Page 43 of The Custard Tart Cafe by the Sea
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“But that’s ludicrous,”I say. I feel sick and dizzy. My head is swimming. My pulse skitters. “I don’t want him cominganywhere nearmy bakery– physically (which I understand has already been the case several times without my consent since I returned from Portugal), or mentally.” I pause to take a deep breath. “Definitely not mentally. He can’t be trusted, Caitlyn. You just don’t seem to get it! In no way, shape, or form does Tiago Mansplainer Willis have the business’s best interests at heart. Oh, why didn’t I come clean and tell Lauren about the petition from the get-go? There’s no way she’d have let him take over if she’d known about his devious intentions. I’m such a fool.” I close my eyes and shake my head at my own naivety.
There wouldn’t have been any need to buy myself a clown suit and a red nose, had I decided to go ahead with custard-gate at Reggie’s football match. I already am that person. Just not in costume.
“Slow down,” Caitlyn implores. “Let me explain the situation properly.”
“How do my older and younger sisters know more about my business than me?” I bite back. “What a joke, when I am paying you both for your services at the moment. I am the embodiment of the typical middle child. Left out of everything.”
I am now on my feet, glaring at Caitlyn, who is shaking her clenched fists either side of her head, just like she used to when she was a frustrated little girl who couldn’t get her point across to one of her big sisters.
“I may only have met Tiago a handful of times, but you know me, Willow,” her voice goes all whiney. “I’m a good judge of character. I always have been. I see the best in people, yes. But I’m no pushover. Just a few weeks ago I was talking revenge-fuelled javelin and shot put tactics, don’t forget! I can’t speak for Lauren. I know she had a crush on him. It was you who told me that… but it turns out there’s more to it than that. And it’s not my place to say anything. She’ll let you know more when the time is right.”
My breath hitches in my throat, my heart thuds louder and louder in my ears.
“S-so what you are trying and failing to say is you know something really big and juicy and important that sounds as if it has a massive impact onmylife. Something which sounds suspiciously to me as if Lauren’s been romantically entangled with my man… with T… I meanbloodyTiago.” I must be furious to let that expletive slip. “And you’re just going to sit there and clam up. Unbelievable!”
“Argh, not at all. It’s you who is making me stumble over my words, which is hardly a surprise when you are just so…” But Caitlyn cannot finish her sentence and I will never know what she was going to call me. For whatever reason, she stares in defeat at the sea.
We are motionless for several beats. Both of us know that the next words could wound deeply so it’s best to call an undeclared ceasefire. I get up and start to pace around the bench, as if that might help. After a couple of minutes, a movement in my peripheral vision tells me the man in question is walking towards us, and closing in rapidly.
“Well, well, well. Speak of the devil.”
“He really isn’t, Willow.” Caitlyn rediscovers her voice. “You’ve got this all so very wrong. If you could just go and visit Lauren, she’ll set you straight. It’s not something she can discuss on the phone. Certainly not in the office. The gossip grapevine in that place is something else and you know it.”
“I don’t want to speak to either of them.” I stamp my foot in defiance as Tiago draws ever closer.
“We are going to walk to the car park– aka in the opposite direction to that hideous human being who I am entitled to call oh, so many things– and you are going to drive me home NOW!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
By the middleof August I seem to have miraculously snapped out of the self-indulgent doldrums, much to the apparent delight of everybody around me. And I say that not to downplay the awful subject of depression for those who are truly in a bad place. That dark hole of despair is extremely real, if all I have ever experienced is fleeting glimpses of it. In my case, though, I had simply forgotten to count my blessings, oblivious to the unending support of the crew I have always had around me.
But no more.
The weather has been consistently wonderful taking us into early September; I’ve found two hard-working and charismatic waitresses (Pattie, a recent widow looking to fill the day’s long hours and get out of the house, and Ava, an eighteen-year-old taking a year out to save up for the steep expense of modern-day uni). Both have been doing a stellar job of shadowing Reggie and Caitlyn. Tim and I have also knocked up some epic Guinness custard tarts which we plan to trial in the autumn when the weather feels more appropriate for such hearty delights, and Tiago has barely crossed my mind.
Mainly because the moment he does, I sweep every inch of him under the carpet with an imaginary but very nifty industrial-sized broom.
All in all, everything is rosy as can be– with the exception of the lack of contact from Lauren. Still, as I recall, she made it perfectly clear she’d be the one to get in touch with me. I know she’s been to Mum and Dad’s more often than usual but I’ve managed to extract diddly-squat out of them. I would say it’s weird that our paths have never crossed, given I visit my folks fairly frequently and we live in the very same town, but Lauren has rarely had much leisure time to grant our parents, so catching a cuppa and a natter chez Schofield HQ, Mum and Dad’s old-fashioned semi-detached seaside villa, has long been a rarity for her.
Okay, everything is as weird as can be, too. In fact, the last five days have played witness to an unusual yet almost scheduled series of fortunate events:
-On Monday somebody from ‘Nigella’s team’ happened across the café. I thought it was a joke to start with when the neatly coiffed young female asked if I’d be interested in one of our recipes featuring in Nigella’s ‘Cookbook Corner’ on Instagram… until she handed me a rather official looking business card. I’m not saying such an honour is going to set the sky alight– it’s just a footnote, and a very nice one at that– but the recognition meanseverything, and presumably Nigella herself has to give the thumbs up to such an endorsement.
-On Tuesday Peter Andre (I kid you not!) descended on the café with his kids after a spot of filming for a brand new fringe travel channel, and though I may not be a fan of his music, his aftershave, or the various reality TV shows he’s chosen to grace over the years, it turns out he’s the sweetest guy (happily posing for pictures with my customers, cheerfully signing their takeout boxes, napkins, and the inside of their arms) and a total foodie to boot (placing a mega order to take back to the production crew who were still working on the beach).
-On Wednesday I found myself ushered into the BBC Points West studios for an impromptu interview– and my first ever TV appearance–on a panel of local female entrepreneurs.
-On Thursday I was invited to take part in an upcoming regional food festival which will include a bake-along with… wait for it… James Martin! We are to share a stage in a tent packed full of expectant foodies, each of us battling it out to create the best custard tart. It’s the stuff of dreamsandthe stuff of nightmares. I have no more words except for saying I will need to meditate daily between now and next spring to achieve any kind of dignity and composure.
-On Friday (today) #thecustardtartcafé is trending on Twitter and I only know so because Reggie has sent me a screenshot of the phenomenon, which Nigella herself has even piggybacked to retweet. I actually think I might faint! Never mind my usual injection of grounding caffeine in dramatic circumstances, by this afternoon I could neck a crate of Elsa’s berry and chocolate-bolstering port to help me make sense of the week’s shenanigans.
Now this is starting to sound like Eric Carl’s bookThe Very Hungry Caterpillar, which is kind of apt given my wares.
“How do you think all of these things are happening, Willow? They’re not random occurrences, you know.” My younger sister tsks at me and then does a very rubbish job of hiding her told-you-so giggles.
Caitlyn is off to uni at the weekend (and Reggie has already left for his freshers week at Cardiff, sniff, sniff) so I know this is her last attempt at making me ‘see the light’ before she goes.
