I do a quick calculation in my head. That would mean the structure would be finished by September, but by the time we decked it out and got ready to open, we’d be into the autumn.
I stare at Jake in dismay. ‘I was hoping we could open during the summer, to take advantage of the rest of the tourist season, but …’
He frowns and shakes his head. ‘Couldn’t do it. If the job I’m on goes well, I might be able to shave a week off the times, but not much more, I’m afraid.’
After feeling so optimistic, my heart is suddenly heavy in my chest. ‘So realistically, I’d be better opening in April, at the start of next year’s tourist season.’
But the money from Mum will have run out long before then. And then there’s the mortgage arrears to pay. It just can’t be done …
I keep up a happy front until Jake has gone.
Then I climb up into the treehouse and sit on the deck, staring out over the garden, wondering what on earth to do now.
I decide to go and grab some cake to cheer myself up, so I climb down and head along to the café, checking that I still have the keys in my pocket. As I arrive at the door, a car draws up and Rowena Swann gets out.
‘I was in the village so I thought I’d pick up my purse, if that’s okay?’
‘Of course. Come in. I put it in a drawer in the kitchen for safe-keeping.’
Now’s my chance. I need to find out once and for all …
I collect the purse and Rowena looks so relieved to have it back.
‘I don’t know what happened.’ She laughs. ‘I think I got distracted, talking about Melanie.’
‘Melanie?’ That must be her baby’s name.
She nods. ‘My daughter.’
‘Have you never thought about trying to get in touch with her?’ I ask gently, and she shakes her head.
‘She didn’t want me to. You know what teenagers are like. I’d forbidden her to see this waster of a boy who she professed to be madly in love with, so that was it as far as she was concerned. She never wanted to see me again.’
For a second, I’m baffled.
What about the baby?
‘Her dad and I divorced years earlier, and when Melanie and I had our bust-up, she decided she wanted to go and live with him in Scotland.’
The truth is gradually dawning on me.
There is no baby. No adoption. I’d just assumed there was. It was wishful thinking, of course – desperately wanting a happy ending for Paloma.
Talk about jumping to conclusions!
Rowena is explaining about Melanie. ‘We’d had a massive row over this boy. I could tell he was just using her but being only sixteen, of course she couldn’t see that. We fell out big time and she declared she never wanted to see me again.’
‘That’s awful. How long ago did she leave?’
‘Three years,’ she says. ‘When she’d gone, I knew I had to have a change of scene, so I came here and took over the lease on the ice-cream parlour.’
I stare at her sadly. ‘And you haven’t see her in all that time?’
Rowena shakes her head, looking as if she’s about to break down in tears. ‘She made me promise not to contact her.’
‘But she was angry with you then. Things will have changed,’ I murmur. ‘She probably misses you like mad. Can’t you just try phoning her?’
Rowena shakes her head. ‘I’m scared she’ll just put the phone down on me, the way she used to in the weeks after she left, and I couldn’t bear that.’ She gives a long, shaky sigh. ‘I just keep praying that one day, Melanie will turn up on the doorstep and things will get back to normal. And if that happens, I swear I’ll never criticise her boyfriends ever again …’
She attempts a smile but her face crumples and a tear rolls down her cheek.
I rush to hand her a paper hanky. ‘You should phone her.’
‘I can’t,’ she whispers. ‘I’m not brave enough.’
Chapter 27
‘Turn on your TV!’ shrieks Paloma down the phone line.
‘What? Sorry?’ It’s seven-forty-five in the morning and I’m eating breakfast in the kitchen, not even fully awake.
Obeying her command, I hurry through to the living room, toast in hand.
‘Is it on?’ she demands.
‘No, I can’t find the remote!’
‘Look down the side of the seat where you were sitting last night!’
‘Okay, okay! Keep calm! Who’s on anyway?’
‘Lucy bloody Slater, that’s who. With that “Z” list local “celebrity” who slimmed down to a size zero using a clean food diet! Have you got it yet?’
My fingers close on the remote down the side of the seat. After fumbling slightly, eventually I manage to turn it on.
Lucy Slater looms at me in enormous, full-colour close-up, just like she does in my worst nightmares. Instinctively, I back away from the TV. Clutching my stomach, I abandon my toast and stare at the screen in horrified fascination.
The interviewer on this local morning news programme is talking about someone who’s donating money to help send a little boy to America for life-saving medical treatment. He’s called Harry and he’s seven, and he’s sitting there on the sofa with his mum, looking cute as a button. His poor mum is clutching him tight and is clearly so grateful for the help, she looks as if she’s having a hard job holding back the tears. I feel quite emotional for her.
‘What’s Lucy got to do with this?’ I ask Paloma, though the story does seem familiar. I remember something about a boy needing medical treatment in connection with the 10k run.
‘She’s donating a percentage of her café funds. Quite the little saint on the sly, isn’t she?’
Flashing onto the screen is the sign above the café doorway: Lucy & Olivia’s Clean Food Café. And then Lucy and Olivia
