Читать книгу Summer Secrets at the Apple Blossom Deli: A laugh out loud feel-good romance perfect for summer - Portia MacIntosh, Portia MacIntosh - Страница 17

Chapter 9

Standing in the playground, waiting for Frankie to finish school, I fantasise about taking my shoes off, and maybe soaking them in the bath for a couple of hours before dinner. It’s been a long day at the deli, making sure that everything is going to be ready in time, but at least the plumber turned up and fixed whatever problem was causing the smell. I damn near gave him one of my kidneys and he left, pound signs rolling in his eyes as he counted his money (which included his travel bonus). This only reminds me that I would never, ever, in a million years be able to afford to open my own deli, because even if I could gather some money together, you never know when you’re going to have to pay a big plumbing bill – if this really were my place, I probably would have had to give him a kidney. It’s all good though, because tomorrow when I turn up for work, it’s going to smell glorious, like fresh wooden counters, and it’s going to remind me that, even though we’re running into problems, I’m solving them.

I notice the gaggle of women from this morning, staring at me once again. They’re probably just curious, wondering who I am. If it were up to me I’d stay here, at the opposite side of the playground, hiding behind my sunglasses, but I know that I have a lot of work to do here, and it would probably be good for the business if I go over and introduce myself, show them that I’m a normal mum, just like them, and not at all ‘evil’.

By the time I walk over there are just three women left, all standing in a line, facing me, anticipating my introduction.

‘Hello, ladies,’ I say, wearing the biggest smile my face can accommodate. ‘My name is Lily Holmes, I’m Frankie’s mum. We’ve just moved into Apple Blossom Cottage and, erm, I’ll be running the new deli on Main Street.’

I continue to smile as I wait for their reply.

‘We know who you are,’ the woman in the middle says. It’s funny she should say that, she looks familiar to me too. ‘We knew you were coming, we just didn’t know who you were. Now we can put a face to the person who is trying to ruin this town.’

And, here we go. It’s so funny, the way she describes my arrival, like it’s some prophecy you hear at the start of a horror film before the monster turns up.

‘Listen, I know there’s a lot of animosity towards the deli—’ and me, apparently ‘—but I’m not here to make trouble. There’s nothing even close to a YumYum Deli in town, and there are lots of hungry tourists. There’s room for all of us. I promise, I am no threat to your or your families’ livelihoods.’

I feel my face fall into a more relaxed smile, happy with my response.

‘Do you know who I am?’ the woman in the middle asks.

If she’s asking, I must know her from somewhere.

To her left is a short, plump woman with a mess of black curls on her head. She’s wearing a beautiful pair of tortoiseshell Gregory Peck-style glasses that I would love if I didn’t wear contact lenses most of the time. I’d ask her where she got them from, although I suspect a compliment right now would seem insincere.

The mum to the other side is tall and skinny, with her mousey brown hair in two plaits that go down almost all the way to her waist. With her make-up-free face and her plaid shirt and jeans combo, she looks fresh off the farm.

And then, in the middle, there’s the ringleader of the three angry stooges. I stare at her for a moment when it hits me – I have seen her before. She looks a little different, without her Forties dress and her victory rolls, but it’s her all right. The woman from the seafront, who was staring at us the day we arrived. Oh, and these two must have been the women standing either side of her that day. Wow, I wonder if they always have to stand in the right order, like Ant and Dec do.

I’m just about to tell her where I recognise her from when she speaks again.

‘This is Jessica,’ she says, nodding to her short friend. ‘Jessica Dawson, as in Dawson’s Butchers, that she and her husband own.’

‘Oh, “burger me”,’ I blurt giddily. ‘I found one of your husband’s signs outside the deli. He’s a very pun-ny man.’

‘This is Mary-Ann,’ she continues, unamused, nodding towards her tall friend. ‘She and her husband run the dairy farm.’

I nod in acknowledgement. She looks like the kind of woman who would name her kids Bernadette and Bart.

‘Is your husband the baker by any chance?’ I ask. What is it with the women in this town? Other than the females working in the school, it’s like they’re all defined by their husbands’ jobs.

‘No, I’m Avril Newman, wife of Bradley Newman – the local plumber.’

Oh carp.

‘I passed the deli today,’ she tells me, as though I don’t know how this one is going to end. ‘There was a plumber’s van parked outside. A plumber from a town fifteen miles away.’

‘We did call your husband,’ I tell her. ‘He didn’t want the job.’

‘Well, of course he didn’t,’ she replies. ‘We don’t want to be seen supporting a business that the locals don’t want here. But you giving the work to another plumber, from out of town, well, that’s taking food off our table, out of our little Jacques’ mouth.’

I laugh inside my head at her paradoxical argument. She’s upset at me for giving a job to someone other than her husband after her husband said no. So, I should be giving them my business, but they don’t want it, so…I’m not really sure what she wants from me.

‘Avril, I wanted to give your husband the job. I don’t want to take food from Jack’s mouth – in fact, it would be so nice if Frankie and Jack could be friends. I think he’s having a bit of trouble settling in,’ I confess.

‘Jacques,’ she corrects me.

‘Sorry, what did I say?’

‘Jack.’

‘Right.’

‘It’s Jacques,’ she says again.

Of course it is.

‘Maybe your family just isn’t supposed to be here, Lily. We’re a tight-knit community and you only need to look over the Marram Bay Facebook group page to see that you’re just not wanted.’

‘Can I join this group?’ I ask, undefeated.

‘Well, it’s for locals only,’ she says quickly.

‘I’m local now,’ I point out with a smile.

Avril thinks for a moment.

‘I’ll have to ask the group. Apple Blossom Cottage sits just outside the main town, and the group is for the main town only. I’m sure you understand.’

‘Oh, I understand,’ I reply.

‘Perhaps it’s best to bow out now, before more upset is caused. You said it yourself, your son isn’t fitting in. And, well, our children are smart. They can tell we’re upset and if they know you’re to blame, your poor son is going to be collateral damage. Perhaps you need to put your son first – we always put our children first, it’s so important.’

I purse my lips, lest a ‘go duck yourself’ escapes from between them.

Right on cue, the school bell goes and all the little acorns come charging out of the door.

‘See you around, ladies,’ I say, before walking off to meet Frankie.

After the horde of kids, my own finally appears, all alone, without the gleeful smile or the urgency the others showed. Oh no, it must have been a bad day again.

‘Hey, kiddo,’ I say brightly. ‘She try to starve you to death today or did my threats work?’

Frankie laughs, just a little.

‘Good day?’

He shrugs.

I usher him towards the car and strap him in.

‘I know we’re off to a bit of a rocky start, and that it feels like we’re not fitting in, but we’ve only been here two days,’ I assure him. ‘Things will get better.’

‘No one likes us,’ he says, sounding dejected.

‘No one knows us,’ I remind him. ‘Let’s just give it a bit longer, OK? I will if you will.’

Frankie nods. He really is an amazing little man, which is probably why this is making me so mad. He should be so happy here and it’s not fair that the Mumsnet brigade are making him ‘collateral damage’ – well, I won’t have it. We will be happy here, and they will accept us. I’ll make sure of it.

Out of nowhere a quad bike flies past us at a junction. I stop my car and breathe for a second. First the locals ask us to leave, now it’s like they’re literally trying to drive us out of town. Well, they’re going to have to try harder than that.