Page 71 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
The problem with Bram is that everything he says is infinitely believable, and at least some of the things he’s said have been infinitely untrue, and I don’t know how to marryup those two contradictions. ‘So why didn’t he tell me? When I asked him about who was given the tearoom before me, and if it was Tabby and her wellness retreat, he said he didn’t know.’
‘And you’ve never let a little white lie continue for longer than it should have because you were scared of the consequences if the truth came out?’
‘No,’ I huff and plunge my hands into the sink because I don’t want to admit she’s right.
She appears in the doorway with another tray full of crumb-filled plates. ‘Don’t make me bring up the rose cupcak?—’
‘I know, okay?’ Those rose cupcakes will haunt my nightmares until my dying day. More than anything, I wish I’d been honest about them from day one. Maybe none of this would’ve happened then. Maybe they’d have said no, and Bram would’ve continued with his plan to run the tearoom, and I… would never have met him. I don’t know which is the worst option.
The bookshop is overrun with customers on Thursday and Darcy’s got a gardening group at the castle, so Franca comes to help out instead, and there’s still no word fromanyone. No one has come with any paperwork. No one has demanded I return their keys and vacate the premises immediately, and I’m not brave enough to phone the council and try to speak to Mr Hastings. I’m not keen on speaking to him at the best of times, and having caused a scene at his daughter’s wedding and been exposed as a lying liar who liesandtakes credit for other people’s cakes, these are definitelynotthe best of times.
The week creeps closer and closer to the inspection on Friday, and surely the only explanation for why I haven’t been fired yet is that Mr Hastings doesn’t know that The Wonderland Teapot is still open, and when word does get back to him, I certainly will be.
‘He texted me last night.’ Marnie pushes her phone so close to my face that I take a step backwards before I can read it.
I know she hates me, and I know it’s unspoken best-friend law that you have to hate me too, but I don’t know who else to turn to. Please help me, Marnie. I’ll do anything to fix this.
Oh, this is Bram, by the way.
Seconds later, another one, and then a couple more.
You’d probably figured that out already.
Unless you have several best friends going through romantic crises, that is.
I don’t usually send this many text messages in a row. I’ll leave you alone now.
It gives me a little thrill that he hasn’t given up yet. He hasn’t texted me since I told him to go away, and I keep checking my phone, unsure of which one I’m dreading more – that he will text me… or that he won’t.
It’s Friday morning, the day of the food safety inspection, and although the tearoom has to stay closed today, Marnie’s got Darcy looking after the bookshop again so she can be here for moral support. The text on her screen makes my heart beat faster because he still wants to fix things. ‘I can’t deal with this right now. The inspector will be here at any?—’
‘Are you Miss Jordan?’ Before Marnie and I have got inside, a young man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase appears from nowhere. He shows an ID card and pushes past us toenter first, and then mutters when he walks into a chair because I haven’t got as far as getting inside to switch a light on yet.
He’s got a laptop with him, and is utterly uninterested in anything as tedious as making conversation, despite my best efforts. He even refuses the cuppa that Marnie offers him, although maybe that’s sensible considering he’s only here because of complaints about the quality of our food.
He looks over the food safety documentation, inspects the condition of the main shop, and I hover while he goes to look around upstairs. He inspectseverysurface to check on the quality of the cleaning, and even looks in the cupboard under the stairs to check for adequate cleaning supplies. He checks every seal of the display unit, and every jointin the counter where bacteria could lurk. He checks the temperature of the refrigerator and the cupboards and takes photographs of the inside to go with the photos he’s taken ofeverythingelse.
‘Your toaster crumb tray needs emptying,’ he says when he’s inspected every millimetre of the food preparation room.
‘Everyone’s toaster crumb tray needs emptying,’ I say, hoping it might elicit a smile.
No such luck.
‘I’ve never evenseenmy toaster crumb tray,’ Marnie offers.
Still nothing. I can’t stop my mind going to how Bram would’ve handled this – if anyone could’ve got a smile from the uptight man, he would have. I don’t know why I care if he smiles or not. Is he any less likely to order us to be closed down if we make him smile?
He’s been here for over an hour when he finally says, ‘Right, Miss Jordan, now I’ll need to see the kitchen where you make the food, and your arrangements for transporting it.’
I don’t know why, but that was the last thing I expected. ‘Well, the sandwiches are made right here. So are the drinks. And things are toasted here.’
‘Toasted teacakes are very popular.’ Marnie tries to back me up but the scowl doesn’t slip from his face.
‘And everything else? You serve cakes and baked goods, so I understand? They’re made in your kitchen at home, presumably, and then transported in?’
‘They’re made… um…’ I can’t mention Bram’s kitchennow, can I? After everything that’s come between us, I can’t rock up with a food safety inspector like nothing’s happened.
‘She’s actually using my kitchen now,’ Marnie says.
