‘What the hell were you thinking?’ I hissed at Rob, once we’d wrangled a tittering Fletcher into the office and left him stroking his guitar and making little crooning noises.

‘Honestly, he wasn’t that bad in the car on the way over, or I’d never have got in with him.’ Rob tried to keep a straight face, but was obviously finding the whole thing hilarious. ‘He’s been at his granddad’s medication again.’

I snorted with disbelief. ‘Not long ago, you had the world at your feet, and now you’re hanging around with idiots like him.’

‘Hey,’ he said, losing the grin. ‘You asked me to find someone at short notice, and Nick recommended him. I didn’t know about his little habit, and I don’t think Nick does either.’

‘Well, thanks for nothing.’ I felt a hot flare of resentment. ‘Now the evening’s spoilt.’

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said, then held up his hands as if I was advancing with a sword. ‘Don’t look at me like that, I’m not doing it, Sandra. I’ve told you, I’m finished with music.’

‘Just this once, as a favour to me.’

He shook his head, his glasses sliding down his nose. ‘Why won’t you take me seriously?’

‘What’s the problem?’ I felt an ache of tiredness in my back. ‘It’s just a few songs while people drink tea, not a three-hour set at the O2.’

‘That’s not the point, sis. You’re asking me to do something I’ve expressly told you I’m not happy doing any more.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake.’ I was suddenly close to crying. ‘You just wait until you’re in front of a bunch of spotty students, you’ll soon be wishing you were back on the road.’

‘How do you know that?’ Rob’s colour deepened as he fidgeted his glasses back into place. ‘You don’t know what I want. When did you last even talk to me properly?’

‘What?’ Shock stilled the urge to weep. Rob and I had always bickered whenever we were in the same room, but there’d never been anything malicious in it. Now, he looked as though he’d like to shove me over. ‘I’m always WhatsApping you,’ I said. ‘And we FaceTime.’

‘Yeah, thank god for technology.’ His tone rocked me to my core. Rob didn’t do bitterness – at least not with me. ‘I’d probably never have heard from you otherwise.’

‘But… we’ve been busy with our lives.’ A fluttering feeling started up in my chest. I couldn’t be having this conversation, not now. ‘I thought you were out there having a brilliant time, not sitting around waiting for your sister to call.’

‘I wasn’t “sitting around”.’ His arms dropped to his sides. ‘I missed you, that’s all.’ His eyes were big and shiny behind his glasses, reminding me of when he’d cried after a routine eye test, aged seven, had revealed his long-sightedness, and he’d worried his friends would laugh at him in his glasses. ‘Look, forget it,’ he said, appearing to cave in. ‘I’ll borrow Fletch’s guitar and do a couple of numbers, if that’s what you want, though I’m not as good on the guitar as I am on the keyboard.’

‘No, wait.’ Flooded with guilt that he was willing to capitulate to please me, I held out my hand. ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘They don’t need music to drink tea by. I’m just being silly.’

‘No, you want things to go well, and I’m being a bit of a twat.’

‘No, you’re sticking to your guns,’ I insisted, relieved he seemed like his usual self again. I tugged the sleeve of his baggy shirt. ‘Thanks for offering though.’

‘Cassie, if a customer wants to sample all the teas, how does that actually work?’

I turned to see Mum’s head poking round the door.

‘Have people turned up?’

‘Yes,’ she said, eyebrows high. ‘We’re nearly full. I was thinking of asking Gwen to come in.’

‘No need,’ I said, too quickly. ‘We’ll come and help.’ I looked at Rob, willing him to be OK.

He gave a rueful smile. ‘I can wash spoons or something, I suppose.’

‘Or take some photos to put on the website,’ I said, thinking too late that I should have invited someone from the local paper to cover the event. The words EPIC FAIL flashed through my head in lights. I couldn’t believe I’d taken my eye off the ball, when I’d usually been so meticulous in the past, checking and double-checking every detail. ‘Let’s go.’

---

Although the café wasn’t quite as busy as I’d seen it during the day, I was pleased to see people were still trickling in, looking a bit furtive, as if turning up to an illegal cage fight.

Meg, behind the counter, looked fresh and pretty in her blue-and-white floral tea dress and gave me a thumbs up, which I returned – even if it was a little shaky. Pushing aside my altercation with Rob, I watched a well-dressed couple squeezing themselves in at a table – Dad had been right, the tables were too close together – and settled down to study the menu. The woman called Dad over, and after they’d spoken he pointed me out, then beckoned me over with a curl of his finger.

Oh god. I tried to remember what I’d read about the origins of the different drinks, mumbling under my breath as I approached the table. ‘The Fadenza coffee is from a small region of Brazil and has been processed using the honey method, offering complex flavours of…’ Of what? Butternut squash? And was it Brazil, or Peru? And what the hell were peaberries?

‘They were asking who designed the menu,’ Dad said, helping me round a tight cluster of chairs. ‘I told them it was my clever daughter.’

‘Oh.’ Thrown, I looked at the woman, who was probably around forty, with a glamorous sweep of auburn hair and so many freckles they’d melted into splodges.

‘I’m throwing a golden wedding anniversary for my parents later this year,’ she said, smiling pleasantly.

My heart started racing. I’d hoped people might ask who’d organised the evening without me having to network too much, but hadn’t expected it to happen right away. ‘You’d like me to plan it for you?’ A blend of excitement and dread rose in my gullet as I flipped my checklist over and unclipped my pen. ‘Did you have a theme in mind?’

Her brow wrinkled and she exchanged a look with her partner, as if checking she’d been speaking plain English. ‘That’s all in hand,’ she said, returning her gaze to me. ‘I was wondering whether you’d be interested in designing the invitations.’

‘Invitations.’ I scribbled on my pad, to buy myself a moment. Literally, scribbled, as I tried to make sense of her request. ‘Of course,’ I said perkily, slamming the pad to my chest so she couldn’t see my squiggles. ‘I’d love to.’

‘Great!’ She was all smiles again. ‘Do you have a business card?’

‘I, er, not on me at the moment.’ I patted my backside, as if I normally carried hundreds of them in my pocket. ‘I’m actually in the process of getting some new ones printed.’ At least that much was true. Almost. ‘Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll call you to discuss details?’ What was I doing?

‘Sure.’ She reeled it off, along with her name, and I dutifully wrote it all down. ‘Brilliant,’ she said, beaming at her partner, who beamed right back, and as Dad was beaming too it seemed only fitting that I joined in, even though I was thinking, What the HELL? Designing golden wedding invitations wasn’t even on my list of things to do, but it was a job of sorts, and I wasn’t exactly in a position to turn down work.

‘Won’t you be back in London by then?’ Dad had stopped beaming and was looking puzzled, but luckily the woman spoke at the same time and I didn’t have to reply.

‘Could I taste the lemongrass and dill tea? And my husband wants to try the Peruvian coffee.’ She gave him a wicked grin. ‘He likes a challenge.’

‘Of course.’ I snapped back to the current event. ‘The tea is… well, the flavours speak for themselves, and the coffee is…’ What is it, Cassie? ‘It’s earthy,’ I improvised, ‘with quite a kick.’ I mimed a little kicking motion, narrowly missing her slender shin. ‘Dad, could you bring the tasters over?’ I grabbed his arm for support as I edged round the table on tiptoe, trying not to stand on bags and shoes as a group of women crowded round, pulling their chairs closer together to look at the menu.

‘This is cute,’ I heard one of them say. ‘Wish I was artistic.’

‘You’re good at painting the town red,’ said another, and they burst out laughing, even though it wasn’t very funny.

‘Mum, do you still have a radio out the back, or a music player somewhere?’

‘What?’ She looked up from straining tea into a cardboard takeaway cup, and some of it dripped down the side. It was bright red, like fresh blood, but the customer seemed entranced, inhaling the steam as though trying to clear his sinuses.

‘Radio?’

She shook her head and I suppressed a sigh as I went to join her and Meg, who was slicing her Bakewell tart into even slices. Maybe it was better without music, I thought, seeing everyone was entering into the spirit of things, discussing and comparing flavours and appearing to be enjoying the novelty of it all.

Music might have been a distraction, now I thought about it.

Think through every aspect of the event, and make sure you’ve judged it correctly. Carlotta’s voice this time. No wonder she’d been bad-tempered, thinking about it. All that thinking and judging.

‘Do I have to spit it out, like wine?’ someone was asking, and I hastily shook my head when Mum turned querying eyes my way.

‘That coffee’s rank,’ said a man with a face like a bulldog, screwing up his nose in disgust. ‘I think I’ll stick with my usual espresso, please.’

‘Oh, we’re not serving our usual drinks this evening,’ Dad said, looking a bit hot and bothered. ‘Only the new stuff.’

The man opted to taste one of Meg’s muffins instead, not bothering to sit down before biting into it, spilling crumbs down his shirt.

‘How much are you charging for those?’ I asked her.

She put down the knife she’d been using. ‘I thought everything was free.’

‘What?’ I looked around at the rapidly filling café, with a cold, tight feeling in my stomach. The idea had been for customers to taste the drinks and then order a cup of their favourite and pay in the usual way – Had I put prices on the menu? – but now I noticed people were tasting all the flavours on offer before helping themselves to cake, and not parting with any cash.

‘Were they supposed to pay?’ Meg looked a bit panicked, and I tried to remember whether I’d spelt things out – another golden rule of event planning – and they’d just forgotten, or the words had stayed in my head.

It’s fine, don’t worry,’ I said, twirling my ponytail round my finger as I paced behind the counter, getting in everyone’s way. It didn’t seem right that Mum and Dad were now losing money, but it felt too late to start asking people to cough up. I’d have to cover the cost of the evening out of my own rapidly depleting pocket.

‘Mum, are you getting everyone to make a note of their favourite drink so you can stock it in future?’ I said, as she reached past me for another cup.

She froze, as though she’d spotted a rat. ‘Was I meant to?’

Oh, help. ‘That was the general idea.’ I’d run her through it when I’d arrived with her change of clothes, even writing down the flavours so that she and Dad could put ticks against each one. I glanced at the pad, which was still sitting by the hot-water dispenser, and mashed my palm against my forehead. ‘How will you know which ones to order, if you don’t know what’s popular?’

‘Ah.’ She looked at the packet of tea in her other hand. ‘I thought it was just a novelty thing, not that we were going to be buying any.’

‘You won’t be buying all of them,’ I said, going dizzy as Rob spun me round on his way to help Dad, whose face had gone all shiny from the steam. ‘Just the ones that people like the most.’

‘Apparently, this one tastes like dishwater.’ She waggled the packet with the expression of a Labrador hoping to please its mistress.

‘Oh, Mum.’

‘Don’t get cross with your mother,’ Dad scolded, chucking an empty coffee-bean packet in the direction of the bin.

‘Don’t throw that away, it has the provenance on the back.’

‘I don’t think anyone’s interested in the coffee’s upbringing, they just want to drink it,’ he said, pausing to watch a man pulling a face as he drank. ‘Or not.’ He winked at a wild-eyed pensioner who was asking for another taste of ‘the one like nectar’. ‘She’s already had four of those,’ he said round the side of his hand. ‘She’s completely wired.’

‘Dad! Just one taste, like I said, or there won’t be any left for anyone else to try.’ Despair flowed through me, and not even the sight of Tilly’s friendly face, as she approached the counter, could dispel the feeling that I’d made a terrible mistake.

‘How’s it going?’ she called, above the rising babble.

‘Great!’ I replied with a wave, envying the easy way she greeted people, and how they responded, seeming to light up in her presence. ‘Try some cinnamon and ginger tea.’

Mum poured her half a cup – far too much for a taste – and Tilly swilled it around her mouth and nodded her approval. ‘I like that,’ she said, when she’d swallowed. ‘Make sure you get some in.’

‘Really?’ Mum made a face. ‘It’s quite expensive.’

‘Mum! You’re not supposed to say things like that.’

‘It’s only Tilly,’ she said. ‘And, anyway, it is too expensive.’

Resisting the urge to stamp my foot and scream, I somehow arranged my face in an understanding smile, in case someone was thinking they’d like to host a similar event – but better – and wanted to know who’d arranged this one.

‘It would be better if it was cocktails,’ said one of the women whose foot I’d almost trodden on earlier. ‘And if there was music,’ added her friend, who’d clearly tasted too many of the stronger coffees, judging by her jittery arm movements.

‘They’ve really missed a trick, haven’t they?’ Now one of the other females was joining in, glancing at her watch with a dissatisfied look. ‘Can’t even sit outside, ’cos it’s pissing down.’

‘We should go to the Smugglers Inn later on, they’ve got karaoke tonight.’

I caught Tilly’s sympathetic look, and gave a ‘what can you do?’ shrug, careful to keep smiling even though my head was starting to thump. What I wanted to do was go home. What I needed to do was start networking, but I couldn’t seem to summon the energy.

‘Cassie, how do you pronounce this?’ Dad was waving a packet of Himalayan coffee beans at me. ‘Claude reckons it’s Hula,’ he said, winking at a big-bellied man with a huge white beard, who looked like he should be unloading Christmas gifts from a sack.

I peered at the letters. Huila. ‘Erm, I can’t help you there, I’m afraid,’ I said, wishing he’d asked me something I could answer.

‘Cassie, did you order anything decaffeinated?’ Mum tapped my arm. ‘Stop that,’ she said, and I realised I was raking my itchy wrist with my fingernails.

‘Sorry, no, I thought I had,’ I said, ‘but if there’s nothing there then… No, sorry.’

The room was spinning. It was hot and my clothes felt too tight. I headed for the terrace, not caring that it was raining, just desperate to get outside, but was stopped in my tracks by the sound of a Spanish guitar being played with expert precision.

Around me, the chatter died away, and I turned with everyone else to look for the source of the music. It was Rodney’s Dad, sitting on one of the tables, head lowered over his instrument, the fingers of one hand plucking the strings while the other hand danced gracefully over the frets. His face was curtained by hair, but it was obvious the effects of whatever he’d taken earlier had worn off.

Astonished out of my panic, I looked at Rob, and saw that he looked as stunned as everyone else. We exchanged relieved smiles, and as the music danced around the café, pulling everyone towards the source like a magnet, some of my tension evaporated.

Every event needs a ‘wow’ moment that people will remember.

I looked at the rapt expressions on the faces around me, and knew that this was it. Smiling, I backed to the counter, careering sideways when I came up against something solid.

A strong pair of arms shot out to catch me just before I hit the floor. ‘Falling for me already?’ said Danny Fleetwood.