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First published in Great Britain as four separate ebooks in 2017 by Transworld Digital
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
First published as one edition in 2017 by Corgi Books
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Cathy Bramley 2017
Cover illustration by Kate Forrester
Song reference: (Everything I Do) I Do It For You – Bryan Adams (B. Adams/R. J. Lange/M. Kamen)
Cathy Bramley has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473542891
ISBN 9780552172097
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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It was the morning after Dad’s Dolly Parton debut. The café had opened as if nothing had changed. Except that everything had changed. Despite a hangover, Lia was in the kitchen making soup. I’d suggested to her last night that she came in for some work experience to see if cooking for a living was really for her. I thought she’d forget, but she was here, downing cans of Coke and furiously chopping vegetables as if she was auditioning for MasterChef. Dad was in the conservatory giving an interview to a junior reporter from the Derbyshire Bugle called Robin Barker. And Mum, with Arlo playing with wooden spoons on her knee, was in deep conversation with Nonna about the university of the third age and all their fabulous outings. Nonna, it seemed, was keen to start her new life of leisure as soon as possible.
And I had taken over as the manager of the Lemon Tree Café.
‘One pot of tea and two caramel slices,’ I said, sliding a tray across the counter to Mr Beecher, the school caretaker, who’d come to do the crossword with Stanley.
‘You still here, then?’ he said, eyeing me from under two tremendously hairy eyebrows. ‘Thought you’d have been back off to the city by now.’
‘And leave all this behind?’
I nodded at the view through the café window. The bank leading down to the stream along the edge of the village green was dotted with pale yellow primroses and children were splashing in the water. The church spire was just visible behind the pub and the striking green and brown slopes of the Peak District in the distance contrasted sharply with the cloudless blue spring sky.
The urban offices of HitSquad could never have come close.
‘Good point,’ he said gruffly and dropped a pound in our tin marked ‘Tips’. ‘Have a cup of tea on me.’
‘Thank you.’ I smiled. ‘I shall have an espresso, I think. I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
After tossing and turning, drifting in and out of consciousness and mulling over the two job offers I’d received yesterday, I’d finally come to a decision at around five o’clock. With the help of strong coffee, I’d composed a second text to Finnegan at HitSquad, sending my apologies and explaining that, despite accepting his job offer yesterday, I would now have to decline it after all. And I’d typed an email to Michael, thanking him and saying that I regretted letting him down but that I couldn’t envisage anywhere I’d rather be right now than at the Lemon Tree Café.
I took a deep breath, enjoying the momentary lull at the counter. Friday was always our busiest weekday and, coupled with the fact that it was the Easter holidays, the little bell above the door had been dinging away non-stop with the arrival of each new customer.
In the conservatory, Dad and the young reporter were getting to their feet and shaking hands.
‘Nice chap,’ said Dad, when Robin had left. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Think I’ll have a beef tea to celebrate my five minutes of fame.’
His phone rang as I passed the mug across the counter.
‘That’ll be Vegas,’ Juliet smirked, popping a whole banana into the blender, ‘wanting to know if you’ll headline at Caesar’s Palace this summer.’
Dad’s eyes lit up as Juliet turned on the blender and he scuttled off to a quieter spot to take the call.
‘Oh that’s a shame,’ he said, returning two minutes later. He popped his phone in his pocket and produced a pork pie in a paper bag from Ken’s Mini Mart.
‘No six-figure contract, hen?’ Juliet cocked an eyebrow.
‘It was Ed. He can’t make the football match tomorrow. He’s working.’ Dad tutted.
Dad and Ed often went to see Derby County together. Dad was a huge fan and had used football as a way of vetting our potential boyfriends. Ed, who in fact was more of a rugby man, had tactfully professed an interest in the game when he first started going out with Lia and Dad had approved of him immediately. My poor brother-in-law still hadn’t got round to telling Dad the truth.
The door flew open and Lucas from The Heavenly Gift Shop ran in and headed for the customer toilets.
‘Morning, lovelies! A hot chocolate and a sausage roll, warmed until it goes baggy but not soggy,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Thank you!’
Juliet and I exchanged surprised glances.
‘Where’s the fire?’ she muttered.
‘At least he said thank you,’ I said, reaching for a jumbo sausage roll.
‘Oh dear.’ Juliet jabbed me with her bony elbow. ‘That doesn’t look good.’
Clementine had pulled up outside. Her assistant Tyson was in the passenger seat. Both of them were holding tissues to their faces. But before I had the chance to comment, Lucas emerged from the men’s loos.
‘So sorry,’ he said, smoothing his hair. ‘My own loo is out of action at the moment.’
I liked Lucas. He was possibly the best dressed man in the village and looked like something out of a Burberry catalogue. He also had extremely good taste; since he’d taken over the gift shop last year, it stocked beautiful cards and the sort of items that you bought with the intention of giving to someone else and then found you couldn’t bear to part with.
‘No problem.’ I opened the microwave and removed his steaming sausage roll. ‘How’s that for bagginess?’
‘Perfect,’ he said, doing a little shimmy as he handed me some money.
Dad eyed him up doubtfully. ‘Don’t suppose you fancy coming to the Derby match with me tomorrow? Free ticket?’
‘Football?’ Lucas recoiled as if Dad had invited him to wrestle with starving alligators. ‘Gosh, no thank you. It would remind me of my ex-wife too much.’
‘Oh was she a Derby fan?’ Dad said, discarding the jelly out of his pork pie.
Lucas shook his head.
‘She played. “On the wing”, whatever that means.’ He fanned his face. ‘I’m getting palpitations just thinking about Sundays spent on the sidelines, in the freezing cold, watching her and her friends thunder up and down the pitch.’
‘I’d have loved that,’ sighed Dad.
Clementine opened the door and ushered Tyson in.
‘I’ll get these,’ she said to him, barging ahead to reach the counter. ‘A hot chocolate and a cream horn, is it?’
‘No,’ Tyson said forcefully, chin high. ‘Allow me. While I can still afford it. A herbal tea and sticky ginger cake for you?’
Clementine was dressed in a pair of tatty overalls and looked even thinner than usual. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes were big and red-rimmed and she didn’t look like she had the energy to argue.
‘All right. That would be lovely.’
Nonna’s ears pricked up and she was at Clementine’s side within seconds. ‘What happen? Dicky-head tax man?’
Clementine and Tyson raised tissues to their eyes again and Nonna waved a hand. ‘Never mind. This all on me. Rosie, get them whatever they want.’
Nonna put her arm round Clementine’s stiff shoulders and Tyson’s head sagged.
‘It’s not fair,’ he mumbled into his tissue. ‘She’s such a lovely person.’
Juliet and I grimaced at each other; Clementine had hinted that the garden centre had been having money issues. It looked as if things had deteriorated even more since her husband’s funeral.
Juliet added the whipped cream and marshmallows to Lucas’s hot chocolate while I went digging through the boxes for the herbiest of teas.
‘It’ll feel better after a cream horn,’ Lucas promised, patting Tyson’s arm.
Tyson looked him up and down appraisingly and gave him a shy smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘I know what’ll cheer you up, lad,’ said Dad. ‘Free ticket to Derby County? Pies on me at half-time?’
Tyson shuddered. ‘Sorry, not a football fan.’
‘Snap,’ Lucas said and took a tiny nibble of sausage roll. ‘It was one of the many nails in the coffin of our marriage.’ He paled. ‘Whoops, sorry, Mrs Fearnley. Shouldn’t have said coffin.’
Clementine dabbed a tissue to her eyes and waved a hand. ‘Forget it. People seem to have some sort of bereavement Tourette’s around me these days. The more they try to avoid talking about death, the worse it gets.’
‘Come sit down, you look dead on your feet,’ Nonna soothed, leading her away to a table.
‘You were married?’ Tyson stared at Lucas, from his diamond earrings to his dainty moccasins.
Lucas pushed the sleeves of his cashmere jumper up to his elbows. ‘Yes. To a girl called Tanya until she divorced me for not being butch enough.’
Tyson’s jaw fell open. ‘How rude!’
‘I know!’ Lucas pouted.
Both men shook their heads in solidarity.
Lia appeared from the kitchen, two pink spots on her cheeks and a frizz of curls framing her pretty face.
‘Minestrone soup, anyone?’ She deposited a heavy tureen on the warming plate. ‘Genuine Italian recipe.’
I lifted the lid and inhaled. ‘Smells amazing.’
Lia took a swig from her Coke can and belched softly into her hand. ‘I thought we should make a bit more of our Italian heritage. I might ask Nonna for any old family recipes. On the other hand, a lot of this old furniture should go, Italian or not.’
‘Word to the wise, hen.’ Juliet banged two lemon-patterned plates on to the counter, plonked a cream horn on one and a slice of ginger cake on the other. ‘I tried that before and she bit my head off.’
‘True.’ I nodded. ‘Nonna is touchy about her past. And it’s my first day as manager; I don’t want to upset her by making too many changes at once.’
‘Fine.’ Lia sighed, looking down at her hands. ‘Just an idea.’
I bit my lip; I’d forgotten how sensitive she was at the moment.
‘Ooh, Alec, I’ve had three customers in the shop today talking about your Dolly Parton act. How did you do it?’ Lucas asked, poking his tongue into the cream on his hot chocolate. ‘Because, if you don’t mind me saying, you’re very manly.’
Tyson nodded in agreement and Dad puffed out his chest.
‘Ah. You have to locate your inner diva and work it, work it, work it.’
I did a double take as Dad put both hands on the counter. And twerked.
The two younger men stared at him in awe.
‘Your inner diva,’ Lucas marvelled. ‘OMG. I’m not sure I could ever do that.’
I could feel Juliet shaking with silent laughter.
‘Anyway, Lucas,’ I said, attempting to keep my voice straight, ‘when’s the plumber coming to mend your loo?’
He took a deep breath and fanned his face.
‘There’s nothing wrong with my plumbing. There’s a giant bumblebee stuck in there. This big.’ He pointed at his plate. ‘I can’t possibly go back in until it’s gone.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Dad, his lips twitching mischievously, ‘that with some thought, Lucas, you will indeed find your inner diva. I’ll be in the conservatory phoning my agent if anyone needs me.’
He picked up his beef tea and walked off.
‘I’m having beef tea next time,’ Tyson murmured, watching Dad retreat. ‘Lucas, I don’t mind bees. I’ll come and rescue it.’
Lucas’s hand fluttered to his throat. ‘Rescue it? I’m the one who needs rescuing. But thanks. I accept.’
Tyson asked to borrow a jar of honey in case the bee needed sustenance and the two of them set off back to the gift shop.
‘I think that might be the start of a beautiful friendship,’ said Juliet, folding her arms. ‘Now, Lia, can I finally get in that kitchen? I’m hours behind with the baking and I’ve got the WI ladies in later; they always want lemon drizzle cake.’
‘Ooh!’ Lia’s eyes widened. ‘Rosie, you should take a cake round to Gabe’s tonight for Noah.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘You remember that much, then?’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘I remember right up until I lost that drinking game with the Cossack dancers. It’s a little hazy from then on.’
‘Gabe? I don’t know a Gabe.’ Juliet looked put out; she prided herself on knowing everyone in the village. ‘Or a Noah.’
‘You mean you haven’t heard? Tell her about your hot date!’ said Lia.
‘You’ve got a date?’ Juliet’s jaw dropped.
‘It’s not a date.’ I explained that I’d bumped into a friend of a friend last night and he’d invited me to go round tonight to look at the night sky from the deck of his houseboat.
‘Well, hen,’ she said, patting my arm, ‘at least it gets you out of the house. Beggars can’t be choosers at your age.’
‘Gee, thanks for the pep talk.’
‘I’ll do you a cake for your date, providing …’ Juliet assembled a chopping board, sharp knife and basket of lemons and pushed them in my direction, ‘… you peel all these.’
I opened my mouth to repeat that it wasn’t a date, but it would be nice to take a fresh cake with me; I was sure Noah would appreciate it so I thanked her instead. She disappeared into the kitchen to start mixing cake batter and I picked up the knife and began to peel the first lemon.
Clementine stood up and started jingling her car keys, ready to make a move, and Nonna chivvied her to the counter.
‘You not eating, I see that,’ Nonna was telling her. ‘You bag of bones these days. I make up goody bag for you.’
Clementine rested her elbows on the counter and dropped her head in her hands, while Nonna began filling plastic tubs with portions of food.
‘Stick a couple of thousand quid in the bag while you’re at it,’ she said. ‘That might bring my appetite back.’
‘Oh, cara,’ Nonna tutted. ‘I so sorry you have problems with business.’
‘If there’s anything I can do to help – some marketing or something,’ I said, ‘just say.’
‘Kind of you, dear.’ Clementine gave me a tight smile. ‘But I’m going to have to sell up and I think Clarrie knew it. The garden centre has been struggling for a while. Every time we got a letter from the bank about the overdraft, he used to roll up his sleeves and say, “Dig yourself out of this one, Clarence Fearnley.”’
She heaved a big sigh. ‘I might put that on his headstone.’
‘I am very lucky woman,’ Nonna said wistfully. ‘I never had a man telling me how to run café, and now I have my clever granddaughter to take over.’
‘And a second granddaughter who can cook,’ said Lia pointedly, pushing a small bowl of her soup towards Nonna.
Nonna patted her hand kindly.
‘Don’t look now,’ Clementine muttered under her breath, ‘but there’s some serious eye candy at two o’clock.’
Lia and I checked our watches, Nonna looked at the jar of sweets on the counter.
‘You lot are useless.’ Clementine jerked her head to the other side of the café. ‘Over there.’
We all turned at the same time, completely indiscreetly, to see Clementine’s eye candy and there was Gabe helping Noah out of his jacket. How they had managed to get in without us hearing the bell or noticing them was a mystery. Noah pointed to the toy corner and jumped up and down. Gabe caught us all staring at him and raised a hand.
‘Gabe! Welcome to the Lemon Tree Café,’ I said. ‘Hi, Noah.’
Noah smiled shyly before running to play with the toys and Gabe approached the counter. I made the introductions to Nonna and Clementine who both flirted shamelessly and he ordered some drinks and a cookie for Noah from Lia to take away.
‘Excuse me for eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help overhearing about your troubles. I’m so sorry for your loss,’ said Gabe to Clementine. ‘I’m an ex-solicitor, if I can help at all, reading over paperwork for you, looking at your lease … I’d be only too happy to help. Also, I know what it’s like to lose a partner. Things can get a little overwhelming.’
It was the perfect thing to say and not a hint of bereavement Tourette’s. Clementine swallowed hard and managed to nod. I handed her a tissue. At that moment Juliet popped her head out from the kitchen.
‘Solicitor?’ She stared at me. Clearly Gabe wasn’t the only one who’d been eavesdropping. ‘I expected one of those new-age scruffs with grass seeds in their hair, living on lentils.’
Ground, swallow me up …
‘I don’t know why!’ I said, hoping no one noticed my pink cheeks.