Page 28 of The Gingerbread Cafe
Amber squeezed her arm with hers and guided her forwards. ‘Gretel, I’ve got you. I won’t let her weird you out. Anyway, we’re here on non-funeral-related business, remember? Sometimes our mission is more important than the madness. And maybe this will do you good.’
Gretel swallowed her melancholy and lifted her chin, then inched her way through the door of the flower shop.
The woman working on an island in the middle of the shop looked up as the pair tinkled in. Her flower arranging fingersstilled and she blinked a few times from behind her retro green cat-eye glasses, as though not used to live customers. Gretel guessed the woman was in her early sixties, although she wore it well with her edgy purple bob and stylish black and white flowery shift dress. An expensive-looking purple shawl was draped around her slim, tanned shoulders and a dinky cup of clear tea sat to the side of her, a small white flower bobbing in the liquid. Thinking about it, Gretel had definitely seen this woman around, although like Gretel, she wasn’t one to stop and chat. Gretel would never have linked her to this shop, from its dingy external facade.
The woman tilted her head to one side. ‘Yes?’ Although she seemed perfectly self-assured, she had a feline cautiousness to her which tied in with her soft purr of a voice.
Amber was already poking around the shop and Gretel watched her nervously, hoping she wasn’t getting ready to deliver more truth bombs. This stranger was already exuding an unexplainablesomethingthat Gretel felt compelled towards.
‘Awesome flowers,’ Amber said, as she walked around.
Phew, that lapis-thingamy throat stone must be working its magic already. But Amber was right. The inside of the shop was so much lovelier than the outside would ever suggest. Gretel was rubbish with names of flowers, but there were even more colours rippling through the shop than Phoebe and her rainbow of crystals, and the smell was almost heavenly. If rose petals and honeysuckle decided to make gorgeous flower babies, they would absolutely smell like this.
‘But we’re not here for flowers,’ Amber clarified.
‘Yes, I know,’ the lady said simply, as though she knewall the things. For some odd reason, Gretel didn’t doubt it.
Amber flashed Gretel a wide-eyed look which saidI told you she was psychic.
‘People only come here for flowers of remembrance these days, and I’m one of the first to know if anyone’s passed on.’ The woman gave Gretel a slow apologetic nod.
‘Because the dead people tell you?’ Amber asked, with a genuine, puppy-like interest.
‘Lapis lazuli,’ Gretel barked into her hand, trying to make it sound like a sneeze. But it was too late. If the woman had fur, it would definitely be bristling.
She put down the white flower she’d been arranging into a wreath and looked over the rim of her glasses at Amber. ‘What was it you said I could do for you?’ Her glance moved to Gretel, as though imploring her to tame her badly behaved pup.
‘Have you ever thought about crafting lessons?’ Gretel blurted out, at approximately the same time as she heard Amber ask:
‘Have you heard of Francesca Fuckwit Whimple?’
Gretel winced.
‘Stupid swingy black hair, dumb trainers that don’t even match her suit?’ Amber continued, with the determination of a Labradoodle in search of a bone. She was even doing a hip-swingy-hair-swishy walk which was actually not a bad Whimple impression.
Much to Gretel’s surprise, the flower lady pushed her glasses back up her nose and gave a faint smile. ‘If I didn’t recognise the name, I’d at least know that mincing walk. But unfortunately Idoknow the name.’ She moved her wreath away and got up from her padded wooden stool, moving to a drawer in her flower-covered dresser. She pulled out Miss Whimple’s black and gold calling card and placed it on the island between them. ‘I think I need more jasmine tea.’
Within minutes the lady, who’d introduced herself as Eve, had moved her flower arrangement to safety and brought a potof sweet-smelling tea and more dinky cups. The trio sat around the white marble-topped island and eyed each other.
Is this whatfinding your peoplefelt like? Gretel wondered. She was enjoying this adventure round the shops much more than she’d ever thought possible.
‘Why do you enquire about Miss Whimple?’ Eve asked, her cautiousness returning.
Gretel took the less frightening route and explained they were mainly finding out whether locals would be interested in stained-glass crafting over hot drinks and treats at The Gingerbread Café. ‘Not that anything’s definite yet, but, you know …’ Gretel felt almost silly asking this talented woman to come and mess around turning bits of coloured glass into penguins. She seemed far too poised and glamorous to hang around with the likes of Gretel in a café themed like Santa’s grotto.
‘It sounds intriguing,’ Eve replied, before letting her raised eyebrows move to Amber as though waiting for her tospill the teaon all things Whimple.
Gretel sighed; it seemed there was no avoiding it. At least she had her funny red battle stone from Phoebe.
‘The real beef is that if Gretel doesn’t get some customers through the door, the café will only be fit to sell to Franny Whimple’s family, with their queue of Quickie Café-type tenants. Once she gets her hands on one shop, the rest are more likely to give up and sell.’
Eve nodded sagely and Amber ploughed on.
‘We were just up the road talking to Phoebe from that chakra place. You know her?’
Eve stiffened slightly and shook her head. ‘I don’t tend to socialise around here. Too many …questions.’
‘Totally,’ Amber agreed. ‘Same in Lower Paddleton. That’s why I chill around here where people don’t know me and don’tstick their noses in.’ She tapped hers like she was the wisest of the three wise women. ‘Phoebe mentioned the Whimple had been flashing her business card and offering to buyhershop too. So I’m guessing it’s a thing.’ Amber shrugged. ‘I reckon Phoebe’s tempted to sell because no one even knows what a chakra is, as if trade wasn’t slow enough.’
