The Cherry Tree Cafe (23 page)

He opened his mouth to answer, but whatever he was trying to say was drowned out by music blasting through the computer speakers and filling the room. A girl in a sarong and little else appeared
in the shot. She draped her arms around Ben’s neck and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Hola!’ she beamed at the screen then began to try to pull Ben to his feet. ‘Come and dance!’ she shouted, gyrating her tanned hips in his direction. ‘Ben, come on!
Come and dance!’

‘You better go,’ I said, ‘looks like quite a party.’

‘No it isn’t,’ Ben shouted, ‘it isn’t a party.’

‘See you, Ben.’

I flicked the monitor switch and he was gone. Well, that was it. It didn’t really matter why Ben hated me, after seeing that, I could live without knowing. Obviously he’d moved on
with his life and it was high time I did the same. Yes, we’d had feelings for each other in the past but as Ben said, it was all water under the bridge.

We weren’t like Jemma and Tom. We’d missed our chance and now it was time for me to stop believing in fate and the romance of one true love and focus on my future. I had a fledging
business to nurture and if a relationship of some kind did magically materialise, then it would have to be prepared to take second place to my first true love.

It wasn’t easy getting used to the idea that Dad had a potentially life threatening medical malfunction looming on the horizon. Every time the phone rang, I sprang to
answer it and if more than a couple of hours passed I was calling the house to make sure everything was OK.

‘What you need is a distraction,’ suggested Angela, ‘and I don’t just mean from worrying about your dad,’ she added knowingly.

Angela had fitted in to the Café routine seamlessly. She was even allowed to help Jemma in the kitchen and for my control freak of a friend that was a major step forward.

‘Like what?’ I asked, passing her a tray of dishes over the counter and ignoring the implication that she knew I was still stewing over the unsatisfactory Skype fiasco.

‘I think it’s high time you offered another sewing session,’ she said. ‘I know you’ve been worried about your dad amongst other things, but life has to go on,
Lizzie. You only have to look at what your parents have been up to see that!’

‘She’s right,’ Jemma chipped in. ‘Since the cigarette-burning ritual they haven’t looked back. You’re the one constantly hanging on the end of the phone! What
you need is to launch this business properly. Draw up a schedule of what you want to run and when and we’ll take it from there.’

They were both right, of course. My own life had been running a little off the tracks since Dad’s stroke and Ben’s departure from my life. I’d given Jemma a blow by blow
account of what had happened with Ben but had made her swear not to talk about it to anyone or mention his name when I was around. I knew it was tough on her because she knew all the answers and I
didn’t, but I was doing a grand job of convincing myself that I didn’t care and that I had far bigger fish to fry.

People were still asking when I was going to get started properly and I knew I couldn’t expect them to show interest indefinitely, especially if I didn’t have even a sketchy
suggestion to offer them, but suddenly it felt like such a huge step. What I needed was another Deborah top-up, I realised; another little coaching session to get me back on the right path.

‘You know you are right,’ I told the two eager faces peering at me over the counter. ‘I don’t want to end up a “what if ”, do I? I think I’ll ask
Deborah to travel up and have a look at the set-up. How does that sound?’

‘Perfect!’ Angela beamed.

‘Whatever it takes,’ Jemma agreed.

Deborah was ecstatic when I phoned and told her how things had gone with the second session and subsequent flyer distribution in the pub.

‘I’m sorry about your father, Lizzie, I really am, but you mustn’t let life’s little hiccups throw you off course. If you really want to make a go of this you have to do
your absolute utmost to get it going, put in the hard work and the hours and most importantly, don’t give up when you hit a hurdle or two!’

I knew what she was saying made perfect sense, but Dad’s stroke had felt like more than just a hurdle to me.

‘I know you probably think I’m a hard-faced old boot,’ Deborah carried on, obviously having heard my sigh, ‘but I want you to succeed, Lizzie. I really think you’ve
got what it takes.’

‘So you’ll come?’ I asked hopefully. ‘I can make arrangements for you to stay and I’ll pay your train fare.’

‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Deborah boomed but then her tone softened, ‘Heather’s been a bit under the weather recently, the poor love. A little break will do us
both good. I’ve someone here who’s more than capable of running the show for a few days. We’ll take a bit of a tour and see you mid-week. How does that sound?’

‘Perfect!’ I smiled. ‘And thank you so much. I can’t wait to show you everything I’ve done!’

The morning Deborah and Heather were due to arrive I was more nervous than before the first bunting session, and this wasn’t something that went unnoticed by Jay who happened to pop in for
a quick bite as he was passing through town. I hadn’t clapped eyes on him since the night in the pub but in quieter moments, when I was cursing men and their associated complications, the
thought of him and the leggy blonde had loitered uncomfortably in the recesses of my mind.

‘I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your dad, Lizzie,’ he said kindly, whilst staring pointedly at my shaking hands as I fussed and fiddled, making final adjustments to
the crafting area.

An instant wave of guilt crashed over me. For the last hour or so Dad and his problems hadn’t been at the forefront of my mind at all. My sudden attack of nerves was solely down to
Deborah’s imminent visit and subsequent judgement on my efforts to impress her.

‘I didn’t know what had happened until last night,’ Jay continued when I failed to answer, ‘I’ve been working away and only found out when I popped into the Mermaid
for a quick drink.’

‘He’s much better now,’ I said, throwing what I hoped was an appreciative smile in his direction, ‘thanks for asking.’

Thankfully Dad really was much better. Since he had been discharged from the hospital, Mum had put him and herself on a strict new diet and fitness regime. The exercise had gently increased as
the dairy and other fats diminished and half the time they looked like a pair of love-struck teenagers. It was beginning to look like Dad’s stroke had re-ignited their flagging marital spark
and I was overjoyed for them on all fronts.

‘Don’t mind the state of her, Jay,’ Jemma teased as she set out the cutlery and cruets, ‘it’s a big day. Come back tomorrow, normal service will have been resumed
by then.’

‘Oh?’ Jay questioned. ‘What’s going on? I can’t leave you girls alone for five minutes, can I?’

I shot Jemma a fearsome glance. She knew I didn’t want to make a big fuss about Deborah’s visit.

‘Lizzie’s friend from London is paying an official visit,’ she carried on regardless. ‘She’s a real crafting-café aficionado, isn’t she,
Lizzie?’

I opened my mouth to answer, but again she didn’t give me the chance.

‘If she gives Lizzie the thumbs-up then it’ll be all systems go!’

‘What I don’t get is why you’re still hanging back, Lizzie,’ Jay frowned. ‘The Café is spot on and you only have to look at the picture up there to see that
you have the skills! Everything is perfect, even you.’

How could I explain that my confidence levels just needed a bit of a boost without sounding all feeble and needy? It had been a while since the last session and although everything was, as Jay
so enthusiastically pointed out, looking perfect, I still doubted my ability and wanted Deborah to see me in situ before I took the plunge and officially launched the business.

The fact that Jay had just called
me
perfect sent all my collated thoughts scattering and I was left red-faced, shuffling my feet and feeling confused. What exactly had he meant by that? Was he suggesting
that I was the perfect image of womanhood and loveliness or did he mean that I had the perfect personality and business skills to make the venture succeed?

‘Don’t waste your breath!’ Jemma shouted, coming to my rescue. ‘We keep telling her all that but she won’t believe us. She’s got the perfect set-up here but
she’s still holding back.’

‘That isn’t quite what I meant,’ Jay mumbled, suddenly more interested in looking around the Café than at either of us.

‘What did you mean then?’ Jemma asked mischievously, raising her eyebrows in expectation of a quick and concise answer.

‘Never mind,’ he stammered, ‘it doesn’t matter. I’ll pop back later to see how you’ve got on.’

I watched him rush through the door, then turned back around and carried on fussing as if nothing had happened.

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Jemma scowled. ‘You can’t keep this ridiculous man ban in place forever you know!’

‘I don’t see why not,’ I shot back, annoyingly thinking of Ben, ‘besides I don’t trust him. He was with a tall blonde girl the other night in the pub. Why is he
trying to make a play for me if he’s already got someone else? You of all people should know I wouldn’t fall for that one; once bitten and all that.’

Jemma rolled her eyes and flicked me lightly with the tea towel that she seemed to have permanently attached to her person these days.

‘That’s his sister, you idiot!’ she laughed. ‘The one he was making the bunting for!’

‘Lizzie darling, it all looks absolutely charming!’ Deborah boomed, as she burst through the Café door.

‘You’ve only seen the outside!’ I laughed, then stopped as I caught sight of Heather teetering rather than trotting along behind in Deborah’s enthusiastic wake.

Seeing my change of expression, Deborah quickly turned around and ushered her friend inside.

‘Hello, Lizzie,’ Heather said, ‘this all looks fabulous, so pretty with the trees outside and the little picket fence.’

I nodded and stared then realised what I was doing and fumbled for something to say that would cover my shock.

‘Hello, Heather, Deborah tells me you haven’t been well lately.’

Oh, well done. Zero out of ten for discretion, Lizzie. Heather however, always so accommodating, smiled weakly.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I haven’t been well, but I’m feeling better for getting out of London and seeing a bit of countryside.’

‘Would you like to go up to the flat?’ I offered. ‘Have a bit of a rest from your travels while I show Deborah around?’

‘Top idea!’ Deborah agreed. ‘Lead the way, Lizzie, then we’ll get down to business. Come on, old girl,’ she smiled, tenderly taking Heather’s hand, ‘up
the wooden hill to Bedfordshire.’

With Heather settled in the spare room Deborah and I went down to the Café and shared the cake and biscuits Jemma had thoughtfully laid out in the crafting area.

‘Are you all right?’ I tentatively asked, not at all sure how to react to Deborah’s thoughtful expression and unusual lack of words.

She let out a long slow breath.

‘Not really,’ she admitted with a shake of her head. ‘It’s been hell, Lizzie, sheer hell, but we’ll talk about all that later. Give me a few minutes to have a look
around this beautiful Café and then we’ll talk business.’

I left Deborah to have a proper look at everything and took the tray back to Jemma in the kitchen.

‘How’s it going?’ she whispered. ‘What does she think?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ I explained, ‘Heather’s been unwell and by the looks of it, it’s knocked the wind out of both their sails.’

‘Look out!’ Jemma hissed as Deborah appeared in the doorway.

‘Well, congratulations, girls!’ she smiled, ‘this is quite a place! I adore all these cupcakes and the cherry tree design on the door is precious. I’m guessing
they’re all your work, Lizzie, am I right?’

‘Yep,’ I nodded proudly, ‘they do look great, don’t they?’

Deborah nodded.

‘And the crafting area is perfectly situated in the recess. Just far enough away not to interfere with Café business, but close enough to make it part of the place. Spot
on!’

I beamed in response to Deborah’s positive reaction and rejoined her at the crafting table where I had laid out some of the ideas and potential projects I had put together along with my
business plan.

‘Now about Heather,’ I said gently as we finished looking through everything.

‘Could be cancer,’ Deborah blurted out, her eyes never leaving the paperwork in front of her, ‘don’t know yet. Get the results back next Friday.’

I didn’t know what to say. My relationship with these women, although freshly formed, had been hugely instrumental in getting over my post-Giles heartbreak and the thought of either of
them suffering in any way was horrid.

‘Might not be, of course,’ Deborah added bravely, ‘either way,’ she said, sitting up and finally meeting my eyes, ‘I’ve decided the time has come to sell the
Crafting Café.’

‘What?’ I gasped. ‘Why?’

Deborah chuckled at my reaction.

‘Do you know how long Heather and I have been together?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I shook my head, my mind still reeling from the shock of her selling up. ‘No idea.’

The City Crafting Café was Deborah’s life. She had built it up from nothing on a shoestring. The thought of her being able even to consider parting with it seemed impossible to
me.

‘Thirty-five years,’ she said with a smile. ‘For the last thirty five years Heather has supported me. She’s never complained or questioned; she’s put up with my
moods and my tantrums and with never a moment’s thought for her own happiness or hopes and dreams.’

‘Because she loves you,’ I began to say.

‘But love shouldn’t be a one-way street, should it?’ Deborah burst out. ‘Loving someone should be about give and take. I know that Heather has given for the last
thirty-five years and I’ve done little other than take and that is shocking, Lizzie, shocking.’

‘I can’t believe that’s true, Deborah.’

‘It is,’ she said, her tone suggesting I shouldn’t dare contradict what she was saying, ‘but not any more. Neither of us is getting any younger and no matter what the
results are next week, Heather and I have decided, together for once, that we’re leaving London.’