Page 4 of The Gingerbread Cafe
We confirm that we have been appointed as executors of the will of the aforementioned Mrs Eleanor Ellbridge (who we understand to have been known colloquially as ‘Nell’).
As such, we are instructed to request your presence at the following time and place, in accordance with our late client’s wishes.
Date: 21st November
Time: 11 a.m.
Place: The Gingerbread Café, 8 Green Tree Lane, Mistleton
We trust you will be in attendance unless we hear from you to the contrary.
Condolences, et cetera.
Yours sincerely,
Mr Birdwhistle (Junior)
cc: Mr L. Knight
Chapter 3
Condolences, et cetera. Really?
As much as Gretel had promised herself not to get too judgey before she’d even arrived at the mysterious meeting, she was not convinced she’d find much love forMr Birdwhistle (Junior)and his funny formal lingo.
As she trotted the short distance to the café on that fresh November morning, she wondered for the one millionth time what this gathering was about. Why would Nell’s last wishes involve her? And who was this Mr L. Knight who’d been copied in on the solicitor’s letter? Would he be there too?
She reached Green Tree Lane and found herself stepping into the cobbled road to avoid an arm-in-arm couple. The quaint streets were beginning to get busier in the run-up to the Christmas shopping period, even if it never seemed to be as buzzing as years gone by. She realised she’d barely been out in the month or so since Nell had died. The sight of other humans made her want to shrink into her own skin a little at the best of times.
Oh, but Green Tree Lane. Though the day was chilly and the breeze nipped in through the hand-knitted stitches of her penguin jumper dress, in years gone by, this cosy street would have effortlessly warmed her heart. It used to be decked out for Christmas with red and green lights strung between the old-fashioned lamp posts and dotted through the trees like berries. The shop owners would fuzz up the panes of their casement windows with fake snow. And the trademark Christmas tree, which stood proudly in the centre of the pedestrianised street, would be resplendent in a blanket of twinkling silver lights. When did all of that slip away? Now all that remained were a few sorry lights on the tree.
Gretel noticed the pace of her furry snow boots slowing as she reached the front of The Gingerbread Café. She almost couldn’t bear to see it. The warm glow of Nell’s year-round festive lights used to radiate onto the street like the glimmer of toasty embers, but today Gretel didn’t even want to take her mittens off. Every inch of the Cotswold stone felt cold. Even the holly wreaths in the windows now looked like a sad tribute to times gone by, rather than an evergreen celebration of Gretel’s precious yuletide. Underneath the café’s name, the sign promisedFestive Cheer All Through the Year. Where was that cheer now?
She stole a look through the window, eager to get a preview of what might await before the street’s clock struck eleven. But all she could see were …ghosts? No, wait. They were stark white dust sheets, covering the furniture like time was on hold. She took a deep breath and blew it out hard, knowing the simple process would help calm her. As she used her mitten to circle off the patch of her own steamy breath on the window, she strained to get a better look. The haunting apparitions were moving now, as a tall, thin man snatched them up and bundled them under one arm, contrasting against the black of his too-large suit.
‘Is there a Quickie Café around here, love? People need coffee.’
Gretel jumped, a hand flying to her chest. It was just the shopping couple, bundling in close to the window. Gretel inched away, keen for some space.
‘Erm. None of those around here. Sorry!’ And she hoped there never would be. It was her least favourite chain, and definitely not what her precious street was all about.
She stepped around them and knocked briskly on the door. Maybe she was overreacting. She just needed to get inside and take a deep breath of something familiar, even if nothing in her world would ever be quite the same again.
To her relief the door opened quickly and she stumbled inside. She pulled off her festive owl hat, strands of her pale blonde plait flying wildly.
‘Were those people bothering you, madam?’ The man with the dark suit began securing the door behind her.
‘No!’ Had she said that too quickly? ‘Not at all. They were just being …people.’
He turned to look at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose and squinting. She gave him a weak smile and hoped it would do. How could she explain there was generally nothing wrong withpeople? It was simply her knee-jerk reaction to avoid them, because when she let them get close it ended in sadness. Since losing Nell, who’d been the only non-relative she’d let wriggle in since for ever, her sensors were on high alert. If she let her guard down – even for a moment – she was terrified the temptation of kindness or company would lure her in.
As though the universe was trying to test her, the man extended a hand. ‘Birdwhistle Junior,’ he confirmed. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’
Well, at least he hadn’t saidet cetera.Feeling safe that this bird man wasn’t going to bowl her over with compassion, Gretel shoved her hat into her crochet bag and gave his hand a limp shake.
‘I was endeavouring to set things up to look …’ – he scratched his head, disturbing his feather-like hair – ‘invitingand atmospheric.’ It sounded like he was quoting something. ‘The deceased’s wishes.’ He gave a pleased nod.
The deceased. Was that why his language was so overly formal – because it was the easiest way to deal with death?
