Page 33 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
This was an exaggeration, for although Nile was on the willowy side, his shoulders were broad enough and I knew he had hidden strength because of the way he’d hefted my heavy suitcase about as if it weighed nothing.
‘I put all this weight on when I was pregnant with Casper and all I wanted to eat was pistachio and rosewater kulfi and Mars bars,’ Geeta said. ‘I didn’t have any problem before that.’
‘It’s not a problem: I like you cuddly,’ Teddy told her, and they exchanged an affectionate glance.
I gratefully let the give and take of family conversation wash over my head again after that, thinking about what I’d learned: ever since Nile had told me the name of the house, I’d thought Imusthave been found nearby and that Nessa had exaggerated the loneliness of the spot where I’d been abandoned just to be cruel. Now I realized she’d told the truth, it somehow reinforced my determination to find out as much as I could about it.
Teddy and Geeta went to their apartment right after dinner to put the baby to bed and I refused coffee, pleading tiredness after the long day, then went up to my room.
My mind was whirling and I wanted to be alone to think, but the moment I saw the bed, with its crisp white sheets and the billowing expanse of an old-fashioned quilted blue satin eiderdown, huge waves of tiredness practically knocked me off my feet.
I got ready quickly and climbed in, feeling as if I’d like to sleep for a hundred years, though preferably without the giant spiders of my story for company.
‘Gnaw faster!’ Beauty ordered the little mouse. ‘I can hear the spider stirring!’
‘This web stuff is disgusting,’ he said, spitting out a mouthful and then pulling a strand off his whiskers. ‘You owe me big time, for this!’
‘Anything,’ she promised, fearfully looking over her shoulder. ‘A lifetime supply of cheese – whatever!’
‘Cheese is so overrated,’ the mouse said. ‘I prefer a good single-estate dark chocolate.’
‘What’s chocolate?’
The mouse sighed. ‘Of all the portals in all of Fairyland, I had to choose this one,’ he said.
I woke much later than usual, probably because the previous day had lasted about half a lifetime … or that’s what it felt like, anyway.
When I went downstairs, the kitchen was empty apart from Bel, who was eating toast and reading the newspaper.
She said she was on breakfast duty. ‘Since Mum likes to get to her studio early, while I’m more of a laid-back, later kind of person, I always cook the breakfast when we have guests,’ she said, pouring me coffee. ‘I’ll scramble you some of our free-range eggs.’
‘Not if it’s any trouble,’ I told her. ‘Toast is fine.’
‘It’s no bother. Some visitors expect a full English breakfast, but we’re not geared up for it out of season.’
‘Where’s Nile?’ I asked, hoping he’d remembered his offer to drive me into Haworth later.
‘He took Honey out for a walk, but he says he’ll run you into the village as soon as you’re ready.’
‘I don’t want to put him out, if he doesn’t need to go – I could ring for a taxi,’ I suggested.
‘Oh, he doesn’t mind. He often comes home for the weekend – he can’t resist Mum’s Sunday lunch, for a start – but he has a client coming to the shop to see him today, so he has to get back.’
‘That’s OK then,’ I said, relieved. ‘When my car arrives tomorrow, it won’t be a problem and I can camp out in the flat over the café as soon as I’ve got a bed.’
‘Oh, but we’re hoping you’ll stay for atleasta week!’ Bel protested. ‘Sheila’s going to charge you half-price, because we intend milking you for lots of free advice about starting up our café.’
‘I’d do that anyway,’ I told her. But it really would be more comfortableto stay at Oldstone Farm until the flat had some heating as well as a bed. Once I had my own transport and independence back, that was.
The kitchen was at the rear of the house and while Bel was scrambling eggs I took my mug of coffee over to admire the view across the rolling moorland. The weather had changed entirely and the morning was bright, sunny and so clear that the finger of rock on a distant hill stood out like a bold black exclamation mark.
‘I presume that’s the Oldstone I can see?’ I asked her, feeling both attracted and repelled by the monolith in equal measure.
‘Yes, that’s it. On the maps it’s called the Devil’s Finger, but I think the Ordnance Survey people must have made that one up.’
‘It looks very near.’
‘I know, but it’s deceptive – it’s miles away really,’ she said. I suspected she was dying to talk about my having been found up there, but didn’t want to bring it up herself.
