Page 32 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

‘Yeah,’ Ted said as he picked up a menu. ‘That’s Pat.’

That, apparently, was all the explanation Jen was going to get.

She read through the menu of hot chocolate flavours, mind boggling at the choice. Salted caramel, mint, chilli and then some more creative flavours: cinnamon, clementine, clove, maple and pecan. The choice was almost overwhelming. Jen opted for white chocolate and cranberry.

‘Good choice,’ Ted said, deciding on chilli for himself. ‘Snack?’

Jen scanned the menu. It all looked delicious. ‘Don’t suppose you want to share the cheese brioche wreath with cranberry dip?’ she asked.

Ted looked aghast. ‘With hot chocolate? I know you like savoury and sweet together but I’m not a weirdo, so I’ll be having a ginger cake bite, thank you very much.’

She shrugged. ‘Please yourself. I’ll just have a small portion of the halloumi in blankets then.’

Jen’s gaze strayed to the children playing in the corner as Ted went to order. Marnie had it beautifully set up, with a colourful carpet and some tiny chairs and tables, a box of toys, bookcases bursting with bright picture books – plenty of Christmas ones that looked brand new – and neat piles of drawing supplies. She wondered whether Amy and George spent much time there; she suspected they did, given that this seemed to be one of Julia’s favourite places.

It would be fun to do something special for Christmas, she thought. She was all inspired after organising the activity for Ted’s class, and some long-forgotten part of her brain was creaking into life, thinking of getting Amy, George and their friends together to make Christmas cards or decorations. There were so many cute things you could do, and she was sure they’d love it.

Ted returned with the drinks, soon followed by Marnie with the food.

‘Ted’s assured me you’re not going to actually dip these in the hot chocolate,’ she said, placing the plate of piping hot halloumi in blankets on the table. ‘Otherwise you might have ended up being the first person I had to actually escort off the premises!’ She laughed.

Jen grinned. ‘Can’t make any promises.’

Marnie pulled a face. ‘I just won’t look.’

‘I love your children’s area, by the way.’

‘Oh, thanks! The place used to be a bakery and I got the idea for a café because the parents and children were coming in after school, so I always wanted to have a special area for them.’

‘Do you do activities?’

She pushed the curls out of her eyes. ‘You know, I always wanted to, maybe icing biscuits or something, but with all this –’ she waved her arm to indicate the café – ‘I’ve never quite got to it, so . . . oh, excuse me!’ She smiled, hurrying off to another customer at the counter.

‘If you’ve quite finished your cross-examination,’ Ted grumbled, cutting into his cake. ‘Shall we get to the business in hand? Train Guy?’

‘Anthony.’

Ted had his phone in his hand. ‘Surname?’

‘O’Hara. He even sounds like a poet. Wait, are you cyber-stalking him?’

Ted tapped on his phone. ‘It’s what Gen Z do.’

She glanced at the screen. ‘On LinkedIn?’

‘You wouldn’t know, you’re a Millennial.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re three months younger than me. You’re not Gen Z.’

‘I’m Gen Z in spirit. He’s not on here.’

‘Of course he’s not, he’s a poet! Try Instagram.’

Jen bit into her food, savouring the salty crunch of bacon and the soft warmth of the halloumi, leaning over Ted’s shoulder to see his phone. They soon found Anthony’s feed, an arty mix of monochrome photos of cityscapes and graffiti, reels of Anthony reading earnestly at open mic events, pencil drawings of beautiful women in profile and black-and-white pictures of Anthony looking brooding and chiselled.

Jen’s stomach flipped. She almost lost her appetite but, having finished the food, was able to force down a sip of the deliciously rich drink, savouring the sweet chocolate and the tart cranberry flavours.

Ted hooted with laughter. ‘Oh my God. You’d better not let him see your Insta.’