Page 23 of New Beginnings at the Little Christmas Inn
He tugged his beret in a salute. ‘Will do.’
Livvy said her goodbyes and wandered the craft fayre, going from table to table. She bought three glass robin tree decorations and a beautiful light-catcher scene of a yacht bobbing on a turquoise sea, all from a piratical-looking man with curly dark hair and an earring. Taking his card, she saw it was Jago Pengethley. Having had a brief chat with him and admiring the large glass panels he also made; she wondered if she could squeeze one in the pub somewhere. From the next table along, she bought a pair of amber drop earrings which she knew her mother would love. She’d add the glass light catcher to them to make up her mother’s Christmas present. Her father was more difficult to buy for.
She’d been happily browsing some beautifully carved wooden bowls when she turned too quickly and bumped into a tall gazelle-like woman behind her. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. I do apologise.’
‘Not a problem. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Too many lovely things to distract me. I’m going shop happy.’ The woman frowned, gazing at Livvy more closely. ‘Didn’t I see you at the bonfire party on Saturday? Are you new to Lullbury Bay. Forgive me, out of the holiday season, everyone generally knows everyone else.’
‘I’m Livvy Smith. I own The George.’
‘Of course you do. I’d heard it had been taken over. Welcome to Lullbury Bay. The bonfire party was fantastic, by the way, I had such a lovely time.’ The woman extended a hand. ‘I’m Bee. I run the bookshop and community café. Look, I don’t know about you but I’m getting buyer fatigue. Do you fancy a coffee and some cake? They’ve turned the staff room here into a pop-up café.’
‘Perfect.’ Livvy groaned. ‘There are so many nice things here if I’m not careful I’ll max out my credit card.’
Bee exclaimed in mock horror. ‘And it’s far too soon before Christmas to do that. Come on. Let’s find cake.’
They squeezed through the tiny gaps between the tables in the makeshift café. It was busy. Bee waved and said hello to lots of people as they settled at a table; she seemed to know everyone. Although cramped, the café hummed with the comfortingly sweet smells of vanilla and sugar, and good roasted coffee. A curvy woman with bright pink hair served them and Bee introduced her as Tracy who usually ran The Sea Spray Café on the seafront. ‘You have to try Tracy’s cooked breakfast,’ Bee added. ‘Best in Dorset.’
‘Ah!’ Livvy said. ‘I’ve heard it’s the place to go for hot chocolate too. I met Alan, no I’ve got that wrong, Austin, is it? We shared a friendship bench and he recommended the hot chocolate at The Sea Spray.’
‘Austin’s one of my best customers.’ Tracy rested a hand on a comfortably ample hip. ‘Come down one day, maid, and I’ll treat you. Only doing tea, coffee and cake here mind but we do have some mincemeat shortbread which is melt in the mouth and don’t half go down well.’
‘Sold,’ Livvy said. When Tracy had gone, she turned to Bee. ‘Austin also said you’d won a community award. For the friendship benches. Have to admit I didn’t have a clue what theywere when he began talking to me but I can see it works really well. It’s a fantastic idea. Congratulations.’
Bee nodded. ‘Simple idea but effective. Even in a town like this one where everyone knows one another, or is related,’ she grinned, ‘usually to the Wiscombe family, there are still the lonely, the ones who don’t find it easy to strike up a chat. Or the ones who aren’t into joining clubs or societies.’
Livvy thought of Pete. ‘Would it work in a pub, do you think?’
Bee frowned. ‘Always thought pubs were where conversations happened spontaneously anyway.’
‘You have a point, although I’m not sure people find it as easy post lockdown. Some have lost the knack of talking.’
‘I agree. Ah, here comes our coffee and shortbread. Thanks, Tracy.’
‘You’re welcome. I put you a slice of coffee and walnut each too. Enjoy!’
Livvy nibbled the mincemeat shortbread. She moaned. ‘So good.’
Bee laughed. ‘Don’t know how she does it, but Tracy’s got a knack with food.’
‘Between Fabio, that’s my chef at the pub,’ Livvy explained, ‘and The Sea Spray, I’m going to be the size of a house.’
‘The sea air doesn’t help. Makes me permanently starving.’
‘Tell me about your community café, Bee. I’ve been impressed by what I’ve seen of Lullbury’s community spirit so far.’
‘It’s a wonderful place to live,’ Bee said warmly. ‘I wouldn’t live anywhere else. As you probably know it’s tough keeping a bookshop going. I had this space attached to the shop so thought I’d open it up as a community space. I do very limited food, nothing like The Sea Spray, of course, and offer hot drinks and groups can use it as a meeting place. Once or twice a week I holdtea and chat sessions where you can come along and meet a few people, and there’s a Death Café–’
‘A what?’ Livvy spluttered her coffee out.
‘It’s where people meet to have guided discussions on death,’ Bee explained gently. ‘Whether it’s your death you’re facing, or you’re grieving for someone, or about to lose someone. It helps to meet up with other people and the leader offers practical help too. We have quite an elderly demographic in Lullbury Bay so it’s popular.’ She smiled. ‘But a lot of people react like you when I first mention it.’
‘I’m dreadfully sorry. It sounds marvellous now you’ve explained it. It just sounds a little–’
‘Brutal?’ Bee supplied. ‘Avril Pengethley, Jago’s mum, runs it. One thing she tries to do is be honest about the process, the problems and the practicalities. She calls them The Three Ps. She also runs an advice service in the café but that’s for any kind of problem. Legal problems with housing, probate, that sort of thing.’
‘How wonderful. Must be an invaluable service.’
‘It is.’
