Chapter 18
Gabe manoeuvred the newly renovated table back into position next to the toy corner and straightened up. He had worked so speedily on the café’s tables this week, sanding, stripping, revarnishing, and they looked really good. The place still had its lived-in Italian-family-home look, but none of the sixth-form-common-room scruffiness that had begun to creep in. I still wanted the large dresser sprucing up, but it was too big to go in Gabe’s van so he was going to have to do that in our little courtyard. He’d be here for a whole day as soon as he could manage it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pleased about that; I’d enjoyed his company over the past few days and had begun to look forward to his visits.
‘There. Good as new.’ He wiped an arm across his forehead.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ I quipped. ‘I actually quite miss the drawing that Alfie Sargent did of Nonna on this one with a Sharpie.’
Gabe scratched his chin to hide a smile; the little boy’s drawing had been less than flattering but completely unmistakable, right down to the ample bosom, apron and thick glasses.
‘What does it take to impress you?’ he said with mock sadness.
‘I’m teasing; I am impressed really.’ I ran a finger around the edge of a table. ‘I was worried they’d look too perfect. Actually they look just as welcoming, but the rough bits at the edges have gone.’
I glanced up at him. Perhaps he could do the same for me?
‘The rough bits are my favourite, more of a challenge.’ Gabe traced the grain of the wood with his fingertip and met my gaze. ‘No matter how badly wood has been treated, the grain will always be there under the surface, every pattern as unique as a person’s soul. I love making it shine again, revealing its natural beauty.’
My heart thumped; were we still talking about wood? The moment was broken as Lia joined us.
‘Look at you two gawping at each other,’ she snorted, bringing us each a cappuccino. ‘Get a room.’
We leapt apart guiltily.
‘Lia!’ I hissed, utterly mortified.
‘If not a room, then a smooth table?’ she continued, seemingly amused at my discomfort. ‘Is Noah looking forward to tomorrow, Gabe?’
It was now Friday afternoon, the day before the Barnaby Spring Fair.
‘He’s very excited. It’s looking great out there,’ said Gabe, nodding towards the activity on the village green.
Under a wide blue sky, members of the school PTA were setting up marquees, the Women’s Institute were allocating tables to each one and Mr Beecher was unloading stacks of chairs from the school minivan. Luckily, the buffeting winds from earlier in the week had dropped and the air held the promise of summer warmth.
The last few days had been completely manic: I’d managed to get Clementine a radio slot just before the news later this afternoon. She’d be taking readers’ calls about gardening problems and I’d coached her to mention the seedling sale on the village green at every opportunity.
I’d corralled every single village social group I could find into organizing a part of the Spring Fair, from the Mums and Toddlers group to the Allotment Society, and I’d even persuaded the local cancer charity, The Chestnuts Cancer Hospice, to get involved; I’d bought goodness knows how many miles of bunting to string around the village; and I’d set up a Thunderclap social media promotion to coincide with Clementine’s radio appearance.
‘All Rosie’s idea,’ said Lia proudly and then waltzed off to the kitchen with a wink.
‘You’ve worked very hard,’ said Gabe, taking a seat in the window. ‘More impressive than sanding down a few old tables.’
‘Nah.’ I wrinkled my nose and sat opposite him. ‘It isn’t far removed from what I used to do in my previous job.’
‘Do you miss that life?’ said Gabe. ‘I sometimes miss mine.’
He scooped some froth off the top of his cappuccino with a teaspoon and put it in his mouth. He had a nice mouth. Kissable lips. I could kiss him now, just lean forward and press my mouth to his and lick that tiny smear of chocolate powder off—
‘Rosie?’ He looked at me, amused.
‘Yes!’ I said with a jump. ‘I mean no. What was the question?’
‘Never mind.’ He shook his head and laughed. ‘Are you free for the next hour?’
I looked round the café. We weren’t too busy; everyone would manage perfectly well without me.
‘Possibly, why?’
He leaned forward and smiled cheekily. ‘Fancy an adventure?’
I quirked an eyebrow. ‘Always.’
Gabe stowed Noah’s booster seat in the back of his van, brushed crumbs from the passenger side and ushered me in.
‘Are we going where I think we’re going?’ I asked as we drove past the village green, along the Chesterfield Road and stopped at the grass verge opposite the entrance to what had been Fearnley’s Garden Centre only a few short days ago.
‘Know your opposition,’ said Gabe with a wink. ‘I learned that on day one in law school. Let’s sneak in and see what they’re up to.’
The grass was dotted with tiny purple and yellow flowers. Beyond the verge was a long, neatly trimmed hedge and over it I could see sheep munching on sweet spring grass and small wobbly legged lambs chasing each other in gangs.
This rural idyll was in stark contrast to the other side of the road.
Lorries and vans littered the driveway leading to the tiny car park and there were people everywhere: forklift trucks shifting crates, men erecting signage, a woman on her knees filling up two huge wooden planters with primulas and conifers, people pushing tall trolleys with plants bulging out of the edge of their shelves and the sound of hammering coming from inside the main building. And overhead, casting a shadow over all of the activity, was a ginormous black and yellow sign that read ‘Garden Warehouse: everything you need for the outdoors and more!’
I couldn’t get over how much the place had changed in such a short time.
‘Is this wise?’ I said doubtfully.
‘I promised you an adventure,’ he grinned, yanking on the handbrake and twisting the keys from the ignition, ‘not a walk in the park.’
‘But what about that?’ I pointed to the metal security fence straddling the entrance. Just beyond it, unless I was very much mistaken, was a man with a clipboard who looked terribly official.
‘What about it?’
Gabe got out of the van, took a bag of tools from the back and pulled a baseball cap down low over his eyes.
‘Act confident. Don’t make eye contact and stride as if you’re late for a meeting,’ he murmured as we approached the fence.
And so I did, and miraculously, when Gabe nodded to Clipboard Man, he nodded back and let us pass without a word, although he did give my Lemon Tree Café apron a quizzical look.
‘So what are we actually doing here?’ I murmured as we hurried along the path, past a long polytunnel and towards the main building.
‘Intelligence gathering.’ Gabe tapped his nose. ‘Thought you might be curious to know what they’ve done so far.’
I was.
The two of us marched round the entire site at a brisk pace: through the front doors, underneath yet more black and yellow Garden Warehouse signage, past the shelves being stocked with packets of seeds and plant pots and big displays of cheap and cheerful plastic gardening sets, along the rather smelly aisle selling every type of pet food for every type of pet and out of the back plastic flappy doors and into the courtyard. Two men were hoisting up a plastic sign above a long plastic table next to a fixture of empty metal buckets: ‘Fresh Flowers’. My heart sank. Poor Nina. This one area was bigger than her entire florist’s shop.
Out in the open air were aisles of low wooden tables, empty now but with signs boasting multibuy deals of ‘five for a tenner’ on bedding plants and ‘buy one get TWO free’ on terracotta plant pots. There were neon signs advertising opening offers everywhere. We didn’t go into any of the greenhouses, but we did slow down when we reached the big wooden cabin that had used to house Clementine’s bonsai collection. Work was already underway to convert it into a café. The sight of it made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
‘Very professional,’ I said as we made our way back to the original car park. ‘But soulless.’
Gabe nodded. ‘And that’s where the Barnaby shops score highly. I can’t see that wooden cabin being able to compete on any level with the Lemon Tree Café. Certainly not the beauty of its staff.’
That did cheer me up. I nudged him with my shoulder and grinned. ‘I’ll pass that on to Nonna.’
It was almost time to collect Noah from school and Gabe asked me if I’d mind tagging along with him. We approached the van to find cars parked either side of it and the lane seemed to be even busier than before.
‘I wonder what poor Clementine thinks of it all.’ I glanced up at her house; there was no sign of life at the windows, which was just as well because she should be on her way to Derby to the radio studio now for her very own Gardeners’ Questions.
‘I know exactly what she thinks of it, the vicar told me,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘And it’s too rude to repeat.’
He stowed his tools in the back while I leaned on the side of the van and stared up at the garden centre. ‘It already looks tons bigger than Fearnley’s ever was somehow.’
‘They do seem to be utilizing every square centimetre,’ he agreed. ‘But then, they’re famous for piling high, selling cheap, so they would.’
‘By why us?’ I frowned. ‘Why here?’
Gabe opened the passenger door for me.
‘Imagine if Garden Warehouse was one of your clients. You’d probably be able to come up with a dozen reasons why it could be good for the village. Jobs, customer choice, more visitors to the area …?’
I shook my head firmly and climbed in.
‘I can’t allow myself to go down that road. I stand for Barnaby and our little community, and whatever measly benefits we might get – like more trade at the pub, for instance – will be greatly outweighed by the disadvantages. And our event tomorrow will hopefully show Garden Warehouse that we won’t be bullied and we’re not going to make it easy for them to take our customers.’
Gabe closed his door, plugged his phone into the charger and stuck the keys in the ignition.
‘But after the Spring Fair? What then? Garden Warehouse will still be there. Don’t you think you should try to find ways to work together? Turn their arrival into an advantage? In my experience, most big companies are all too keen to get into bed with the locals.’
‘Really?’ I raised an eyebrow at that and we shared a smile.
‘All I’m saying,’ he added softly, ‘is that if I were to be offered a job when I needed one, it would be difficult to turn it down.’
I looked at him swiftly. I thought about Noah and him on The Neptune and the uncomplicated life they’d made for themselves and remembered how I’d put my foot in it the other night talking about a proper job.
‘Do you need a job?’ I asked softly.
He opened his mouth, seemed to change his mind and exhaled sharply instead.
‘I was talking about Tyson,’ he said.
Lucas had offered him a couple of shifts a week at the gift shop, but he needed more than that and had tied himself in knots with guilt before applying for a part-time job at Garden Warehouse. He started on Monday, working in the timber department, and was dreading it.
‘You’re probably right,’ I conceded reluctantly, ‘but let me be outraged for a little while longer. I can only listen to what my heart tells me to do on this one, not my head.’
Gabe looked at me, his gaze intense, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a gentle smile. ‘Is your heart telling you anything else?’
The low afternoon sun filtered in through the van window, lighting up Gabe’s smile and giving his hair a golden glow, and my heart did a double beat as he reached across and stroked my cheek with his thumb, my skin tingling deliciously at his touch.
I nodded and took a deep breath. ‘Although mostly I ignore it.’
‘You’re vibrating,’ Gabe said, looking at my lap.
‘Sorry.’ I shook my shoulders to release the tension. ‘Talking about personal stuff always—’
‘No, your pocket. Something’s vibrating.’
‘Oh.’
It was my phone, doing its best to alert me to an incoming call even though I’d put it on silent. I pulled it out of my apron pocket and jumped when I saw the name Robert Crisp from Digital Horizons flash up on the screen. There also seemed to be a flurry of other alerts: voicemails, texts and Facebook notifications. What had I missed?
‘It’s my old boss,’ I said, frowning at Gabe. I swallowed. ‘I’d better …’
‘Sure, sure.’
He offered to get out of the van to give me some privacy but I shook my head.
‘Hello, Robert, this is a surprise,’ I said.
‘Rosie! How nice to hear from you!’ He cleared his throat. ‘Except I called you. How nice to hear your voice, is what I meant.’
I stole a glance at Gabe who was pretending to scroll through his own messages. I pressed a hand to where his thumb had been and wondered what might have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.
‘What can I do for you?’ I asked.
‘Well.’ There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘Yes. Nobody has been in touch asking for a reference for you and part of me was glad and the other part a bit suspicious. A woman—’ He coughed. ‘A person like you should be snapped up like a hot cake and now … I’m waffling, but I regret having lost you.’
‘That’s encouraging to hear,’ I said diplomatically.
‘It was a shame you chose to leave.’
Gabe started the engine, nodding towards the clock.
‘Time to pick up Noah,’ he whispered.
I fastened my seat belt while Gabe turned the van round and headed back to the village.
‘Robert,’ I said sternly, ‘you asked me to touch up Lucinda Miller.’
I caught a glimpse of Gabe just as his jaw dropped. I turned to the window to stop myself from laughing.
‘Hmm,’ Robert said glumly. ‘Bad decision, as it turned out. Lucinda wasn’t happy about it and has refused to do anything else with the charity. The charity retaliated by sacking us.’
I bit my lip and just about resisted saying I told you so.
‘Anyway,’ he cleared his throat, ‘then when your name came up today, I thought: Ah, so that’s what she’s doing. Setting up her own business.’
We passed Gina Evans, my old friend from school, pushing a twin buggy with a small child on each side holding on to the handles. I gave her a wave. She flicked her pink hair out of her eyes and waved back. She never made it into the café; too stressful, she told me on Facebook, with all those inquisitive fingers …
I tuned back in to Robert, who seemed to think I’d set up my own social media agency.
‘I am?’ I said, staring at the phone.
‘Supporting local businesses. Looking after the squirrels.’
I frowned some more. ‘Robert, what are you talking about?’
‘Sorry.’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘I always think of clients like animals. You get your big clients: the elephants, we all need an elephant or two on the books. And antelope – fast, medium-sized and keep us on our toes – and then squirrels. Digital Horizons is too big to deal with squirrels. Not enough meat on them for us. But I’ve often thought that get enough squirrels and you could, you know, have a feast.’
‘Ri-ght.’
Gabe drew the van up outside Barnaby Primary School and I crinkled my nose and circled a finger round my temple miming to Gabe that I thought Robert had gone completely mad. The playground was empty and we still had a couple of minutes before the bell went. Gabe turned the engine off and undid his seat belt.
‘Hold on,’ I said, sitting up straight. ‘You said my name came up. When and who with?’
‘On the BBC news, of course,’ Robert replied. ‘I must say I was quite—’
‘What?’ I demanded, grabbing Gabe’s arm and squeezing it. ‘What did they say?’
My jaw dropped as Robert explained that he’d heard on the three o’clock news that I was using the power of social media to pull in an audience for the Barnaby Spring Fair.
‘So well done,’ Robert finished. ‘And good luck. Today squirrels, tomorrow, um … elephants!’
‘Thanks, Robert, I’d better go,’ I said and ended the call.
‘Well?’ Gabe’s eyes were wide with intrigue. ‘I’m on the edge of my seat here.’
‘My Thunderclap has just been on the national news,’ I said, my voice breathy with excitement.
‘Thunderclap? Jesus.’ He looked appalled as if it was some sort of contagious disease.
‘It’s a social media campaign,’ I laughed, pulling him in for a squeeze. ‘A type of online rent-a-crowd to spread the word about tomorrow’s Spring Fair.’
‘So …’ He looked doubtful, although he seemed not to mind the hug. ‘It’s good news?’
‘The best,’ I said, struggling to keep my grin under control. ‘We’re going to have so many visitors that the Women’s Institute may well run out of jam. Listen,’ I said, releasing him and slipping my phone back into my pocket, ‘I’m going to have to dash back to the café. I’ve got some serious tweeting to do. Give Noah a big kiss from me, won’t you?’
I reached for the door handle, brimming with purpose and eager to press on with the next stage of the campaign, but Gabe caught hold of my hand.
‘So Noah gets a kiss,’ he said softly, his eyes crinkling with humour. ‘What about me?’
I let my heart answer that one.
We only came up for air when the giggles from some of the mums arriving to pick up their precious little ones became too loud to ignore.