Page 61 of The Gingerbread Cafe
‘I’ve still made room for a few glass daffodils,’ she reasoned, with nobody in particular. Even Angel Gabriel had wandered off and was trying to forge himself a nest with the colourful cushions Zekia had made for the café.
Well, she was damned if any new café owner was having them, and they may as well be here whilst the place was closed. The same went for the knitted bunting that Bea had made for her, and that lovely gingerbread chalkboard that Jane and Jayne had painted up. And between her donations from Phoebe and Angel Gabriel’s stealing sprees, they had somehow amassed an impressive collection of small crystals too.
‘We really must give those back,’ she conceded. ‘It’s not like you’ll need crystals for loneliness with me back under your feet.’ She laughed, trying to ignore how hollow it sounded. They wouldn’t be lonely rocking around the pokey maisonettetogether again, would they? There was barely enough room to be alone.
Or would they? Because when they’d lived here before, they hadn’t had a busy working life full of creative ideas and beautifully budding friendships to compare it to. And there hadn’t been Lukas. She looked at the empty apple strudel carton which was balancing on top of a box turned coffee table. There was a small mound of used tissues next to it, because inexplicably, eating a strudel without him had made her cry. She’d told herself the tears were for nearly having lost her memories of her mum and Rosa. But she had the sneaking suspicion she was telling herself a lot of things lately. She was beginning to lose track of how many of those things were true.
Another wave of tears swelled up through her body, desperate for a release. The pressure mounted behind her eyes and she grabbed a soggy tissue, letting the tears flow. They’d been arriving too often over the last few days and she was getting fed up of them. Moving back in here was meant to be making things easier, not harder. She was trying to ignore the nagging thought that she was now lacking in purpose. Out there in the real world she’d been building things instead of merely existing. Friendships, community, a life.
Yet over the last few days, it had felt as though all of that was falling apart too. Squashed back into this maisonette, she’d never had more stuff. But she’d never felt emptier. There was no reason to get out of bed at any given time. No café to open. No gingerbread men to accidentally burn and then ice back together. Not even an annoying jukebox to reprimand.
And by her own efforts at ducking and diving, she hadn’t seen the people she’d been starting to call friends. She hadn’t bothered to hunt down Amber and sort out that whole schoolgirl debacle. She’d avoided Eve and Phoebe. In fact, they wereprobably both busy with the new men and dogs in their lives to even worry.
From her furtive comings and goings she’d seen Jane and Jayne with their stepladder, putting the street’s tree back in place and saving as many ornaments as they could. Gretel still had the remnants of Angel Brigitte and little Rosa in a glass jar in the cupboard, next to her jar of instant hot chocolate that would never taste as good as the stuff she used to make in the café.
‘Well, there’s no point in making a pan of the real stuff just for me,’ she explained to Angel Gabriel, in case he’d been wondering. Though he didn’t seem bothered.
Another sob broke free. People talked about being bored to tears, but she was becoming boredofthem. It was as though they were never-ending. The more she cried … well, the more she cried. But she’d surely get used to things again. And then life would be just fine.
She collapsed back on the sofa and pressed a few buttons on the remote control, hoping she’d find something to bring back her festive cheer. To her surprise, the ancient DVD player fired up and a familiar, blond-haired boy appeared on the TV screen. Well, who knew? Her old copy ofHome Alonewas still in the machine. At least she wasn’t alone in having made everyone disappear. Wishing for some peace and quiet to wear outrageously bad knitwear and scare off life’s baddies was clearly a thing. She imagined setting up an obstacle course of blowtorches and tarantulas to keep Swingy Bob Whimple from The Gingerbread Café, and couldn’t help a tiny chuckle.
‘Oi, runaway. Open the door. I know you’re in there and you’d better not be eating mince pies and sulking.’
Gretel momentarily froze as the voice came through her letter box. There was no mistaking it, although Amber was a fine one to talk about runaways. Gretel jumped up and kicked an emptyjar of rich fruit mincemeat under the sofa. Not even she could find mince pies in March, and she’d been in no mood for baking.
‘I can see you, you know.’
As Gretel turned to the front door, trying to calculate how long it would take to go and wriggle into something that wasn’t an elf jumper dress, she saw Amber’s wide hazel eyes staring through the letter box. No wonder her maisonette was so chilly if her landlord had no respect for draught exclusion.
It was a novelty to have someone who cared enough to kneel down on her doormat and poke their eyeballs through the brassy slot, as much as she ought to have been annoyed about it.
From somewhere behind Gretel came a rattling of gunfire.
‘Jeeeeeesus!’ The letter box twanged shut. ‘Are you firing shots at me like that kid fromHome Alone?’ There was a break in the barrage and the eyeballs reappeared. ‘Oh, you’re actually watchingHome Alone. Well, lemme in, woman. I’ve always got time for a little dude in a bobble hat sledging down the stairs, even if we are nearly hitting spring.’
Gretel sighed. She did need to find out what was going on with Amber, and her heart was having an unexpected sing-song at the thought of company. She’d missed Amber’s no-nonsense wonky throat chakra, even if she was a bit confused about what had gone on.
‘Yeah, yeah, I know I’m in trouble,’ said Amber, as though she was reading her mind. Or maybe that was the thing about friends. They just knew. ‘But I’m on my knees here, and this scratchy-arsed mat is ruining my new fishnets. Give a girl a break.’
Even though there was barely room left in the maisonette to swing a cat, if anyone would be so despicable, Gretel had a strong sense she would always make space in her world for Amber. She was beginning to realise Amber was one of thepeople who’d been making her once empty life almost complete.Oneof them.
Chapter 50
Even though Gretel was now pretty sure Amber was just a schoolgirl, standing there on Gretel’s doorstep that evening, Amber suddenly looked the most grown-up she’d ever seen her.
Amber was still dressed for rebellion, and probably always would be. Gretel couldn’t think of anyone else who could pull off a riot of red, black, netted skirts and fishnets with such sass. But she’d softened on her usual thick white make-up and black eyeliner so that her face looked rosy and sincere, almost like she was ready to be seen.
Only Gretel hadn’t fully realised how much Amber had been hiding.
The skin on her friend’s arms wasn’t etched with the complicated Biro bird patterns which had seemed to come and go either. And, thank goodness, she wasn’t hiding her stunning flame-red hair under an uncharacteristic baseball cap, just to avoid being spotted. Was she finally allowed to be here?
‘So let me in. I don’t want to miss that scene where Kevin gets his shit together and defends his house with Micro Machines and cling film.’ Amber pointed over Gretel’s shoulder to the crappy old TV, whereHome Alonewas still playing. Gretel noticed her smile was only lifting at one side. What was weighing it down?
Gretel grinned through her tear-stained face and stood back to let her friend in, but instead of inching past her to fight her way through boxes to the sofa, Amber flung her arms around Gretel and gave her the tightest squeeze.
‘People. Need. Air,’ Gretel managed to say, from inside Amber’s keen clinch.
‘Erm, people need to stop doing crazy stuff, like moving out without telling anyone. What the hell are you up to?’ Amber moved her grip to Gretel’s shoulders and held her at arm’s length. ‘And why do you look like crap? It’s as though you’ve been crying for days and I’m not even going to ask about that elf dress. Sit down, G. This feels like one of those situations when grown-ups would make a cup of sweet tea and eat biscuits. I’ll put the kettle on.’
