Cosy Nights & Snowball Fights (Little Duck Pond Cafe #36)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I dropped the clipping back in the box, slammed on the lid and shoved them back under the bed. I wished I could stomach alcohol because feeling like this, I knew I wouldn’t sleep. But I also knew that one sniff of a glass of wine would make me feel sick to my stomach.

I got into bed and lay there curled on my side, determined not to think about Jackie. She didn’t deserve my attention.

Instead, I thought about that happy, shining day when two kind, loving people called Sally and Keith told me they wanted to adopt me...

*****

When I woke next morning, I remembered driving home in the snow the previous night and dashed to the window.

Sure enough, more snow had lain overnight – enough to describe it as a ‘blanket’– and the world outside had been transformed into a winter wonderland. The late autumn sun cast its gentle rays on an oak tree in the lane, making the ice crystals on its leaves wink and sparkle like diamonds.

In the café, it was all change, in tandem with the weather.

Ellie had obviously decided – after watching the snow falling the previous night – that it was time for seasonal coffees and hot chocolates to reappear on the menu. And she must have been up very early because her new ‘fake fir’ was up and glowing over in the corner there. The massive tree flashed its colourful fairy lights at me – on a frenzied, migraine-inducing setting – looking vaguely apologetic for its garish and premature appearance.

Seeing my face as I walked through the door, Ellie chuckled as I first looked wide-eyed at the tree and then read the handwritten details on the blackboard behind the counter about the special hot drinks on offer from today. She shrugged a little sheepishly. ‘The snow’s a great excuse, don’t you think? It’s freezing out there. Everyone will be wanting gingerbread lattes and festive hot chocolates, won’t they?’

‘Everyone except the bah-humbugs in the community.’ I grinned. ‘That word “festive” could really get people going this early.’

‘Well, they can like it or lump it, can’t they!’ Ellie’s eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘Christmas is coming, whether people like it or not, and I’m not going to squash down my excitement for anyone.’

‘Good for you.’ I nodded approvingly, while at the same time feeling slightly nauseous at the thought of wall-to-wall Christmas at work from now on.

Naturally, the tree was a big talking point all day, with some customers looking at it askance but politely saying nothing, and others commenting that it lifted their spirits to see it because it meant Christmas wasn’t too far off now.

Later, Bertha, Olga and Sylvia appeared for their regular tea and cake get-together, and they were suitably impressed by the tree. Well, Olga and Bertha were. I couldn’t help thinking that Sylvia just looked worn out.

‘Ah, tree decoration, it is easy for me,’ proclaimed Olga. She smiled up at me as I unloaded a tray of goodies onto their table.

Bertha grinned. ‘Easy, is it? You must share your tips with us, Olga. Because getting the tree up takes me all bloomin’ night once I start. Ron always tells me he’d be a hindrance rather than a help and he’s probably right.’

Sylvia just smiled sadly, looking as if she wouldn’t have the energy to even get the baubles out of the box.

‘I do it in fifteen minutes. You want to know how I do it so quick?’ Olga looked around the room, and there were a few interested murmurs of assent.

‘Okay.’ She sat back in her chair, beaming with satisfaction. ‘I wrap tree in cling film and leave all year in spare room. Easy.’

A brief silence greeted Olga’s statement, followed by several snorts of appreciative laughter.

Even Sylvia was roused to speak. ‘You’re not telling me you wrap the tree with all the baubles on ? And the tinsel and everything?’

‘Absolutely! And don’t forget lights.’ Olga shrugged. ‘When you take fairy lights off the tree, an invisible elf arrives and tangles them all up for you. This way, he doesn’t get a chance. Problem solved!’

Bertha chuckled. ‘Well, it’s bloody genius, if you ask me.’

‘It rather takes the fun out of decorating it every year, though,’ said Sylvia, doubtfully.

‘When will you and Mick be putting your tree up, Sylvia?’ Bertha asked.

‘No idea. We might not have one this year. Too much trouble.’

Ellie walked in from the kitchen at that moment with a tray full of fresh scones and caught the tail end of their conversation. She cast a worried glance at Sylvia and murmured to Maddy and me, ‘Since when didn’t Sylvia get excited about the festive season? Never, that’s when. She’s always the first one to start ticking things off her Christmas gift list.’

‘She’s got her big birthday coming up.’ Maddy frowned. ‘You don’t think it’s any more than that, do you?’

‘You mean she might be clinically depressed?’ said Ellie. ‘Surely not.’

‘She was telling me she’s dreading turning eighty,’ I said. ‘So I think it might just be the feeling of being over the hill.’

Ellie nodded. ‘Which is ridiculous because she hardly looks much more than sixty-five.’

‘She definitely has the energy of a much younger woman,’ agreed Maddy. ‘Maybe once her birthday is over, she’ll realise that a big number really doesn’t change anything.’

‘The party will cheer her up,’ whispered Ellie, with a glance over at Sylvia, who was approaching the counter to pay the bill. Olga and Bertha were off to the cinema but Sylvia had made her excuses, saying she was too busy.

Maddy nodded in agreement. It was on the tip of my tongue to say that she really didn’t want a party, but then I thought about all the organising Olga and Bertha had already done – helped by Ellie who’d volunteered to host the party at the café – and I just didn’t feel I could spoil things. And besides, Sylvia was now in earshot.

I smiled at her and fetched her the bill for their tea and cake. ‘How are you, Sylvia?’

‘Oh, fine.’ She handed over a note.

‘Thank you.’ I glanced round. Ellie and Maddy had disappeared into the kitchen. ‘Are you looking forward to your birthday?’ I was really hoping she might have had a change of heart about it.

‘My birthday? Well, it’s just a day like any other, really.’ She shrugged. ‘But Mick and I are going out for an early dinner to our favourite restaurant, so that’ll be nice.’

‘Ooh, yes! Will there be champagne involved?’

She considered this. ‘Maybe. We’ll see. To be truthful, I’m not really in the mood. We used to go off for a few days somewhere for our birthdays, but these days, I don’t seem to have the energy for anything. I’m usually nodding off on the sofa by the time the six o’clock news has finished. So it’ll probably be home by nine at the latest for a cuppa, a bit of TV and then an early night. How’s that for a celebration?’

I nodded, trying to look enthusiastic. ‘That sounds... really nice.’

Sylvia leaned over the counter with a sad little smile. ‘Don’t get old, dear,’ she murmured. ‘You really won’t like it.’

As I watched her leave, my insides were churning like a cement mixer.

The party was happening a week on Saturday, the day of her eightieth, and I was already dreading it on behalf of the birthday girl!

*****

Later, near closing time, Ellie caught my arm as I was coming out of the kitchen with a tray and a cloth.

‘Laurel, I just remembered. A letter arrived for you this morning.’

‘A letter?’ I looked at her, puzzled. ‘Addressed to the café? An official letter?’

‘No, it’s handwritten. With a stamp on it, so it came through the post. Hang on. It’s in the office. I’ll just go and get it,’ she said, and she disappeared.

Frowning, I racked my brains, wondering who on earth could be writing to me.

I swallowed hard, thinking of Gavin and recalling Mum asking me if I’d ever go back to him. I certainly wouldn’t, but what if Gavin had somehow found out I was working here and had decided to try and get back in my good books. I really wouldn’t put it past him to think he’d be in with a chance. Well, he could take a running jump off the nearest pier if he thought... But looking at the envelope Ellie handed me, I knew immediately it wasn’t Gavin trying to get in touch. The handwriting was familiar but it definitely wasn’t his. I slid it open and pulled out the single sheet of paper, glancing at the signature at the bottom.

I felt my guts twist and I threw it down on the counter without even reading it.

The letter was signed ‘Mum’.

But it wasn’t from my mum at all.

It was from Jackie.