‘Love the curtains,’ says Doreen, nodding. ‘And your colour scheme. And the floral art on the walls.’
Rowena smiles. ‘I recognise those tables and chairs. Don’t they fit the space well?’
‘They do indeed. Thanks so much, Rowena. And it’s lovely to see you all, ladies.’ I beam at them. Even though I know them, my heart is jumping around at the idea of serving my first ‘proper’ customers. ‘Welcome to The Twilight Café! Have a seat. What can I get you?’
‘Can I smell kippers? Are they on the breakfast menu?’ asks Betty, her nose in the air.
‘Er, no. I don’t have a breakfast menu as such,’ I say, surprised. ‘Just cakes and scones.’
‘Ah. Must be the savoury scones I can smell,’ she says, pointing at the cheddar variety. ‘Actually, I’d love one of those, please.’
They stay for almost an hour, chatting over cups of tea. Doreen and Rowena opt for toasted teacakes, then they all sample slices of my gingerbread, which was Doreen’s favourite at my cake-tasting session. They all declare the complimentary shortbread to be the most buttery and melt-in-the-mouth they’ve ever tasted.
Paloma stands chatting to me at the counter for a while.
‘Where are the customers?’ I murmur.
She glances at her watch. ‘It’s not quite noon. I bet by one o’clock, you’ll be rushed off your feet.’
I nod, although I’m not convinced. ‘I wonder if the sign is still up.’ I call over, ‘Excuse me, ladies. On your way in, did you notice the big sign advertising the café on the high street?’
‘Oh, we didn’t drive that way, dear,’ says Betty. ‘I picked up Doreen and Rowena in Lake Heath and we came here by the back roads.’
Rowena goes off to use the loo, while Betty comes to the counter to settle up. It feels good putting money in the till. A few more payments like that one and I’ll have broken even on the day!
‘Lovely woman, Rowena,’ says Betty. ‘But I do worry about what she’ll do now she’s not got the ice-cream parlour to run any more.’
I nod. ‘I know. It’s not as if she has family to take up her time.’
‘No.’ Betty looks sad. ‘She did, apparently. She had a daughter, but she doesn’t see her any more. She doesn’t speak about it so I never like to ask. Oh, here she comes—’ She plasters on a smile and starts talking about the weather, wondering how long the sunny spell will last.
My mind is ticking over. Poor Rowena. I wonder what happened to separate her from her daughter? Did it happen recently, after a fallout? Or was it a long time ago?
But I haven’t got time to ponder because at that moment, a car draws up and four people get out – all ladies from the WI. And then just as I’m tending to them, settling them at a table with fresh scones and butter and a big pot of tea, some old school friends drop in, all smiles and excited to sample what my new café has to offer. I saw them all at Lucy’s charity fund-raiser – some of them also came to the cake tasting – and I’m so glad they made the effort to come on opening day.
After that, there’s a steady stream of customers and I’m kept constantly busy until just after five, which is almost time to close up anyway.
After the last two customers have left, promising they’ll be back the following week, I make myself a coffee and wander over to the door, opening it to let in a warm summer breeze. And after a few moments of reflection, the buzz of being busy dies down and what I’m left with is a sad feeling of anticlimax. Because it’s gradually dawning on me that yes, I had a fair few customers through the door today – but not nearly as many as you would expect on opening day, and I guess that’s partly down to the mysteriously vanished posters. If no one knew the café was opening, it’s hardly surprising I wasn’t overwhelmed with curious villagers. Also, every one of those people who turned up today was someone I knew, and they came because they promised me they would.
After all the stress and effort of the past few weeks, I’m shattered and a feeling of bitter disappointment descends. My eyes feel heavy with unshed tears, but I blink them away. It will be fine. Of course it will. It’s only day one! I’ll get more posters made, and this time I’ll make sure they don’t disappear.
I’m glad when Paloma arrives.
She walks in and immediately sniffs the air with disgust. ‘Bloody hell, what is that smell?’
‘My nose is blocked,’ I wail. ‘What does it smell like?’
She sniffs again. ‘I don’t know. It’s a fishy smell. Are you sure there’s nothing going off in the fridge?’
‘Positive. I gave it a thorough clean the day before yesterday.’
‘Maybe it’s the drains. Perhaps you should call—’
My mobile starts ringing and I grab it, vainly hoping it might be someone wanting to know my opening times.
The voice sounds far away. But eventually I realise it’s Jason.
‘Hi, Jason. Thanks for the card.’
‘No problem.’
I take a deep breath. ‘If you’re phoning to see how it’s going so far, it’s been not too bad.’
‘Good. Because I was worried.’
‘Worried?’ I shrug at Paloma.
There’s a silence and I think I must have lost him. ‘Jason?’
Paloma is frowning at me, wondering what’s going on.
‘Look, I hate being the one to tell you this, Twi, but I’m afraid you’ve got competition.’
‘Competition?’ I stare in alarm at Paloma. ‘But who? Where?’
‘Just get along to the high street,’ he says flatly. ‘The old ice-cream parlour.’ There’s a pause and my brain whirrs into overdrive. ‘Sorry, Twi. You’re the last person in the world who deserves this.’ And he rings off.
Swallowing down my panic, I tell Paloma what Jason has just told me.
‘Come on,’ she says, and I grab my bag and keys and follow her out of the door. My fingers fumble over
