Chapter 16
GOLDENWYCH, PRESENT DAY
The Hill Fort Café was positioned at one end of a small row of shops on the narrow road leading to the church.
Its terrace overlooked the village green and to one side was a small car park.
As Caitlin cleared one of the outdoor tables, she thought about Stan.
When he had first moved to the village, his daily run had taken him past the café.
He would flash by in a blur of black Lycra but would pause on his return, buying a coffee to take back to the vicarage that stood beside the church.
It was how we met, thought Caitlin, as she wiped away the final crumbs and threw them over the small wooden balcony for the birds.
His gentle flirting, his nervous enquiry if she would like to have a drink one evening and her acceptance.
When he had bought her a gin and tonic, she had never imagined it would lead to marriage.
Engagement, she corrected herself. We aren’t married yet.
The rush of panic she always experienced at the thought of the following year’s spring wedding overwhelmed her once again. She pushed the emotion aside, convincing herself it was because she was tired and stressed over the huge family row that had erupted at her father’s house two weeks earlier.
No one can hold grudges with such determination as my family, she thought as she turned to go inside.
After her father’s revelation, Gillian and Rachel had stormed out, followed by their spouses, Stan had vanished, claiming a problem with a nearby parishioner, leaving Caitlin, Lee, George and Heather to clear away the food and try to reason with Larry. Her father had been unrepentant.
‘This show will be a triumph,’ he had declared as Heather had packed away the unsigned documents and closed her attaché case. ‘The girls will soon come around to the idea and they’ll understand.’
‘Dad, you have to stop this,’ Caitlin had insisted, but Larry had shaken his head.
‘It’s time you girls realised I’m head of this family and my word is law,’ he had responded.
‘Larry, it isn’t,’ George had said. ‘The girls are adults, you have no authority to force them to do anything.’
‘Watch me,’ he had snarled in response before asking Lee to help him up the stairs because he was tired.
Caitlin had cleared away the food, appalled by her father’s behaviour, trying to make sense of his baffling demands that the family perform in his new play.
She stacked the dishwasher, leaving the two Doctors Glossop to attend to Larry before loading her car and driving away.
She had not spoken to or heard from her father since.
‘Morning, love, your dad’s looking better, isn’t he?’ said a woman’s voice, interrupting her thoughts.
‘Hello, Annie,’ said Caitlin, leaning forward to accept the woman’s kiss on her cheek. ‘Yes, he’s recovering well and very relieved to be home.’
‘He was on top form last night, we couldn’t stop laughing at his antics,’ said Annie.
‘Last night?’ queried Caitlin.
‘At his place, a top-secret meeting about the new show.’ She made a locking motion over her mouth. ‘Don’t ask because my lips are sealed but it’s going to be spectacular. Is this table free?’
She pointed to the place Caitlin had finished clearing.
‘All ready for you,’ Caitlin said, pulling out a chair. ‘Would you like to order or wait for Barbara?’
‘I’ll wait,’ Annie replied. ‘We’ve a huge amount to finalise before the announcement tonight. We’ll need another seat, Daphne will be with us today.’
Caitlin forced a smile and fitted a chair into the corner by the balcony before walking back inside, wondering what ‘antics’ her father had demonstrated to his cohorts.
Annie Jefferson and Barbara Orchard were two of her parents’ oldest friends.
They had all grown up in Goldenwych and were founder members of the Goldenwych Players.
Annie’s husband, Paul, had died three years earlier from cancer.
Barbara’s husband, Linus, was foreman at King’s Ball Bearings Factory and was also a member of the Players.
Every Friday, Annie and Barbara met for breakfast at the Hill Fort Café.
On occasions, Daphne Hawthorne joined them.
Caitlin had never warmed to Daphne, who had moved to the village ten years earlier when her husband had retired from his job in the City.
His death shortly afterwards had been a surprise but her husband’s will had left her a wealthy widow and Daphne had decided to remain in Goldenwych.
She had joined the Players as soon as she had moved to the village and had thrown herself into every production, even if her skills were not quite as good as she believed.
Her delivery of the line, ‘What’s that on the road?
A head?’ rather than ‘What’s that on the road ahead?
’ had gone down in King family folklore.
When the three women met, the conversations ranged from local gossip to family updates and, without fail, a discussion about the Players, whether it was the current rehearsals or more specific chat about particular members.
On the days Daphne Hawthorne joined them, the comments were even more caustic.
Caitlin and Sindy had long learned to turn a deaf ear as the women’s whispered confidences to each other were not always kind.
* * *
Inside, the café was suffused with the usual heady aroma of coffee and chocolate cake, but the base note permeating all these was the deep scent of the herbs her mother had used to make the herbal teas. It was a scent that lifted Caitlin’s spirits, no matter her mood.
Caitlin always found comfort and peace at the Hill Fort Café and today was no exception.
As children, Caitlin and her sisters would hurry to the café’s warm and inviting interior after school to join their mother.
When the weather was cold, Caitlin had loved doing her homework on one of the tables near the fire, while in warmer months she had sat on the small terrace overlooking the village green.
For her, the café was an extension of her mother and their home.
When she had inherited it, Caitlin had considered long and hard whether to make any changes.
She did not want the café to become a shrine to her mother, so she decided to make enough alterations to show her own taste but to keep the pieces she knew her mother had always loved.
This included an old oak sideboard that was used to display the home-made cakes baked to Miranda King’s secret recipes and the counter: an expanse of wood that had once been a table.
On the walls, Caitlin had commissioned a local artist, Ella Kerr, to update the images of herbs and wildflowers and had written the explanations of their use beside the delicate pictures.
She had also shown photographs of the carvings from the stone circle to Ella and she had included these in the images.
The window seat was new, but the mismatched wooden tables and chairs which her mother had adored remained.
Caitlin had repositioned the tables at careful angles in order to give distance from other diners and had decorated them with Celtic patterns, including the triskele.
In one corner, she had added a bookcase, where there was a regular exchange of second-hand books, while on top were daily and local newspapers alongside leaflets of what to do in the area.
The fireplace was now flanked by two worn leather armchairs and a two-seater sofa, rather than the two small tables her mother had preferred.
Caitlin felt the easy chairs gave a homely feel.
The café was quiet; the early-morning rush of people grabbing coffees on their way to the station for their commute to work and the parents on their way to and from the village school were a distant memory.
The lull in customers was a chance for Caitlin and Sindy to restock, clear the tables and prepare for the mid-morning coffee and cake brigade, as well as the brunchers and early lunchers.
‘Hello, lovely girl,’ said Barbara Orchard as she bustled inside. ‘I thought it would be easier for me to bring our order to you.’
‘Thank you, that’s kind. Your usual?’ said Caitlin before reeling off, ‘two egg sandwiches, one on white, one on brown, a pot of breakfast tea and two slices of lemon drizzle.’
‘You know us too well,’ said Barbara with a smile. ‘Daphne’s asked for smashed avocado on wholewheat toast and a slice of carrot cake. I also wanted to check everything was going smoothly for the food this evening; we’re expecting a large turnout.’
‘All sorted, Barbara,’ called Sindy from behind the counter. ‘I’m baking the last batches of brownies now. Everything will be ready for Caitlin to take to the theatre by 5 p.m.’
‘You girls are wonderful,’ Barbara said. ‘Will you and Rosie be joining your mum there tonight, Sindy?’
‘Yes, Rosie is determined to take part this year, but I’ll either be backstage with Caitlin or in the audience,’ she replied.
‘It’s a shame. You have a wonderful singing voice; we really miss you,’ said Barbara.
Barbara smiled and returned to Annie, who had pulled a folder from her bag, and Daphne, who was settling into her seat. Annie opened the folder and the three women were immediately absorbed in conversation.
Sindy stood behind the counter, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, her dark roots showing several months of growth, already slicing the cake in preparation.
‘Are they having their usual?’ Sindy asked as Caitlin placed the dirty plates she was carrying in the dishwasher.
‘Yes, egg sandwiches and smashed avo on wholewheat toast with carrot cake.’
‘Daphne didn’t ask for fresh blood then?’ said Sindy with an exaggerated shudder.
Caitlin laughed. ‘She’s not that bad.’
‘Caity, she’s a self-satisfied nightmare,’ retorted Sindy. ‘Mum said that the word in the hairdresser’s is that Daphne is having a clandestine fling with a younger man.’
‘Poor bloke,’ said Caitlin. ‘Want me to cook their order?’