazer and pulled the cap off.

  ‘Sometimes the harder you try to solve a puzzle, the more elusive the answer becomes.’ He took his glasses off and swapped them for another pair. ‘And when that happens I stop thinking about it and the answer always comes in the end.’

  ‘So I should try to forget about it?’

  ‘Exactly.’ He smiled and his blue eyes, magnified in his reading glasses, crinkled at the corners. He ran his fingers down the clues and began to read. ‘Fourteen down: just an obstruction of the heart; ten letters. Hmm. Aneurysm? No, too short …’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gabe’s van drive slowly past looking for a parking spot. I had an obstruction of the heart too, I thought with a sigh, rendering me completely incapable of letting anyone in, and I had no idea how to get rid of it.

  Gabe had picked Nonna up on his way to the café and she was full of news from Fearnley’s when the two of them came in.

  ‘All the plants being packed up and taken away on big lorry!’ she said, pausing to pinch a fresh basil leaf from a pot on a table and lift it to her nose. ‘We should have taken more; they not even checking what was there, just doing job as quick as possible. Dicky heads.’

  Gabe nodded to the conservatory where every spare inch of space was covered in seed trays. People who couldn’t help us last night had promised to come in and collect them later on and we were storing them in the meantime. ‘You did pretty well, Maria. Besides, where would you have kept them without raising suspicion?’

  ‘True, you smart boy,’ Nonna admitted and went to say hello to Stanley, leaving me face to face with Gabe.

  ‘Hello again,’ I said.

  My stomach gave a little flip. We’d parted as friends last night, but if I hadn’t been so quick to fob him off, perhaps things would have ended differently. And looking at him now, with a gentle smile lighting up his handsome face, his eyes studying me with such intensity that it felt as if he could read my mind, I felt a pang of regret.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, pulling the end of his tape measure out and then letting it zip back in. ‘Where shall I start?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I admitted with a grin. ‘We’ve got customers at almost every table and tomato plants at the rest. How about I make you a coffee first?’

  ‘You see what I mean?’ said Gabe, nudging me softly with his shoulder. ‘Friends with benefits are the very best sort.’

  ‘Give me a flapjack with that,’ said Nina a bit later on when she came in for a toastie. ‘I need a sugar hit.’

  I popped the largest square into a paper bag and pushed it across the counter. ‘Stressful morning?’

  ‘With knobs on,’ she confirmed. ‘The shop’s as dead as a dodo in this rain. Luckily we’ve had three Fone-A-Flower orders for big bouquets to do. But it’s not that. Fone-A-Flower have also sent me a weird email, wanting to renegotiate my terms. From next month, my territory will be reduced, so we’ll get far fewer orders.’

  Juliet screwed the lid on to the smoothie maker, folded her arms and scowled. ‘Haven’t used Fone-A-Flower since I ordered some flowers for my mum. They arrived late, half dead and looking nothing like the website.’

  Nina’s frown deepened. ‘My bouquets are always bursting with life and we’re never late.’

  ‘Just saying.’ Juliet turned the smoothie maker on and Nina poked her tongue out at her back.

  ‘I hate to break it to you,’ I said as I walked Nina to the door, ‘but it sounds to me like you might be getting a new competitor.’

  ‘My worst nightmare.’ Nina heaved a sigh. ‘There’s little enough business to go round as it is. And Juliet’s right, unfortunately: some florists do give Fone-A-Flower a bad name. They don’t seem to do proper checks on shops, you only have to fill in a few forms and send some pictures of your work and they add you to their stockist list. I don’t like them, but I couldn’t survive without them. Then again, I probably can’t survive with a new competitor either. Let me know if you hear anything on the grapevine, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, giving her arm a comforting squeeze as she opened the door.

  As Nina left, a man came in I hadn’t seen before. He flicked his wet hood down to reveal a handsome face, bright eyes and a neatly trimmed beard.

  ‘Welcome to the Lemon Tree Café,’ I said, smoothing my hair down and hoping I didn’t smell of fried eggs.

  ‘Thanks.’ He looked round, nodding appreciatively, and gave me a warm smile. ‘Nice to be out of the rain.’

  He shrugged his arms out of his raincoat and looked around for somewhere to hang it.

  ‘I’ll take that,’ I offered, admiring his outfit of tailored polo shirt, jeans and jacket.

  ‘Thanks.’

  He handed me his coat and I found space for it on one of the coat pegs.

  ‘Mmm, what a lovely aroma! What coffee is this?’

  My spirits lifted; we’d had a flurry of new likes on our Facebook page over the weekend and I’d even had some interest from food bloggers who reviewed cafés on their blogs. I had an inkling he could be one of those. He certainly seemed very interested.

  ‘We have it roasted exclusively,’ I said, tapping my nose. ‘It’s a secret but I can tell you it’s an Italian roast.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Impressive.’

  We approached the counter together and he took a small notebook out of his pocket. I slipped behind the counter, leaving him to study the menu and the cakes under the glass domes.

  ‘So,’ I smiled at him, ‘anything tempt you?’

  He raised an eyebrow playfully.

  ‘The exclusive coffee, obviously, black please,’ he said. ‘And what else do you recommend?’

  Juliet looked up from slicing rolls.

  ‘I recommend that,’ she said, pointing to the blueberry crumble cake. ‘Our bestseller this week.’

  ‘Is that so,’ he said, writing a note in his book and slipping it back in his pocket. ‘I’ll have a slice of that, then, please.’

  I chatted about what else sold well and he asked me where most of our customers came from while I made the coffee.

  ‘And how did you come across us?’ I placed his Americano on to the tray.

  ‘Word of mouth,’ he said, folding his arms and leaning on the counter with a smile.

  ‘The best form of marketing,’ I said happily.

  ‘You said virus marketing was the best sort?’ Juliet argue
d, cutting him a far slimmer slice of cake than I’d have done.

  ‘Viral,’ I corrected. ‘And it’s sort of the same thing; viral marketing is simply spreading the word digital-style, through blogs. Wouldn’t you say?’

  I smiled at our charming customer.

  ‘I guess so.’ He held up a menu. ‘Mind if I take a copy?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ I said, pleased we seemed to be getting his approval. ‘Our Instagram and Twitter details are at the bottom, as is the wifi code. Anything else you need, let me know.’

  ‘Sure.’

  I’d had the menus reprinted to give them a fresher look and I was really pleased with them.

  ‘You probably aren’t interested in lunch,’ I said, pointing to the blackboard, ‘but we do have an aubergine Parmigiana special on today. And feel free to take any photos.’

  He looked amused. ‘Right,’ he said, picking up his tray. ‘The proof of the pudding, as they say …’

  ‘He’s as slippery as an eel, that one,’ Juliet hissed darkly as soon as he was out of earshot.

  ‘He’s a blogger; he’s just remaining aloof, that’s all,’ I whispered.

  ‘Aloof, my arse,’ I heard Juliet mutter under her breath. ‘If anyone wants me, I’ll be in the kitchen washing up.’

  I rolled my eyes at my colleague; sometimes I despaired, I really did.

  I had agreed with Gabe that he would take eight tables at a time to strip back and revarnish. He had driven four tables away in his van. I was expecting him back any minute for the others.

  ‘I’ve got it: impediment,’ I said, looking over Stanley’s shoulder at the crossword.

  ‘What’s that, dear?’ He lowered his reading glasses to peer at me.

  ‘Fourteen down. Just an obstruction to the heart. As in, if you know of any cause or just impediment why these two … blah, blah, blah, speak now or for ever hold your peace.’

  ‘Yes!’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘It fits, thank you. I was thinking medical like angina or something.’

  Stanley looked over at Nonna as she bustled to the door to let Gabe in and gave a little sigh. ‘Most of the time we are our own impediments, holding ourselves back from the things we most want.’

  ‘I agree,’ I murmured, unable to drag my eyes off Gabe as he tried to fend off Nonna’s attempts to feed him. ‘Daft, aren’t we?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  We both sighed.

  ‘Rightio, that’s it,’ Stanley said abruptly. He levered himself out of his chair and folded his paper. ‘I’m off.’

  ‘Where to?’ I asked, startled by his sudden movement. I held his coat out for him and he slipped his arms in before replying.

  ‘Bristol.’

  It seemed a bit sudden but I kissed his cheek and waved him off.

  ‘Where he going in a hurry?’ Nonna demanded, watching her beau stride across the village green.

  ‘Bristol, apparently,’ I said, throwing Gabe a smile before going to help Juliet with the washing-up.

  ‘Mamma mia,’ said Nonna with a groan. ‘What he have to do that for?’

  I blinked at her; perhaps ‘Bristol’ was some sort of old person’s code.

  ‘He didn’t say,’ I said with a shrug. ‘But he seemed very definite about it.’

  Nonna tutted and shook her head and Gabe and I exchanged confused looks.

  Whatever it meant, it seemed to be important to both of them. I would have stopped to find out, but the lunch rush was about to commence and I wanted to get the kitchen sorted.

  ‘Right, troops,’ I said, reaching for a tea towel, ‘help is at hand.’

  Juliet had the radio on in the kitchen, much to Lia’s disgust.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind if it was something I could sing along to,’ she moaned.

  ‘Shush,’ said Juliet harshly. ‘It’s Gardeners’ Questions. The expert is just helping a listener choose plants for clay soil. That’s what we’ve got: a wet bog in winter and hard as brick in summer. I could do with some advice.’

  ‘That’s it!’ I started with a gasp. ‘That’s our event: Barnaby does Gardeners’ Questions. Stanley was right, I stopped thinking about my problem and now I’ve got a solution. We can build a massive publicity campaign and bring loads of people to the village with their questions.’

  Juliet looked sceptical. ‘Only one problem, hen. How is that going to make money?’

  ‘Details, Juliet, mere details,’ I said confidently. ‘Barnaby might have lost its garden centre, but we’ve still got our resident expert who was the heart and soul of the garden centre anyway.’

  ‘Yay! Well done, sis!’ Lia hugged me. ‘I knew you’d do it.’

  Just then Gabe and Lucas poked their heads into the kitchen, both looking very grave.

  ‘Sorry to barge in,’ said Gabe.

  ‘But we think we know who the new owner of the garden centre is,’ said Lucas, pressing his fingertips to his lips.

  ‘Who?’ we demanded.

  ‘I had a call from a greetings card supplier today, saying I’d no longer have exclusivity in this area for their range because a big player,’ Lucas added sarcastic air apostrophes, ‘is moving in.’

  ‘Nina had something similar happen to her with Fone-A-Flower,’ I added.

  ‘I hope it’s Waitrose,’ said Lia dreamily. ‘It’s a nightmare getting preserved lemons round here.’

  I shot her a look.

  ‘It’s not Waitrose,’ said Gabe. ‘I asked my old boss from the law firm to look into that investor we met yesterday. Turns out he’s a scout for Garden Warehouse, he sources new sites for a fee.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I said, my heart sinking.

  Garden Warehouse was a big retailer originally based up in the north, buying up cheap locations and erecting huge shed-like buildings. They sold everything under the sun, with the emphasis on the outdoors.

  ‘They have a huge gift section,’ said Lucas. ‘Cards, wrapping paper, the lot. I’ll fold, I just know it.’

  Tears pricked his eyes and he turned into Gabe’s chest. Gabe patted his back stiffly.

  ‘There, there,’ he murmured.

  Juliet’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t they do pet stuff as well, and fresh flowers?’

  ‘And don’t forget the café,’ I said, feeling sick with dread. ‘They always have a café.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Lia said in a shaky voice. ‘This could spell the end for our little business community.’

  I blinked at her, trying to absorb the news: Garden Warehouse, the biggest chain of garden centres in the country, was coming to Barnaby.

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ I said firmly, ‘but we will be putting up a damn good fight, that’s for sure.’

  Chapter 17

  Everyone had an opinion on the imminent arrival of Garden Warehouse. Unsurprisingly, most of the business owners were worried, but some could see a plus side to having a big store so close to home.

  ‘It will be nice to have somewhere nearby to go for a mooch on a rainy day,’ said Dad, cheerily, rubbing his hands together, until I glared at him.

  ‘I’ve been to the one in Derby,’ Doreen admitted. ‘Alan bought me a lovely solar-powered light-up gnome for my birthday.’

  ‘Which is reason enough for me never to set foot in the place,’ Juliet muttered.

  ‘What always worries me about these chains,’ Biddy fretted, brushing dog hair off her crocheted tunic, ‘is who looks after the pets when the shops are closed? All my animals come home with me.’

  Except the rats and chicks in the freezer, presumably, I thought.

  ‘Fearnley’s was a bit pricey,’ whispered the vicar when he came in for a toasted teacake and then blushed for being disloyal.

  ‘Expertise comes at a price,’ said Nonna, glaring at him. ‘Like Jesus.’

  ‘Right,’ said the vicar, looking baffled.

  ‘I’m with you, Vic,’ said Barry. ‘I want something cheap and cheerful along my back wall. Does anyone know when they’re opening?’

  We
didn’t have long to wait to find out; the following Monday, every person in the village woke to find that a leaflet had been pushed through their door (including all the shops, which we agreed was a bit below the belt) advertising the reopening of the garden centre in a week’s time, and job vacancies for part-time staff.

  I invited every one of the businesses, plus Stella Derry representing the Women’s Institute, to a meeting to discuss tactics at eight o’clock that night in the café.

  Mum was the first to arrive at half past seven. She tapped on the door and let herself in.

  ‘Only me!’

  I looked up from setting up the conservatory for our meeting and felt quite underdressed in my jeans and hoodie. She was wearing a soft jersey dress and boots and her wavy hair framed her face, which was free of make-up except for a slash of nudey-colour lipstick.

  ‘You look fantastic,’ I said, lifting my cheek up for a kiss.

  ‘Ditto,’ she said, taking my chin in her hand and scrutinizing my face. ‘I think this new job suits you. And Nonna seems to be taking to retirement very easily. You were right about her and Stanley; they do seem to really care for each other. It’s so nice to see her with a male companion. It’s a first for me.’

  She shook her head incredulously as she helped me push two tables together to make one long one.

  ‘Gosh, yes, of course,’ I said with a pang of guilt for not thinking of it sooner. ‘And you’re all right about it?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Mum fervently. ‘It’s not as though I knew my father. And you know how frugal Nonna has always been with details. Lorenzo worked in the lemon groves in Naples, both young when they fell in love, killed in an accident when I was only a baby. And that’s it. All I know.’

  I nodded. ‘Poor Nonna. And poor you.’

  ‘I’d love to have met him, even talking about him with her would be something, but she claims it upsets her too much to rake up the memories,’ said Mum with a sad smile. ‘I’ve never even seen a photograph of him; Nonna said she was only able to bring the essentials from Italy, which mostly meant my baby stuff. There’s nothing to remember him by.’

  ‘Oh Mum, I can’t imagine that.’ I abandoned the cups and saucers I’d been laying out on the table and gave her a hug. ‘I’m so lucky to have you and Dad.’