Chapter 16
‘Did you see the video this morning?’ I hear one of the schoolgirls I recognize from the café call to her friends, as I park the Land Rover, which has limped its way to the town this lunchtime. I pull on the handbrake and put it into first gear just in case.
‘Yes, she’s great!’
‘Does anyone know who she is yet?’
I find myself smiling in the front seat.
‘Really went to town on the supermarkets and hotels this morning. Telling people why they should shop local!’
‘People are calling her the Stand Up to Big Business Shepherdess!’
‘I’d love to meet her!’
I smile again, watching the girls ambling towards the café.
‘Perhaps Beti’s should start listening to her and get local stuff instead of the disgusting burgers and pizzas we have to buy there,’ says another.
‘Speak for yourself. I’m not changing the way I eat,’ says the girl I recognized.
‘Farming is for losers. Who wants to spend their day in the rain with animals? Doesn’t matter where food comes from.
As long as it’s cheap, my family’s happy.
We can’t afford all that high-welfare stuff. My mum’s got seven of us to feed.’
And my happy bubble pops. I don’t know how this will ever change now.
The sun is trying to come out. It’s wintry and there’s very little Christmas cheer about the high street.
But at least a crowd is waiting to get into Beti’s, which is great.
I must bring Dad tomorrow, I think. This will be good for him.
He’d love a visit to the café, see some people.
I’m pleased with the idea: things are getting better; he’s on the mend.
I pull up the hood on my coat and look at the front of the café. Clearly burgers and pizza are in demand today, I think sadly. Or maybe word’s got out about Mae’s jacket potatoes and they’re queuing to order them. Maybe Beti’s son let her put them on the menu after his visit.
I stand back and watch, wondering if it’s going to be a long wait for a cup of tea.
I could just go home. But this place has become part of my daily routine.
A connection to people that helps when I’ve been outside in the cold and wet all morning.
Contact with others has been my daily treat.
I’m wondering if things are moving but the crowd isn’t getting any smaller.
In fact, as I look closer, the group of people around the door seems to be growing as passers-by stop and stare.
An argument is going on outside the front door.
I’m hoping it isn’t about Beti’s son having found out about Mae’s jacket potatoes and she’s in trouble.
It’s not like she wasn’t charging people for them and putting the money through the till as the daily special.
He should be grateful for her ingenuity.
She’s been keeping this place going. Or perhaps she’s been giving too many people leeway and running tabs for them.
Maybe Owen wasn’t the only one with an account to settle. I should check that Mae’s okay.
Owen’s truck pulls up in front of the Land Rover. ‘What’s going on?’ he says, as he gets out and stands beside me. Now I can see Mae with a man in a suit.
‘Not sure, but looks like trouble,’ I say, and walk towards her, not bothering to lock the Land Rover.
Owen’s beside me and we quicken our pace towards Mae and the gathered crowd, where a heated debate is going on.
‘No! No!’ Mae is saying firmly. ‘You can’t do this!’
I look on from behind the interested schoolgirls and Owen, who seems to want to help but is apparently unsure of what to do.
‘Mae? What’s going on?’ I call.
‘What’s happening?’ Evie appears beside me, her knitting bag on her shoulder. ‘Is anyone hurt?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I tell her.
Mae spots us. ‘They’re shutting the café down!’ she calls. ‘From today!’ She points to a sign Sellotaped to the front door, beside the closed sign in front of the drawn-down blinds.
‘What?’ We nudge our way through the crowd.
‘That’s why Beti’s son came yesterday. He told me he’d lock up – he didn’t tell me he was closing down.’
‘Sorry, excuse me,’ I say, pushing my way through.
‘I’m sorry. It’s just how it is. The café has been sold,’ says a young man in a suit and a smart woollen coat, the sort you wear for best or funerals. The sort Matthew wears whenever we go out.
‘It’s been sold. By Beti’s son!’ Mae shouts to me, clearly furious.
The young man in the suit and big woollen coat pulls up his collar, uncomfortable with all the attention on him.
‘By the previous owner’s son, that’s right,’ he says steadily.
‘But I’m owed wages!’ Mae shouts.
‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak to him,’ the young man says.
‘I need that money! I have a coat to buy, a school trip … and what about Christmas?’
I can’t stand by and do nothing. I step forward. ‘Hang on, you can’t just shut it down with no notice.’
He turns to me, shoulders up against the cold. His eyes narrow: he’s clearly seeing me as another complication in his day. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just doing what I was sent here to do. Everyone who works here is on zero-hours contracts.’
‘Because we need the work!’ Mae shouts. ‘I have to make a living!’
For a moment, he’s like a rabbit caught in the headlights. He gives a little cough and pulls himself up taller.
‘And it’s nearly Christmas!’ someone calls from the group.
‘Yeah!’ shouts another.
‘Boo!’
‘Shame on you!’ yells a voice from the back of the crowd. It’s Myfanwy, who’s come out of the hairdresser in her foils, with a towel wrapped around her shoulders, to see what all the fuss is about.
Twm Bach joins her and steps towards Mae, the group standing aside to let him through. The chatty group goes quiet. Twm looks at the café window, and then at Mae, shivering in her worn, thin coat. ‘So, it’s not opening today, then,’ he says.
‘Not today,’ says Mae. ‘Sorry, Twm.’ She glares at the man in front of her. ‘There are new owners. They want to redecorate. Put their stamp on the place.’
Twm shakes his head and turns to walk away. I watch him go up the high street, past the closed shops and To Let signs, the scaffolding with the promise of work to be done that never happens, and I wonder where he’ll eat that day.
‘That’s the only café, unless you go to the out-of-town place!’ shouts the young hairdresser, with blue and pink stripes in her hair.
The young man turns to us and holds up his hands. ‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.’
Someone else is standing next to me. It’s Llew Griffiths. My hackles rise. ‘I suppose you think it’s the right thing!’
‘No,’ I hear him say. His voice makes my nerve endings stand to attention. ‘We all need to eat. They could have given notice,’ he says, and I soften just a bit.
‘Yes, it’s not fair. Zero hours or not, you should have given notice! It’s no way to treat people,’ I call, and move closer to the door, where I can now read the ‘Closed with Immediate Effect’ notice more clearly.
I stand beside Mae.
‘So, you’ve been sent by the company, have you?
’ I say, feeling as if I’m looking at myself in the mirror.
Sent in to close down the old place and make it the same as all the others they’ve bought.
I’ve been ironing out any individuality from hotels.
It’s why they want me to go to the States.
I’ll make another for the chain, where the reputation matters but the source of the restaurant’s food doesn’t.
I’m suddenly angry that I’ve been a part of this.
Destroying lives, businesses and communities so that I could work my way up the hospitality ladder.
For what? ‘Going to be another Starbucks or Costa, is it?’
‘Actually, I like Starbucks,’ says one of the schoolgirls.
‘And me,’ says another.
‘Brilliant!’ says a third.
I frown. ‘Not brilliant!’ I say, then turn back to the man, a younger version of me.
‘The older generation won’t come to Starbucks or Costa.
Not least because it’s too expensive! And it’s faceless!
’ I’m on a roll, with nothing to lose. ‘Mae and her jacket potatoes are holding this community together right now, what’s left of it.
Not least my father, who earns a small amount of money from growing the potatoes.
Enough to help him keep going with the veg he also produces. ’
He frowns. ‘Her what?’
Mae gives me a look.
‘Nothing,’ I say quickly, but suddenly I love Mae and her rebellious streak. The man goes to step around her: she’s standing in front of the door.
‘Wait!’ Mae doesn’t move, but puts an arm across the door. ‘What am I supposed to do? How will I afford Christmas for my kids now?’
‘Please, I’m sorry. I’m just doing my job. Move out of the way of the door. I need to get to it to lock up. Let’s not make this any more of a fuss than it needs to be.’ He stretches out a hand in front of me.
Suddenly Mae explodes. ‘There needs to be a fuss!’ she shouts, and shoots a look at me. I glance at Evie. I have a feeling that things are about to escalate and I’m here for Mae, as are Evie and Owen.
‘You’re not shutting down the café! We need it! I need it! These people need it!’ shouts Mae. She lunges forward and grabs the keys from the man’s hand.
‘Hey!’ he yells.
Mae tosses them to Evie. The young man turns towards her, completely at a loss, and puts out his hand.
‘Come on now,’ he says, as if he’s in charge of herding a pack of cats and has no idea where to start.
‘Let’s not make this into a bigger drama than it needs to be.
’ He sounds like he’s trying to stay in charge but there’s a wobble in his voice.
Mae dodges round him and opens the café door. The young man walks towards Evie. The schoolgirls cheer.
‘To me, to me!’ they shout, as they would in a school netball team.
Evie tosses the keys to me and runs forward towards the door.
The man makes a strange lunge while I run the other way around him to dart in through the open door.
It’s just ajar with Mae behind it. I squeeze through and thrust the keys into her hands.
She grapples with them, and he goes to pull the door handle.
She drops the keys with a clatter. The young man looks down as does Mae.
‘Quick!’ Evie and I squeal.
She scoops them up from the floor and I feel like one of the girls outside.
I was never really in trouble, but I do remember the thrill of risk-taking, riding the horses with no bridles around the field, hoping not to be the first to fall, being young and alive and willing to take risks.
Not a management professional about to embark on her fortieth year on the planet.
Somehow, it feels thrilling and exhilarating as the keys tumble into her hands just as the new owner’s representative is pulling open the door.
Suddenly it slams shut and I hear a familiar voice say, ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.
Thought I was helping, that the door opened the other way. ’
I look at Llew Griffiths in complete surprise. We hold each other’s gaze just for a moment, while I hear the clunk of the lock as Mae secures the door from the inside. The thrill I feel as I stare at Llew Griffiths leaves me a little breathless.
‘Bolts,’ Mae commands, and I’m catapulted out of the bubble from which I’m staring at a man I find attractive but want nothing to do with. Or do I?
I reach for the top bolt. Evie bobs down and pulls across the bottom one.
We straighten. The door is bolted and locked, with us inside.
‘You’re not closing this building today!’ shouts Mae, at the shocked young man.
Llew puts a hand on his shoulder and pats it. ‘Sorry, mate. Like I say, I thought I was helping there.’
‘Thanks anyway,’ he says, baffled and beaten.
For a moment, I feel sorry for him. Like the rest of us, he’s just trying to make a living.
He produces his phone. ‘Looks like I’m going to have to tell the office what’s going on,’ he says to Llew, then, into the phone, ‘Hi, it’s Josh.
Can you put me through to Acquisitions?’ He waits.
‘Hi, yeah, about the new place, Beti’s Café.
We’ve got a problem. We’re going to have to come back another day. ’
Llew is walking away, but turns suddenly and looks back at me. I feel myself shiver as he gives the slightest nod and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. I want to thank him, but don’t, before he walks away. Did he do that on purpose or was it a genuine mistake?
Josh, the management man, walks back to his car, which opens up with a blink-blink of lights.
He slides into the driver’s seat, starts the engine and drives off.
The crowd outside starts to chatter, laugh and move off in different directions.
A strange quiet falls over the place but I swear I can hear the adrenaline thundering around my veins as I watch Llew Griffiths go.
My world has turned upside down since he arrived in it and I’m not sure if I like or hate it.
Mae, Evie and I turn to each other and say at the same time: ‘Now what?’