It’s daylight when I wake up to sunlight streaming through the Georgian-style arched windows and Bram crouched beside the armchair, gently shaking me.
‘Cleo.’ He sounds panicked, and it takes me a few moments to remember where I am and what happened that led to me waking up in Bram’s living room, contorted like a pretzel where I’ve sunken into the armchair and folded in on myself. ‘It’s late and no one went to the supermarket or made anything last night.’
I grip his hand where it’s on my knee. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine.’ I have to squint in the brightness but he doesn’t look fine. He looks like he’s just fallen off the sofa himself. There are dark circles under his eyes that aren’t just from the smudged eyeliner. His skin looks sallow and you wouldn’t think there were many more directions for his hair to stick out in, but it’s invented a whole new compass. ‘Neither of us set an alarm last night. It’s gone 8 a.m.’
That makes me sit bolt upright and look at the clock on the living room wall. It is really late, and it’s too far to walk to Ever After Street from Bram’s, and my car is still at Marnie’s.
He offers to drive me back, but he looks too drained to make it down the hallway, never mind drive anywhere, so I call a taxi and tell him to take it easy, leave it at least twenty-four hours before eating anything, and drink some water. I stand on the steps outside his house waiting for the taxi to arrive, feeling like I’m doing the walk of shame even though spending the night at Bram’s was completely innocent, and when the taxi arrives, he walks me to the end of his driveway and insists on paying the fare.
In my panic to get back to the caravan, shower and change into another Alice dress, I’m still a discombobulated mess when I fall through the tearoom door. It’s after nine and there’s a customer waiting outside, and the only cakes on display are ones that didn’t get sold yesterday, and a few emergency back-up packets of French Fancies and Cherry Bakewells that I mercifully hadn’t opened yet, and anyone looking will immediately clock that they’re made by Mr Kipling and not by me, but it’s the best I can do for today.
It’s another one of Tabby’s days off and, without Bram, I’m a frazzled frenzy by 11 a.m. As I’m on my own, it’s sod’s law that today is the day that every human in Herefordshire has decided to visit Ever After Street and pop in for a cup of sparkly Wonderland tea, and I’ve already sold out of crumpets, I’m running low on teacakes, and the display case is looking alarmingly bare. Even the bread for sandwiches is going to run out before the day’s end at this rate.
I haven’t had a chance to reply to Marnie’s texts yet, and when she pops over at lunchtime to check on me, she’s shocked by the length of the queue and the amount of customers waiting far too long for their orders.
‘You need help, Cleo.’ She dashes a plate of tea and sandwiches over to a waiting customer, even though she’s got Darcy minding A Tale As Old As Time on his lunchbreak, and then comes back to get another one. ‘I’ll put a call out in the shopkeepers messaging group and see if anyone’s not busy.’
It’s the kind of day when everyone on Ever After Street is busy, and I’m surprised when, less than twenty minutes later, Franca from The Nutcracker Shop at the year-round festive end of the street arrives, bearing packets of teacakes and crumpets. ‘One of the pleasures of owning a Christmas shop on a warm spring day is that people aren’t thinking about nutcrackers. Which is unusual because I’m always thinking about nutcrackers. I haven’t had a customer for hours, so I was out the back carving anyway; it makes no difference if I close up for a bit. Where’d you want me?’
She’s already gone through to the back room, put the food on the unit, donned an apron and tied her hair up, and I’m so grateful that I could cry. Except crying over sandwiches is frowned upon and might bother some customers, so I hastily add crumpets and toasted teacakes back onto the menu board while Franca rushes to take orders to waiting tables, chats to customers to distract them from how long they’ve been waiting, and most importantly of all, boils the kettle to make me the first cup of tea I’ve had all day.
You can say many things about Bram, but one of them is that making sure there is always a cup of tea nearby is his top priority, and I’ve never realised how much I appreciate that until today.
Franca stays for a couple of hours, but by mid-afternoon, it’s quietened down enough that she goes back to The Nutcracker Shop. It’s good to see The Wonderland Teapot so busy, but I’m missing Bram so much. How alive the tearoom feels because of him, and how he makes everything feel better. No matter how busy we are, he never loses his cheeky grin and positive attitude, and his sense of being in control of everything makes me feel in control too, and today, I can feel all the threads slipping out of my grasp. Even with Franca’s help, it makes me wonder how I would ever have managed without him.
I’ve been thinking about him so much that I think I’m hallucinating when, just after 4 p.m., the door opens and Bram walks in. I’m spreading butter on a plate of bread-and-butterflies for a young girl, while simultaneously making the tea her father has ordered, and also keeping an eye on the tearoom when the door opens and I catch sight of a flash of blue.
‘Bram!’ If I didn’t have hygiene gloves on, I’d have rubbed my eyes to make sure I’m not seeing things. ‘What are you doing here?’
He flashes me a bright, smiley grin and holds both hands up in a surrendering gesture. ‘Before you say anything, I’m not an on-duty Mad Hatter, I’m an off-duty friend.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’
‘I like being here,’ he says with a shrug, and I can’t help smiling at his simple honesty.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Moreno.’ He greets our regular customer, who’s sitting at a table, eating her usual toasted teacake while watching her grandson on the flamingo croquet. ‘Those teacakes would have nowhere to go without you.’
The old lady regards him and it clearly takes a moment before she recognises him because he looks so different to his usual character.
‘Oh, I didn’t realise that was you. I wondered where you were today. My grandson was looking forward to seeing his favourite Hatter.’
‘I’d like to believe I’m the only Hatter around these parts.’ He tips his baseball cap to her, waves to the grandson, and then slips in behind the counter.
I don’t intend to smile quite so widely, but there’s something about his presence that makes the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders feel lighter somehow. ‘You’re supposed to be taking the day off. You know, to rest and recover?’
Apart from the baseball cap, he’s got his grey hoodie on over a white T-shirt and black jogging bottoms, his hair is washed and smooth, curling at the nape of his neck and around his ears, and if I wasn’t in the middle of handling food, it would take all my willpower not to reach up and tuck it back. ‘Go home. Watch Netflix.’
‘I’ve seen Netflix.’
‘All of it?’
‘Feels like it sometimes.’ His dark eyes are twinkling as they hold my gaze, and I have no doubt that he knew I’d protest and he came fully prepared not to let me.
‘How are you feeling?’
His laugh is a low snort. ‘Like I’ve been for a spin in a tumble dryer on the highest heat setting. But other than that, great. Peachy. Fit as a candlestick maker’s dog.’
‘Then you shouldn’t be in wo—’
‘You want me to feel better and seeing you makes me feel better.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Very funny.’
‘Look, I had another nap after you left this morning. I took a long bath, and then I wandered around the house going stir crazy and missing you. Thought I’d poke my head in and see if there was anything I could do without actually working.’ He strains his neck and looks around the doorway to the back room and lets out a low whistle. ‘And judging by that heap of washing up, there definitely is. I’m not customer-facing today, but I can tackle that.’ He rolls his sleeves up. ‘If that gets any higher, we’re going to have to fill in a shedload of paperwork to have it declared a new mountain, so let me help. Okay?’
It’s like he’s waiting for permission, although if I said no, there’s no way he’d listen.
‘O-Okay.’ The word stutters as it comes out because it’s hard to concentrate on anything apart from the look in his dark eyes, the effervescent scent of his aftershave, and the heat of his body where he’s standing closer than he was moments ago…
…until the father who is still waiting for his tea and his daughter’s bread-and-butterflies and squash clears his throat and we both jump.
‘Sorry, sir, Alice is just sorting out some gremlins.’ Bram nods towards them. ‘My fault entirely. We won’t keep you a second.’
He touches his hand to my hip, and in one swift movement, lifts the peak of his cap so he can lean down and kiss my cheek. It’s the briefest peck, but it makes my head spin like the black and white spirals so associated with Wonderland. He’s usually cleanshaven but he’s got a couple of days’ worth of stubble now, and it makes him go from sexy to hot. Very, very hot.
He’s got the sense to step into the back room and put some space between us, and I give myself a shake and go back to the bread-and-butterflies, tea, and squash order.
‘He’s a breath of fresh air, isn’t he?’ Mrs Moreno says when I’ve delivered it to the waiting table.
At first I think she means the father who’s jabbing angrily at his phone, but my eyes follow hers to the clink of china from the back room and the whistling that’s started up. ‘That he is.’
He’s a breath of something, all right. And the relief I feel just from seeing him is astounding. I love how simple he makes everything, even the washing up. Usually, between us, we manage to keep on top of it, but that hasn’t been an option today, and I was dreading tackling that later.
And along he comes and simply takes care of it without question or complaint. And it makes me think again about what happens if I get this tearoom. What if I get to work with this spectacular nut for longer… and what if I don’t?
* * *
The tearoom isn’t closed yet, but it’s mercifully quiet enough to catch my breath and appreciate the constant out-of-tune singing from the back room.
I know he knows I’m there, but I lean my head against the doorframe and watch Bram for a few minutes before speaking. ‘How are you so happy?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be happy?’ He’s got bright pink rubber gloves on, and he glances up at me with a smile. ‘I’m alive. I have a roof over my head and a job I love, and I feel well enough to come in. What do I have to complain about?’
‘If only more people saw the world the way you do.’ I can’t get my head around his attitude sometimes, and yet, I love it. He’s so positive about everything, and it rubs off on others, whether they want it to or not.
‘Happiness is a choice. If you’ve got two sinks full of washing up to do, eleven piles of laundry to iron, hoovering to do and a lawn to mow, you can sing and dance your way through it and enjoy yourself, or you can grunt and groan and moan all the way through, and neither way makes it go any faster, but one is infinitely more enjoyable than the other. No one’s life is perfect. Everyone is unhappy in some way. In fact, the only thing that makes some people happy is complaining about it and dragging others down too. I don’t ever want to be that person. It’s a privilege to be able to do chores. Some people can’t. Some people would kill to feel well enough to run the hoover through the house. If we have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, we have it better than most. Some of us are even lucky enough to have people who care about us…’ He looks up and meets my eyes. ‘And that makes us extraordinarily fortunate. People get so caught up in little niggles and forget the bigger picture. Many of us don’t realise how lucky we are just to live. And sometimes the most powerful thing anyone can do is realise that.’
The bell above the door tinkles as a customer comes in, but I turn back to Bram quickly before I go to greet them. ‘You know what I said last night about you being either one of the greatest philosophers of our time or a complete nuthatch? It’s the first one.’
He lets out a loud laugh. ‘I’m still fine with it being both.’
‘You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t a bit bonkers too.’ I bite my lip as I consider it. ‘And that would be unthinkable.’
The width of his smile makes my knees feel weak. I don’t think he expected me to say that, and it’s probably a good thing there’s a customer, because otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself going over to hug him.
I never realised just how much I needed someone like him in my life. After the past couple of years of hiding away, being alone and ensconced in a ball of grief, regret, and injustice, growing lonelier and more bitter, resenting the world, and hating myself for the mistakes I made when it came to my mum and the trust I put in my ex, what I needed more than anything was a different perspective, and I never thought the barmy Mad Hatter who knocked on the door all those weeks ago would give me that, but he makes me feel glad to be alive again.
What I needed was someone who, by the sheer size of their presence, doesn’t let you dwell on negativity, who is so bright that it’s impossible to feel dark in their company, and Bram is that in spades. More than anything, he makes me want to give this tearoom everything I’ve got and remain a part of this special street full of wonderful people.
The customer orders tea and tuna and cucumber sandwiches and then there’s a rush as Marnie’s after-school reading group leaves A Tale As Old As Time and parents bring children in for an evening treat in the twenty minutes before closing time, and I feel like I’m herding sheep as I shuffle after them to shut the door and turn the sign over to closed. It has been a long day.
I tidy up the tearoom and take the next batch of washing up out to the back, where Bram is still in his pink Marigolds, waiting for it, and no matter how much I try to tell him he doesn’t need to, he grins and ignores me. By the time I’ve wiped down all the tables, mopped the floor, and cashed-up for the night, he’s washed every dish, as well as dried it and put it away, cleaned every countertop, and now he’s sitting on the unit, his head leaning against one of the cabinet doors, looking half-asleep.
‘What are you doing here, huh?’ I say gently. ‘You should be at home.’
‘I don’t know. Just wanted to see you. Spend time with you.’
I love how he wears his heart on his sleeve. He says things aloud that other people wouldn’t dare to vocalise. It doesn’t seem to cross his mind to be dishonest about anything.
‘How are you feeling?’ I go over to stand in front of him and reach up to fit my hand against his forehead. He takes his cap off and ducks his head to give me better access. I’m no longer worried about his temperature, it’s just an excuse to touch him, and I’m sure he knows that.
‘I’m fine. Just tired, and really, really hungry, but my twenty-four hours before eating again isn’t up until tonight.’
I can’t feasibly get away with holding my hand to his forehead for any longer, but as I reluctantly drop my arm, he reaches out and catches hold of my hand, his fingers folding around mine and squeezing. ‘Thank you for last night.’
‘Bram, I gave you food poisoning!’ I don’t know how many times I’ve repeated that, but he doesn’t seem to have understood it. ‘It’s not something people usually express gratitude for.’
‘Well, thank you for making last night better than it would have been if you weren’t there. I felt pretty rough and you made me feel better than I would have otherwise, and that was no easy feat. No girl wants to see a guy like that, so thank you.’
He jiggles my hand and then lets go to run a hand through his hair and tug awkwardly at the back of his neck. ‘I need to say something else as well.’
There’s a serious tone to his voice that makes me take a step back and look up at him.
‘When I opened my bag this morning, I understood why you asked the squirrel question. I’d never seen that before in my life, Cleo. I don’t know how it got there. I know what you must be thinking, but it isn’t mine. Someone else must’ve put it in there.’
‘Tabby wasn’t even in yesterday.’
‘It could’ve been there for days. I don’t look in my bag from one day to the next. I only went in there this morning to get the toothbrush out. Without working lockers, my bag was in the staffroom. Anyone could’ve opened it…’ He sighs long and hard, sounding just as fed-up as he did last night. ‘I meant what I said – I can’t make you believe me and I’m not going to waste energy in trying. You either do or you don’t, and nothing I say will make any difference to that. And it’s okay if you—’
‘I believe you.’ I wasn’t sure myself, not really, but he looks so utterly wretched that it’s impossible not to believe him. There’s something about Bram that’s infinitely trustworthy, especially now, when he’s not playing a character, and trusting that I’ll trust the real him.
He holds his hand out to me, inviting me to slip my fingers over his again, and when I do, his curl tightly around mine, and he uses his grip to tug me nearer and holds his other arm open, silently asking for a hug.
Hugging him, properly hugging him, is the one thing I’ve been desperate to do since the moment he started looking so ill yesterday afternoon, and I take my hand from his and push his knees apart on the counter so I can stand between his legs and reach up to slide both arms around him, and I get a delicious little thrill when he bends to meet me and pulls me tight to him and one of his legs hooks around mine to hold me in place.
He lets out a long and deep exhale and I can feel the tension draining from his body even as his arms tighten around me, and after a day of stress and worry and being rushed off my feet, I can feel myself sagging against him. His hands spread open on my back and his stubbled jaw grazes against my neck as he tries to get closer. My knees are braced against the lower cabinet door, and my hands naturally find their way upwards, cupping the back of his head, and my fingers slide down to play with the ends of his hair, and it sends a shiver through him, and he makes a little contented noise.
And we just… don’t move.
Long minutes pass and I could happily stay put for many, many more. It’s the kind of hug that shuts out everything outside of his arms, and each one of my senses is consumed by him. The touch of his body, the sound of his breathing, the scent of his aftershave, and I’m so relaxed that I could fall asleep standing here. His body is deadweight against mine, his arms around me are heavy, and even his hands on my back have gone limp.
I squeeze him tighter and he mumbles something incomprehensible and snuggles in closer. And the thought of making him this comfortable makes my heart swell. I know he’s not good at letting people get close, and neither am I. This is the closest I’ve been to anyone in years, and I thought it would feel scary, but the last thing I want to do is disentangle our bodies.
It takes me a long time before I whisper again. ‘Are you asleep?’
‘No, just having a really long blink.’
I laugh and go to pull away but he curls tighter around me. ‘Don’t go yet. This feels too good.’
‘Yeah, it does.’ The words hang in the air like a decoration. So real that I could touch them. It does feel good, in a way I never expected it to. I never intended to let anyone in again. Love hasn’t been on my radar in recent years. After my ex, I was glad to be alone. I’d forgotten what it’s like to fall for someone.
And then Bram burst into my life in an explosion of colour and card tricks and he’s got under my skin without me even noticing, and suddenly I care about him. I like him. I like spending time with him. I get butterflies as I drive towards his house in the evenings. If today is any indication, I miss the living daylights out of him when he’s not around.
I’ve spent the majority of the past twenty-four hours with my hands on him in some way, and it’s felt good. And this hug, it’s like we’re the only two people in the universe, and everything is right with the world, as long as neither of us ever moves.
It feels like waking up when he finally starts to stir, grunting with stiffness where his body has been curled so tightly around mine, and he looks kind of dazed and blissful, squinting at the sudden brightness of the kitchen light. ‘That was probably the nicest hug I’ve ever had.’
I laugh, because there he goes with just blurting things out again. And yet there’s something refreshing about it too. Bram doesn’t play games. He says what he feels in the moment and worries about it later. Or, actually, doesn’t worry about it later, unlike me who lies awake at night replaying conversations where I made myself look foolish that day in my head, and it makes me want to be more like him. Being happy for people to think whatever they want of him, and being secure enough in himself for it not to matter. ‘Ditto.’
He smiles, that stupidly wide smile that brightens up the whole room and makes his singular dimple dip his cheek and his tired eyes shine, and it’s impossible not to smile back, and… I really want to kiss him. I’m at just the right height to slide my hand along his jaw and cup his face. It would take nanoseconds to push myself onto tiptoes, and I take a breath, trying to steel myself to find the courage to do it, and… and then his stomach lets out a growl of hunger, making his cheeks flare red as he giggles with embarrassment.
I shake my head to clear it. ‘I’m coming home with you tonight. You can eat something later so I’m going to make you a piece of toast and a cup of tea and nothing else. I don’t trust you not to go home and bake a batch of brownies and eat the whole lot.’
‘You’re coming home with me so you can bake something for the shop tomorrow. Get back on the horse before the stable door has bolted… No, that’s not right. You know what I mean. Don’t let this one incident knock your confidence.’
‘I don’t think I should ever bake again.’
‘’Course you should.’ He reaches out and takes my hand again. ‘And I’m going to be your first tester.’
‘No you’re not. You can’t still have faith in me after that.’
‘I still have faith in you after that. You were made to do this. This job lights you up. You just need to get a teensy bit better at identifying whether something is cooked or not.’
I burst out laughing. At least we can agree on that.