Mum, Lia and Arlo came back at half past two and we stood in the café windows looking out at the carless road around the green.
‘They all must be at Garden Warehouse,’ I said with a shrug.
Mum and Lia looked at each other. Mum laughed awkwardly.
‘What?’ I said, looking from one to the other. ‘Am I right?’
Mum nodded. ‘The car park was so packed that everyone was parking on the lane.’
‘Really?’ I had to admit, I was curious. And a bit bored.
‘I think I’d better see for myself,’ I said. ‘Lia, please can I borrow your car?’
‘What are you going to do?’ She hid her car keys behind her back. ‘Because I don’t think you should get into any arguments.’
‘As Gabe would say, I’m going to get to know my opposition. Would you mind hanging on here until I get back?’
She handed the keys over, extracted a promise from me to be careful and made me untie my apron before I set off. No sooner had I left the village than I hit the traffic. There were cars attempting to mount every available surface and one lone man in a fluorescent yellow jacket fruitlessly trying to prevent cars parking illegally.
I crawled through the traffic jam and pulled the car on to Clementine’s drive. The front door of her house flew open and she charged towards me waving her fist, her face puce with fury.
‘Oh it’s you,’ she said with a scowl as she came to a halt by the car door.
‘Do you mind?’ I said as I climbed out of Lia’s car. ‘It’s just that there is literally nowhere else to park.’
‘You don’t say,’ she grumbled, folding her arms across a pair of worn dungarees, adding more kindly, ‘and of course I don’t mind you being here.’
‘Oh God, how awful for you.’ I looked at the sea of cars surrounding her house.
‘I’ve been round and complained,’ she said. ‘The car park extension will be ready in about a week to coincide with the, er,’ she coughed, ‘café opening. They’re calling it the Cabin Café, by the way.’
One week. I felt a prickle of nerves down my spine.
‘Well,’ I took a deep breath, ‘at least this gridlock situation is only temporary.’
‘They were rather decent about it,’ Clementine conceded. ‘They’ve given me an inconvenience payment of five hundred pounds – which will help pay some bills – and another hundred pounds in vouchers to spend in store.’
‘It’s the least they can do after everything you’ve been through,’ I said huffily.
‘To be honest,’ she tugged her sleeves down over her bony wrists, ‘I feel a bit disloyal.’
‘Why?’
‘I went in to have a nosy and spend some of my vouchers and came away with some wild bird food and a gift for one of Clarrie’s nephews. I had quite a nice time. Haven’t had money to spend like that in years.’
I felt a wave of sympathy for her, imagining the life of debt that she and Clarence must have been wading through without any of us knowing.
‘Don’t feel guilty. And it isn’t as if it’s money you could spend in the village.’
‘Hmm.’ She chewed her thumbnail. ‘I know how important it is to support the village shops, especially after all you’ve done for me. I should have bought things from Biddy and Lucas.’
I pushed down a stab of dismay. What if the rest of the village, and the neighbouring villages, started doing their shopping here? It wouldn’t take long for us all to start feeling the pinch.
‘Business has been a bit flat for all of us today,’ I admitted, ‘but it gives us a chance to catch our breath after Saturday’s triumph.’
‘What are you doing here anyway?’ She frowned. ‘Come to collect your free cappuccino like everyone else?’
I froze.
‘What?’
Clementine pointed across the dividing fence to a small sign a few metres up the drive at the entrance to the car park.
‘Free cappuccinos to our first FIVE HUNDRED customers!’ I read out loud. ‘Five hundred! That’s more than we serve in a week. Two weeks, probably!’
‘The coffee wasn’t very nice either,’ added Clementine indignantly. ‘Tasted like burned soil.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘You drank one?’
‘I took one,’ she corrected, her eyes darting left and right. ‘Look at it this way: one less for someone else to have. Don’t worry, they’ll run out eventually.’
I pulled a face, too furious to speak.
She eyed me critically and plucked a huge sprig of mint from a bush at the edge of the drive.
‘Calms inner fire,’ she said, pressing it firmly into my hand with a knowing look.
‘Five hundred free cappuccinos,’ I fumed. ‘The café isn’t even open. How are they doing it?’
‘Serving it from a mobile catering truck. Bacon sandwiches this morning too, and biscuits. Free biscuits, actually.’
I glared at her.
She swallowed. ‘I didn’t have one of those, I promise.’
‘This I have got to see.’
I stomped off to investigate.
It didn’t take me long to locate the free coffees; the queue was easy to spot. I marched through the black and yellow store and out into the courtyard where a gleaming stainless-steel catering van was dispensing refreshments. A line of customers snaked back to the fresh flowers counter and my heart sank when I spotted one or two familiar faces in it, including the postman, some of the mums who’d caught Gabe and me kissing on Friday afternoon and Martin, Ken’s son, who was probably spending his fudge money from Saturday.
Traitors. I graced them with a tight smile and walked straight up to the counter, skirting the queue.
‘Just looking at the menu,’ I said loudly as a chorus of tuts flared up behind me.
The van had a long serving hatch down one side and there were two women and one man in uniform inside it pouring drinks, shouting orders, taking money and pointing out the sugar and stirrers at the end of the fold-down counter and generally getting in each other’s way.
‘NEXT PLEASE!’ yelled the man. His face was flushed and there was a big frowny crease between his brows.
‘What cake is that?’ asked a plump lady at the front of the queue, pointing to something I couldn’t see.
She had a small beige dog under her arm whose tongue was doing its best to lick the frosting off the nearest cupcake.
‘Blueberry crumble cake,’ said the man, scratching his beard. ‘Our bestseller.’
What a coincidence, blueberry crumble cake was our bestseller … At which point, I realized where I’d seen the man before.
‘Hey!’ I gasped, squeezing in next to the lady with the dog. ‘I recognize you.’
It was the stylish man who’d been into the café the previous week asking about our menu, the one I’d stupidly assumed was a blogger.
‘Hello?’ He looked startled and then raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh hello.’
As slippery as an eel, Juliet had said. I should have listened. If I’d thought for one moment he was an industrial spy … I groaned … and I’d even given him a copy of the menu.
‘Oi!’ A man with greased-back hair and an e-cigarette dangling from his lips tapped me on the shoulder. ‘There’s a queue, love.’
I smiled sweetly at him. ‘I’m not a customer.’
The server had a badge pinned to his black and yellow uniform. Jamie Dawson, Catering Manager. Great.
‘And you are not a blogger.’ I narrowed my eyes at him.
He blinked innocently. ‘I never said I was.’
He was right, I thought irritably; I’d just assumed. And then proceeded to give him as much information about the café as he could scribble into his notebook.
‘How much is the blueberry crumble cake?’ asked the lady with the dog.
‘A pound,’ said Jamie. ‘But you’ll have to take that cupcake as well, I’m afraid; your dog has just licked it.’
Crumbs, we charged double that …
‘P
rincess!’ The lady frowned at the little dog. ‘I’ll just take the free cappuccino, thank you.’
‘That same cake at the Lemon Tree Café is twice the size and home-made,’ I whispered, omitting to mention the price. ‘And we have a dog bowl for Princess.’
The lady made an ooh shape with her mouth, took her coffee and moved off.
‘For God’s sake,’ Jamie muttered under his breath, dumping the licked cake in the bin.
‘You said you’d heard about us through word of mouth,’ I said crossly, folding my arms.
‘I did. Now please move along, you’re holding up the queue. NEXT.’
I stood my ground. ‘Oh yeah? Who?’
Jamie rolled his eyes and looked over my shoulder. ‘Him.’
I whirled round to see who he was looking at. The air squeezed from my lungs as if someone had punched me. Gabe and Gina were here. Gabe was pushing a trolley and Gina was holding up a tray of plants for inspection.
They haven’t wasted any time, I thought bitterly. I’d only passed Gina’s number on to Gabe on Saturday afternoon at the Spring Fair and now here they were. Together. Looking all … coupley.
A sob formed in my throat. I felt betrayed in every way.
‘Gabe?’ I said with a croak, pointing at him. ‘Him?’
‘Yep, that’s the one,’ said Jamie.
Suddenly I found myself jostled out of the way by the man with the slicked-back hair and I marched off to Gabe and Gina.
‘Thank you very much!’ I said angrily, willing back the tears as I tapped him on his shoulder. ‘You Judas.’
‘Rosie?’ He blinked nervously and looked at Gina. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Oh hi, Rosie!’ Gina smiled, leaning in for a hug.
Gina had always been a larger-than-life character at school, loud and dramatic. Today’s outfit consisted of orange dungarees, a striped ethnic jacket and an orange bandana tied round her pink hair.
‘Hi,’ I managed to say.
‘What’s up, mate?’ asked Gina, putting her arm round my shoulders.
All day I’d been blaming the lack of custom on the fact that everyone was having a rest after such a busy Saturday, spending their money at the Spring Fair. Now I could see that that had nothing to do with it; Garden Warehouse had taken our business. On their first day. Everyone was here. Everyone was drinking free cappuccinos while we, we who did our best to make every customer feel valued and welcome, stood around wiping non-existent crumbs from our tables …
And Gabe, who had given me the kiss of my absolute life on Friday – three tiny days ago – was shopping with Gina like they were auditioning for Mr & Mrs or something after having sent the enemy right into our camp.
I looked from Gabe to Gina and then to Jamie Dawson doling out free stuff from his shiny stainless-steel wagon and felt my throat throb with unshed tears.
‘What is it?’ said Gabe tenderly, placing a hand on my lower back. ‘Tell me?’
I jumped away as if he’d burned me.
‘Get off. I’ve got to go,’ I muttered. ‘I need to get Lia’s car back to her.’
‘Rosie?’ Gabe’s shoulders sagged. ‘Can we talk about this?’
‘Not now.’ I began to walk away.
I heard him swear and Gina call my name, but I kept on going towards the exit. My head was swimming and I felt sick. This could possibly be the worst day of my life. Except for … I pushed thoughts of Callum away. I wasn’t going to let him intrude. Not today.
I ran through the car park, down the path and back to the car. But before I’d even unlocked it a text came through from Lia.
Get back to the cafe asap. It’s all kicking off!!!
I walked into the café a few minutes later to find quite a crowd gathered round Stanley’s usual spot. Doreen was back, Juliet was here too, Lia was feeding Arlo in his high chair and Mum and Dad were assembling a tray with champagne flutes and an ice bucket. Stanley was in his armchair and Nonna was fidgeting opposite him.
‘Ah!’ Stanley beamed when he spotted me. ‘Good. We’re all here.’
Juliet narrowed her eyes when I squeezed in between her and Doreen. ‘You look shite.’
‘Thanks,’ I muttered. ‘What’s going on? Because the last thing I feel like doing is celebrating.’
‘What all this about, Stanley, eh?’ Nonna cried. ‘You won the lottery or what?’
‘Patience, my dear lady, patience,’ he chuckled.
Nonna took Stanley’s glasses off his face and polished them on a napkin. ‘What you clean these with?’ she tutted, looking through the lenses. ‘Olive oil?’
Stanley put his glasses back on and took a deep breath. ‘You look even more beautiful now.’
She pretended to tut again and batted her eyelashes.
‘Now then. Alec,’ said Stanley, ‘would you mind? My grip isn’t as firm as it was.’
He nodded towards the champagne bottle and Dad dutifully tore the foil off and began untwisting the wire.
‘What’s going on?’ I murmured to Mum, but she shrugged.
‘Stanley came to see me this morning and asked me to arrange all this,’ she whispered. ‘That’s all I know.’
Stanley cleared his throat and took Nonna’s hand.
‘Over the past few weeks, Maria, you and I have become much closer and I’ve come to realize that the best moments of my day are the ones I spend with you. And I’d like more of those moments.’
‘I’d like that too. But,’ she lowered her voice to a stage whisper, ‘do we have to do it in front of all my family?’
‘I am honoured to call you my special lady,’ Stanley continued.
‘Okey cokey.’ She smiled self-consciously. ‘And I call you my special man.’
‘Cork primed and ready to pop,’ said Dad, setting the bottle back on the table.
‘Rightio,’ said Stanley in a wobbly voice.
He released his hand from Nonna’s and, grasping the edge of the table for support, he slid forward on his chair until his knees were touching hers. And then in a move remarkably agile for a man of his age, he whipped a small velvet box from his blazer pocket and dropped down on to one knee.
‘Maria Carloni …’ Slowly and carefully he lifted the lid of the little box to reveal a diamond ring. Nonna’s eyes widened to the size of tennis balls. ‘Will you marry me?’
Mum and Lia gasped. We all looked at Nonna and I clapped a hand over my mouth as my eyes filled with tears. What a perfect end to a terrible day.
Dad picked up the champagne bottle, waiting for the word to pop the cork. Mum was clutching her chest, tears of happiness bulging in her eyes. Lia’s hand froze in mid-air on its way to Arlo’s mouth and Juliet and Doreen, in a rare moment of solidarity, reached for each other’s hands.
The colour drained from Nonna’s face.
‘Maria?’ Stanley prompted.
‘What you do that for?’ she said hoarsely. ‘I already say you can sleep over.’
I heard Juliet stifle a snort.
Stanley blinked at her, glanced over his shoulder at us and then said quietly, ‘I have too much respect for you, my dear. I’d rather wait until after we are married.’
‘Santo cielo,’ she muttered. ‘No, no, no.’
‘Oh dear.’ Stanley’s chin dropped to his chest. He levered himself up and Dad offered him a steadying arm to help him back into his chair.
Nonna wiped her eyes and sat up straight.
‘Stanley,’ she said, looking down at her hands, ‘I am very sorry but I cannot marry you.’
Dad crept away from the table with the champagne and put it out of sight. Doreen and Juliet clung to each other, shocked into silence.
Poor Stanley. His face was beetroot red and he looked dangerously close to tears.
‘I’ve rushed you,’ he blustered, slipping the ring box back into his pocket. ‘My own silly fault. Getting carried away at my age.’
‘Wait.’ Nonna held up a hand. ‘I cannot marry you because …’ She turned to Mum and a single tear r
an down her wrinkled face. ‘Because I think I still married.’
‘Good grief.’ Stanley pressed himself flat against the back of his chair.
‘What?’ Mum gasped. ‘My father is still alive?’
‘Nonna,’ I said, trying to stay calm, ‘Lorenzo is alive?’
‘No. Lorenzo is dead.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘He not my husband.’
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Mum, who’d gone completely pale. Dad shoved his way round the table and took her in his arms.
Nonna took a deep breath. ‘And I not Maria Carloni. Also I not from Naples. My name is Signora Maria Benedetto from Sorrento. I married to Marco.’
‘Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?’ said Lia, scooping Arlo from his high chair.
‘The party is over,’ Stanley said solemnly, blinking back tears from his pale blue eyes. ‘Goodbye.’
‘We’ll be off too,’ Doreen said, dragging Juliet with her towards the door. ‘Come on, Stanley, we’ll walk you home.’
The two women linked arms with Stanley and led the subdued old man from the café and across the village green. That left just us, the family, unsure quite who was who any more.
‘I do love Stanley,’ Nonna whispered hoarsely. ‘Now is too late. I always leave it too late.’
My phone beeped with a text. It was a message from Gabe.
Rosie, are you OK? I’m worried about you. Are we still friends? Gabe xx
I closed my eyes for a second trying to conjure up his presence, his soft smile and lovely manly smell. What I’d give right now to feel his strong arms around me, pulling me into his chest, pressing kisses into my hair and telling me that whatever happened, he’d be right there at my side, every step of the way. I could have had that; like Nonna, I’d left it too late.
The Lemon Tree Café Page 20
