Page 1 of Daydreams & Doughnut Cake

Rosie

CHAPTER ONE

It was a warm, sunny morning in June and brightly-coloured bunting flapped and fluttered in a light breeze over the stalls on Lockley Meadow village green.

The Wednesday farmers’ market was in full swing and buzzing with customers.

As I handed over a chilled carton of my chicken tikka masala to a smiley woman in a pink floral dress and sunglasses, I felt a little burst of happiness to be here, and to be a part of such a friendly community. I’d been nervous to start with, a total novice at selling, but the stall-holders around me had been so welcoming, I was already starting to feel as if I belonged.

It wasn’t even midday yet, but already, I’d sold enough of my ‘Rosie’s Spice Kitchen’ home-cooked dishes to cover the cost of all the ingredients and the stall rental. A few more sales would cover petrol, and after that (fingers firmly crossed) it would be pure profit for the rest of the day. I felt my heart swell with joy. After a year or so of barely scraping by, maybe –just maybe– I was on course to achieving my goal this year of becoming financially self-sufficient.

My mood this morning matched the unbroken forget-me-not blue sky overhead.

I’d never be rich, selling at the market. But together with my two days a week working at the Little Duck Pond Café (I’d started there the previous week), I should just about be able to pay my bills and provide for my daughter, which was such a huge relief. After everything we’d been through over the past few years, Amelie and me, that was more than enough to put a smile on my face.

It was only two months since Ellie and Katja – now busy with their own venture at the market – had first given me the ideaof taking a stall at the market in Lockley Meadow and selling my home-cooked Indian and Thai curries, but already I was recognising faces who were returning each week for more. And of course, it was lovely seeing Katja roll up in the Little Duck Pond Café’s colourful van each week, easily recognisable by the model of a scrummy-looking cupcake on the top. Ellie’s idea of preventing waste by selling the otherwise surplus café bakes at knock-down prices certainly had everyone’s approval judging by the number of customers flocking to the van!

It had also been lovely having Mum’s support on the Rosie’s Spice Kitchen stall during the first few weeks, although she’d since returned to Spain, where she and my stepdad, Malcolm, were running their little harbour bar. Last week, without her, had been a little lonely and definitely more stressful without someone to talk to and laugh with.

But having spent five years living abroad, Mum had persuaded Malcolm that moving back to Surrey would be great for all of us – especially my four-year-old daughter Amelie – so in a few months or so, once they’d sold the business, they’d be back here to stay! Malcolm absolutely doted on his granddaughter, so he hadn’t taken much persuasion. Their flat in Benalmadena was up for sale and Mum had phoned only that morning to say they’d just been offered the asking price and had accepted. She sounded really happy about it. I could hear Malcolm calling out jokey comments in the background, and I’d known they were looking forward to their return to the UK as much as Amelie and I were excited about having them nearby.

I doubt I’d have had the confidence to go ahead without Mum and Malcolm’s support. They’d helped me buy a little second-hand van with an in-built refrigeration system so that I could safely transport my food from the packed fridge at home directly to the market. Once at the market, I kept the cartons in labelledice boxes, all ready to hand over to the customer when they ordered.

I glanced at the bunting fluttering overhead and felt my throat close up.

If Mark was still here, what wouldhehave to say about all of this?

I pictured his handsome face wreathed in a smile of admiration.The girl did good!That’s what he’d say. It had been our catchphrase.

A sudden breeze ruffled the bunting noisily and I looked up at it, smiling through the tears that were pricking my eyelids. It was another little sign from Mark that he was always there for us. I looked for signs all the time. They gave me comfort and helped me to carry on...

Brushing away the tears, I pasted on a smile for two women who’d paused to admire my stall.

I’d managed to find the jolly chilli pepper bunting online – in cheery reds, greens and yellows – and I framed the stall with it and draped some over the huge back-drop sign I’d had made declaring ‘Rosie’s Spice Kitchen’.

I loved that sign. It combined all the colours of the spices I used in my food – from paprika’s brilliant red to the burnished orange of dried chilli peppers and the golden hues of turmeric, saffron and cinnamon. Beneath the name, in smaller letters, were the words, ‘Delicious home-cooked food for your perfect night in’.

That sign made me smile and gave me hope every time I looked at it.

Mark would have been proud of me . . .

The two women wandered away and I glanced a few stalls along, where Katja was busy selling the café’s gorgeous home-baked cakes, pastries and biscuits from the back of the van.

I loved that she was close enough that I could sometimes grab a quick chat with her during a quiet spell.

Just then, a customer I recognised came into view.

‘Hi, there!’ I smiled at her as she approached the stall. ‘How was the chicken balti last week? Not too spicy for you, I hope?’

The woman shook her head. ‘Not at all. The level of spice was exactly right for me.’ She grinned. ‘My husband Eric’s a bit of a baby, though, when it comes to spicy food. He must have drunk a whole pint of milk trying to cool his mouth down.’

‘Ah, sorry about that.’

‘It’s not your fault. It’s his for wanting to try it.’

I chuckled. ‘I feel terrible for being the cause of his distress.’

She laughed. ‘Well, you shouldn’t. I keep telling him he needs to be more adventurous with his food... move away from chicken and chips all the time. No, it just means I’ll be buying one of your delicious-looking pasanda curries or a korma for him from now on.’

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