Stevie stood in one of the tea shop’s bay windows, frowning at the rain and listlessly eating some ice cream. Eating was perhaps the wrong word – trying unsuccessfully to dig a spoonful out of the bowl was probably a more accurate description.
In anticipation of bright sunny days and hot summer weather (huh!), she’d been experimenting with home-made ice cream, only this one was made using frozen bananas as a base, with strawberries, vanilla, a little milk and some sugar. The mixture was then frozen again for an hour or so, and therein lay the problem. If the ice-cream-smoothie-sorbet combo was frozen for any longer than sixty or so minutes, it turned into a brick. Stevie had been forced to hack the first attempt out with a hammer and chisel. For the second attempt, she’d scooped the mixture into balls after the required hour and returned it to the freezer, but the balls had simply stuck together, and when she managed to free a couple from their neighbours, she still had trouble eating them. It was like trying to chew on a marble.
Definitely not one of her better experiments.
Not that she was likely to sell any ice cream in this awful weather anyway, she thought, trying to console herself. It had been raining almost solidly for the past week, and tourists and hikers were thin on the ground. She had what she had come to think of as her regulars, but she needed more customers than that in order to keep the business going.
She’d overheard people saying that this summer was possibly the wettest on record, and she could well believe it. She’d never seen rain like it – it was coming down in sheets and the main road, which led down to the river, looked more like a river itself.
Cassandra had rang to say she would be in late, as their roof had sprung a previously well-hidden leak. ‘No sooner we repair one bit, than we find another bit which seems to think it was a shower-head in a past life,’ she had declared over the phone. Stevie could hear a faint yell in the background. ‘Oops. Gotta go. I think Aiden’s fallen off his ladder and into the swimming pool.’
‘Swimming pool?’
‘There is a massive puddle outside our back door. It’s deep enough for sharks.’
Stevie had hung up and sighed, wondering how she was going to manage. Then she’d glanced out of the window again and shrugged. There wouldn’t be many people out and about today. She’d cope.
That had been at eight-thirty. It was now closer to lunchtime and Stevie could count the number of customers she’d had on one hand.
Two women, shoulders hunched, heads down, one battling to keep an umbrella over her (Good luck with that, Stevie thought), were dragging a pair of kids down the street. Stevie, with nothing better to do, watched their progress with bored fascination. Every time a car or a van drove by, the four were faced with a wave of water sloshing over their feet and splashing their legs.
They were positively soaked, and although Stevie would welcome their custom if they were to come in, a part of her hoped they wouldn’t. She’d already mopped the floor three times this morning, and one of those times had been when she’d briefly opened the door to let a bedraggled and very cross-looking Peggy in.
Stevie was thinking about calling it a day, turning the “Open” sign to “Closed” and joining her cat on the sofa in the flat upstairs where the feline was undoubtedly already curled up fast asleep, when she spied a rather large cobweb up near the ceiling.
If there was one thing she disliked it was spiders, so with grim determination, she grabbed a duster, kicked off her flat shoes, dragged a chair into position, and climbed onto it.
She was stretching as far as she could, flicking her yellow duster at the web, when the door abruptly slammed open, the bell tickled frantically, and a gust of wind swirled around the tea shop, making her jump.
Stevie let out a yelp of surprise and toppled off her chair. As she came crashing down, she grabbed for anything she could get her hands on. The tablecloth did nothing to arrest her fall, and the items on the table itself rained down on her, bouncing off her head like very hard hailstones.
‘Ow!’ Stevie rubbed her crown where the sugar bowl had struck and sat up.
‘Trust you, Stevie Taylor. We’ve come all this way and this is how you greet us.’
‘Mum?’ Stevie peeped over the top of the table. ‘Fern?’
‘It’s not as big as I thought it would be,’ Hazel sniffed, looking around her, shaking the umbrella and sending droplets of water flying across the room.
Stevie winced as Fern’s children raced up to the counter, trailing muddy puddles as they went.
The four of them were drenched and so was Stevie’s previously pristine floor. To add to the mess, a trickle of water had snaked its way across the tiles and was happily dissolving the fallen sugar cubes into a sticky mess.
Stevie scrambled to her feet and smoothed down her apron.
‘It’s not very busy, is it?’ her mother added. ‘Here.’ She thrust the umbrella at Stevie. ‘Well? Don’t just stand there – I could murder a cuppa and a slice of cake.’
Fern had yet to say anything and Stevie was acutely aware of the faint distaste on her sister’s face. ‘It’s a bit of a come down, don’t you think?’ Fern sneered.
Stevie glared at her. ‘No, I don’t. This is my place. Mine. I work for myself and answer to no one. How can that be considered a “come down”?’
‘It’s hardly Michelin and considering how much you used to bang on about those silly little stars, I thought they were vitally important.’
‘They are, but not in a tea shop,’ Stevie growled, and although she would secretly love to be awarded one, she was realistic enough to realise that was never going to happen.
‘Well? Where’s my tea?’ Hazel demanded, taking her coat off and hanging it on the back of a chair, before plonking herself down at a table. ‘And why have you called it Peggy’s Tea Shoppe?’ Her mother gave an exaggerated frown and tapped her fingers on her chin. Stevie knew exactly what was coming next. ‘I suppose it’s because you bought it with her money,’ Hazel added.
Yep, Stevie was right. Her mother was never going to let that one go, was she? And neither was her sister.
‘Our money,’ Fern chimed in.
‘Give it a rest,’ Stevie muttered, opening Bert’s hot water valve and filling a teapot.
‘Oooh, get her,’ Hazel chorused, as Stevie placed the pot, a jug of milk, and a cup and saucer in front of her mother. ‘What’s wrong with a tea bag and a mug, that’s what I want to know.’
‘If you want it in a mug, I’ll give it you in a mug,’ Stevie offered, while imagining pouring the contents of the teapot over her mother’s head. ‘What would you like, Fern?’
‘Coffee, no milk, no sugar, no foam, no nothing.’
‘Black, then?’
Fern scowled at her. ‘Jade and Macey will have a glass of cola.’
‘Sorry, I don’t sell it.’
Her sister shot her an incredulous look. ‘Orangeade? Lemonade?’
‘I’ve got milk, orange juice, apple juice, pineapple juice, raspberry cordial, or I could rustle up a smoothie…’ Stevie trailed off at Fern’s shudder.
‘They won’t drink any of that rubbish.’
‘Well, they’ll have to go without then, won’t they?’ Stevie retorted, beginning to lose what little patience she had left. If her family had come here for the sole purpose of putting her down, then they could jolly well sod off back to London.
‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ she asked. ‘You should have phoned and let me know you were coming. You’ve not picked the best day for it.’
‘Day? We’re staying for three,’ her mother said, blowing noisily on her tea.
Three!? Stevie thought and took a deep breath. At least she had to work and so only had a limited amount of time to spend with them. They’d have to amuse themselves most of the time, so hopefully she didn’t have to see much of them. It was awful to feel that way about her own flesh and blood, but she simply couldn’t help it.
‘Where are you staying?’ she asked, hoping it wasn’t too near.
Even as Hazel opened her mouth to say, ‘Here, of course,’ Stevie guessed from the expression on her mother’s face and she steeled herself for what she knew was coming. Her heart headed south to her feet at a rate of knots and her sanity quickly followed.
‘I haven’t got the room,’ she began, thinking furiously for any excuse.
‘Nonsense!’ Her mother smirked. ‘You said you had two bedrooms. Fern and I can share one, the kids can have the other.’
Great, Stevie thought, where do they suggest I sleep? They clearly didn’t know and didn’t care, and she found herself looking forward to three nights on the sofa with as much enthusiasm as a duck looked forward to its pond being frozen over. And talking about ducks, it was still raining hard and the thought of being cooped up with her family for the rest of the day was daunting.
‘What the hell is that?’ Fern screeched, suddenly.
Stevie jumped, dropping the plate of cakes she’d been preparing. ‘What?’
‘A rat! A rat!’ her sister yelled. ‘Kill it!’
Stevie shot out from behind the counter, clutching a spatula and preparing to do battle, but came to an abrupt halt when she saw what was making her sister so hysterical. ‘It’s a cat,’ she said, flatly.
‘Yes, I can see that now, but what’s it doing in here? Hardly hygienic, is it?’ Fern made shooing motions with her hand. ‘Don’t touch it, my darlings,’ she said to the children. ‘It’s probably riddled with fleas.’
‘Peggy hasn’t got fleas,’ Stevie protested. ‘Anyway, she’s not supposed to be in here.’
Fern let out a gasp. ‘Rub our noses in it, why don’t you?’
‘Eh?’ What was her daft sister on about now?
Seeing Stevie’s confused expression, Fern rolled her eyes before saying, ‘Calling the damned thing Peggy. You’ll end up like her, if you’re not careful.’
‘Like a cat?’
‘No, stupid,’ like Aunt Peggy – lonely, batty and with a house full of cats. You’ve made a start already.’
‘I’m not lonely, or batty, and I’ve only got the one cat,’ Stevie objected.
‘Is there a boyfriend on the scene, one you’ve not told us about?’ Fern demanded.
‘No, but—’
‘I rest my case. You’re lonely,’ Fern reiterated, firmly. ‘Sad and lonely, and we all think you’re mad to move halfway across the country to run a roadside greasy spoon.’
‘Hang on a minute, Peggy’s isn’t a greasy spoon. For one thing, I don’t cook fry ups, and for another, I don’t get many lorry drivers popping in for a cup of Oolong.’
‘It is on the side of the road though,’ Fern continued, ‘and you can’t deny the cat.’
Of course, it was on the side of a road! Every business in the street was on the side of the road, if you applied Fern’s distorted logic.
‘Never mind,’ her mother said. ‘You’ll be back home with your tail between your legs soon enough.’
‘What do you mean?’ Stevie demanded.
‘You’re not making much of a go of it, even I can see that,’ Hazel said, glancing pointedly at the empty tables.
‘It’s raining, that’s all.’
‘That’s the problem with this part of the country,’ Hazel stated. ‘It rains all the bloody time, according to the forecast. Oi! Hurry up with that cake, I’m famished.’
Stevie finished slicing new portions, shoved them onto a plate for the terrible twosome, and dabbed it down on the table, noticing absently how her mother took the largest piece. Hazel might not be the most supportive of mothers (not when it came to Stevie, anyway – Fern always fared better), but Stevie was a firm believer in actions speaking louder than words, and her mother normally ate everything Stevie made for her.
She checked that the two dripping children were behaving themselves, and made sure they had an apple juice each, then poured herself a coffee and pulled up a chair.
Her mother, Stevie noticed, was busily inspecting the tea shop and Hazel shot Stevie a penetrating look. ‘Are you sure she didn’t leave you this café, as well as the money?’
‘Perfectly sure,’ Stevie said adamantly. ‘I bought this myself, fair and square.’
‘That’s not strictly true,’ Fern piped up. Her cake sat untouched in front of her.
The difference between Fern and her daughters was incongruous. Fern was stick-thin, bordering on scrawny, and appeared to resent every calorie she put in her mouth, whereas her children were fed anything and everything they wanted, no matter how bad it was for them, and they were starting to become quite robust. Yes, robust was the word Stevie was searching for, and she noticed the children had already finished their sweet treats and were eying the display cabinet with greedy expressions.
‘I said, “that’s not strictly true”,’ Fern repeated.
‘I heard you.’ Stevie had been trying to ignore the barbed comment.
‘Peggy’s money paid for this cafe,’ Fern persisted. ‘It’s not fair. We need an extension, and I would have liked to have had a new kitchen, while we were at it.’ Fern’s sigh was artfully despondent.
‘I thought you said you couldn’t get planning permission,’ Hazel said, and Fern’s mouth narrowed into a thin line.
‘That’s beside the point,’ Stevie’s sister said. ‘It’s still not fair.’
She sounded like a spoilt child, Stevie thought, and as if thinking about children had spurred her nieces into life, the oldest one called, ‘Mummy, do we have to stay with Aunty Stevie? You said she’s a witch and I’m scared of witches.’
Stevie stiffened, her shoulders becoming rigid. It was bad enough having the family talk about her behind her back, but they’d clearly done so within earshot of the girls.
‘Don’t be silly! I said no such thing,’ Fern objected but she was blushing, her cheeks turning an impressive shade of pink.
‘Well, I think it’s true,’ Jade insisted. ‘And she’s got a black cat. Do we have to stay, Mummy?’
Stevie sighed. This was going to be the longest three days in history, she thought, especially when she heard Macey scream, ‘She’s poisoned us!’
Swivelling in her chair, Stevie was just in time to see Macey vomiting all over a pile of half-eaten cupcakes which the pair of them had stolen from the cabinet.
Lovely!