“Such a terrible loss, Mrs Burnley. I really am sorry.”

Allie Jones nodded solemnly as the elderly woman dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

“She was a good friend… all these years.” Judith Burnley’s watery eyes burned into Allie’s. “Since school you know? Even though she was a few years older than me, we were still so close.”

“I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

“Dreadful. Dreadful.” Mrs Burnley’s emphasis caused a tiny bead of saliva to land on her chin. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. Although it was a lovely service.”

“Oh good. I would have gone myself but I had to be here to get everything ready.”

“Of course you did. Her son said some very nice things about her. He’s a good lad that Chris Monroe.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Allie chewed her bottom lip, wondering how long she was supposed to stand with the older woman. After all, what length of time did social etiquette demand? Plus, she really didn’t want to discuss Chris right now and had been trying not to think about him too much.

“I hope someone says positive things about me at my funeral. At my age, I probably don’t have much time left…”

Time!

The word made Allie think about the miniature quiches in the oven. She needed to rescue them. Five more minutes would mean perfect pastry but any longer and they’d be ruined.

“I’m sorry, but I need to get back to the kitchen. I have a thousand things to do before everyone arrives.”

Mrs Burnley’s grey eyebrows shot up her heavily powdered forehead.

“I have quiches in the oven that will burn,” Allie added, in case the urgency of the situation was in any doubt. She placed a hand on the older woman’s arm. “Again, I’m sorry.”

Mrs Burnley seemed placated. She gave a sharp sniff then headed across the café to a group of women standing near the log burner. Their uniform of black skirts and jackets paired with flesh-coloured tights, made Allie think of a nature documentary she’d once seen about crows, especially as they took it in turns to cast inquisitive glances around the café.

Allie picked up two used cups from a table near the counter then went through to the kitchen. The quiches should have been ready before the funeral party started arriving. She was sure the service had been scheduled for eleven o’clock and hadn’t expected anyone to turn up at the café until around noon. But the group of women had arrived promptly at eleven thirty-five, so Allie guessed they had left the small village church as soon as the final hymn had been sung.

Poor Chris!

Allie hadn’t seen Chris Monroe in years. After he’d left the village, he rarely returned. Allie thought she had an idea why, having known his mother – the rather harsh Mrs Monroe – since she was a child, but there could be other reasons she knew nothing about. Whenever she’d asked Mrs Monroe how Chris was getting on, her stock response had been ‘he’s travelling with his writing’ and that was as much as Allie had known. Until a week ago, when she’d received a phone call out of the blue, from Chris himself.

The call had been polite and brief, not allowing for more detailed pleasantries or a potted history. In fact, if Allie was being honest, Chris had been a bit rude and rather cold. But business was business and she wasn’t going to turn down a job. Besides, where else would they have held the wake? At one of the village pubs? Allie knew that Mrs Monroe would never have been happy with that. The old woman had seen the local pubs as dens of iniquity and would, no doubt, have turned in her new grave had her son chosen to hold her wake surrounded by locals enjoying a lunchtime pint.

Allie shivered. All this thinking about graves and funerals summoned her own dark clouds to the horizon and the old sadness tugged at her heart. She didn’t have time for this today, so she’d have to pin her knickers to her vest and get on with things.

She opened the oven door and the comforting aromas of grilled cheese and caramelised onion greeted her. Just in time! She removed the trays from the oven then set them on the worktop to cool.

“Hey, Mum!”

Allie turned to find Jordan had joined her in the kitchen.

“Oh thank goodness! I thought you’d forgotten you were working this morning.”

He shook his head and his floppy fringe fell over his left eye.

“Of course not. Would I let you down?” He gave her a cheeky grin then pulled an apron from a drawer and hooped it over his head. Allie knew she could tell her son that he had let her down in the past, and that, yes, he did sometimes oversleep and forget about his Saturday morning shifts at the café too, but she didn’t. He was here now and that was what mattered.

“Where do you want me?”

“You oversee things out front. I’ll get everything finished up in here then come and help you. Just keep the tea and coffee going.”

Jordan paused then rubbed the back of his neck as he inhaled deeply, a sign that he was worrying about something.

“What is it, love?”

“Mum… Are you, uh, okay?”

“Why, Jordan?”

He met her eyes and she watched as he chewed his lower lip.

“Well, you know, with this being a wake.”

Allie nodded. “Honestly, I’m fine. This isn’t the first wake we’ve done since your dad…” She swallowed the end of her sentence.

“Well I’m here for you.”

“I know and I’m here for you too. I love you, Jordan.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“Now go and make some hot beverages.”

“Yes ma’am!”

He gave her a mock salute then disappeared.

Allie knew why he was concerned about her and she worried about him for the same reason. Funerals always reminded them of Roger’s and although she had been strong in front of her children at the time, it had been truly awful.

She turned her attention back to the quiches and removed them from the trays, then deposited them onto foil serving platters before adding sprigs of decorative parsley. The pastry was light and crisp and the cheese on top had a rich golden hue. She might have got some things wrong in her life but she did know how to bake, and opening the café had been, perhaps, the best decision she’d ever made. Of course, it had been a lifelong ambition too, one she’d harboured since her days at secondary school when she’d excelled at food technology. She’d always enjoyed baking with her mother as a child and an enthusiastic cookery teacher had encouraged her to consider baking as a career.

However, she’d fallen in love after while sitting her A Levels and an unexpected pregnancy had led her to sideline her ambitions. She’d still baked regularly and taken cakes and savoury delights to birthday parties, village fetes and church celebrations, but thought her café dreams would never be realised. Some things brought out a wave of yearning in her, like occasional trips to Bath when they’d visit the delightful tearooms for refreshments, but she’d told herself she was lucky to be a wife and mother and tucked her old ambitions firmly away.

Until her life had changed dramatically and she’d had to make some big decisions.

Allie shook the sadness away; she couldn’t afford to think about all that right now. She had to focus on the positives. She’d had another good spring, and early summer was looking good so far – in part because the medieval Surrey village of Heatherlea was a tourist attraction, which meant plenty of business for the café—and she was seeing some pleasing profits. Her situation was looking better by the minute and she was hoping that August would bring plenty of customers. She had her own business, two wonderful grown-up children, two funny cats and her grief was not as sharp as it once was.

She crossed her fingers instinctively as superstition shrouded her. The future looked bright but she’d never take anything for granted. Everything could change within minutes.

She lifted two of the serving platters of quiches and turned round to take them through to the café, then let out a screech as she hit a wall of chest. Quiches and parsley went flying into the air and the platters crashed to the floor. Allie was only saved from face planting into cheesy pastry by two strong hands that caught her, just in time.

“Allie, I’m so sorry!”

She shook her head and a chunk of quiche dropped onto her shoulder then bounced off and landed on the tiles.

“Chris?”

“Yes.”

His dark eyes roamed her face, familiar yet different. Older. Wiser.

“What on earth were you doing sneaking around like that?”

She realised that he was still supporting her, so she took a step backwards and slipped out of his grasp.

He looked at his hands, as if surprised that they’d been wedged under her armpits, then back at her face.

“The um… the young man out front told me you were in here and I came to check that everything was okay.”

“Yes, everything’s fine. Well, it was fine until you just…” She swallowed the rest of her sentence, not wanting to accuse him of quiche destruction on what must be a very difficult day. Then she realised he was staring hard at her. Heat rushed into her cheeks, so she broke eye contact and picked at a bit of onion that was stuck to the neckline of her good white blouse – the one she wore for funerals and wakes. “And that was my son, Jordan.”

Chris ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and sighed as if exhausted. His face was still handsome but he had tiny lines engraved around his eyes, suggesting that he frowned or squinted a lot. The last time Allie had seen him, his hair had been black as a raven’s wing, but that had been about ten years ago. And then she’d only seen him in passing. Apart from the recent phone call, she hadn’t spoken to him in over twenty years – not since her wedding reception. When she’d returned from her honeymoon in Tenby, Chris had already left Heatherlea, leaving no details for her or Roger to contact him. She’d tried to talk to her husband about it but he’d always found a way to avoid the conversation, as if the friendship they’d once had with Chris was something she’d imagined. And she hadn’t liked to keep pushing, because even Chris’s name seemed to irritate Roger and she’d hated to upset him. His moods had been so unpredictable.

“Again, I am sorry. I’m running a bit later than expected because I went to the cemetery, but then everything got a bit delayed because the vicar got his foot stuck in the freshly dug earth at the graveside and lost his shoe. It took three people to pull it out and by that time he’d stumbled and got his sock all wet and it was just…” He rubbed his eyes. “Anyway, I came to say hello and it was so weird when I saw you stood there. You look exactly the same as you did at eighteen.”

Allie laughed. “I doubt that.” She swallowed her retort about a fatter bottom and thicker waistline. “But thank you. You don’t look that different either.”

“Except for the rugged grooves on my face and the George Clooney hair, right?”

“Mum!” Jordan interrupted as he appeared in the doorway. “They’re all arriving.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a moment.” She scanned the floor with dismay; it was clear that none of the mini quiches she’d dropped were salvageable. Thankfully, she had two more foil platters on the work surface and another batch in the freezer that she could pop in the oven.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Chris gestured at the quiche carnage.

“No. Thank you. You have to be out there with the… uh… guests. I’ll sort this out.”

“Thanks. Catch up later?” He looked at her from under his dark lashes, as if

“Yes. Sure. That would be nice.”

Chris left the kitchen and Allie located the dustpan and brush.

As she started to sweep up the mess, she wondered at the way her heart was thumping behind her ribs. Had Chris really startled her that much, or was there something else about seeing him that had made her heart beat faster?

Allie stood behind the counter and surveyed the funeral party in her café. The crows had taken themselves to a table by the window and were tucking into sandwiches and fruitcake. She watched as Jordan approached them with the large stainless steel teapot, and filled each cup in turn. The elderly women were certainly making the most of Mrs Monroe’s wake and Mrs Burnley had a big smile on her face, as if her sadness about her friend had already receded. But perhaps she was just reminiscing. It was better to try to remember the good times when you lost someone you cared about; Allie knew that better than most. And she also knew that keeping busy was the best way to avoid dwelling on the past.

She carried a tray of vanilla-frosted cupcakes around, offering them to people she knew and strangers alike, until the tray was empty and her face ached from maintaining a polite smile and repeating words of condolence.

Every time Allie attended a funeral and a wake, she had to battle her own demons, but she suspected it was that way for most people. The grief of others was bound to remind you of your own. Although it was true, the old adage, that time did help with the healing process. The pain would never completely disappear, but it wasn’t quite as sharp, except for those odd occasions when it took her by surprise. But that was to be expected; she had lost her husband, after all, and when he was so young.

She swallowed hard. Roger had been gone six years and she had kept going by putting one foot in front of the other. That was how it was done. Some days were harder than others and she couldn’t deny that she sometimes indulged in daydreams about what might have been had things worked out differently, but she had become quite adept at giving herself a firm shake and donning the good old stiff upper lip. Besides, her version of differently was more complicated than she cared to admit to herself.

It wasn’t until after everyone had gone and she was filling the dishwasher that she realised she hadn’t seen Chris again.

“Jordan?”

Her son paused in covering sausage rolls with cling film. “Yeah?”

“Did you see Mr Monroe at all?”

“Why, Mum? Has he done a runner without paying you?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“No. Uh… I don’t think so anyway.”

Chris had paid a deposit over the phone when he’d booked the café but she hadn’t seen him to take the balance. Although in circumstances like these, she often didn’t expect the rest on the actual day because people were generally too upset to think about money. Her daughter, Mandy, told her she was too soft and that she let people take advantage, but Allie saw it as part of what The Cosy Cottage Café represented for her and for the locals. It wasn’t all about the money and she could trust most people to pay her within a few days. Chris would likely do the same.

“I just didn’t see him again after he… popped into the kitchen to say hello and I wondered if he was okay.”

Jordan scrunched up his nose then flicked his head to clear his fringe out of his eyes. He had, thankfully, worn a clip in it for most of the day – to avoid adding his blond hairs to the food he was serving – but it seemed that he’d removed it since the café had emptied. Which meant the leftover sausage rolls would now have to be eaten by Allie, Jordan and the cats. Just in case.

“He’s probably just upset, Mum. He has lost his mother. Perhaps he went out for some fresh air. I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Yes. I’m sure you’re right.”

Allie closed the dishwasher then switched it on and went to the sink to wash her hands. She gazed out of the latticed kitchen window at the pergola she’d had built in the spring, where the fragrant pink flowers of the climbing honeysuckle now bloomed in abundance. As well as being good at baking, she’d discovered that she had green fingers, and everything she’d planted within the café garden was thriving. There was a definite satisfaction to be found in gardening and enjoying the fruits of that pastime.

She went through to the café and made a mug of tea, then took it over to the comfy leather sofa in the corner by the window. She put the mug on the small wooden table then slumped onto the sofa and smiled as it squished up around her. It was an old one that she’d found in a charity shop and it was exactly what she’d imagined having in her own café. Behind it, and on the opposite wall, were shelves full of books all genres. Her regulars often brought in books they’d read and donated them to her shelves then took ones that they wanted to read. On quieter days, and sometimes after closing, Allie liked to curl up on the sofa with a warm drink and a book and to lose herself in another world.

The café was, in her eyes, perfect. Inside and out. The exterior was chocolate-box pretty with a thatched roof and shuttered windows. Roses climbed around the door and ivy climbed the walls. A café sign in the shape of a teapot hung from the side of the building. She had sown wildflower seeds for the bees and butterflies in pots and raised beds, and as it was summer, everything in the garden was in full bloom. She’d even managed to find some colourful milk-urn planters that she’d filled with trailing nasturtiums and their bright orange, red and gold flowers made her heart lift every time she saw them.

Inside, she’d had the two front rooms of the cottage converted into one big room, with the counter in the far right corner from the door and the café kitchen behind that. Allie had gone for the shabby-chic look, using reclaimed wood and second-hand furniture that she found online and in antique shops, and tables in a variety of colours and shapes took up most of the floor space. She often wondered if it was a reaction to the life she’d shared with Roger, when everything from their house to their carpets to their towels had to be brand new, spick and span. After he had died, Allie had gone out of her way to find the perfect old cottage to convert into a café, as well as searching for the loveliest second-hand furniture, fixtures and fittings. Roger had wanted everything in his home to tell people how successful he was and how well he was doing. And for a while, Allie had gone along with that, but when she’d lost the first flush of youth and Roger had expressed his disappointment with that, Allie had been devastated. So yes, perhaps her rebellion against all things new was deliberate.

A large log burner was centred on the back wall, directly opposite the front door. It wasn’t currently lit but had logs piled up inside it with sprigs of dried lavender and rosemary tucked in around them. On cold winter days, the log burner kept the café warm and the table nearest to it was very popular.

The ceiling was white with exposed wooden beams that gave the café the cosy cottage atmosphere Allie had envisioned. She’d hung salvaged 1920s raspberry glass pendant lights from between the beams and they created a relaxing ambience in the darker afternoons that came with autumn and winter.

As she sipped her tea, the strains of being on her feet all day slipped away, and her thoughts strayed once more to Chris. It wasn’t the money she was worried about, and she had no doubts that he would pay his bill. She just really wanted to see him again. He was one of her oldest friends and she’d like to catch up and find out how he’d been all these years. Everyone of her own age in the village seemed to be married or remarried, and lots of her old school friends had moved away a long time ago.

At one point Allie, Roger and Chris had been inseparable. A wave of nostalgia washed over her and she shuddered with surprise. Chris’s return to Heatherlea was having quite an impact on her.

She did have some good friends in the village now; they just weren’t ones she’d grown up with. So it would be nice if she got the chance to chat to Chris about old times. And there was nothing wrong in wanting to do that with an old friend now, was there?