‘Maisie? Come back here!’ orders Zak, arriving a secondlater as his daughter pulls open the café door and runs out. ‘Why on earthwould you imagine that peeling every single banana in the fruit bowl isfunny?’
He shakes his head despairingly at Ellie and charges outafter his daughter. And I watch through the window as Maisie races across thegreen, laughing and looking back at Zak.
With her dark hair and her energy and that air of fun andmischief, Maisie reminds me so much of Poppy...
‘Kids!’ Madison grins. ‘How the hell do you keep the romancegoing in your relationship, Ellie, with a little hurricane like that one on thescene?’
‘Romance?’ Ellie runs a distracted hand through her hair,making it stick up even more than it was before.‘Remind me what that is?’
‘Please don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise.’ Maddyfrowns. ‘You and Zak are the gold standard. Ifyou’rein trouble in theromance stakes, there’s absolutely no hope for the rest of us.’
Katja snorts. ‘I think romance is overrated. It’s true lovethat matters.’
Madison weighs this up. ‘I guess so. Although there’snothing like a long, romantic walk in the country to inspire passion.Especially if there’s no one else around to see what you’re up to.’
‘That’s not romance.’ I grin at her. ‘That’s sex in a publicplace.’
‘I know.’ Her eyes twinkle. ‘Jealous?’
‘Er,yes.’ Ellie snorts. ‘The only long romanticwalks I take these days are to the fridge and back.’
We all laugh and my heart lifts. I feel like I’m becoming areal member of the team. It’s not that my new colleagues haven’t gone out oftheir way to welcome me. They’ve been great. But this is the first time I’vefelt like a proper, fully-fledged member of the Little Duck Pond Café gang.
I arrived in Sunnybrook in January when the snow was on theground and the harshness of winter matched the cold fear I felt inside atcoming to a strange place, knowing no one.
I’d rented a small two-bed semi with a tiny square ofgarden, and the clincher – a tiny, pale blue summerhouse where I could have mypotter’s studio. A little battered with age, the summer house looked cutenonetheless, and the building was structurally sound with a solid floor. Ineeded the space if I was going to try and turn what had been just a hobby intoa way of keeping a roof over my head and paying the bills.
It would be a completely different way of life – working formyself in the semi-rural location of Sunnybrook, instead of commuting to my jobin London every day. And I knew I’d need the café job to tide me over while I gotstarted. But I was determined to make the pottery business work.
Ithadto work.
I was never going back.
*****
Later, around eleven, I’m clearing tables after amid-morning rush, when the bell on the door jangles and a group of women comeinto the café.
I turn with my usual smile of welcome. But the greetingfreezes on my lips.
Rosemary!
Picking up the loaded tray, I hurry out to the kitchen, myheart beating uncomfortably fast, praying she didn’t see it was me.
My hands are trembling as I load the crockery into thedishwasher and I almost drop a milk jug, catching it just in time. Harrowingmemories start flashing through my mind, triggered by Rosemary’s shockappearance. I can’t go back in there. Not until she’s gone...
Luckily, there’s plenty to do in the kitchen, and aftersetting off the dishwasher, I start giving all the surfaces a thorough wipedown. Then Fen comes in from the back bearing three large loaf cakes on a tray:two lemon drizzle, our most popular, and one iced gingercake.
‘Can you slice these, Kenzie, ready to take out?’
‘Of course.’ I pick up a sharp knife, grateful to havesomething else to occupy me.
‘So how are you liking it? Working here?’ she asks with asmile, folding her arms and lingering a while. ‘Are we treating you okay?’
‘Oh, I love it.’
‘I didn’t realise you used to work in TV.’
I swallow, taken aback. I try to keep the details of my lifebefore I arrived here private.
