by Liz Eeles
‘This is Daniel, whose mother runs Luna’s Magical Emporium.’
‘Really?’ Katrina laughs as Daniel smiles and shakes her hand. ‘Your mother’s shop is driving my husband mad so tell her to keep it up. A little gentle outrage keeps him occupied and out of my hair.’ She lowers her voice. ‘By the way, Flora, any chance of a sneak preview of the Best Book You’ve Read result?’
‘I shouldn’t, but’ – I lean in close – ‘it’s Day of Desire.’
‘Yes!’ shouts Katrina, punching the air and sending chocolate crumbs flying. ‘All my friends voted for it so I’m not surprised. Most of the women in town seem to be totally in love with that book. I’ll see you later when you unveil the survey result. Lovely to meet you, Daniel.’
‘What book did you say?’ asks Daniel as Katrina makes a beeline for her husband.
‘No one’s supposed to know until this afternoon, but the winner is Day of Desire, which is brilliant news. I’m so chuffed and I’d never have discovered the book without you. Aren’t you pleased?’
Daniel doesn’t look like a man who’s pleased. His face is pale against his dark hair and he’s no longer smiling.
‘Are you all right? I thought you’d be chuffed too seeing as—’
‘Come with me,’ he murmurs, grabbing my arm. He steers me past the crowds, out of the café and into a corner of the bookshop.
‘What’s going on, Daniel?’
‘I need to have a word with you in private.’ Daniel glances around us and bends his head until his hair brushes against mine. He smells of citrus and vanilla, like laundered sheets on a Provençal washing line. A sudden image of Daniel in swimwear under a hot French sun drifts into my mind, and I take a step backwards.
Nearby, people burst into peals of laughter and he frowns. ‘This isn’t private enough. Follow me.’
Why would Daniel want to speak to me in private? Unless he’s about to confess that Day of Desire was written by Emma, and my nagging suspicion was right all along?
He weaves his way through the book browsers into our tiny shop kitchen, with me trotting behind. Oh, I wish he hadn’t come in here. The kitchen’s a tip, with dirty cups piled up in the sink that’s still stained in spite of industrial quantities of bleach. I scrape scattered toast crumbs off the tiny worktop into my hand and dump them in the bin.
‘Sorry about the mess. We’ve been so busy getting the shop and café ready, this room has been rather neglected.’
Daniel waves his hand, dismissively. ‘It doesn’t matter. I just needed a word. The truth is…’ He lurches forwards as the kitchen door slams into his back.
‘There you are, Flora,’ says Becca, stepping into the room. Her jaw drops when she spots Daniel. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to bang into you and I’m sorry for interrupting, but Mr Morgan – Malcolm – just rang to say he’s picked up Mr Kinsley and will be here at three.’
‘OK, thanks, Becca.’
I lean back against the sink and take a deep breath. It’s great that Mr Kinsley has arrived in Oxford, but I’m still nervous about hosting a renowned author who sells shedloads of books worldwide.
Becca swallows. ‘Mr… Malcolm also said to tell you that he’s expecting an answer, but I didn’t understand what he was talking about. Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry. I know what he means.’
‘Oh, and someone called Jemima was looking for you. She said she wanted to speak to you about Caleb. Something to do with stuff happening at school?’
Daniel’s head shoots up. ‘Do you mean Caleb’s teacher, Jemima? Why does she want to speak to you, Flora, about my son?’
‘I met her in the shop and mentioned that I know Caleb, so she probably just wants to say hello.’ I’m such a hopeless liar. My over-bright tone of voice gives me away every time.
Daniel narrows his eyes at me, before peering through the open kitchen door.
‘I can see her over there. Let’s ask her, shall we?’
Becca spots the panic that must be written all over my face and starts shaking her head. ‘I might have got the message wrong. I do get messages wrong sometimes. My friend Zac says I don’t concentrate properly and I get things muddled. It’s a curse.’
‘Jemima!’ shouts Daniel. He waves his arm above his head, and I catch a flash of white teeth as Jemima spots him and starts making her way through the crowd. My heart sinks into my sandals.
‘Hello there, Mr Purfoot, I didn’t realise you were here. And hi, Flora, I’ve been looking for you.’ Beaming, Jemima steps into our tiddly kitchen, which is now totally rammed with four people. She wedges herself into a gap next to the ancient fridge and smooths down her shiny blonde hair. ‘I must say, Flora, that I’m very impressed with the bake-off and what you’ve got planned this afternoon.’
‘Thank you. That’s really kind of you to say, especially when I’m sure you’ve got loads of other people to chat to. I think I saw some of your pupils browsing in our children’s section.’
I start shuffling towards the door but Jemima stays wedged between the fridge and the crockery cupboard.
‘Actually, while you’re both here, I was hoping to have a quick word about Caleb if… um.’
She glances at Becca.
No, Becca! Please don’t leave me alone with Daniel and Jemima. That’s clearly what my eyes are saying. I can’t open them any wider or stare any more beadily. But Becca is in a bit of a panic and oblivious to my silent cry for help. She apologises profusely – I’m not sure what for – and beats a hasty retreat. The kitchen door bangs shut behind her.
‘Is everything all right with Caleb?’ asks Daniel, looking worried.
‘Yes, I think so,’ says ever-smiley Jemima, who’s showing lots of tanned leg in a short blue skirt. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on him and you were right, Flora, that there have been a few friendship problems and some low-level bullying which needed to be tackled. So I just wanted to let you know that I’m very glad you said something and there’s nothing to worry about when Caleb comes back to school next term.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ I squeak, as Daniel stands silently beside me.
‘Anyway, I’m glad that’s all sorted.’ Jemima grins so hard, huge dimples appear in her cheeks. ‘Now, I’m going to have some of the amazing cake that’s on offer. Honestly, choosing which one to try is a nightmare. I’ll see you both later.’ She waggles her fingers at us and heads back into the bookshop, leaving me and Daniel alone.
For a moment, neither of us speak and then Daniel swings round towards me.
‘What did she mean?’ His voice is low and calm but a tiny muscle is fluttering beneath his left eye.
‘I mentioned that I knew Caleb when Jemima came in to buy a book.’
‘She talked about bullying.’
‘Well, friendship problems, really.’
‘Nope. She definitely used the word “bullying”, which came as rather a shock to me, seeing as I’ve heard nothing about it. Are you going to tell me what’s been going on?’
‘It wasn’t really…’ My shoulders slump with the realisation that there’s no getting out of it. I need to fully break my promise to Caleb, as I probably should have done from the start. Here goes… ‘A couple of weeks ago, I saw some boys take Caleb’s lunch when they were on a school trip in Honeyford.’ I ignore Daniel’s sharp intake of breath and plough on. ‘So, I spoke to Caleb about it and he said some of the boys were being mean to him. He didn’t want to speak about it and he only told me when I promised not to tell anyone else.’
‘By anyone else, do you mean his father?’ Daniel’s voice is still ominously low and calm.
‘Yes,’ I say, miserably. ‘He was desperate not to make you sad again, Daniel.’
‘So you kept it from me? Good grief, Flora!’ Daniel starts pacing up and down the kitchen – with his long legs, it’s no more than five steps each way. ‘How could you keep something so important from me? He’s my son. He was in trouble and you didn’t tell me. That’s unbelievable.’
/> ‘I wanted to tell you but he made me promise on his life that I wouldn’t tell anyone.’
‘And you made that promise? He’s nine years old, Flora. Whatever was agreed, you should have told me.’
‘Yes, I expect you’re right but he was adamant and I didn’t want him to stop talking to me and be miserable on his own.’
‘So you said nothing to me or to his grandmother.’ Daniel’s handsome face is a picture of incomprehension. ‘I was beginning to think you were good for Caleb, but now I find out I can’t trust you with him.’
‘Of course you can trust me. I care a great deal about Caleb and I wanted to help him but didn’t know how. So I hinted at what was wrong to Jemima and it sounds as though she’s sorting things out.’
‘You hinted? Jemima seems a good teacher in many ways but she’s not the sharpest knife in the block. What if she hadn’t cottoned on to your hints? You may as well have been sending up smoke signals while thugs were beating up my son.’
‘The boys weren’t beating up Caleb. You’re being over the top.’
‘Really? I’ve just found out you knew that my son was being bullied and you didn’t tell me, and you went behind my back to his teacher.’
‘Yeah. Put like that, it doesn’t sound great. Look, I’m really sorry if I screwed up. I was trying to keep my promise and do what was best for Caleb, and it seemed the most sensible thing to do, in the circumstances.’
‘But it wasn’t the right thing to do, Flora.’ Daniel presses the heels of his hands against his forehead and breathes out slowly. ‘I’m sure you were doing your best but it’s not how I choose to parent and protect my son.’
‘You can’t protect him from everything.’
Daniel shakes his head. ‘How would you know, Flora, when you never got around to having children?’
That’s a low blow and Daniel knows it. He frowns and steps towards me. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m just upset about… urgh! Really?’ He grits his teeth as the door bashes into his back again.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ says Becca, poking her head around the door and grimacing at Daniel. ‘I wouldn’t have bothered you, Flora, but it’s kicking off in the café. Alan’s arguing with John that he got his judging wrong. He just banged his fist on the trestle table and sent Melanie’s choc-chip sponge flying. It looks like there’s been a chocolate massacre in The Cosy Kettle.’
Oh, Lord.
Daniel shrugs. ‘You’d better go and sort it out.’
‘Will you be all right?’
‘Of course. Caleb and I are always all right.’
He flattens himself against the counter but I can’t help brushing against him as I rush out of the kitchen to act as peacemaker in a cake war. It seems I peaked too soon with my positive feelings after the bake-off.
In so many ways, Charter Day isn’t turning out quite the way I’d hoped.
Becca wasn’t exaggerating when she said it was kicking off in The Cosy Kettle. Melanie is standing in the remains of her smashed cake, shouting at Alan, who’s waving what looks like a sponge finger in John’s face.
‘This is better entertainment than It’s A Knockout,’ chortles Stanley. He takes a mobile phone from the pocket of his jeans and starts snapping pictures.
‘Pack it in,’ I yell, wading into the fray and almost slipping on spilled cream. ‘Stanley, please stop taking photos and go and keep an eye on the shop for me. Now, what on earth is going on?’
‘There has been a major travesty of justice,’ booms Alan, waggling the sponge finger at me. Channelling an autocratic monarch has obviously gone to his head. ‘I’ve been tasting the cakes—’
‘He’s been taking a spoonful out of each, even though I asked him not to,’ confirms Becca.
‘… and Mrs Holloway has baked a perfectly sound cake. It’s light with a very pleasant taste, but it is not the winning bake in my opinion. That honour should go to this one here, the coffee and walnut creation by’ – he squints at the little flag on a cocktail stick that’s rammed into his cake of choice – ‘a Mr Dick Pomfrey.’
Fabulous! I can only imagine the to-do if Stanley finds out about this and starts flinging cake-mix accusations all over the place. This conflagration will look like a minor skirmish, in comparison.
‘The judge’s verdict is final,’ I tell Alan, pushing the sponge finger away from my nose. ‘In John’s opinion, Mrs Holloway deserved to win and that judgement can’t be rescinded.’ When Alan scowls, his jowls start to wobble. ‘The bake-off is over but I was rather hoping, Alan, that you’d speak to some of my customers in the shop. They’re very impressed with the brilliance of your costume and, um, general characterisation of King Henry the First. I overheard someone saying that you had a look of’ – I dredge my brain for an actor of suitable repute – ‘Damian Lewis about you.’
‘Golden Globe winner, Damian Lewis? Really?’
No, not really, Alan. But he swallows it, thank goodness, and, with a final withering glare at our poor judge, he bustles out of the café.
By the time I’ve apologised profusely to John and herded everyone out of the café, Becca has started clearing up the mess.
‘I’ll do it,’ I tell her, putting on my apron and taking the dustpan and brush from her. ‘If you go and relieve Stanley, who’s keeping an eye on the shop, I’ll clean this up and then we can let people back in to finish off the cakes.’
Becca gets to her feet and wipes smudged chocolate cake from her knees. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. Just let me know if Alan starts punching customers.’
Becca grins. ‘It’s OK. Katrina’s in there and she kind of keeps him under control.’
‘Kind of.’
Once Becca’s gone, and the café is blessedly quiet, I kneel down and start scraping smashed cake into the bin. Crumbs have scattered everywhere. Alan is a right pain and should be cleaning this up himself, but I’m enjoying a few moments of peace and quiet. I knew Charter Day was going to be full on, but I wasn’t expecting to sort out a cake war and be outed by Jemima to Daniel before – I check my watch – midday. And just when Daniel and I were settling into a slightly less awkward relationship.
I sigh and dip my fingers into the only pile of cake that hasn’t been trodden into the concrete. Then I push my fingers into my mouth and suck off the sickly sweet concoction. Chocolate, and lots of it, is the only thing that will do the trick for me right now. The café door creaks open as I’m mid-suck and Caleb comes in. He walks purposefully towards me, his little face deadly serious, and stands with his hands on his hips.
‘You told my teacher about the boys taking my lunch. I trusted you and you promised, but you told her, and now my dad knows, too, and he’s upset and it’s all my fault.’ He pushes out his bottom lip and starts blinking really fast. He’s breaking my heart.
‘Your dad’s upset because of me, not you.’
I wipe my fingers on my apron, sit back on the floor and open my arms wide, in case he needs a hug. I’m expecting some resistance but he immediately wraps his arms around my neck and cuddles into me. I hug him tightly for a few moments before pulling him onto my lap.
‘I’m sorry, Caleb. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone but I should never have made you a promise like that. The truth is I was worried about you so I told Jemima, your teacher, that life was a bit tricky for you at school. I honestly didn’t say anything about the boys taking your lunch.’ I sigh. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all to your teacher. I only did because I care about you so much. But I definitely should have told your dad what was happening, Caleb – promise, or not – because he loves you and he wants to look after you. I made a big mistake in not telling him and now he’s angry with me, not with you.’
Caleb snuggles further into me and, when I stroke his soft fair hair, he pushes his thumb into his mouth. I tighten my arms around him and lay my cheek on the top of his head. This feels so right.
‘Do you want some cake?’ I ask, my head still resti
ng on his.
‘Deffo.’
As I’m scooping up a handful of untrodden cake and giving it to Caleb, I glance across the café and spot Daniel standing by the door. His eyes meet mine across the top of Caleb’s head and then, without a word, he turns and slips out again.
Chapter Twenty-One
King Henry himself could not have chosen better weather for Charter Day. The sun is high in a china-blue sky and the town is filled with excited voices and children’s laughter, but I can’t relax. I keep reliving the kitchen scene with Daniel and wishing I’d told him from the outset about the bullies targeting Caleb.
Did I really make it worse? I was only trying to do the right thing. A small girl, her hair in bunches, walks past hand in hand with her mum, and my stomach clenches. I bet her mum wouldn’t make such an almighty cock-up of things if she found out her daughter was being bullied at school.
‘Are you all right, Flora?’ asks Becca, who’s been an absolute star all morning. She nudges me gently. ‘I’m sorry if I got in the way a bit in the kitchen when you were talking to Mr Purfoot.’
‘Daniel.’
‘Yeah, when you were talking to Daniel.’ She starts hopping from foot to foot. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, and I’m not trying to interfere, but is everything all right? Only you seem a bit upset.’
‘Don’t worry, Becca. Everything’s fine.’
‘If you’re sure. You look fantastic, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’
I run my fingers over the white flowing fabric that’s caught with a gold belt at my waist before cascading to my feet. I wasn’t going to take part in the parade until Luna persuaded me to close the shop and café for an hour. She offered to make my costume, which is why I’m currently dressed as a goddess in what was once a bed sheet. A spray-painted gold wreath of leaves is on my head and I’ve borrowed Luna’s silver flip-flops.
