Page 64 of The Gingerbread Cafe
‘What, by doing some more bullying? Suddenly it doesn’t seem so clever.’
‘Argh, you girls just haven’t got the backbone, you know that?’
There was a silence. Even Gretel felt a pang of sympathy for the swingy bobbed woman.
‘Yeah, you mentioned,’ came Francesca’s deflated reply.
Gretel jumped again as she heard a scraping of furniture. Somebody was on the move. Gretel scurried towards the front door, but didn’t make it through before Swingy Bob Whimplestomped out into reception. When she caught sight of Gretel, her jaw dropped.
‘And have you managed to get your useless foot in the door with any of those shop owners in Mistleton yet?’ the male voice shouted. ‘You said that café was nearly sorted.’
Gretel felt her stomach plummet.
Swingy Bob regained her composure and grabbed a takeaway Quickie Café cup from the reception desk. ‘Have you come to sell me a café?’ she asked Gretel. Her voice, through gritted teeth, didn’t sound that hopeful.
Gretel straightened and shook her head. ‘I’ve come about this.’ She pulled a rolled-up copy of theCotswold Crierfrom her bag and waved it. ‘And I deserve an explanation.’ She doubted she sounded nearly as scary as the bellowing man, but she was definitely determined.
Swingy Bob pointed to the front door. ‘Let’s go.’ She stiffened her shoulders and marched towards the exit, Gretel scurrying along behind her.
Chapter 52
With the random patches of icy snow that hadn’t been cleared from the pedestrianised shopping road in Lower Paddleton, it was slippery in places. Gretel guessed that was what happened when a street became unloved.
‘Erm, where are we going?’ Gretel shouted after Swingy Bob Whimple, doing her best to catch up.
‘I need some air.’ Swingy Bob shot Gretel a look over her shoulder as she puffed on her vaping thing.
Maybe looking backwards was perilous after all – because it was then that Swingy Bob lost her footing.
Her arms circled like propellers, but they didn’t do much to save her. She squealed, her polystyrene Quickie Café cup flying from her grip. Gretel instinctively moved in to grab her, just about stopping her from diving face-first into the street’s central fountain.
‘Who put that fucking thing there?’
Was it the time to explain the stagnant and now sleet-covered fountain had been there for decades, if only anyone had still cared?
Swingy Bob’s cup landed in a patch of snow with a milky brown splat.
‘That stuff tastes like piss water anyway.’ The Whimple flattened down her blazer and cleared her throat. ‘Thank you,’she muttered in Gretel’s general direction. ‘Now, what was it you wanted?’
Gretel took a deep breath. ‘I’m just going to come out with it.’ She was glad her words sounded firmer than her quaking legs felt. ‘I know you nicked my ferret on the day of the fair and staged photos so he looked like a rat stealing food, then shared fake news with theCotswold Crierand Environmental Health. Miss Whimple, you’ve done some terrible things.’ Gretel put her hands on her hips, remembering Lukas’s stance when he wanted tolook in charge.
Miss Whimple shrugged. ‘Can’t be so fake if they inspected and shut you down.’
‘They caught me on a bad day.’ Gretel pursed her lips. Her ferret wasn’talwayssleeping in a biscuit tin, and he was never a rat.
‘Well, no publicity is bad publicity. If you sell me the café, I’m sure my new tenant can turn that around.’
‘I don’t want The Gingerbread Café to have that sort of publicity! And I’ve got no intention of selling the place to you.’
Miss Whimple rolled her eyes and puffed on her vaping thing. ‘You and Lukas are a pair of thorns in my arse.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Gretel, trying to sound casual and not at all like she hadn’t spoken to him for days.
Miss Whimple narrowed her eyes. ‘You still don’t know, do you?’
‘Of course I know.’ What did she know? She tried not to look suspicious or fidgety.
‘Ah, what the hell.’ Miss Whimple threw her arms up. ‘I’m going to break free from Whimple &Sonsas soon as I can anyway. My dad’s a shit and my brothers do screw-all but twat around in their boat shoes havingbusiness lunches. I’m the one doing the hard work and getting hated for it. And I’ve apparently still got nobackbone.’ Her cheeks looked flushed, as though shewas aware Gretel had overheard that bit of her dad’s telling-off. ‘If that’s what it turns you into, I don’t freaking want one. Dad’s outrageous stance over Amber is the last straw.’
