The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts

I lead Mum and Ivor to the door with the handful of treats I’ve insisted they take with them. Mum opens her mouth to say something, but as I already know what it’s going to be and have no desire to hear it (it’s the same thing every visit or phone call), I cut her off before she can utter a word of it. ‘I’ll tell Dad you said goodbye. Have fun tonight!’ I give Mum a nudge over the threshold and into the drizzle, waving as they make a dash for the car before returning to the teashop.

It’s almost four o’clock so the party – if you can call it that – is due to end soon. It doesn’t look like we’re going to entice any more new customers so I think we can officially label this afternoon as a flop. A dud. A complete waste of time, effort and cake.

‘What are we going to do now?’ Mags asks the next morning as we prepare the teashop for opening. We avoided the subject as we baked a few of the morning essentials, but there’s no escaping the fact we need a new plan of action before we sink completely.

‘I really don’t know.’ If I had the money, I’d advertise the teashop far and wide, but the cash Gran left me has been eaten up by deposits, mortgage repayments and equipment and if I empty my account, I’ll have nothing to pay wages or buy ingredients with. I’m in a bind and I can’t see a way out of it. ‘Maybe it’s time we called it quits.’

‘You what?’ Mags’s face morphs quickly from shock to anger.

‘I’m a baker,’ I say. ‘Not to sound arrogant, but I’m damn good at it. But I’m clearly not a businesswoman. As much as I love this place, I don’t think I’m cut out to run my own teashop.’

‘Nonsense.’ Mags shakes her head. ‘We’ve had a rocky start, but we’ll get there.’

‘How?’ I’m out of ideas. I can bake cakes morning, noon and night but there’s little point if there’s nobody in the teashop to buy them.

‘We need a gimmick,’ Mags says. ‘Something to draw people in.’

‘But what?’ If offering free cake wasn’t enough to drive new customers to the teashop, I’m not sure what else will.

‘That’s the conundrum,’ Mags says as she switches the sign on the door to open. It’s something we both ponder as we serve the trickle of early morning customers. I’m happy to see one new face among the familiar, but it isn’t enough to save the teashop from closure.

‘How about baking classes?’ Mags suggests when there’s only Robbie and his milkshake sitting in the teashop.

‘But then won’t everyone bake at home and leave us with even fewer customers?’

‘Hmm, quite possibly,’ Mags concedes while mentally popping her thinking cap back on. We still haven’t brought any new ideas to the table when The Builders descend at lunchtime, filling the teashop with chatter as they thump their way to the counter in their big boots.

‘You’re looking radiant this afternoon, Mags,’ Owen says. ‘If I were ten years younger, I’d leap over this counter and snog your face off.’

Mags bats off the compliment with a wave of her hand. ‘What are you talking about? You’re not much older than I am.’

‘I know but my leg’s giving me jip.’ Owen stoops to rub his thigh as Mags and the other builders laugh. ‘Want to massage it for me?’

‘I’d rather not.’ Mags rubs her hands together. ‘What can I get you today? Cake-wise before you get any mucky ideas.’

‘Would I?’ Owen grins. ‘I’ll have a handful of those little flapjacks – not a euphemism, by the way – and a coffee.’

‘Are you eating in or out?’ Mags asks.

Owen leans his elbow on the counter. ‘I’ll eat in if you’ll join me. It’ll be our first date.’

‘I’m working,’ Mags points out. ‘So you’ll have to either take it out or date one of your buddies here.’

‘I’ll put out if you’re paying,’ Connor jokes.

‘Then I’m definitely not,’ Owen tells him before turning to Mags. ‘I’ll eat in. Alone.’

‘Take a seat; I’ll bring them over,’ Mags says before moving on to take Little Jordan’s and Connor’s orders. I make the coffees and teas while Mags transfers the cakes onto plates. The teashop always comes to life when The Builders are in. They can be boisterous but fun, and today is no exception. I’d love it if the teashop was like this all the time but I have no idea how to make that happen and it’s only a matter of time before Owen and the lads finish their job and move on. I’m dreading that day and I’m pretty sure Mags is too. Despite her protestations to the contrary, I think she rather enjoys the banter with Owen.

‘What about sponsorship?’ I say later, once The Builders have returned to their site. ‘We could sponsor a local football or rugby team. Nobody big, obviously. I’m not talking Woodgate Warriors or anything, but a pub team or something.’

‘I don’t need to check the books to know we can’t afford that,’ Mags says with a little shrug.

Money, money, money. The root of all evil – and all my problems, it seems.

‘We’ll think of something.’ Mags pulls me into a hug but I’m not sure either of us believes her. But it turns out that she’s right. We will think of something, just a few days later, and it’s an idea that is, quite literally, sitting under my nose.

Chapter Ten

Victoria practically bursts into the teashop on Friday morning and I’m surprised the door is still on its hinges with the force. She usually tries to maintain a cool, sometimes even standoffish demeanour, but this morning she’s carrying a huge smile and has a jittery, kid-at-Christmas vibe going on.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask because it’s Victoria’s day off. As much as she loves the teashop, it’s still her workplace and everybody needs a rest from that.

‘I have news and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to tell you.’ Victoria clutches her hands together and gives an excited little yelp. ‘And I sort of need a favour.’

‘Spill then.’ Intrigued, I lean across the counter towards Victoria and she does the little yelp again.

‘Terry Sergeant came to see us play last night and he wants to see us at his office tomorrow.’ Victoria’s words gush out in a breathtaking rush. ‘If it goes well, he might sign us!’

There’s the yelp again, louder this time. I scuttle out from behind the counter and throw my arms around her. Not one for physical contact, Victoria allows me to hug her for three milliseconds before she squirms out of my grip.

‘That is amazing! I’m so happy for you. You deserve this.’ I give a little yelp of my own. ‘You’re going to be famous! I can’t believe I’m going to have a famous friend. Do you think you can send all the celebrities you meet this way?’

Victoria laughs. ‘Terry hasn’t signed us yet.’

‘But he will.’ I’m positive of that.

‘Then of course I’ll send all the celebrities this way. We’ll be the coolest place to hang out.’

‘We?’ I ask. ‘You’ll be hanging up your apron soon. Superstars don’t waitress in little teashops.’ I’ll be sad when the time comes as Victoria has become a good friend as well as a colleague, but I want this for her so much.

‘Speaking of hanging up my apron …’ Victoria says. ‘Do you think I could have the day off tomorrow? The meeting with Terry isn’t until late afternoon but we’d like to get in as much practice as we can beforehand, just in case he needs us to play again for him.’

‘Of course.’ I’d planned to go over to Dad’s, but he’ll understand if I put my visit off for a couple of days. ‘Do you have time for some celebratory cake? I’d have made some peanut butter blondies this morning if I’d known.’

‘An orange sponge finger will do,’ Victoria says and she sits down at the Russian-doll-patterned table while I pop three orange sponge fingers with tangy lime icing onto a plate. I call Mags out from the kitchen and pour cups of tea and coffee, taking them and the cake to the table. Victoria shares her news and Mags is as delighted as I am.

‘To our little megastar in the making,’ she says, raising her cup of tea. Victoria and I raise our own cups, though we don’t clink them as dripping scalding hot tea over your hands is hardly a celebratory move. ‘You won’t forget about us little people, will you?’

‘Of course not.’ Victoria narrows her eyes and bites her lip. ‘What was your name again?’

‘Funny.’ Mags bites into her sponge finger as the teashop door opens so I get up to greet Birdie. I already have a bag of dog biscuits in my apron pocket so I pop outside to say hello to Franklin while Mags serves Birdie’s usual apple crumble with custard. His bum starts to wiggle as soon as he sees me, his claws clattering on the pavement in his excitement as he knows he’s in for a treat.

‘Who’s a gorgeous boy?’ I coo as I scratch Franklin behind his ears. ‘Here you go.’ I hold out a biscuit and pat him on the head as he takes it between his teeth. ‘Good boy.’

I head back into the teashop and pass on the remainder of the dog biscuits before I wash my hands in the kitchen. When I step back into the teashop, I’m surprised to see Dad sitting with Birdie by the window.

‘I didn’t know you were coming in today,’ I say, stooping to kiss his cheek.

Dad winks at me. ‘I was lured by the smell of freshly baked apple crumble.’

‘I see.’ Apple crumble, eh? Or could it be another apple crumble fan has enticed him into the teashop? ‘I’ll just go and let Mags know we need two portions then.’

Leaving Dad and Birdie to chat, I rush into the kitchen, where I grab Mags while making the same excited yelping noises Victoria was emitting earlier.

‘Dad and Birdie!’ I hiss. ‘Come and look.’

Pulling Mags towards the doorway separating the teashop and kitchen, we both peer out at the pair as they chat easily across the table. I can’t quite believe Dad has struck up such a quick and easy companionship with Birdie Conrad but, now that I think about it, he barely noticed Mum at the so-called party at the weekend and spent most of his time chatting with his new friend.

‘Do you think Dad fancies Birdie?’ I whisper, which makes me giggle. I press a hand to my mouth to smother my childish reaction.

‘And why not?’ Mags asks. ‘She’s a lovely woman.’

‘She’s nothing like Mum though.’ Mum’s more refined with a sleek blonde bob and subtle make-up. She wears skirt suits, heels and silk scarfs whereas Birdie’s more robust-looking with greying brown curls and a ruddy complexion. She wears comfortable slacks, flat shoes and an anorak.

‘Have all your boyfriends been the same?’ Mags asks. There haven’t been that many, to be fair, but Joel was completely different to the short-lived romances I’d had before. ‘I know I’d never go for a man like Graham again.’

‘Is Owen like Graham?’ I ask the question casually but Mags tuts.

‘Oh, stop it. I’m not interested in Owen and he isn’t interested in me. It’s a bit of fun, that’s all. But no, Owen is nothing like Graham at all. Graham couldn’t even change a light bulb, never mind build whole houses. He was a bit useless, really.’

I can’t help thinking of Joel. He wasn’t very good at DIY either, despite being a property developer, but he had many other talents. Fidelity not being one of them, it painfully transpired.

‘Oh, look.’ I forget about Joel as I hear laughter from the teashop. Dad is chuckling while Birdie has thrown her head back for a full-on chortle. ‘I really do think they like each other.’

I’m so pleased. Not only has Dad found a woman who just may help him finally get over Mum, but it’s also all down to me. Well, me and my apple crumble. I always knew cake was special but I didn’t know it had Cupid-like powers.

‘Oh my God, that’s it!’ My sudden outburst is so loud it attracts the attention of Dad, Birdie and Victoria. I tug Mags deeper into the kitchen, out of view of our new audience, and lower my voice. ‘I’ve got it! The hook that might bring people to the teashop.’

‘What is it?’ Hearing the commotion, Victoria has rushed into the kitchen to find out what’s going on.

‘Love,’ I announce, a huge grin spreading across my face. ‘Or rather dating.’

I think it’s a marvellous idea and I’m already picturing my little teashop full to bursting point with loved-up couples (who will then, of course, frequent my teashop now it’s on their radar) but Mags and Victoria don’t look convinced. In fact, they look quite bewildered.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Mags asks, which seems to be the question on Victoria’s mind too judging by the frown on her face.

‘I’m talking about matching people up with their favourite cakes,’ I say, almost giddy with the prospect. ‘Like Dad and Birdie and the apple crumble that brought them together. We’ll set up a dating service in the teashop.’ I’m pacing the kitchen now, my hands flying about the place as I try to explain my vision. ‘There’ll be five men and five women who all love a certain dessert and they’ll chat to each other in turn while they enjoy their chosen dessert. It’ll be like speed dating … with cake!’

‘Won’t people be a bit bloated after five lots of cake?’ Victoria asks as we sit down to discuss my idea further now the teashop is empty. Dad and Birdie have finished their apple crumbles and gone their separate ways and although Victoria should be getting back to Nathan and the boys for band rehearsals, she’s decided to stick around for a few more minutes to iron out a few details. ‘Being stuffed to the brim with cake hardly makes you feel sexy, does it?’

‘We’ll make mini desserts,’ I suggest. ‘Like we did for the party.’

Mags, who has brought a notepad and pen from the office, jots this down.

‘But won’t it be a bit …’ Victoria scrunches up her face, reluctant to say the next words ‘… boring? Having the same dessert five times in one night, even if it is on a small scale?’

‘She has a point.’ Mags adds the word BORING with an oversized question mark to her notes.

‘I suppose.’ My idea had seemed brilliant only a few moments ago but now I’m not so sure.

‘I think you have something,’ Mags says quickly. ‘But it needs a bit of a tinker to make it work. Let’s have a think about it over the weekend and see what we can come up with.’

‘In the meantime, I’d better get going,’ Victoria says. ‘The others will be wondering where I am.’

‘Good luck for tomorrow.’ I stand up, think about giving Victoria a hug, and quickly change my mind, collecting our empty cups together instead.

‘Terry would be mad not to sign you on the spot,’ Mags adds. ‘But I’ll cross my fingers and toes for you, just in case.’

I take the cups into the kitchen once Victoria has gone, my mind wandering back to my dating idea. I can feel butterflies fluttering up a storm in my tummy and I know this is something we should pursue. If done right, it’ll bring lots of new potential customers into the teashop who will try our cakes and hopefully return for more. And if they happen to find love among the treats, that will be an amazing bonus.

My mind is still on cake and dating when I’ve finished the washing up and I’m mulling ideas over when Nicky arrives during her lunch break.

‘I need cake – and fast.’ She plonks herself down at one of the tables and folds her arms across her chest. ‘He hasn’t called.’

‘Who hasn’t called?’ I honestly can’t keep up with Nicky and her men. She’s been on three dates alone this week, each one with someone new.

‘Tom.’ She sighs, long and heavy. ‘Victoria gave me his number, so I texted him last night. Nothing flirty or anything. Just a hey, how are you kind of thing. We texted back and forth all night and things got a bit … heated.’ I try not to gag at the thought of Nicky and Victoria’s baby-faced pal sexting. ‘I called earlier but it went straight to voicemail. I left a super-cute, super-breezy message but he hasn’t got back to me.’ The corners of her mouth turn down and I swear her bottom lip pokes out ever so slightly.

‘I think he’s just really busy today.’ I explain about the band and their upcoming meeting with Terry Sergeant. Nicky’s eyes are wide by the time I’ve finished.

‘So he’s going to be famous?’ Nicky stands up so quickly, she nearly sends her chair flying backwards. ‘Forget the cake. If I’m going to be a celeb’s girlfriend, I need to keep it trim.’ She flies out of the teashop – and away from the delicious temptation – almost colliding with The Builders. Mags, who has been out the back, makes a suspiciously sudden appearance.

‘What’s your favourite cake?’ I ask Owen as he observes the goodies in the fridge.

‘From here? Your cherry cola muffins.’ He snaps his head up. ‘Why? Do you have any today?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ I say, deflated with disappointment. I’d been hoping he’d say raspberry cream cheese brownies – Mags’s favourite – and strengthen my idea of matching up potential pairings by their favourite desserts. ‘We have raspberry and white chocolate muffins if you fancy one of those instead?’

Owen shrugs. ‘Why not? I like to mix it up every now and then anyway. Variety is the spice of life and all that.’

I’m placing Owen’s muffin on a plate when his words hit me fully, sending the butterflies in my tummy into a flurry.

Variety is the spice of life.

Variety.

Of course! We don’t have to offer specific cakes for people to bond over, just cake. A variety of cakes. Who wouldn’t want to date and eat cake? Five different cakes, each bite-sized treat as delicious as the next. It wouldn’t be boring and nobody would leave feeling bloated.

It was perfect!

Chapter Eleven

Dad’s invited me round for tea so, after closing the teashop, I climb into my little mint green Fiat 500 and pop on my favourite summery playlist for the drive. I adore this car. Before setting up Sweet Street, a car was the only splurge I allowed myself from the money Gran left me, and I knew as soon as I saw the adorable, dinky car that it was the one for me. Penny went with me to choose it and she said it was tiny and cute, just like me. If I’d known back then that the extra money would have come in handy for the business I’d set up in a few months’ time, I may have stuck with my ancient, clapped-out car that liked to break down at the most ill-timed moments. It was a nightmare of a car but, as turning up for work late so often had cost me my job at the double glazing call centre, I’d always be grateful to it for that.

I get a whiff of the welcoming smell of Dad’s cooking as soon as he opens the door. Dad wasn’t much use in the kitchen when he was married to Mum. He could knock together a shepherd’s pie if absolutely necessary and his omelettes were pretty good, but it’d been Mum who provided most of my nourishment growing up.

When she first left, I took over most of the culinary duties but once I moved in with Penny, Dad either had to roll his sleeves up and learn to cook a few more meals or exist on a rotating menu of shepherd’s pie, omelettes and tinned soup. Luckily, he went with option one and he’s now pretty proficient when it comes to rustling up meals. He uses a lot of the fresh produce from his allotment, which is a bonus.

‘Something smells good.’ I kiss Dad on the cheek before stepping inside and heading straight through to the kitchen and the source of the delicious smells.

‘We’re actually in the living room.’ Dad reaches out and steers me away from the kitchen.

‘We?’ I ask a split second before I’m nudged into the living room. I pause on the threshold, my jaw slowly journeying to the carpet. ‘Birdie! Hello!’ I’m gobsmacked to see one of my customers sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea. I knew they’d been getting along but I had no idea just how well. This is further proof that my cake-dating service can – and will – work.

‘Hello, dear.’ Birdie smiles and pops her cup of tea on the low table in front of her. ‘You look surprised to see me.’

‘Not at all,’ I say, which is ridiculous as my bottom lip is in danger of getting carpet burns. ‘Well, maybe a little. Dad never said you’d be here. Good job I brought this for pudding.’ I hold up the plastic tub I’ve brought with me.

Birdie’s eyes light up. ‘Is that apple crumble?’

‘It is. I’m just going to put it in the fridge. I’ll be back in a minute.’ I flash Dad a follow-me look, which thankfully he picks up on and he shuffles after me into the kitchen. I take a quick scan of the room, hunting out signs of Mum but other than the wine, which Birdie won’t know aren’t for Dad at this stage, we’re okay. I do need to slip the wedding photo discreetly from the mantelpiece in the living room though and I’ll nab her dressing gown from the bathroom in a moment.

‘You never told me Birdie was going to be here,’ I whisper as I place the tub in the fridge.

‘Didn’t I?’ Dad frowns. ‘Is it a problem?’

Is it a problem? I almost hoot with laughter. A problem? It’s the best bloody thing I’ve seen in ages. Dad has invited another woman round for tea! I’m almost giddy.

‘I think it’s wonderful,’ I say, closing the fridge and heading for the kettle. I need a calming cup of tea before I start performing a jig on the lino.

‘Is it?’

‘Yes.’ I turn back to Dad and grasp him by the sleeves of his cardigan. ‘I’m so happy that you’ve found someone.’

‘Found someone?’ Dad frowns again before his eyes widen. ‘Oh, no. No, no, no. It’s not like that with me and Birdie. We’ve become friends, that’s all.’

‘Hmm, friends.’ In my head, I’m using air quotes around the word. ‘Of course. How many friends have you invited round for tea lately then?’ I don’t let Dad answer as I know the answer is a great big zero. Who knows, maybe Dad will be whipping the wedding photo off the mantelpiece himself soon. ‘What are we having for tea, by the way? It smells lovely.’

‘Shepherd’s pie,’ Dad says as I fill the kettle. Ah, an old favourite. ‘With peas, carrot and spring cabbage. The cabbage will taste even better than usual because I swiped it from Gerry’s plot.’

‘Dad,’ I sigh.

‘What? He’s a smug old git. Thinks he’s better than me because his beetroot won second place at the Woodgate Grows competition. And he started all this pinching crops business, remember. He hasn’t got green fingers – he’s got sticky fingers, the thieving sod.’

I raise my eyebrows at Dad. ‘And what about your fingers?’

Dad shrugs and shoves his hands into the pockets on the front of his cardigan. ‘Like I said, he started it.’

I’m about to point out the playground-ness of this conversation when the back door swings open and Franklin waddles into the kitchen, followed closely by Birdie’s grandson. I look at Dad but he’s already dropped to his knees so he can make a fuss of the dog. I always wanted a dog when I was growing up, but my requests were always met with a firm no from the parents. Now I know which parent was steering that ship.

‘Hello again,’ I say, feeling incredibly awkward. It isn’t because I fancy Caleb or anything. It’s because I’m standing in Dad’s kitchen with a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger that I’m quite possibly going to be sitting across the table from while I tuck into Dad’s hearty shepherd’s pie and seasonal – and in some cases, stolen – veg. ‘I didn’t know you were here. Cup of tea?’

‘Yes please.’ Caleb rubs his hands together. ‘I know it’s supposed to be summer but it’s freezing out there. I’ve been outside for fifteen minutes with that dog and he hasn’t done a thing.’ Franklin toddles over to me, sniffing at my fingers when I stoop to scratch behind his ears. He’s obviously in search of his usual doggy treats but, not knowing he was going to be here, I haven’t brought any with me. ‘I see you’re a fan of dogs.’

‘Aren’t you?’ I look up sharply. How can you not be a fan of dogs?

‘Franklin’s okay, I suppose, but in general, no.’ Caleb holds out a hand. ‘A dog took a chunk out of my hand when I was eleven.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.