13

Carly knocked on the café door the following morning about forty minutes before Maria’s start time.

‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she asked as soon as I opened the door.

I smiled ruefully. ‘Different.’

‘Good different or bad different?’

‘Good, I think. Coffee?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

‘Grab a seat in the kitchen and I’ll make them.’

I handed her a cappuccino a few minutes later.

‘Did you manage to get any sleep?’ she asked as I bent down to check on the raspberry brownies in the oven.

‘I didn’t think I would.’ I straightened up and gave her a weak smile. ‘It took me a while to drop off but, when I did, I slept like a log.’

‘Were you okay on your own?’

I paused for a moment. Tell her. ‘I erm… I wasn’t actually on my own. I had Hercules.’

‘Who?’ She raised her eyebrows and I could guess what she was thinking: A man? Called Hercules?!

‘He’s my giant house bunny.’ I bit my lip and my pulse raced as I waited for Carly’s reaction.

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. ‘Your what?’ She grinned at me. ‘Oh my gosh, Tara. You’re full of revelations at the moment.’

While adding the ingredients for a chocolate cake into a mixing bowl, I told Carly all about Hercules and promised I’d introduce them soon.

She stayed for about twenty minutes and we chatted and laughed while I continued working. Although my past wasn’t mentioned again, I knew that coming round before work was her way of reminding me she was there for me whenever I wanted to talk about what I’d already revealed or move onto the next part. I’d forgotten how comforting and reassuring it felt to have someone caring and worrying about me, which got me thinking about Kirsten and Tim once more.

As I lightly kneaded the dough for a batch of plain scones after Carly left, I thought about the box of cards again. Cutting them out of my life had definitely been right for me at the time, but had it been right for them? I’d removed myself from their lives because I wasn’t their biological daughter, but I hadn’t given them any say in whether they wanted me to do that. Would they have had to make a choice between Leanne and me, especially when I’d moved away? Perhaps not. They’d been my parents in all but genes since I was ten and they’d always made it clear that they viewed me as their own daughter, but I’d abandoned them when things got tough. Had that been a mistake?

Tuesdays were usually fairly quiet but we were busy from about ten and even had to open the upstairs shortly after eleven.

By mid-afternoon, we finally had a lull. Niamh, my pregnant staff member, was busy wiping some sticky fingerprints off the glass cake display unit. I looked at her baby bump and felt disgusted with myself for not having asked her anything about her pregnancy. I’d arranged shifts around her antenatal appointments and I’d regularly checked how she was feeling, but it had been all very formal. What did you ask a pregnant woman, though? What did you ask anyone? Fear of letting anyone in had built that wall between business and personal life and I’d done everything possible to keep that segregation. If I asked about their personal lives, they might want to know about mine.

‘How’s it going?’ I asked Niamh, kicking myself for such a weak opener.

She looked up and smiled. ‘Good. It seems to have quietened down. Tables four and six are nearly finished, and I’ll check on table eight for more drinks in about five minutes.’

I inwardly cringed. She’d assumed I was asking about work. Time to try again.

‘Great. And what about you? How are things with you and the baby?’

‘Fine. I don’t think I’ll need any more time off before I finish.’ She lovingly stroked her bump. ‘I should be able to organise my check-ups for Mondays.’

I smiled. ‘Okay. Don’t worry if you can’t get them on Mondays. I’m sure we can work round it as long as I’ve got some notice.’

‘Thanks. I appreciate it. Oh. That’s table four wanting the bill. Can I give you this?’

I took the cloth from her, grateful that table four needed attention because there was no way I could attempt a third question. Talk about a message coming loud and clear: Tara Porter is all about the business and not the person.

Molly, one of my students, appeared from upstairs. ‘It’s all clean and closed off up there.’

I decided to try again. ‘How’s college going?’ I asked.

She frowned. ‘I don’t go to college anymore.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No. I got my A Levels last year.’

‘Then you’re at university?’

She shook her head and started cleaning the coffee machine. ‘Not yet. I’m taking a year out and resitting my Chemistry because I got a B but I really need an A to do my preferred course. That’s why I wanted the extra shifts.’

‘Oh. I didn’t realise. So will you be leaving in September?’

‘No, but I will need to go back to just weekends and school holidays again, if that’s okay. If I get my A, I’ll be going to York University, but I can’t afford to live there so I’ll be commuting. Plus, I want to be around to help Mum with my brother. It’s been tough for her since Dad left.’

‘Your brother?’

Molly rinsed the cloth in the sink again. ‘Yeah. He’s got cystic fibrosis.’

I hadn’t even noticed a customer approach the counter so was surprised when Molly said, ‘Hi there, what can I get you?’

Watching as she deftly made a couple of lattes, I felt like such a failure. How had I not known that Molly was taking a year out or, even more significant, about the errant dad and the brother with cystic fibrosis? In all honesty, I hadn’t even known she had a brother.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ Molly said when the customer left. ‘You’re not thinking of selling this place, are you?’

‘No. Never. What made you ask that?’

‘There was a man upstairs earlier asking questions.’

My jaw tightened. ‘What sort of questions?’

‘Things like how many customers we serve in a day, whether we’re significantly busier at the weekend, whether we do evening events… that sort of thing.’

‘Did you tell him anything?’

She shook her head. ‘I just said it was a very busy and successful café but I didn’t elaborate.’

‘That just sounds like a nosy customer. What made you jump from that to me selling this place?’

She giggled. ‘Sorry. Missed out the most essential part. He said, “What do you think it would take for your boss to sell up?” I laughed at him and said you’d need to be on your deathbed before you even thought about selling up.’

My jaw clenched. ‘What did he look like, this man?’

‘Tall, blond and tanned. Probably early forties.’

‘Jed,’ I muttered. ‘Jed Ferguson.’

‘Who?’

I shook my head. ‘Nobody. But there’s nothing to worry about. I’m definitely not selling and, if I was, which I’m not, he’d be the last man on earth I’d allow to get his grubby little paws on my business.’

‘He seemed nice,’ she said. ‘Nosy but nice.’

‘Well, he isn’t. And if he comes in here again, please let me know. Immediately.’

Closing time couldn’t come soon enough for me. I felt shattered as I climbed up the stairs to my flat with my plate of dinner. Hercules was already waiting for me by the door, eager for cuddles. I put my plate down and hugged him.

‘That nasty Jed Ferguson was in The Chocolate Pot today,’ I told him as I put out some fresh food. ‘Or at least I think it was him. The description sounded about right. Well, apart from the part where she said he was nice. I’m certain it was him looking through my window and I’m pretty sure it’ll have been him asking the Bay Trade guys about premises.’

What was he doing back from Australia? And what right did he have to question one of my team? My shoulders slumped. At least he bothered to ask them questions. It would appear that I never did. What an eye-opener my conversations with Niamh and Molly had been. I knew I struggled to let people in, but there was a difference between that and completely shutting people out. Things had to change.

‘Namaste,’ said Karen at the end of my Pilates class that evening.

‘Namaste,’ the class repeated.

I breathed in and out deeply a couple more times, then opened my eyes. Back in the flat with Hercules, I’d come so close to ditching Pilates, but I decided that an hour of exercise and relaxation might do me the world of good. And it certainly had.

Until I finished rolling up my mat and heard his voice.

‘Of all the Pilates classes in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.’

I leapt up, my mat springing open, tension instantly returning to my body as I turned to face him. He looked exactly how I remembered except he now had a deep tan which accentuated his green eyes. The years had been kind to him, with no sign of hair loss and only a few crinkly laughter lines. Yet I still couldn’t bear the sight of him.

‘Except it’s not your Pilates class is it, Jed?’ I snapped. ‘And it’s not your town either. What the hell are you doing back here?’

‘Ooh, still feisty after… what is it? Thirteen years?’

‘About thirteen and a half. And you haven’t answered my question.’

‘Taking a Pilates class,’ he said. ‘It’s good for the body and soul.’

Shaking my head, I bent down and rolled up my mat again, muttering under my breath. For some ridiculous reason, I couldn’t seem to get the ends to curl under. That never happened.

‘Do you want a hand?’ Jed asked.

I turned my head and narrowed my eyes at him. ‘From you? Never.’

Exasperated, I grabbed the mat as it was and tried to drape it over my arm. It didn’t want to play.

‘Thanks, Karen,’ I said, heading for the door, wrestling with the stupid piece of foam.

‘Thanks, Tara. See you next week,’ she said.

I knew he was behind me as I made my way out the sports hall and down the corridor. He was probably looking me up and down, just like the first time we’d met.

When we made it into the car park, I turned to confront him. ‘What? What do you want?’

He looked a little shocked at my raised voice. ‘Nothing. There’s only one exit from the building so I have to come this way. And my car’s parked over there in case you think I’m following you. It’s the white one.’

I looked to where he pointed and my stomach sank. It was only parked right next to mine. Sighing, I continued walking.

‘And it is my town.’ He moved into step beside me.

‘What?’

‘When I said that, admittedly stupid, line, you said it wasn’t my town and I’m saying it is. I’m Whitsborough Bay born and bred which is—’

‘Yeah, yeah, which is more than can be said for me.’

Jed laughed. ‘Wow! Age certainly hasn’t mellowed you.’

‘And it hasn’t improved you,’ I snapped.

‘Touché! And if you’d have let me finish, I was going to say I’m Whitsborough Bay born and bred which is why I’m here at the moment. My parents and extended family still live here.’

My voice softened. ‘So you’re just here for a holiday?’

‘Sort of.’

We reached the cars. I unlocked mine, stuffed my misbehaving mat in the boot, then slammed it closed.

‘And you’re going back to Australia?’

‘Yes. Next week.’

‘Glad to hear it. Safe trip.’ I made my way down the side of my car, thankful that there was a wide space between the two vehicles as it would be just my luck to open my door too far and take a dent out of his car. I wouldn’t have cared about damaging his property, but I didn’t want to look like even more of an idiot in his presence than I already did.

‘And then I’ll be back for good in October.’

I stopped dead, one leg in the car, my body crouched ready to sit. ‘What?’

‘I said I’ll be back for good in October and looking for premises for my new business. See you then.’ He climbed into his car and slammed the door.

Leaping up, I banged on his window. He wound it down and raised an eyebrow at me.

‘You can’t have The Chocolate Pot, you know. It’s not for sale.’

‘Everything’s for sale if the price is right.’

‘You could offer me ten million pounds and The Chocolate Pot would still not be for sale.’

Jed laughed. ‘Just as well I’m not looking to regress.’

‘Then what were you doing asking one of my staff questions about the business today? Because I know it was you.’

He laughed again. ‘Checking out the competition.’ Then he wound his window up and floored the accelerator, leaving me with my mouth open and my heart pounding.

I sat in the driver’s seat, breathing deeply. ‘Checking out the competition?’ Did that mean he was going to open a café when he returned in October? I shook my head. So what if he did? His style was ‘greasy spoon’ and therefore a completely different clientele. Besides, there were currently no affordable, suitably sized premises available for lease or purchase on Castle Street or any of the other side streets and an independent business could not afford the main precinct.

But as I drove back to The Chocolate Pot, my heart wouldn’t stop thumping. There might be no suitable premises available now but businesses closed all the time. Owners retired, circumstances changed, customer tastes changed, trends came and went and, for a multitude of reasons, businesses failed. In my thirteen and a half years on Castle Street, I’d lost count of how many I’d seen open and close. October was nine months away and a lot could happen during that time. An awful lot.