Page 3 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
‘Your passion is inspiring and your dedication to Alice is enchanting. And your vision for the tearoom is by far the most imaginative one we’ve heard.’ Mr Hastings’ brash voice ricochets through the room. He pushes his chair back, and the three of them glance at each other knowingly. ‘I don’t think we even need to discuss it. This will be the first time there’s ever been Alice representation on Ever After Street, and it’s well past due. Herefordshire Council would be delighted to offer you a three-month trial, Miss Jordan.’
‘But what about…’ Mrs Willetts gives Mr Hastings a sharp look. ‘The decision has already been made.’
Mr Hastings waves a dismissive hand in her direction. ‘You let me worry about that. It won’t be a problem.’
I don’t know what that means but it’s best not to question it. I’m too busy trying not to hyperventilateorjump for joy, or do some disturbing mix of the two. I can’tbelievethis went my way. I thought they were going to laugh me and my blue Alicedress out of the room, and without those cupcakes and Mr Hastings’ daughter, they probably would have.
‘We will provide a small budget to cover the costs of reimagining the tearoom,’ the imposing man continues. ‘You may start work immediately. Once you are ready to open, the trial period will begin. You can expect regular assessments and we will expect your full sales reports delivered weekly to make sure things are moving in the right direction. Online customer reviews will be monitored. When the trial period is up,ifwe decide that your establishment is an asset to Ever After Street, we will consider extending your lease for a much longer period of time. Any questions?’
Billions. But the main question is – am I brave enough to ask any of them? What if I ask something stupid and let slip that I don’t know the first thing about business ownership? What if I accidentally admit that I’m slightly worried about how badly my attempts at baking have gone lately? I gulp. ‘Nope. All seems pretty clear to me.’
‘Jolly good. We’ll get the paperwork sent over ASAP.’ He pronounces it ay-sap, which was enough to set my teeth on edge without his next question. ‘Can I just query one thing about your address? It says The Old Rustbucket, and the address you’ve given matches the address of Marnie Platt, the Ever After Street bookseller… Are you staying with Miss Platt?’
‘Well, no, er, not exactly… I mean, just temporarily. There was an issue with my post and everything is forwarded to her. It’s no big deal, really. The post office are sorting it out.’ I wave my hand so fast that they must see nothing but a motion blur. ‘The Rustbucket is just an old caravan on her driveway where my mail gets delivered to save it being muddled up.’
Why did I put The Old Rustbucket in my address in the first place? What if they judge me if they find out that Idolive in a caravan?The last thing I want is these extremely put-together people getting a hint of how un-put-together I am.
‘Thanks for your time. I’m excited to get started. I won’t let you down.’ I sound like I’m parroting the ‘what to say in job interviews’ book I flicked through in A Tale As Old As Time the other day.
Mr Hastings makes a doubtful noise, and Mrs Willetts tells me to have a good afternoon. ‘And Miss Jordan? Please do leave the cake stand.’
Dammit. I was hoping to scoff a cake or two on the way home. And I just spent a tenner on that stand. I give them a bright grin. ‘With pleasure. Plenty more where they came from.’
I cringe as I say it. While I’m sure thereareplenty more in that little bakery, that was an expensive trip there this afternoon – there’s no way I can afford to buy cupcakes from there every day, and there’s probably some law against taking someone else’s work and passing it off as your own, even when it comes to baked goods.
‘We’ll be in touch.’ Mr Hastings indicates towards the door, letting me know it’s long past time I left. ‘Welcome to Ever After Street. On a temporary basis only.’
Temporary. A word that has haunted my life in recent years. Everything seems to be temporary these days. Friends, boyfriends, jobs, places to call home… but still, temporary is better than nothing. I need this. I’ve hidden away from life in the past couple of years. After my ex pulling out of the tearoom we were going to run together in the most humiliating way possible, I’ve shut myself away. I need to get back out there and learn to live again. Now all I have to do is turn a tearoom into Wonderland, rememberhowto bake the things I used to be able to bake, and metaphorically knock their socks off.
Definitely, definitelynotliterally.
2
‘Oh, Cleo, that’s brilliant! I’m so happy for you!’ Marnie squeals when I tell her how the interview went and wraps me in a massive hug. ‘Iknewthat tearoom was meant for you!’
That evening, we’re standing by the caravan that’s parked on the driveway outside her cottage. My nan left it to me when she died, and Ihada flat with decent driveway space where I could park it, but there was that whole ‘accidentally setting the kitchen on fire’ incident and I got evicted, and now the caravan is the only place I’ve got to live. Marnie took pity on me and let me bring it here. Her boyfriend, Darcy, who runs the flower shop on Ever After Street, alongside starting up gardening classes with a focus on mental wellbeing, was injured late last year and he moved in with her, and… well, he intended to move out but they’re so happy together that he never did, so his truck, The Old Rustbucket, and my knackered old car are all jammed into Marnie’s driveway and dragging down the quaint neighbourhood aesthetic. Marnie is too nice to tell me that the neighbours have started complaining about the caravan, but the neighbourshavestarted complaining about the caravan.
I’ve been looking for a flat, but the availability of one I can afford, is nearby, and has parking space would be the holy grail of house-hunting and so far has proved impossible to find. My previous landlord wouldnotbe on-board with writing a reference letter, which also complicates matters.
I feel deflated rather than excited tonight, like I cheated at the interview by pretending those cupcakes were mine. I’m overwhelmed with fear that I won’t be able to create anything even vaguely similar. I used to be able to bake, but I feel like I’ve forgotten how to, and everything I try goes disastrously wrong. What if the pressure of the tearoom makes that worse rather than better?
‘This is what you’ve always wanted!’ Marnie can tell there’s something wrong and is trying to cheer me up.
And she’s right. Marnie’s bookshop isBeauty and the Beast-themed, and since the moment I saw it, I wanted to do something like that but with my favourite book,Alice in Wonderland. The tearoom is a perfect fit. An ideal second chance for the tearoom I never got to own before, but better this time around, as I won’t have to trust someone else not to let me down.
After Mum left when I was ten, and Nan was running the tearoom alone, I’d sit in there after school to do my homework and she’d keep filling up my teacup and would deposit a little cake on my table every time she walked by, until she closed up at five and we’d go home together. She was the centre of the little town where we lived. Everyone knew her – and everyone went to our tearoom. The place was always filled with laughter and chatter, and the ding of clinking teacups was the soundtrack to my childhood. Like my mum had been too, my nan was an incredible cook. Our family tearoom offered breakfasts and lunches as well as cakes, tarts, and a selection of teas, coffee, or hot chocolate. I grew up thinking I’d step into her apron and sensibleshoes one day.
And then, when I was in my twenties, she died. And a few years later, I got word that Mum had died too, and life turned upside down.
Nan hadn’t told me the tearoom was in trouble, and it had to be sold to pay off debts, but the one thing she left to me was her beloved caravan. It’s definitely showing its age these days, but it’s also been a lifeline. Without the caravan, what would I have done? Accept the offer of Marnie’s spare room and encroach on even more of her alone time with Darcy? They’re a few months into a new relationship – even though they both insist I’m welcome, the last thing theyreallywant is a third wheel.
‘You can use my kitchen anytime,’ Marnie is saying. ‘I know you’re nervous about the cooking aspect, and you haven’t got much room in there.’
She knows I was kicked out of my flat for causing a fire. She doesn’t know I’ve led my interviewers to believe that I’m a female version of Paul Hollywood minus the affinity for double denim and random handshakes. I’ll be okay on the sandwich front. I can make a sandwich. I can make tea. The problem is that people coming to a tearoom are going to expect a slightly more extensive menu than a sandwich and a cuppa. Unbirthday parties and Wonderland-themed afternoon teas make you think of Mad-Hatter-style tables, piled high with delicate-looking delicious treats, and it feels like my baking ability has been lost to grief. There were family recipes, secret ingredients that were never written down, but passed from my nan to my mum and then to me, and I’ve forgotten them all. I can’t remember what the secret to my mum’s soft cakes was. I can’t remember what my nan used to put into scones to make people travel for miles to get them. I wrack my brain, stare at the ceiling for hours when I should be sleeping, but all the memories of my childhood are fuzzy, like I’m looking back through a screen of water. I can see my mum in her Laura Ashley floral apron. I can see herblushing as customers complimented her bakes. I see her smiling down at me as she showed me how to use the kitchen scale. Iknowshe shared our family recipes with me. I just can’t remember anything about them. When she died, I wanted to own a tearoom as a tribute to both her and my nan. It was what we had always planned – I thought it might make them proud, wherever they are now. And I hope that finally fulfilling the dream I came so close to a couple of years ago will unlock something inside of me. If I force myself back out into the world, try to take control of my life again… will I get back to who I used to be?
‘I’ll manage in here.’ I pat the caravan on the side – carefully, in case any more bits of her fall off. There’s a small gas stove and a tiny bit of unit space with a sink at one end – the extent of my kitchen. ‘Besides, there will be a kitchen at the tearoom. I can use that. It’ll be fine.Fine.’ My effort to reassure her ventures into Ross fromFriendsterritory, but one of us has to believe it, and I’m terrified thatIdon’t.
Marnie invites me in for a celebratory drink, and it’s pouring by the time I open her door to leave and make a dash for the caravan. It’s dark and nearly midnight, but both Marnie and Darcy’s enthusiasm has cheered me right up.
