Page 11 of The Gingerbread Cafe
The girl raised her eyebrows at Gretel over her steaming mug as though she was bored of being stared at. Gretel had the feeling she probably got that a lot hanging around in a traditional village like Mistleton. She felt a pang of guilt.
‘I left my money behind the counter.’ The girl pointed to a pile of coins. ‘People seemed to be serving themselves, although I’m not sure everyone bothered to pay, so you might want to sort that out. And some people tried asking me for refunds, but I told them it wasn’t my job.’ She shrugged.
Gretel usually felt extra nervous around new people, yet she was sure she was beginning to shake a little less now. Not that she wanted to be lured in by the kindness of strangers. Her heart preferred its distance, even on a bad day.
‘But if you ever do need a hand …’ Was that a look of concern on the girl’s face? ‘My name’s Amber, by the way.’
Realising that introductions were probably the polite thing, Gretel awkwardly gave her name.
‘Are you a … waitress?’ Gretel nodded at the girl’s black and white outfit.
Amber gave a quick glance over her shoulder. ‘Umm, yeah. Of course.’
Did she seem unsure about that? Or more likely she didn’t want everyone knowing her business. Gretel could relate to that. Not that Gretel was in any position to take on staff, mayhem or no mayhem. By the time she’d accounted for refunds, burnt batches of gingerbread, hissy coffee machine wastage and people not even paying, the café would probably be making a loss. And anyway, sharing her cramped counter space with another human was not on her list of priorities. She would probably be throwing in the towel.
‘You know, you might find things a little less hellish with staff.’ Amber shrugged. ‘Just saying.’
She wasn’t wrong about the hellish bit. ‘Lukas would go mad,’ she heard herself blurt out, by way of an excuse. ‘He owns half of the place and will probably burst in and lecture me at any moment.’
Gretel clamped her mouth shut and turned away, busying herself with the dirty crockery. She’d already said too much. She half registered some scrabbling on the other side of the counter, and when she next looked back, her red-haired confidante had gone. Was it something she’d said, or did the thought of Lukas send everyone fleeing? Gretel never did understand people. She sighed. There’d been something about the girl she’d liked, even if she hadn’t planned on doing muchliking.There was no room at the inn for friendship, or anything silly.
The next few hours felt like days. Gretel plastered on her best polite grimace and hoped no one could tell she was bursting to cry. Pretending to be sociable and assertive was tough for her at the best of times, but when she was rushed off her feet and people werestillcross at her incompetence, it was even more of a struggle. Even her silentdo it for Nellmantra was wearing thin. This was nothing like the joyous scenes she remembered from the café in years gone by. Even though most of the year wasadmittedly quiet, Nell used to handle busy periods with grace, the background bustle feeling somehow peaceful.
Gretel let her thoughts wander back, remembering chatting faces lit up by candles which flickered on tables, and rich smells of hot chocolate and ginger dancing on the air. Children snuggled up with red knitted blankets on leathery armchairs, their little noses pressed into festive books. That dark and cosy feel, with twinkling lights giving the place a special warmth. Amidst those silvery lights which dangled on cords from the ceiling like magical flakes of snow she used to half close her eyes and pretend she was in a snow globe. Protected and safe.
Where was all of that charm now? That sanctuary? Because this bedlam was not what she’d signed up for. Or maybe it was her – she was ruining the place.
And Lukas had warned this circus would be the least of her worries, with the trade on Green Tree Lane now being dire outside of Christmas. The place would be miserably deserted come January. She’d be buried alive by uneaten gingerbread and wondering why she’d bothered, so he’d told her.You’ll throw a party when I find a buyer and we can pretend this Christmas nightmare never happened.His words rang annoyingly true.
Before Gretel’s thoughts could continue on their downward spiral, the bell over the front door jangled and a woman strode in. Even without the bell, Gretel couldn’t help noticing her presence. The woman was about thirty, but looked completely out of place in the Christmassy café, all towering and tailored, with a black swingy bob that shone like a mirror. Her ice-blue skinny cut suit looked like a person would need a loan to fund it, yet she was wearing it with black and gold trainers with the initials FW emblazoned on the sides.
Chapter 10
The woman with the swingy bob, who’d just strode into The Gingerbread Café, had her phone glued to her ear and was squawking into it at warp speed. She didn’t seem to care about the chaos going on around her as she made her way to a leather armchair. She inspected it before perching on the edge like a great blue heron.
Gretel wondered if she should go over; the woman looked kind of important. Had she seen her loitering around the place before, trying to talk to Nell? She pictured Nell crossing her arms and shaking her head, but she wasn’t sure where the image was coming from.
The jukebox burst into the opening bars of ‘Run Rudolph Run’. Chuck Berry started warbling something about a mastermind and Gretel decided the woman did look too intimidating to approach, so she busied herself behind the counter. The queue had disappeared, but she still had a major clean-up operation to deal with after the coffee beast’s latest hissing fit. Just as Gretel gave up hope and slapped anout of ordersign onto it, a shadow cast over her view. She looked up and jumped, realising she was languishing in Swingy Bob’s shade.
‘Miss Whimple.’ The woman smiled at her surprisingly sweetly and thrust out a hand.
Gretel blinked a few times and then shook it, wondering if there was a button under the counter to call for moral support. But there was nobody, and she’d better get used to it. She pulled her hand back, dug her nails into her palms and tried a smile.
‘Do you own this place now?’ the Whimple woman asked, before Gretel had the chance to give her own name.
‘Erm, kind of. I will. Jointly.’ Swingy Bob seemed charming enough, yet after such a rough day Gretel still had the jitters.
‘This place isonfire. I love what you’ve done with it.Uberindividual. I’m all about individuality.’
Was she? Well, she had to give her credit for carrying off those trainers with a suit. She was obviously one of thosetrendy enough to rock anythingpeople. Gretel tried not to feel ridiculous dressed like a festive eight-year-old.
‘So are you selling, now the old woman has …you know? I mean, running a café can be a freaking slog. People in your face all day, blisters on your blisters,aaaallthose filthy plates.’ Miss Whimple pulled an almost imperceptiblegrossface before apparently thinking better of it. ‘But if you’d rather move on to save your sanity, we should chat.’ She placed a glossy black and gold business card on the counter, which matched her custom trainers down to the swirly FW, although Gretel wondered who the sons were, in the name Whimple & Sons.
‘Our family business has turned Lower Paddleton around.’ The swingy bobbed woman waved an arm vaguely in the direction of the neighbouring village. ‘The whole place was dying off until we bought up the decrepit shops on Penny Road and brought in new tenants. We basically saved it from the scrapheap.’
Had they? Not one to get about much, Gretel hadn’t been there for years.
‘And from what everyone is saying, Green Tree Lane is on a speedy downhill slope too. Sure, the Christmas period getsbusy. Everyone loves the gimmick of that decades-old Christmas tree out there, and getting their cosy Gingerbread Café selfies for Insta. But the rest of the year? Trade here issloooow. The whole street needs an urgent injection of money and life, or it’ll become a dusty old relic. How heartbreaking would that be?’ Miss Whimple let the question hang, before continuing.
