*****
It feels odd having two days off and not having to think about the café – but in a good way.
My immediate thought is to go and see Mum and Dad. But Mum assures me she’s fine, that Dad isn’t really up to long chats, and that it would probably be best for me to just chill out at home for a while.
So instead, I take up Jake’s offer to show me the plans for The Treehouse Café in detail by going back down to visit his workshop again. He’s much more relaxed this time and I thoroughly enjoy my afternoon. He treats me to a ploughman’s lunch in the garden of the local pub and we spend a couple of happy hours chatting about the work he’s going to do, and poring over his sketches and detailed plans.
It’s been another really sticky day with soaring temperatures and I catch the train back to Hart’s End, arriving in the early evening. I like Jake, I’ve decided. I know Paloma decided he was a bit of an arrogant arse, but I think that’s unfair. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter what she thinks of him, as long as he builds me a beautiful treehouse extension!
Exhausted but happy, I crash into bed at ten and fall asleep instantly, despite the fact it’s barely any cooler than it was during the day.
Next morning, the doorbell wakes me and, struggling up, I peer at the time on my mobile. Nine-thirty. I’ve slept round the clock! Diving into my dressing gown, I rush to the door, thinking it’s probably Betty or Doreen with a query about the café.
It’s Betty and she looks worried.
‘So sorry to disturb you, love, but we’re having trouble locating the cake.’
Puzzled, I laugh. ‘It hasn’t run off again, has it?’
She sighs. ‘Doreen excelled herself, baking that black forest gateau yesterday. Beautiful it is. But it’s gone missing. She put it in a box and asked her nephew to deliver it to the café on his way to work. He’s got a refrigerated van for his catering company and I think she was worried about the cream melting in this terrible heat. But it hasn’t turned up. She told him to leave it round the back of the café but when we got here, it wasn’t there, even though Tom swears he delivered it.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got fruitcake left and some of those lovely double chocolate chip cookies that seem to survive the heat pretty well. Come in and I’ll get them for you.’
Betty goes off with her Tupperware box, still apologising and saying she’ll phone Tom again.
Twenty minutes later, she phones back, mystery solved.
‘I can’t believe it!’ she wails. ‘He delivered the cake to the wrong café!’
My insides shift uneasily. ‘You mean Lucy and Olivia’s?’
‘Yes. What a bloody cock-up. Do you want me to drive round there and get it back.’
‘No, don’t worry. You just concentrate on opening up. I’ll see to it.’
I hang up, feeling slightly sick at the thought of having to walk round there and demand my cake back. What if Lucy refuses to give it to me out of spite? But I can’t just leave poor Doreen’s lovely creation there – not after she’s gone to so much trouble baking it.
Sighing, I get ready to go round there.
I’m just leaving the house when the phone rings again. It’s Paloma this time, sounding much more like her old self. Tentatively, I ask her if she’s okay. There’s a slight pause then she says she’ll tell me all about it, but not over the phone. We both know she’s talking about her birth mum.
‘I totally understand.’
‘Are you still doing Lucy’s 10k run on Sunday?’ she asks.
‘I wasn’t going to. But if you are, I suppose I could.’
‘Can you manage 10k?’ She sounds doubtful.
‘Er, I’ll have you know I’ve been going out for a little run most mornings before opening up the café! I’m fitter than I’ve ever been.’
‘Wow, that’s great. Let’s do it, then. So what else has been happening?’
I tell her that The Treehouse Café is going to become a reality and she’s over the moon for me. She doesn’t even slag off Jake. Then I tell her about the cake emergency, wanting to make her laugh.
‘Christ, it’s not a great start for poor Doreen, is it? Cake goes walkabout!’
‘I know. Bless her. She’s in a bit of a stew about it.’
‘Why don’t I drive you round there? I’ll even go in and collect the cake if you don’t want to face Lucy yourself.’
‘You will?’ Relief spreads through me. I’ve been dreading the thought of having to talk to Lucy. I hate myself for not being braver. It’s just I never know what horrors she’s going to spring on me next. Her illogical hatred of me seems to know no bounds, which is quite a scary thought when you really think about it.
‘Of course I will,’ says Paloma. ‘Pick you up in five?’
We get there just before ten o’clock and the café isn’t open yet. No one comes when Paloma knocks on the door, and in the end, I get out of the car, deciding I have to be brave. It’s my café and my cake. I can’t leave it up to Paloma.
‘Let’s go round the back.’ I glance at my watch. ‘Doreen said Tom left the box at the back door, so it might still be there.’
We walk down a side street and find the back of the building. Both of their cars are parked there and there’s a light on in the window. There’s no sign of the cake box and my heart sinks. We’ll have to see Lucy after all …
Suddenly, I realise Paloma is trying to get my attention, waving madly and putting her finger to her lips. She’s crouched down, peering through the
