Page 12 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
‘I could remove the evil spell that makes you so spiteful and vile-tongued,’ suggested the fairy. ‘Just give me a little sweet cake to eat and a drop of honey wine first.’
‘Bugger off,’ said Princess Beauty. ‘I’ve hated you and all your kind ever since I was cursed in my cradle, and there’s no cake or wine here for you.’
‘Your stupidity would appear to be a natural curse, but perhaps I should add a little something to remember me by?’ the fairy mused, then spun herself into a ball of bright sparks, before vanishing through the window.
The cursed princess congratulated herself on getting rid of her unwelcome visitor until, on looking in the mirror, she saw that where once her forehead had been as smooth as silk, now something was pushing up in the centre … and even as she watched, a fine spiral horn emerged and grew, until the tip touched the surface of the mirror and she fell back with a dreadful scream.
Luckily, it turned out to be a twenty-four-hour spell, but it reminded her that it never paid to be rude to a fairy.
I didn’t immediately tell Edie or Lola about thethirdlucky thing that happened soon after, but instead hugged it to myself.
For by another seemingly fortuitous stroke of good fortune, I’d stumbled across Mrs Muswell’s online advertisement for the Branwell Café, just off the main street in Haworth, and fallen in love with the place.
We chatted via email and exchanged Facebook messages, and then she sent me photographs of the café, which also had a flat over it … And I don’t know what came over me, because I bought it, sight unseen, despite the warnings of Mr Blackwell, when I asked him to act for me, and the disapproval of Edie, once the cat was out of the bag.
It seemed a great bargain, even though I hadn’t been looking for abusiness – but there was living accommodation too and, after all, I did know about cafés.
I can’t have been totally rational, even though at the time IthoughtI was, because I ignored everyone’s warnings and carried on with the purchase regardless, taking everything Mrs Muswell said at face value.
From her Facebook photo I could see she was a fat, jolly-looking woman with a glinting smile and even more glinting huge hooped gold earrings. She informed me that the café opened seasonally and, since she was based in Spain, was run when she was absent by a manageress. It had just closed early for the winter for updating and redecorating, after which she’d intended increasing the price, so I was getting a bargain by buying it now. Anyway, from the pictures I could see it looked fine, if a little old-fashioned.
The bare minimum of searches and surveys that my solicitor insisted I needed were soon done, showing nothing of any great moment. The café fronted a small dead-end alleyway, a little cobbled backwater off the main street, but there was parking behind the premises and the sale included all fixtures, fittings and catering equipment.
Mrs Muswell even promised to come across and meet me there once the sale was completed, to show me the books (though she said there was lots of potential to increase the profits), tell me about local suppliers and introduce me to her seasonal staff.
It all sounded almost too good to be true, much like my own fairy stories … and so it was.
All I can say is, never surf property for sale when you have a huge insurance cheque in your bank account.
The first cloud on the horizon was an email from Mrs Muswell as soon as the purchase had been completed, saying she couldn’t come over after all, due to family circumstances. However, the deeds, keys, accounts and any other useful paperwork would be at her solicitors in Keighley, waiting for me.
But then she suddenly vanished into the ether. I could no longer see her Facebook profile and all my emails bounced. I contacted her solicitor’s office, but they wouldn’t divulge any information or contact detailsfor her, though they did confirm they had the keys and a folder of paperwork for me.
‘I did say perhaps you weren’t wise to buy a property sight unseen,’ Mr Blackwell said mildly, when I told him. ‘However, the café is now in your possession and you must let me know how you get on.’
Edie was more forthright. ‘I smell a rat and there must be something wrong with the place,’ she declared. ‘Buying a property that way was a silly idea, as I’d have told you if you hadn’t turned all secretive on me till the deed was done!’
‘I know – I wasn’t thinking straight and I expect I knew you’d stop me,’ I agreed.
Iwasworried, though I consoled myself that however odd Mrs Muswell’s behaviour was, the property did actually exist and was now mine – and I’d seen the photos so I knew there couldn’t be anythingtooawful to find out.
‘If it’s dreadful, mind – infested with vermin, or falling into one of those sink holes, say – then put it straight back on the market, cut your losses and return here,’ Edie said, still fretting. ‘There’s always a place for you at Lochside House.’
‘I know – and you’ve been so kind to me always,’ I said gratefully, and kissed her wrinkled cheek.
‘Och, away with you, you great daftie,’ she said, but affectionately, even though I was pretty sure that that was her exact opinion of me, now I’d bought a place I’d never seen.
There was no going back: I’d broken the spell and was now as eager to see my new home as I’d been reluctant to visit Haworth in the past.
Yet still, I’d recognized something that resonated with me in Emily Brontë and I’d rereadWuthering Heightsso often that I knew passages of it by heart. This simply had to be the place where I could put down roots at last.
When I’d left my hysterical mother she’d been dosing herself with tranquillizers and sleeping tablets, so I knew she’d be out for the count for hours. Probably just as well.
Luckily our house was right at the edge of the village, the last on the road up to Blackdog Moor, so I didn’t have to pass through it, risking being seen. I remember I was shaking when I finally turned the car into the gravelled drive, but from cold, exhaustion and relief, nothing more. I closed the metal gates behind me with finality.
7
Alice in Brontëland
