‘Thank you, I—’
‘But it’s not a great one. Now, you go and cut me and my Kev a slice of that fancy cake—the one with the layers and the toasted coconut—and bring us over a cuppa. I’ve got a new plan for you, and mineisa great one.’
Vera headed over to the counter and found pretty plates, a teapot. What was it about this town? ‘Look out,’ she muttered to Graeme. ‘This new customer’s even bossier than you.’
‘Hush your mouth.Thatcan’t be true.’ He looked over her shoulder and grinned. ‘Ah, yes. I see you’ve met our prophet. Excellent.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Marigold Jones. She was the one who told me I should apply for the job here. She’s got the personality of a wind turbine, but she’s a gem, Vera.’
‘She’s certainly talkative. I can see why you didn’t say no when she suggested you get a job; you wouldn’t have had a chance to.’
‘Coffee? Tea? Milkshake? What’s their poison today? I can make it for you while you get acquainted.’
She gave him a quelling look, which he waved away. ‘Tea, Graeme, thank you. Two teacups. And would you mind making me an espresso? Something tells me I’m going to need it. Marigold’s invited me to take afternoon tea with them … and when I say invited, it was more like a commandment from the First Testament. She says she hasa plan.’
‘Go you, girl,’ said Graeme, tamping down a dose of ground arabica beans, then sliding the portafilter into the machine. ‘Mingling with the locals. You’ll get the hang of this café business yet.’
‘Mmm,’ she muttered, and slid two slices of hummingbird cake onto the gold-rimmed plates. She debated for a mini-moment then shrugged. What were a few hundred calories here or there anyway? She cut a third slice, set them all out neatly on a tray. Worrying about her waistline was way, way down on her current list of worries.
‘You’ll have to let me know what you think of the cake,’ she said, as she set the tray down on the table in the inner room where Marigold had settled herself like a CEO at a board table. ‘It’s my aunt’s recipe.’
‘Your aunt?’ said Marigold. ‘Now this is just the sort of detail I like to know about my new friends. Tell me more.’
Vera could feel frown lines dragging her eyebrows together and cast about for a way to deflect this line of questioning. She had no interest in filling in her life details for some random woman.
‘Er …’ Poop. Where was a change of topic when she needed one?
Kev stepped in. ‘Mags, my love, eat your cake and stop being nosy.’
She threw him a smile and relented. She could share a little, couldn’t she, without the sky falling down? ‘My aunt was quite a cook in her day, but she’s elderly, and doesn’t bake anymore. Using her recipes is a way for me to connect with her.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Marigold, from around a mouthful of cake and cream. ‘Thisis wonderful.’
Vera felt her throat backing up and took a scalding sip of the espresso Graeme had slipped in front of her. ‘You may know the aged care home she’s just moved into,’ she said when she could trust her voice. ‘Connolly House, on the outskirts of Cooma.’
‘A hospice.’ Marigold reached across the table. ‘My dear, I’m sorry. It’s a lovely home for the terminally ill. Kev and I pop out there quite frequently, don’t we?’
Kev gave her a wink. ‘Mags is sizing me up for a room, I expect.’
Vera choked on a mouthful of toasted coconut shreds.
‘Now look what you’ve done, Kev.’ Marigold passed her a glass of water. ‘Have a sip of that while we tell you our plan.’
‘Hold your horses, love. Let her finish her cake.’
Vera took stock of her two eccentric guests. Kev was clearly older by a good margin; his skin had creased into leather the shade of aged pine floorboards. Close-cut grey hair curled tightly beneath his dark green corduroy cap. The clothes he wore hadn’t been in fashion for thirty years—a wide-legged brown suit, a cream shirt ironed to perfection, a tie that a seventies hippy would have been proud to wear to a revolution.
Marigold was only slightly less dramatic looking when seated. Her massive updo had streaks of grey through it, but the streaks were theatrical, as though an artist had painted them in with a flourish. Vera couldn’t remember meeting a woman oozing more personality than Marigold Jones.
‘So,’ she said. ‘What’s this grand plan?’
Kev puffed his chest out. ‘It was my idea.’
She smiled. ‘Okay, and it involves …?’
Marigold reached across to his plate and spooned up the last inch of his cake. ‘It’s true. Kev pretends he’s the quiet one, but there’s a lot of action going on beneath that old cap.’