‘Nothing. Apart from loving Jason.’
‘And Jason loving you,’ murmurs Paloma. She shakes her head. ‘I’m going to have it out with her. Ask her what the hell she’s playing at.’
‘What’s the point?’ I smile sadly. ‘You know Lucy. She’s a master at wriggling out of trouble. She’ll only deny any wrongdoing.’
‘Well, she’ll be smiling on the other side of her face when everyone finds out she sewed fish into your curtain hems!’ Paloma gives a frustrated sigh and we both stare into space for a long moment.
Then Paloma grabs the complimentary shortbread from a nearby saucer and starts munching furiously. ‘The best way to get even,’ she says at last, ‘is to make damn sure your café is a massive success.’
I stare at her wordlessly. I know I should probably be fired up with determination to battle on in spite of everything, but right this minute, all I want to do is close up the café, go home, get into bed and blot out all the horror of it with sleep.
Then a little knot of fury begins to unfurl inside me. It might feel as if Lucy Slater has me in a stranglehold all over again. But this time, I’m not going to take it lying down.
‘Help me get these – things – down!’ I drag a chair over to the nearest window and start pulling the curtains off the hooks as fast as I can. They’re heading for the bin.
I’m shaking but determined. You have to stand up to bullies.
And that’s exactly what I intend to do …
*****
Over the next few days, I do my best to carry on, providing a service for the customers who come along, but it’s hard knowing I’m barely breaking even, never mind making some sort of profit to pay the mortgage.
The worst part is trying to keep the truth from Mum and Dad.
I phoned on opening day to thank Dad for the lovely tips bowl, and Mum answered, sounding anxious.
‘I’m trying not to panic,’ she confessed. ‘And I probably shouldn’t be worrying you, but your dad’s still not responding to the treatment the way they’d like.’
I felt a horrible twinge of fear, and was only mildly cheered when she added, ‘But they keep saying it’s early days and we’ll have a much better picture a few weeks from now.’
‘Right, well, give him my love, as always, and tell him the bowl is fantastic.’
Mum laughed. ‘Bless him, he spent weeks making that for you.’
‘Well, it was worth the effort because it’s gorgeous.’ I swallowed hard on the lump in my throat. ‘And tell him I’d quite like a box with compartments for knives, forks and spoons if he’s got time in his busy schedule!’
‘I’ll tell him.’ She sighed. ‘I wish we could come and see you, love, but your dad’s too weak at the mo to make the journey. And to be honest, I’m quite exhausted myself what with all the hospital to-ing and fro-ing. Still …’ She injected a note of brightness into her tone. ‘We’ll get there! Your dad’s been as strong as an ox all his life – that’s bound to stand him in good stead, don’t you think?’
‘I do, Mum. Nothing can keep that fella down for long. Not even bloody cancer! Sorry for swearing.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, love. I’ve said some pretty choice words myself over the past six months. I stood in the empty house and told the cancer to fuck off back where it came from the other day!’
‘Mum!’ I hooted with laughter, both shocked and amused. My mum is the type of person who says ‘shoot’ instead of ‘shit’.
Then she said, ‘Sorry, I haven’t even asked how today is going. Spectacularly, I hope?’
‘Oh, yes, yes. Fantastic.’ I was glad she couldn’t see the awkward heat creeping into my face. ‘We’ll have those mortgage payments in hand in no time!’
I made an excuse to get off the phone so I didn’t have to tell her any more lies. The last thing I needed was for them to be worrying about money, on top of everything else …
Chapter 18
It’s Friday afternoon, nearly a week after my decidedly unremarkable opening day, and The Twilight Café is having another of its all too frequent lulls in business.
In other words, it’s empty.
‘This is just a blip in your new career,’ says Paloma, with an airy wave of her hand. ‘Just a tiny fly in the ointment.’
I grunt. ‘A bloody great giant hornet, you mean.’ I pass her a complimentary espresso.
‘So defeatist. Do you think Alan Sugar gave up at the first hurdle? No. He dusted himself off and came back stronger than ever.’
‘You just made that up.’
‘Well, yes, but it’s probably true.’
I scowl at her. ‘It’s a big fat cliché. That’s what it is.’
She folds her arms and fixes me with a penetrating stare. ‘So let me get this straight. You’re actually going to just sit back and let Lucy Slater steal your thunder and your customers? Without at least putting up a teeny-weeny little fight?’
I gaze at her unhappily. ‘But what can I do? It’s obvious Lucy’s tapped into a whole new niche in the market. Clean eating is the buzz word of the moment.’
‘Well, technically, it’s two words.’
‘But you must admit, it was bloody clever of her to highlight the whole issue of fitness and staying healthy with this charity 10k run of hers, before magically springing a clean eating café on everyone.’
‘Sneaky, if you ask me. Everyone thought she was so good, raising money for children’s charities with the run, but all the time, it was just a ploy to brainwash people into thinking they need the sort of food she’s serving in her stupid café in order to be healthy.’
‘I wonder what the food’s like,’ I murmur gloomily.
‘Bean sprouts and cabbage, no doubt, with a side order of unseasoned bulgur wheat and cardboard.’ She makes a face. ‘Yuk.’
I smile at my best friend, grateful for her support. But I know she’s only saying these
