The Sticky Toffee Pudding Club (Little Duck Pond Cafe #35)

CHAPTER ONE

Every year, on the same day, Loli and I dreamed up something special to do.

Past years had seen us hiking up the side of mountains on holidays in the Lake District, clinging to each other in windswept awe at the top as we gazed around us, the grand vista blurred by tears of triumph mixed with heartache. It seemed like the closest to Heaven we could get.

We’d jogged round the local park for charity one year and we’d clinked glasses in a posh London hotel the next, enjoying champagne with our afternoon tea. Once, we flew to New York so that we could take the lift to the top of the Empire State Building and think about Mum. (We were so high up that day, I felt I could almost reach her.)

One year, we even got permission to abseil down the side of a tower block in aid of the charity that meant the most to us. But that was when Loli was a little younger. Now that she was nearly seventy, our ‘special days’ tended to involve slightly more relaxing pursuits. To be fair, until very recently, Loli had shown no signs of slowing down at all. In fact, she complained jokingly that the second she’d reached retiral age, I’d started wrapping her in cotton wool (which I sort of had because she was so precious to me).

‘I might be your grandmother and approaching seventy, Lisa, but I could still jump out of a plane,’ she’d say to me with a pretend stern smile. ‘If I really wanted to.’

I’d smile and say in that case, I was very glad she didn’t seem to want to. My name was Annalise, and at school, my mates had shortened it to ‘Anna’. Mum had used my full name, but right from when I was little, Loli had always called me ‘Lisa’.

She’d always been active and in good health. So when doctors diagnosed kidney disease two years ago, it was a real blow to both of us and Loli had been forced to slow down.

We still made sure we did something uplifting together on Mum’s birthday, though. Even if it was a tamer event – chilling in a spa one year, and exploring a National Trust house the next. We both loved those big country houses, immersing ourselves in the rich history and imagining what it must have been like to live there, whether you were a lady or a kitchen maid. We always lingered longest in the kitchens, with their copper pans, extravagant pudding moulds and big iron kettles on the range. (We were big on the old traditional puddings, Loli and I. We’d even started up a business, selling our home-made offerings at the local farmers’ market.)

We’d shared so many amazing experiences – and every single one was something Mum would have loved, too.

This year, though, things were different. Loli had been taken dangerously ill at home a few weeks earlier and rushed to hospital, where she still was. She had only one kidney anyway, having donated the other one to Mum when she became ill, and now her remaining organ was giving up. Without a transplant, Loli’s future now looked scarily uncertain.

But as I dashed into the wedding boutique through the back door, for the third day in my new job, I was trying not to think about that. This job was important. I was determined to make it through the trial period. I was doing it for Loli...

We’d had summer thunderstorms and fierce downpours for the last few days, but today the sky was a calm clear blue and it looked like being the sort of warm, sunny day you’d expect in August. My rush to get in had certainly ramped up my internal temperature, I thought, as I threw off my pink hoodie, wafted my face with it, then hung it on a peg in the little entrance area. I glanced at my watch. I was ten minutes early for my 9am start, which was just as well because Marguerite Goldsworthy, my boss, seemed to value punctuality above all things. Hopefully, being early would get us off on the right foot today.

But when I straightened my skirt and nipped through to the shop, I could tell instantly from the pinched expression on Marguerite’s face that something was wrong.

My heart sank. It couldn’t be punctuality.

What else could I have done wrong?

‘Good morning, Annalise,’ said Marguerite icily.

‘Good morning, Mrs Goldsworthy.’ I produced a bright smile, although – ridiculously – I was slightly quaking inside. ‘Lovely day.’

‘Is it? I hadn’t noticed,’ she snapped. ‘You see, I’ve been busy since the second I stepped inside, sorting out the new stock which for some reason was on entirely the wrong rails.’

‘Ah.’ I sighed inwardly. ‘I’m sorry about that.’ We’d had a delivery the day before and I’d been given the task of unpacking the dresses and hanging them on the correct rails. But Marguerite had taken a phone call halfway through her convoluted explanation and clearly, I’d somehow got it wrong.

‘And don’t call me Mrs Goldsworthy. It’s Marguerite. Not Margaret. Marguer ite !’

I nodded. ‘Marguer ite .’

She gave me a suspicious look as if she thought I might be poking fun at her, which I absolutely wasn’t. ‘My ex used to call me Margaret when he wanted to annoy me but thankfully, I kicked him into the long grass a decade ago.’

I swallowed, not quite sure what to reply to this.

I hadn’t made the greatest of impressions since I’d started working there, although it definitely wasn’t for want of trying on my part. I knew all too well that Marguerite Goldsworthy was doing a favour for a relative in hiring me as an assistant. (Maya, who was married to Marguerite’s brother, was our lovely next-door neighbour and Marguerite’s sister-in-law.)

I’d known from the moment she glanced at my outfit that first day – black suit, plain white shirt, flat black pumps – that I’d missed the mark as far as style was concerned. Marguerite herself was very slim with shortish blonde hair, highlighted and blow-dried in flattering upward flicks, and she wore floaty ‘labels’ in summery colours to perfection. And to be fair, she looked great and nowhere near fifty-five. But for the past year, I’d been at home looking after Loli, and with money so tight, I’d got used to living in the same old sweatpants and tops. I’d used a credit card to buy the suit and shirt from a popular (and value-for-money) chain store.

I had a feeling my new boss and I would never see eye to eye. About anything. But I really needed this job. With Loli in hospital now – and for the foreseeable future – I’d had to give up our regular weekly pitch at the farmers’ market, where we’d sold our puddings, and now I really needed to find work. When Maya next door had mentioned that her sister-in-law was looking for an assistant and that she’d be delighted to recommend me to her, I’d been over the moon.

I had no experience of working in a wedding boutique but I’d been a weekend sales assistant in a dress shop during my first year studying catering and hotel management, and I’d kept it up for a while after Loli was first taken ill.

Eventually, though, when it became clear that Loli needed me at home all the time, I’d been forced to drop out of college and give up my weekend work as well, although I’d carried on making the puddings at home for our little weekly market stall, and Loli had helped as much as she could. But I’d even had to stop doing that now, though. Without Loli at home to encourage me, I’d lost my enthusiasm for it. I needed to find myself a ‘proper job’.

I’d hoped that my glowing reference from my former employer at the dress shop would help me land the wedding boutique job. And it had! I couldn’t believe it when I found out I’d been successful. I made one of Loli’s favourite puddings – a lemon meringue pie – and took it into the hospital so we could enjoy it together. She’d been saying she couldn’t eat... she didn’t have the appetite... but she managed a good few bites of that dessert as I watched with relief.

Eyes sparkling with affection, Loli had held up her cup of water and toasted me. ‘To your new career in retail management!’

My triumph at landing the job had been short-lived, however, when on the first morning, Marguerite let me know that I’d been the one and only candidate, and that if it hadn’t been for her owing her sister-in-law a favour, I wouldn’t have got the job at all. She didn’t say it in so many words but it was definitely implied by her tone of voice and sour face.

Which of course did wonders for my confidence.

Not.

It went downhill fairly speedily from there.

On that same day, I was taken to task for spending too long with a customer (‘Time is money, Annalise!’). The client was lovely but she was finding it hard to make up her mind between two dresses, and I’d suggested she try both on for a second time, but I could see Marguerite in the background looking pointedly at her watch, and that’s when I realised it was almost time for the next bride-to-be to arrive for her appointment. But short of telling the client, ‘Sorry but your time’s up. You need to make a decision,’ there wasn’t anything I could do. So Marguerite had to forego part of her lunchbreak to see to the next client, which I could tell completely ruined her day.

Then the day before, I’d been tasked with the responsibility of opening up the shop in the morning. I’d gone straight to the door and after a little jiggling of the key, we were open for business. Pleased I’d managed to get something done right, I turned with a smile. Marguerite was just coming through from the back and seeing me with the key in my hand, her face fell.

‘What time is it, Annalise?’ she barked.

‘Erm... oh. Three minutes to nine,’ I said, checking my watch – and realising with a sinking heart my mistake.

‘We open at nine ,’ she snapped. ‘Not a minute to nine. Not a minute past nine. And certainly not three minutes to nine! ’

‘Right. Well, shall I...?’ I turned back to the door, feeling like I’d just had a dressing down from the teacher for talking in class.

‘Don’t be ridiculous! By the time you lock it, it’ll be time to open up.’ And with a frustrated shake of her head, she whisked back out again.

That morning, I was determined to get it right.

As I whisked non-existent dust from a shelf containing elaborate tiaras, I couldn’t believe how nervous I felt watching the time. It was like I was in some sort of game show with a big prize at stake. One wrong answer and I’d be eliminated. Probably through a trapdoor in the floor!

Marguerite was frowning over her laptop in the back room, as usual.

I glanced at my watch. One minute to nine. By the time I jiggled the key in the lock, it would be time to open up.

I’d make sure I was bang on nine this time!

When I pulled open the door, two young women were waiting outside.

‘Hi! Can we just look around?’ asked the one with a gleaming chestnut ponytail.

‘We haven’t got an appointment,’ added the blonde girl.

‘That’s absolutely fine. Come in.’ I ushered them through the door with a smile. ‘Is one of you getting married? Or both, perhaps?’

‘Me!’ beamed the ponytail girl. ‘I’m Maddy and this is Ellie.’ She grinned and grabbed her friend’s hand, showing me the rings. ‘This one’s already dropped anchor.’

The blonde girl called Ellie laughed. ‘You make it sound as if I’m adrift in the middle of the ocean.’

‘Better than being up a certain creek without a paddle.’

‘True.’

‘And as long as Zak and Maisie are also on-board ship, you’ve got nothing to complain about, have you?’

‘Also true.’

I smiled at them, enjoying their banter. ‘Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee? We have champagne? Or orange juice?’

‘Juice, I think,’ said Ellie.

‘Or maybe a Bucks Fizz?’ suggested Maddy.

Ellie laughed. ‘It’s a bit early, but okay. Just a splash of champagne in mine, please. I don’t want to be falling asleep over the coffee machine.’

‘Bucks Fizz it is! No problem. Have a look around and I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘What the hell are you doing ?’ hissed Marguerite as I walked into the back room.