by Liz Eeles
Luna referring to The Cosy Kettle as if it’s a living, breathing entity is starting to spook me out, and I take a step back – farther away from her weird cat-like eyes.
She smiles and clasps her coffee to her chest. ‘I’d best be getting back to work, and it looks as if you have visitors anyway.’ She nods towards the doorway which is filled with Phyllis’s wheelchair being pushed by Mary. Behind them, I spot Stanley’s glasses and Dick’s white beard. ‘Did you know the book club was coming in?’
‘No,’ I sigh, regretting my text an hour ago to Stanley. All I did was ask him to call me when he was free, so I could give him an update on the Logan situation to ensure he backed off on the matchmaking front. I don’t want him scaring Logan off because, who knows, maybe our date will be a great success and my feelings for Zac will start to fade? But it looks as if Stanley, rather than simply calling me back, has rallied the troops.
‘Good luck,’ are Luna’s parting words as she leaves and Stanley hurries over.
‘Don’t worry, Beccs. We’re all here to help so bring over our usual order and we can get started. Here comes Millie, too. She responded to your call for help.’
‘What call for help? I simply asked you to ring me for a quick chat.’ But Stanley is already heading back to his friends, who have bagged a free table in the corner. Millicent joins them and gives me a brief wave before taking her seat.
I’m not sure I’m up to coping with the book club today, but I make their favourite coffees and carry them over on a tray.
‘Take a seat,’ says Phyllis, patting a spare chair next to her. ‘Then tell us what the emergency is. Does it involve your Christmas wishes?’
‘We’re so happy to help,’ butts in Dick. ‘It’s not often oldies like us – not including yourself, Mary – can be useful to youngsters like you.’
‘Yep, all you have to do is say what the CK Crew can do for you,’ says Stanley, doing some weird clicking thing with his fingers. He’s wearing a tatty grey hoodie and hasn’t put the hood down since he came in.
‘CK Crew, Stanley?’ Millicent’s face is a picture of disdain.
‘That’s us. We are the Cosy Kettle Crew, Millie. Essentially, you are in the hood and a right gangbanger.’
‘I most certainly am not,’ declares Millicent, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet.
I put my hand on Millicent’s shoulder. ‘I think Stanley’s referring to street gangs in America.’
‘But why?’ asks Millicent plaintively, sinking back onto her seat.
‘It’s all about staying young,’ harrumphs Stanley. ‘I’m keeping in with the kids and up with the latest trends.’
‘By turning us into some sort of New Jersey gang?’ Millicent shakes her head. ‘We read books, Stanley. We’re a group of people in the Cotswolds who love literature – though I do wonder sometimes with the types of books we end up reading.’
Everyone starts squabbling about the merits of different literary genres while I bitterly regret texting Stanley at all. My head was still throbbing and I obviously wasn’t thinking straight.
I pull myself together and sit down beside them. ‘It’s lovely of you all to come in but I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I texted Stanley and asked him to ring me when he was free so I could update him on something that’s happened.’
‘So no emergency, then?’ asks Millicent, giving Stanley another filthy look. ‘I was halfway through booking tickets for a performance of Aida at the Oxford Playhouse when you summoned me.’
‘And I had to leave Callum with Kevin, and he wasn’t happy,’ moans Mary, pushing her long brown hair over her shoulder. ‘Though Callum is as much his son as mine. Not that you’d think so when he’s acting like he deserves a medal for changing a nappy. Honestly, he’s so…’ She stops and draws in a long, loud breath as Phyllis pats her hand and starts murmuring, ‘There, there’.
‘I’m really sorry you all felt you needed to come in, though I’m touched you responded so quickly. But all I wanted was a quick chat with Stanley.’
‘About what?’ barks Millicent. ‘You might as well tell us now we’re all here.’
I lean forward and lower my voice. ‘Don’t say anything but I wanted to let Stanley know that Logan has asked me out on a date.’
‘Whoop, whoop!’ yells Stanley, punching the air. ‘I knew my methods would do the trick.’
‘It was nothing to do with you because Becca is a very attractive young woman,’ insists Millicent. ‘Or she will be when my hairdresser has sorted out her tragic hairstyle. Are you still on for Tuesday evening? Caroline is primed to give you a cut and colour.’
‘That sounds lovely, if you’re sure. Thank you. But the reason I wanted to tell Stanley about my date with Logan is because I need him, and all of you, to back off a bit or Logan will go off the idea. And don’t, for goodness’ sake, mention anything about my wish list to him. Please.’
‘Of course not,’ says Phyllis. ‘We don’t want to scare him off. Where’s your young man taking you then?’
‘We’re going to Tuckers, which is a night club, after the Cosy Kettle Christmas party has finished.’
‘The party that we’re not invited to,’ grumps Stanley.
‘Get over it, man,’ says Dick, shaking his head. ‘It’s a corporate party and Becca can’t get you in.’
‘I really can’t. You know I would if I could.’
‘Oh, I say!’ Stanley is staring over my shoulder. ‘Where’s Auntie Edna? She’s not on top of the tree. Has she been stolen?’
‘Who would be desperate enough to steal a plastic fairy with a flashing halo?’ asks Millicent, craning her neck to look at the tree.
But Stanley isn’t listening. He’s gesturing wildly across the café. ‘And the kettles are gone. All of them. Where are Moira’s copper kettles? Becca, you’ve been ram-raided and everything’s been nicked.’
I’ve never seen Stanley so agitated. Anxiety is surging from him in waves. I wrap my fingers around his bony arm and squeeze. ‘They’re fine, Stanley. Honestly. Auntie Edna and the kettles are perfectly safe. They’re all boxed up and in the attic, upstairs.’
‘But why?’ he asks, his face crumpled in confusion.
‘Please don’t get upset, Stanley. It’s just until after the party. I didn’t think they quite suited the theme of the event so I’ve packed them away for a few days.’
‘But the copper kettles are The Cosy Kettle because they gave this café its name. My granddaughter, Callie, set up this place for Flora and called it The Cosy Kettle in honour of her gran, my Moira, and this place isn’t the same without them.’
‘It’s not for long. Really. Please don’t get upset.’
‘It’s long enough for this place to go all fancy-schmancy. Don’t think we haven’t noticed all the changes that are going on in here.’ He glances at the counter and his jaw drops. ‘Even Rudy has been banished to the attic. The kids loved that red-nosed reindeer but he’s been culled!’
‘It’s just for a few days.’
‘So you say, but who knows if this place will ever go back to normal? And what’s wrong with the kettles?’
‘Nothing, they’re just a bit… shabby.’ Oh dear, that is so not the right word to use but my brain is still befuddled. ‘What I mean is that the kettles are dented and Auntie Edna is…’ How can I say this politely? ‘… not terribly sophisticated.’
Stanley pulls his lips into a thin line. ‘They were sophisticated enough for my Moira and plenty good enough for The Cosy Kettle before you started chopping and changing.’
‘He’s got a point,’ says Millicent. ‘You don’t want this place to become like every other soulless café. That’s not to say I don’t like your changes. Auntie Edna is an acquired taste and the new decorations are rather more my style. But you have to think of your clientele, Becca, and changing a much-loved venue is not good for people like Stanley.’ To my amazement, she scoots her chair along until she’s beside him and puts her arm around his sh
oulders.
‘It’s just a bit of a makeover for a few days,’ I insist, wincing as my head starts to throb again.
‘First, it’s a bit of a makeover, and what’s next? Banning the book club for being too shabby?’ grumps Stanley.
‘Obviously not,’ I insist, as the mood in the café dips further. Even without Luna on hand, I can identify the negative energies swirling around me as the other customers stop eating and drinking to stare at the hubbub in the corner.
‘It’s no wonder you don’t want to invite us to your posh party with its weirdo singers and lah-di-dah decorations.’
‘I can’t invite you,’ I say, but Stanley’s so upset he’s not listening.
He gets to his feet and the rest of the book club follow. ‘We know when we’re not wanted,’ he sniffs, heading for the door.
‘Of course you’re wanted,’ I call after him but he’s either ignoring me or he hasn’t got his hearing aid in.
‘I don’t think anyone could ever accuse me of being shabby,’ says Millicent, but she still follows Stanley and Dick to the door.
‘It’s coming up to the anniversary of Moira’s death. So it’s bad timing, Becca. That’s all,’ whispers Phyllis to me, before Mary starts pushing her towards the exit. ‘It’s a shame, though, about this place.’
A hush falls across the café as the book club disappear into Flora’s shop. ‘Get back to your cake and coffee, everyone!’ I bark, slinging the club’s coffee cups onto my tray with no care whatsoever.
I wander back to the counter and sit on my stool with the day’s remaining cakes in front of me. They smell sweet and delicious, but I’ve never been less hungry in my life. I’ve managed to upset the entire book club and I feel so bad about Stanley. But changing the café was a business decision: a clear-cut business decision that Flora approved of and Jasmine would make in a heartbeat. I can’t let my Christmas wish be scuppered by negative emotions, not when I’m getting close.
I ferret in the pocket of my apron and pull out my beer mat wish list which is peeling at the corners.
1. Be more assertive and confident, particularly as regards café. That’s ongoing, but I’ve pushed through the current changes in here, and I’m definitely feeling more arsey. Does that count? I reckon it does. I find a coffee-splattered pen next to the fridge and give that wish a half-tick.
2. Impress Flora with business acumen. Again, it’s a work in progress but she seems impressed with my party planning so far and I’ll make sure the actual party knocks her socks off. That warrants another half-tick.
3. Make parents proud of me. I suck the end of the pen which tastes of caramel macchiato. I’m pretty sure my parents still view me as an emotionally unstable disappointment, though Mum did call me wise when we were walking through the park. She hasn’t made up her mind about the art course yet, and I still haven’t spoken to Dad about it. My pen hovers over the beer mat for a moment before I decide that, sadly, one compliment doesn’t warrant a tick.
4. Conquer fear of public speaking. Heaven knows why I thought putting this wish on the list was a good idea. Public speaking still scares the pants off me, though I did just order the whole café to get back to their beverages. I cringe inside at the memory. Nope, it’s no tick for that one.
5. Secure date with Logan. Yes! Tick, tick, tick. And it’s going to be amazing. I ignore a wave of sorrow as Zac’s face pops into my head, and bury it down deep.
6. Make myself look more like Jasmine. That’s really going to up a gear over the next few days. Or it was until I managed to annoy the book club. Fingers crossed that Mary will still want to take me shopping tomorrow, and Millicent won’t cancel her hairdresser in a fit of pique.
I put the list back into my pocket and force a smile. No one ever said that making wishes come true was easy, and I hate upsetting friends, but they’ll come round and it’ll all be worth it in the end. No gain without pain.
Sixteen
I’ve locked the bookshop door and pocketed the key when a voice sounds in my ear. ‘I thought that was you.’
When I turn around, Logan is standing so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. A grey scarf is tucked into the neck of his black coat and his hair is shining almost white-blond in the warm light from the bookshop’s window display. Next to him, looking bored, is Stu, the workmate he came into The Cosy Kettle with a while back.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, immediately feeling wrong-footed and slightly stalked. I need to build up to seeing Logan – calm my breathing, brush my hair, generally get myself in hand.
‘Stu and I were in town and I thought you’d be locking up about now. You’re a bit later than I expected, to be honest, and my feet are freezing.’
‘Our feet,’ mutters Stu, stamping his boots in the snow that’s lingered all day on the cold pavements.
Logan ignores him. ‘I hope it’s not my party that’s keeping you here after hours.’
‘I just had a few things to finish off before I left for the day – a few more decorations to get up.’
‘They’re looking amazing, by the way. You’re doing such a brilliant job.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I nipped into the café at lunchtime but didn’t spot you. Flora was serving coffees so I assumed you were at lunch.’
‘Yeah, I was out shopping.’ I’m lying because I don’t want to tell him I was crashed out on the old camp bed in the attic. I faced down my fear of spiders lurking in dark attic corners – go, new Becca! – and snatched half an hour of shut-eye which helped to revive me for the afternoon.
‘Are you busy this evening?’ asks Logan, still standing very close.
‘Why?’
‘Stu and I are nipping to the pub for a quick pint before hitting the bright lights of Oxford, and we’d like it if you’d join us.’
Stu definitely wouldn’t like it. He has the sullen face of a man with too much experience of playing gooseberry to his better-looking friend – an expression I perfected when Jazz and I used to go nightclubbing together during uni holidays.
When I hesitate, Logan laughs. ‘It’s not a date or some kind of weird threesome. I’m saving our date for after the Christmas party when it’s just the two of us.’ He gives me a slow, sexy wink. ‘This is more a non-date – a quick catch-up about the party and a chat between friends. But don’t worry if you’ve got other plans.’
My plans for the evening consist only of a long hot bath with lots of bubbles, followed by a comatose evening on the sofa with a crap sitcom on the telly. That, and avoiding Zac and Jasmine as much as possible.
‘I’ve nothing planned, it’s just that it’s been a long day.’
‘And a long night by the sound of it when we spoke on the phone. How’s your head?’
‘A bit delicate.’ I look up at him and grin. ‘Sorry if I was a bit tipsy on the phone.’
‘You were ever so slightly tipsy, and absolutely adorable.’
Wow, that’s a first. When we were growing up, Jasmine was the twin always described as ‘adorable’, with her long blonde curls and pretty smile. I was more often described as ‘kind’ or ‘clever’ – or ‘sturdy’ (thanks, Grandma). But handsome Logan thinks I’m adorable, even when I’m off my head.
Stu gives a long, loud sigh. ‘Can you make your mind up ’cos I’m freezing my bits off here?’
‘A quick drink would be lovely,’ I tell Logan, slipping my arm through his when he crooks his elbow towards me.
‘Excellent! The pub it is, then.’
The Pheasant and Fox is packed with people out enjoying the festive season. ‘Fairytale of New York’ is playing on the jukebox, rainbow lights are blinking on the tree, and the smell of roast turkey is wafting through the pub. Logan and Stu stand at the bar, getting the drinks in, while I find a seat near the door to the garden and scan the crowd. I recognise a few people from the café but there’s no sign of Stanley or the CK Crew, thank goodness. They’d either harangue me for daring to change The
Cosy Kettle, or earwig while I’m talking to Logan and give feedback on my conversational technique with prospective boyfriends.
‘So how are things going with the party preparations?’ asks Logan, placing a mulled wine in front of me and sliding into the seat opposite. An overwhelming smell of woody aftershave tickles my nose as Stu drops onto the seat next to me.
‘The preparations are going really well. I’ve ticked off most of my spreadsheet.’
‘I love a woman with a spreadsheet,’ murmurs Logan, who seems to be smouldering again. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat?’
‘Absolutely sure, thanks,’ I reply, even though I have a sudden craving for the roasted honey cashews they sell in here. I’m addicted to them but feel anxious at the thought of eating in front of Logan and Stu. Food in the teeth isn’t a good look.
Logan slips off his jacket and stretches his legs under the table. ‘Go on then, tell me what you’ve already arranged, party-wise, so I can relax and enjoy my weekend.’
‘Well, I’ve redone the café decorations, the food is on order and the madrigal quartet are booked. Three patio heaters have arrived for the garden and I’ve ordered the extra strands of white lights we need for outside. I paid a little extra so they’ll definitely be here in time for the party.’
‘Wonderful. And I noticed you’ve moved that tacky angel off the top of the tree, and the dented kettles.’
‘Yep, they’re all packed up and put away,’ I say, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of guilt. ‘The kettles belonged to Stanley’s wife and gave the café its name.’
‘Stanley?’ Logan wrinkles his perfect nose.
‘The elderly man in the skinny jeans who seems to live in The Cosy Kettle.’
‘Oh yeah. He’s a bit of a strange one.’
‘He was rather upset, actually, that the kettles had been moved. And Auntie Edna.’
‘Who the hell is Auntie Edna?’ demands Stu, who’s still wrapped up in his jacket as though it’s below freezing in here.
