Page 54 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
Or, in the case of the current story, did the curse just work on what was already in Beauty? Thoughts swirled and sparks flew, until the shape of the next chapter began to form around Sleeping Beauty’s dark heart.
Kev had walked along that street every day of his life – to school, to skive off school, to buy fags, to go to the pub with his mates and on his way to perform a spot of petty theft. He had no idea why he’d never noticed the overgrown plot full of trees, brambles and quickthorn before … or the domed roof of a small building rising above them.
It gleamed like dull gold in the orange streetlight, but it couldn’t be gold. Maybe it was bronze, something like that. It would make his fortune in scrap value, that would …
There was no one about at this time of night; he was only on his own because he’d had a row with Shaz and left her in the pub. His house was two doors down and so he fetched a replica Samurai sword he’d nicked from a basement flat in a flash part of town, and began hacking his way in through the brambles.
Nile must have driven in early, because his car was already there when I set out next morning to buy paint for the café and kitchens. It was the same colour scheme as the flat, of course, just gallons more of it: that horrible mushroom paint everywhere would take some covering.
I wasn’t out long, but Nile’s car had vanished when I returned, though whether off on a trip, or hotfooting back to his London partner or … well, who knows what other interests he might have?
Or maybe he’d already gone to the café to speak to me about something, spotted the white goods at the bottom of the stairs and escaped before I could ask him to help me get them upstairs.
But no matter, because Jack the handyman, aided by a bashfully silent teenage assistant called Ross, did it later. Then he spread out a collection of new kitchen worktop samples, so I could choose what I wanted. Everything would be fresh, hard-wearing and easy to clean, and the kitchen table would be relegated to the back room so I could have a central island with cupboards instead.
After that, I went upstairs and left them to it. Jack had his keys and we’d agreed what needed doing, and in which order it should be done, so in theory my input from now on would be confined to a bit of painting and choosing fitments and fittings.
Just as well, because I still had to source equipment and find catering suppliers. I had a whole list of other things to do, too, including going through some of the official guidelines on taking over a catering business, which I’d downloaded from the internet.
Until Dan’s death I’d been getting a salary from my work in the café but since then, my only income had been a small amount of royalties from the e-books and a modest advance from my publisher. Now I’d be the sole owner of a tearoom, with staff to pay, and I’d need to put a bit of the insurance money aside as a contingency fund for unexpected expenses and to tide us over until the business got going.
I started yet another list: ‘accounts book, record books, whiteboards and pens, envelopes, files’. Thank goodness Mrs Muswell hadn’t considered taking the heavy filing cabinet! ‘Hanging files’, I added. ‘Filing trays’ …
By then the day was slipping away and there was no point in starting painting anything before Nell and Tilda came for tea, so I spread my cookbooks across the gate-leg table and began thinking about what to have on the menu: the fun, easy part of setting up a tearoom.
I was lost in pastry heaven when Jack called up the stairs to say my visitors had arrived and Nell and Tilda clumped their way up.
‘You were right, our Tilda: thereisa wreath of dead flowers on t’ door,’ I heard Nell say as I got up to greet them.
I knew from the YouTube video that Nell was a skinnier, flatter- chested version of her tall, raw-boned niece. She was elderly, but it was hard to tellhowold, for there was no question of a stoop and though herhair was grey it was thick, shiny and cut off at chin length. Parted in the middle, it was held back with butterfly-shaped slides at each temple.
Her eyes were a sharp periwinkle blue and her rather splendid nose was attempting to meet her chin and would probably one day succeed.
‘Hello, come in – I’m glad you could make it,’ I greeted them.
‘Eh, you’re a grand, strapping lass,’ Nell said, eyeing me approvingly. ‘Our Tilda said you were born round here too, though you talked a bit plummy, so there’s good blood in you.’
‘That’s right,’ I said, ‘though we lived in Knaresborough till I was eight.’
‘Well, there’s nowt much wrong with Knaresborough, I suppose,’ she conceded magnanimously.
‘Sit down and I’ll make the tea,’ I said, pushing the books and notes aside. ‘Or coffee?’
‘Tea – and I’ll wet it, I’ll make a better job of it,’ Tilda said, suiting the action to the words.
I took the lid off the sheep biscuit barrel, which Nell admired greatly, and offered her an iced biscuit.
‘So,’ she said, scrutinizing one closely before taking a bite, ‘our Tilda said you were going to reopen t’ place as a fancy teashop and you’d want us both to work here all t’ year round.’
‘Yes, you’d both have permanent jobs if you wanted them, though not full time.’
‘Our Daisy could help out too, when she’s not at college,’ Tilda said, putting the pot with its knitted blue bobbled cosy on to the table and sitting down opposite. I’d brought up one of the two rickety kitchen chairs for me to sit on (the other was in the office) leaving the two decent wheel-backs for my guests.
‘I hope to open by the start of November at the latest,’ I said. ‘I think that’s realistic, because there’s a lot to do and I want everything just right. And as much publicity as possible, too.’
‘That gives you well over a month, plenty of time,’ Tilda said, so I don’t think she’d really grasped all that had to be done.
‘My idea is that we open five afternoons a week, Tuesday to Saturday. What do you think?’
