I frown at the screen. ‘Who’s that woman with them?’
‘Don’t you recognise her? It’s “B” list celebrity Meghan Sparkle. She lives in London, but she grew up in Lake Heath, apparently.’
‘What does this Meghan Sparkle do?’
‘Nothing, as far as I can make out. Except lose tons of weight.’
‘So how is she famous?’
‘Because she was on a certain reality TV programme a few months ago where you spill your guts in the name of entertaining people? Don’t you remember her?’
‘I didn’t watch it. I’ve been too busy baking.’
‘Well, apparently she’s a “firm friend” of Lucy’s and will be “working” at the café over the next few weeks to attract more customers, so Lucy can donate even more money for Harry’s cause.’
‘A firm friend of Lucy’s?’ I burst out. ‘What a load of old bollocks! You mean Lucy’s got in touch with her, and they’ve cooked this stunt up together in order to get their names in lights!’
‘I imagine that’s pretty much the size of it,’ says Paloma gloomily. ‘Her ears look weird, don’t you think?’
‘What?’
‘Meghan Sparkle. Now that she’s slimmed down, her ears look like jug handles.’
‘Er, never seen her before. But they do look on the large side.’
‘She needs to grow her hair longer to cover them up.’
‘Ssh! I’m trying to listen.’
‘You can watch it on catch-up.’
‘I want to watch it now.’
Lucy is speaking. She’s putting on a really false posh accent and I’d laugh if I didn’t find the whole thing so annoying. ‘So anyway,’ she’s saying, ‘Meghan and I want everyone in the local area to join us in our “Turn On to Sparkle-ing Health” campaign. She gives a little wink to camera at the ‘Sparkle’ witticism. ‘All to raise money for little Harry here.’ She smiles sadly at Harry and his mum and, right on cue, a single tear rolls down her perfectly made-up face.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ explodes Paloma.
I’m too stunned to speak.
Is Lucy seeking all this publicity just so she can continue reigning supreme in the Hart’s End café wars? Because there’s no doubt the addition of Meghan Sparkle to the staff is a bit of a triumph. Having followed her warts-and-all conversations on that reality show, people will be eager to see her in the flesh. Especially if they can lose weight like Meghan did by eating at the ‘clean food’ café.
The queues at Lucy and Olivia’s are unlikely to die down any time soon. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Lucy’s next move is to plan a whole chain of clean food cafés! Not that it matters much to me any more, since – thanks to Jake’s busy schedule – The Treehouse Café is unlikely to happen now.
‘There’s one small consolation,’ says Paloma with a sigh.
A chink of hope pierces my gloom. ‘What’s that?’
‘Lucy obviously has no idea that the letters of her shiny new campaign spell out TOSH.’ She gives an amused snort, but I’m too downhearted to even dredge up a smile …
I draw a deep breath. ‘By the way, it’s going to be autumn before the treehouse café is ready. If I go ahead with it.’
There’s a second’s silence, then she explodes in my ear. ‘Autumn! But it’s only the end of June! Does he work at a snail’s pace? That’s ridiculous! Sack him instantly.’
‘I haven’t even hired Jake yet,’ I remind her.
‘Well, good. Because you need to catch the tail end of the summer tourist trade if you want to stand any chance of getting up and running straight away.’
‘My thoughts exactly. Which is why I think I might have to shelve the whole idea.’
‘But why? Surely Jake isn’t the only treehouse builder in the country!’
‘He’s the only one I know about. All suggestions gratefully received.’
Paloma has a call waiting so she rings off, while I continue to sit there, listening to Lucy talking in her gratingly posh voice about the 10k charity run.
‘We’ve got a fantastic group of people, some of whom had never run before but who are now fighting fit, thanks to my training sessions on the village green and the wonderful green juice we serve at’ – she pauses and smiles directly into the camera –‘Lucy & Olivia’s Clean Food Café.’
I want to reach into the TV and wring her stupid alabaster neck, which is obviously so flawless because of the thick layer of professional make-up she’s wearing. Not that I’m at all bitter (or possibly even the tiniest bit twisted) about this whole damn scenario.
‘And of course,’ she purrs, ‘it goes without saying that the sponsorship money raised by these lovely, dedicated people will also be used to get one very special little boy all the way to America.’ (Cue another meltingly sentimental gaze over at Harry and his mum.)
Honestly, I’d be sick if I could actually scrape together the energy …
*****
I’m still sitting there, stunned and staring at the TV, when the doorbell goes.
Realising they’ve moved on to a news bulletin, I flick it off on the remote and go to the door. It’s Paloma, looking flushed and wide-eyed with excitement.
‘What?’
‘I heard from Sylvia. She’s got some news about my birth mum.’
‘Oh my God.’ I reach for her hand and squeeze it tightly.
‘She wants me to go over and see her.’
‘Couldn’t she tell you the news on the phone?’
‘She says she doesn’t hear so well, so she dislikes the telephone and would rather talk to me face to face.’ She swallows hard. ‘Will you come with me?’
‘Yes, of course I will. Right now?’
Paloma nods. ‘You could just sit in the car while I go in? Is that okay?’
I laugh. ‘Of course it’s okay. I’ll just get my bag
