Chapter 6
My heart raced. How could they steal from Nonna? How long had this been going on? She trusted them, and right up until this second, I’d trusted them too. They hadn’t spotted me, too busy counting out notes and coins from the till as soon as Nonna’s back was turned.
I looked away quickly and stared out of the window towards the green to collect my thoughts. This would break her heart. Unless, of course, I tackled the problem myself. I could confront them, catch them red-handed and force them to hand back the money and maybe if they promised never to do it again, Nonna need never know.
Mind made up, I whirled round and caught Doreen looking straight at me. She turned puce and nudged Juliet who slammed the till shut. The two of them looked at each other and then back at me. I took a step towards them, my stomach lurching queasily.
Doreen swallowed. ‘Rosie, can I just say—’
I held up a hand to silence her.
‘I saw what you just did,’ I said. ‘But I can’t believe it.’
‘Cooee! Look who I’ve brought to see you. Look, Arlo, it’s Auntie Rosie!’
Mum was holding the door open with one hand and struggling to manoeuvre Arlo’s large pushchair over the lip of the step. ‘Darling, give me a hand, will you?’
‘We’ll talk about this later.’ I shot the two women a stern look and turned to help Mum. ‘In the meantime, can you do a deep clean of the cupboards while Nonna’s out, please.’
Juliet frowned menacingly but Doreen pulled her away.
‘Oh, what a lovely time we’ve had.’ Mum wheeled the pushchair to an empty table. ‘We’ve just been up to the river to feed the ducks. This little chap loved it. Ducks, Arlo, ducks say quack quack.’
I unclipped Arlo’s straps while Mum slipped off her coat. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Doreen and Juliet conferring animatedly. As well they might. I mean, honestly, what were they thinking? I took a deep breath and smiled at my nephew as he held out a fabric picture book to me chuntering, ‘Ba-ba-ba.’
‘Do you want me to read this?’ I said, picking him up and blowing raspberries into his neck.
His warm body wriggled in my arms and I held him to me, breathing in his baby smell.
‘I had to read a great stack of them to him this morning,’ Mum said, fetching him a high chair. ‘I think he’s going to be a bright boy.’
I unzipped his jacket, slipped it off and popped him in the chair. ‘You’re really enjoying yourself with Arlo, aren’t you?’
Her face softened and she blinked in surprise. ‘I am. I really am. Shall we have tea? Do you have time?’
‘Yes,’ I said immediately. Anything to delay my unpleasant chat with Doreen and Juliet. ‘But can you go and order it? I’ve got my hands full here.’
She looked at the small fabric book in my hands. ‘OK.’
I flipped over the page and grinned at Arlo. ‘What do cows say? Moo, moo.’
Mum came back with two teas and found a rice cracker in her bag for Arlo.
‘You know, I only offered to have Arlo to help Lia out, and of course, in my usual manner, threw myself into it wholeheartedly.’
I suppressed a smile; she’d stepped down as president of the Women’s Institute, removed herself from the local history society and the parish council and sent her apologies to the school governing body, just so she could clear her diary to help.
‘But actually, life without endless committee meetings is very pleasant and I love the look on this little one’s face when he sees me every day. It makes me feel needed.’
‘You are needed,’ I confirmed, sipping my tea. ‘It’s done Lia the world of good having some time to herself and I think Ed is benefiting too, if tonight’s menu is anything to go by.’
Mum gazed at Arlo adoringly and sighed.
‘Perhaps the time has come to relinquish some of my voluntary roles permanently and spend a bit more time at home, with my grandson – and your father, of course. We could even go away this summer for a few weeks, just the two of us, on an adventure.’
My heart leapt. Dad would love that. He always complained that he had such long holidays from the university but no one to go away with because Mum was always so busy.
‘I think that’s a brilliant idea. Also, when I’ve gone back to my proper career, perhaps you’d be able to pop in here now and then and keep an eye on things?’
Like the staff pilfering, for example. I cast an eye over to the counter. Doreen was chatting with a customer, pouring frothy milk into a latte and Juliet was rearranging the cakes under their glass domes. They were both acting like nothing had happened. My heart felt heavy and sad.
‘Oh no,’ said Mum, recoiling. ‘I know she’s my mother and I love her dearly, but once bitten and all that. Hats off to you for lasting this long, but Nonna won’t thank me for poking my nose in.’
‘Hmm,’ I said vaguely, worried that I was about to poke my nose in too. ‘So are you going to book a holiday, you and Dad?’
She sipped her tea and rolled her eyes. ‘We’re discussing it. He wants to experience the golden age of British canal transport with a month on a narrowboat.’
‘Ah.’
‘Quite.’ Mum smiled mischievously. ‘I said I don’t mind canals but only if they’re in Venice. And it is high time I explored my Italian heritage. So the debate rolls on, but let’s just say I’ve sent my passport away for renewal.’
We both laughed. Somehow I didn’t fancy Dad’s chances of getting his way. But he wouldn’t mind. He’d be happy anywhere as long as he was with Mum.
Her watch beeped then and she took a baby bottle out of her bag, tipped milk powder into it and went off to the kitchen to warm it through. I took Arlo out of his high chair and cuddled him, thinking how lucky Mum and Dad were to have each other. They might not be the perfect couple, but they truly loved each other and I’d always casually assumed that a relationship like theirs would be easy to replicate.
How wrong could I be? I’d worked my way through various boyfriends at university, some lovely, some less so. I’d learned to love and learned to leave, trying to work out the sort of man who’d make me happy, searching for The One. And then in London I’d met Callum and the search had ended. Not because Callum was The One, but because what I’d found had frightened me. So I’d stopped looking. Too afraid to risk that happening again. Which I guessed meant that I was very unlikely to have an ‘Arlo’ of my own.
I blinked away the memories and focused back on my mother as she returned shaking the bottle.
I handed Arlo to her and helped her fasten on his bib. ‘I ought to get back to work.’
‘Before you go, have you noticed anything odd about your father?’
She settled Arlo on to her lap and he pulled the bottle towards his open mouth and was soon chugging away contentedly.
‘No. Why?’
‘He’s behaving oddly. Disappearing without telling me where he’s going. It’s been going on ever since I’ve been looking after Arlo. And the other day …’ She shifted in her seat and went pink. ‘I saw him looking at something on the internet.’
I resisted the urge to put my hands over my ears. ‘Go on.’
‘He was looking at fancy bras. I only wear plain boring ones. When he realized I’d seen him, he closed the lid of the laptop, muttered “It’s not what you think”, left the room and the next thing I knew his car was pulling off the drive.’
‘And what do you think?’ I asked, laughing. ‘Sounds like red-blooded male behaviour to me.’
‘I thought nothing at first and then … Oh God, this is such a cliché. Red lipstick on his collar. From another woman.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Couldn’t it be yours?’
Although Mum wearing bright colours was as unlikely as Dad having an affair. Mum’s lipsticks were all called things like ‘mink’ and ‘cappuccino’.
‘Not pillar-box red, no.’
‘There could be any number of explanations. A colleague at work, an accident in Boots, or he could be getting you a gift.’
‘You don’t think he’s having an affair?’ Mum nibbled her lip. ‘That he’s found himself another woman who hangs on his every word and doesn’t boss him about?’
A tsunami of warmth rushed over me for my mum; she always seemed so confident of her place in his heart and at least she admitted to being bossy.
‘Dad would never be unfaithful to you, Mum, it’s unthinkable. Far more likely that he’s planning to surprise you with some fancy undies. And perhaps while you’re having a reshuffle of your committees, you could schedule in a bit more time for him, let him know you appreciate him.’
‘Wise words, darling; thank you. I can’t think why someone lovely hasn’t snapped you up by now.’
I bit my tongue, preferring not to answer that one, and she hugged me tight just as my phone rang. ‘Michael’ flashed on the screen.
‘Ooh, I have to take this. It could be good news about a job.’
Mum blew me a kiss and I slipped outside into the cool grey afternoon to answer my phone.
‘How’s my favourite creative director?’ he gushed. ‘Bored with café culture yet?’
‘Life here is anything but boring,’ I said wearily, thinking of the next conversation I was about to have with my colleagues.
I wandered across the road to the village green, brushed a couple of leaves off a wooden bench and sat down.
‘I’d expect nothing less, darling,’ he said smoothly. ‘I bet you’ve installed wifi, set up a Facebook page and had the café trending on Twitter.’
‘Actually, no, but now you mention it, that’s not a bad idea.’
I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before; that was one positive change I could make to the café that Nonna wouldn’t see as intruding on her territory.
‘You’ll be too busy for all that,’ he said airily. ‘Because guess who’s got an interview in Manchester at HitSquad?’
‘Me? Yay!’
A job, a proper one where I didn’t need to wear rubber gloves or grate cheese, or go in men’s toilets …
‘Now listen to the job spec, Rosie, you’re going to WET yourself. The successful candidate will be at the global forefront of …’
My pulse quickened as I listened to the job specification. It was perfect. In the month that I’d spent at the café, I think the only time my pulse had raced like this was when Biddy’s sister had reversed her new motorized wheelchair into the toy corner and I’d had visions of little Alfie Sargent getting squished under the wheels. Luckily, he hadn’t and the incident had soon been resolved with a chocolate-chip cookie for him and a stern word from Biddy to her sister about reading the instruction manual.
‘Michael, you’re a miracle worker. When’s the interview?’
‘Next week, I’ll email you the details. Ooh, another call’s coming through. Laters.’
‘Whoop! Thank you!’ I said as he hung up.
I’d got an interview, just as I’d hoped. But then I looked back at the Lemon Tree Café across the road. Even on a grey day like today, with its sunny yellow awning, pretty lettering and miniature lemon trees flanking the door, the café looked warm and welcoming. I’d been here nearly a month and despite the ups and downs, I was going to miss it terribly. Which was ridiculous, it couldn’t ever replace my career and, besides, Nonna didn’t want me to stay. I gave myself a shake and went back inside.
I’d barely shut the door when Doreen and Juliet practically dragged me through the café and outside to the courtyard at the back.
‘It’s not what you think,’ Doreen blurted out.
‘So I didn’t see you take money out of the till and put it in your own purses?’ I folded my arms and stared beadily at them both.
I hoped I looked authoritative because my legs felt as wobbly as one of Stanley’s favourite custard tarts.
‘Aye, you did, but it was our money.’ Juliet jabbed her own chest with her fingertip.
‘And if we don’t help ourselves we don’t get it,’ Doreen added.
‘True that,’ Juliet confirmed with a nod.
‘Hold on.’ I held my hands up. ‘Nonna pays you both in cash, in an envelope. I’ve seen her.’
She even paid me that way, even though I’d offered to work for free. But she’d insisted, saying fair was fair. I bristled; what these two were doing was anything but fair.
‘Aye, that’s wages, although goodness knows what she’s doing about tax and stuff.’
‘But she forgets to pay us for other things,’ Doreen explained, lowering herself down on to the chair Nonna kept out here for napping on whenever she got the chance.
‘What things?’ I retorted.
‘Look,’ said Juliet, running her hands through her hair until it stood up in clumps rather than its usual spikes, ‘I make cakes for the café, right?’
I nodded. She made batches on her days off. She’d made loads for the funeral.
‘Well, the money I took covers the ingredients, plus a bit extra to cover fuel for cooking.’
‘And I buy supplies when we run out before the wholesaler delivers,’ said Doreen. ‘Like toilet paper and soap, or eggs. Things like that.’
‘We’d never steal off Maria,’ Juliet growled.
I nodded again, tears pricking at the back of my eyes as a giant wave of relief and shame came over me.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I should never have doubted you.’
Doreen struggled out of her chair, put her arms round me and squished me to her chest. ‘You’re just protecting your grandmother’s business. Nothing wrong with that. No harm done.’
‘Aye, easy mistake,’ muttered Juliet.
‘But why not just put in a receipt and ask for the money?’ I said.
Doreen cringed. ‘Maria isn’t fond of paperwork.’
‘And she forgets,’ said Juliet. ‘It’s easier to sort it out ourselves than wait for her to do it.’
My mind was racing. This was all well and good, but if Nonna wasn’t keeping a note of money coming in and out of the business, how was she going to be able to work out the café’s finances?
‘What about financial records?’ I said. ‘It’s nearly the end of the tax year; won’t she have to send the accountant her books soon?’
Doreen and Juliet looked at each other shiftily.
‘Come and look at this,’ said Doreen with a sigh.
There was a tiny store cupboard near the toilets where we kept the mop and bucket and basically anything that was too big to fit on a shelf in the kitchen.
‘Right at the back, behind all this clutter, is a filing cabinet.’ Doreen snapped on the light, a single bare bulb hanging from a cable.
I squinted at the harshness of the light. ‘I see it. Just about.’
The store room was a hoarder’s haven, shelves either side bulged with kitchen paraphernalia and the floor was piled high with stuff.
‘That,’ said Doreen ominously, ‘is where your grandmother keeps all the records for the café. Or rather, doesn’t keep them. The accountants got so fed up with her last year that they sent all the paperwork back and told her to find someone else.’
‘So who does it now?’
Doreen shrugged. ‘I’m guessing it’s a time bomb waiting to go off at the end of the tax year. Maria has buried her head in the sand and gets very tetchy when we ask for expense forms to claim our money back. We’ve given up asking.’
‘But … but …’ I stared at Doreen. ‘I thought the leaky taps and dusty corners and greasy griddle and unchanged-since-nineteen-eighty-seven menus were the worst problems. This is far worse. There are hefty fines for failing to submit your accounts. The café would never survive.’
She swallowed. ‘I’d agree with you there.’
‘I’ll have to take a look at it.’ I sighed. ‘Although accounts are not my thing at all.’
‘Private,’ said Doreen, pointing at the big label stuck on the front of the cabinet drawer. ‘She won’t like you prying.’
‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,’ I muttered, pushing myself into the store room.
Just then a lone church bell began to chime softly in the distance. Doreen and I looked at each other; the funeral was over. Nonna was supposed to be going to the wake, but what if she popped in here for some reason first?
I rubbed my hand over my face feeling very weary and wondering why I’d ever thought working in a café would be so much simpler than my old job.
‘I’ll have to leave it for now, but I don’t think I really have a choice, do you? If anyone finds out about the state of the business’s financial affairs, the Lemon Tree Café could be history.’