Page 29 of The Gingerbread Cafe
Eve fiddled with her cup, swishing the liquid so the jasmine flower bobbed like a tiny boat in danger. ‘Francesca Whimple sniffing around Green Tree Lane like a fleabag on heat. Yes, it’s a thing.’ She gave a sad laugh. ‘Although business is actually fine for me. Blooming, even. Most of my customers seek me out online. They’ve … heard things, and the novelty of what I offer has become extremely popular.’ Her lips closed tightly like a purse, but Gretel could see them twitching. More words were dying to escape, if only she’d let them.
‘So you don’t want to sell up?’ Amber asked.
Eve put her cup down, eyed them both, then exhaled a long breath. ‘Actually, I do.’
‘Oh. Why?’ said Gretel. Was it OK to ask?
‘Because sometimes, darling girl, we let ourselves get trapped in old habits that don’t serve us, like clothes that no longer fit. And it’s time to shed them and move on.’
As the words hung in the air, Gretel couldn’t help wondering if they were meant for her too. But how could they be? Eve hardly knew her.
‘How do you even know when it’s time to shake off your clothes?’ Amber pulled a confused face.
‘When your soul doesn’t feel good, nothing fits. It might be that something’s missing or even that you need a total revamp.’ Eve rearranged her shawl.
‘Your outfit actually looks OK.’ Amber nodded at Eve’s dress like that was a winning compliment. ‘So what’s missing for you?’
Eve blinked a few times and then stood, tidying the empty crockery towards her. ‘Oh, nothing much, dear girl. Maybe it’s just time I took the money and got out of here. Goodness knows, this street has become as lifeless as most of my customers. Maybe it’s a job for a woman called Whimple.’ She flashed another smile that didn’t meet her eyes. ‘I don’t think my soul has got the energy for a revamp.’
The wordrevampsounded ghoulishly frightening to Gretel too. And yet could anything be more terrifying than the alternative – a street where Miss Whimple and her fancy trainers reigned? Gretel had been hoping to make The Gingerbread Café great againandkeep it just like it was – Christmassy all year round. If she changed things, it wouldn’t be the same café she’d known and loved with her mum and Rosa, and it wouldn’t be Nell’s festive gingerbread sanctuary. Would she still feel close to them if she wiped out those memories?
Chapter 25
‘So we’re making stained-glass Christmas trees. In January?’
Trust Amber to say it how it was. It was Gretel’s first stained-glass crafting session at The Gingerbread Café, and her insides were already wriggling with nerves. She wasn’t used to having so many people around her, let alone being in charge of teaching them stuff. But if the café was going to survive, she had to give this her all. Having no customers was not an option.
‘It’s a festive-themed café and this is Green Tree Lane. I thought it would be perfect.’ Gretel tried out the woman-in-control smile she’d been practising in the mirror, conscious she looked not unlike a coniferous tree herself in her green knitted dress with berry patterns. Surely someone would back her up? She looked at Phoebe from the chakra healing shop who was sitting next to Amber, but she was too busy munching hungrily on Gretel’s gingerbread cake to notice.
‘Mmm, now this is heavenly. Why did I never venture in here before? It’s exactly what my chakras ordered.’ Phoebe licked the crumbs from her lips and grabbed another slice, her crystal bracelets clinking in agreement. ‘You’ll have to give me the recipe.’
Gretel blinked. People really liked her cake? She’d given up trying to recreate Nell’s old masterpieces and had instead dabbled in something simple of her own. Perhaps thecappuccino calm of the kitchen in Nell’s old flat, free from the flashing demands of Christmas decor,wasdoing her good.
Her gaze bounced to Eve from the flower shop, who was sitting opposite Phoebe. She was busy rummaging in the box of coloured glass offcuts on their table, but she hadn’t touched her cake yet.
Keep Calm and Get on With It, she could almost hear Nell and one of her retro signs warning. This was no time to start obsessing over cake.
‘Anyway,’ said Gretel. ‘The triangle shapes for Christmas trees shouldn’t be too fiddly for you to cut. At least we’re not making holly!’ She tried to sound upbeat, hoping it would mask the slight wobble in her voice. She could do this.
The haunted jukebox burst into the opening chimes of ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ and Gretel tried not to be put off by the surprise on some people’s faces.
‘I didn’t realise the café stayed Christmassy all year long,’ said a lady named Bea, who owned a shop down the road called Lavender & Honey. She was probably in her thirties and had seemed timid on arrival, but the cinnamon hot chocolate Gretel had spent all afternoon perfecting was clearly warming her up. Her keen eyes, which were a golden nectar colour like her neatly tied hair, were appraising the artificial Christmas tree that Gretel had dragged down from the flat and decorated with stained-glass ornaments. Who knew it would be so difficult to buy a real Christmas tree at this time of year? ‘I can’t remember the last time I came in here or even got close enough to read that bit on the sign that saysFestive Cheer All Through the Year. You often overlook the places right on your doorstep, don’t you?’
There was a rumble of agreement from the others.
Gretel had chosen a Sunday evening to run the crafting sessions, so at least the shop would be officially closed to other customers. She knew stained-glass crafting could be messy andnoisy, what with breaking and filing glass, and using soldering irons to join the sections of glass together. In fact, if Lukas found out, he would probably have one of his grumps and veto the whole thing. But as he was still avoiding her since the Christmas nearly kiss, she hadn’t bothered to update him about the classes. At least his absence had given her some freedom to find her way, even if she oddly missed his grumpy face. She’d even sneaked in a certain ferret, who was happily sleeping under Amber’s table in Gretel’s crochet bag.
But like quite a few of the shops on Green Tree Lane, The Gingerbread Café was closed on a Monday so she’d have plenty of time to clean up before the café opened again on Tuesday. Lukas was probably busy at The Rotten Carrot, and he’d stopped doing his annoying stroll-bys. She’d send him a message about the craft nights at some point. She just didn’t want to be shot down before she’d even started.
‘You’re right there, girl,’ an older lady called Zekia agreed from across the room. Gretel recognised her from that morning in the grocer’s. Zekia wore eye-catching purple which complemented her richly dark complexion and ran a shop called Rum & Raisin with her husband Kingsley. ‘We’ve been in the street for nearly a year and we still hardly know anyone. You’re all so quiet!’
Jane and Jayne, a couple in their forties who ran a small art gallery and shop in the street, both nodded. ‘Same here, although we’ve been here for years. It used to have more of a community feel,’ one of them said. They both had lots of pretty piercings and wore paint-stained overalls, and with the similar names, Gretel wondered if she’d ever remember which was which.
As Gretel looked around the room she was honoured that so many people had turned up after her and Amber’s flurry of leaflet dropping and accosting people in the street. Her firstcourse was fully booked out by shop owners and residents of Mistleton and she could only hope they’d love the place enough to come back between classes and tell their friends too. It felt strange that they’d been sharing the same piece of world for so long, yet Gretel hadn’t known most of their names until tonight. That was the price of resolutely keeping people at bay. Even selling her crafts had been an online, arm’s length affair. She had a lot to get used to.
‘I know most people.’ Gordon the Grocer shrugged. He was the man who’d served her and Amber in the shop the other day. ‘Your Nell was a lovely lady.’ There were a few sadmmmsfrom around the room. Gordon leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on his belly like a pregnant lady. He was still wearing his dark blue shop-owner money belt, although it appeared to be empty. ‘But admittedly, the street has let itself go in recent years, and we all seem to have retreated behind our closed doors to have a quiet sulk about it. I don’t even bother to put any fruit and veg out the front any more. Easy to let things slip.’
‘We don’t do much sulking,’ Zekia replied. ‘But our place never gets a whole lot of customers. My Kingsley’s homemade rum used to go down a treat when we lived in Peckham, and you should have seen my rum and raisin fudge and chocolates flying off the shelves. But here? The only time we’ve been busy was Christmas.’
