Page 5 of One Snowy Day
Alyssa wiped some flour from her nose with her forearm, giving Ginny a window for a small act of theft of her own. She picked up Alyssa’s coffee mug and took a sip, then sighed as if it was the only thing standing between life and a slow death from hypothermia. ‘Oh, I needed that. It’s about minus ten out there. There are bits of me I can no longer feel.’
Working with a sibling could be fraught, irritating and frustrating and there were moments when spending the day with Ginny was all of those things, but Alyssa wouldn’t swap it for anything. Except perhaps an employee that actually showed up on time. Although, Ginny’s excuses were so elaborate, sometimes Alyssa hoped her sister was late just so she could be amused by the creativity of her defence. In the last month, there had been a hostage situation on the bus, a romantic interlude with Channing Tatum and a last-minute audition for a role onCoronation Street. None of which was true, but it was all a testimony to Ginny’s acting skills, which had been developed by many years of studying drama at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland.
‘Sorry I’m late. Penguins in the high street caused a traffic jam. It’s a whole cold-weather wildlife situation out there.’
‘So, actually, you slept in and hit the snooze button four times before you could escape your mattress?’ Alyssa suggested, oneeyebrow raised in amusement as she stopped kneading the dough and poured her sister a fresh mug, before reclaiming her own.
‘Five. Caden stayed over and I spent the morning staring at his abs while he was sleeping. I accept that’s both irresistible and a bit creepy, but he doesn’t have to know.’
Caden was Ginny’s boyfriend of six months, a fellow actor who was currently playing Judas on a national touring production ofJesus Christ Superstar, so he didn’t make it back to Glasgow too often. And yes, having seen the show several times, Alyssa could concur that he did in fact have a fine set of abdominal muscles. Not that she paid much attention. Since her own last relationship – Matt, 32, something in finance, devoid of fine abs – had broken down because he wanted a girlfriend who ‘was free to live life and be in the moment with him on weekends’, men and romance were far, far down her priority list. Right now, growing her business, keeping Ginny in gainful employment between acting gigs, and giving her grandad a reason to get out of bed in the morning were all far more important to Alyssa than finding out a bloke’s favourite colour on a first date.
‘Okay, the cinnamon buns, flapjacks, bread rolls and Danish pastries are all in the oven, the cakes are prepped and ready to go, and I’m doing the croissants and the gingerbread slices right now, so if you can get to work on the soups that would be just dandy. Scotch broth, minestrone and chicken noodle – they’re forecasting snow and freezing temperatures will last all day, so we’re going retro and wholesome in the hope that anyone actually leaves the house.’
When she’d first opened the café four years ago, she’d tried to push the soup envelope with stilton and broccoli, or creamy shrimp and crab bisque, but the reality was that her regulars liked traditional comfort food best, especially in this weather, soAlyssa had given up the fancy stuff and stuck to what she knew her customers came for. This place was her dream, and she hadn’t built it up to be a solid, profitable venture just to drive everyone away by going for ‘all that posh stuff’, as her grandad called it. She knew her market in this village. Retired folks, parents with toddlers, yoga mums from the community centre and home workers looking for a change of scenery during the day. After school, it was time for the older kids, usually accompanied by frazzled parents who needed a reasonably priced dinner for the family while the offspring did their homework on the pretty checkered tablecloths out in the café. And, of course, at all times of the day, came the readers looking for their next book.
The local library had fallen foul of a round of council budget cuts a few years back, so when the owner of the last remaining bookshop in the village had retired and sold the outlet to a kebab shop just as Alyssa was taking over the café, she had taken out an extra loan and bought the bookshop’s beautiful old white oak shelves and a large chunk of their stock. Books now lined both of the side walls of the dining area and gave a little something extra to her customers. Alyssa didn’t mind if someone curled up on one of the sofas for a couple of hours to read, just as long as they bought a cuppa or a cake.
‘There must be a union I can join to complain about this unreasonable treatment,’ Ginny objected. ‘Making me show up here and actually work, instead of allowing me to drink coffee and socialise all morning must contravene my human rights. And remember I can only work for a couple of hours today because I’ve got my final interview this afternoon at the theatre academy.’ Ginny had applied to be an acting coach at the Moira Chiles Academy of Music and Drama, a non-profit facility in Glasgow that provided free coaching for kids from underprivileged areas. It had been founded by the actor, Ollie Chiles, and named afterhis mother and it was the café’s claim to fame that Moira Chiles now lived in this very village and popped in for ginger slices and apple turnovers on a regular basis. A job at the Academy wasn’t the starring role in a new TV show that Ginny dreamed of, but it was the next best thing, and Alyssa knew her sister would be brilliant at it.
‘I remember, don’t worry. Grandad is coming in today to cover for you. You’ll definitely be back to help with Jessie’s party tonight, won’t you? I prepared the sausage rolls, the satay sticks, the mini steak pies and the chicken tempura last night, so they just need to be heated later, but I still have a million sandwiches and wraps to make today.’
‘Like I said, there should be a law against these kinds of demands,’ Ginny said, with a dramatic hand to the forehead.
‘You’re right. I am sorry. At your interview, be sure to ask if you can just drink coffee and mingle all day if that’s now your essential employment condition,’ Alyssa teased her.
‘I’m having it written into the job description. Oh and I brought in the mail. The postman was early this morning and got me to sign for this big brown one – said it was a special delivery.’
For the first time, Alyssa noticed that there was an envelope sticking out of Ginny’s cross-body satchel. Ginny pulled it out and placed it down on the huge stainless-steel work bench, then went off to put her jacket and bag in the staff cupboard and wash up, ready to get to work, already singing along to the Lady Gaga track that was now playing on the radio. Alyssa could make a mean strawberry tart, but she was the first to concede that Ginny was the one with all the theatrical talent.
Hands still deep in dough, she squinted to read the name of the sender that was stamped on the official-looking brown envelope. Huntington Farrell.
Huntington Farrell. She repeated it in her mind, until therecognition clicked. It was a legal firm based in Glasgow’s city centre. Alyssa was familiar with the name because it was the company that had originally arranged the paperwork for the lease on the café. Bugger. She just hoped that they weren’t putting the rent up. The coffee machine was on its last legs, and she had been putting as much as she could spare into the emergency fund for when it finally went to the overpriced barista heaven in the sky.
Her gaze went to the clock again. Half an hour until opening time. She should really just finish up what she was doing, then go get everything switched on and set up in the café. It was Monday, so there was usually a morning rush of coffee orders for the mums going to the postnatal Kegel classes at the church hall. Explaining that one to Ginny had been both hilariously informative and an effective method of contraception. Although, in this weather there was every chance that this week’s class might be cancelled.
However, Alyssa’s natural anxiety had set off a twisting sensation of dread in her stomach that was only going to be stopped when she opened the envelope, reassured herself that it contained nothing life-changing or problematic, then got on with her day. Removing her fingers from the sticky mound of dough, she gave her hands a quick wash, dried them with a paper towel, then picked up the envelope. It felt light, so hopefully that was a good sign. She ran her finger under the seal, then pulled out a single piece of A4 paper and a stapled sheath that she recognised as being a copy of her lease. Strange.
Her attention returned to the letter. The lawyer’s name was at the top again, with hers on the left-hand side, above the address of the café.
Dear Miss Canavan,
She skimmed the page, picking out the relevant lines in the text.
On the instructions of our clients, the estate of Mr Martyn Morden, we hereby notify you that, as per the terms of your lease, we are communicating a termination notice of sixty days hence.
Alyssa’s brow furrowed. Hang on, what? She didn’t understand. She must have read that wrong. The twisting feeling of dread was now spreading rapidly and bringing with it a wave of nausea that was making her sweat.
She went back to the start. Read it again. It still said the same thing.
The estate of Mr Martyn Morden. Termination notice. Sixty days. Even if this were true, it couldn’t be correct. She had a six-month notice period on both sides, so it had to be some kind of error.
We refer you to the attached lease, page 8, clause 3.4. ‘In the event of the death of either party, the standard six-month notice period shall be reduced to sixty days…’
Again, what?
She read it a third time, some of the salient details finally sinking in. From what she could gather from the formal terminology, the owner of this building, Mr Morden, had died and his estate was kicking her out of her home and her café in sixty days, thereby, in effect, she was categorically screwed.
‘Are you okay? Bad news? If it’s an STD, you can get antibiotics…’ Ginny continued tying the strings of her apron as she spoke, but when Alyssa didn’t reply, she must have realised something was serious, because when she spoke again, there was concern in her voice. Not that Alyssa could hear it over the thunder that was roaring in her head. ‘Lyss, what is it? What does it say?’
