Chapter 2 #3
All those gorgeous clothes she’d collected over the years, running events and hanging off Henry’s arm, they weren’t going to be much use down here, thought Eliza.
Maybe she needed to do a quick ‘shit, I’ve moved to the country’ shop.
Maybe Net-a-Porter had a section for weekenders.
If not, maybe she should start one. Strictly speaking, being completely broke, deeply in credit card debt, and unemployed, meant she should probably put a new online shop on hold.
But on the other hand, she believed it was very important to keep up appearances.
And there was nothing more cheering than an overindulgent delivery arriving at your door.
When they all finally made it across to the barn door with their shoes pristine, she noticed there was no ramshackle queue or grumbling crowd like there was in London. Just a gorgeous young girl behind the counter who greeted them with a smile so big it would have warmed the coldest heart.
‘Morning, ladies, welcome to Stanley’s! What can I get you?’ she chimed
‘Hi!’ Eliza practically vibrated with excitement. ‘So nice to meet you! Where can we see what’s available? Or is it just a filter coffee . . . ?’
‘Well, we have a chalkboard right here with all of today’s coffees.’ The barista gestured above her head. ‘Today’s special is the Ethiopian blend – smooth, fruity and it has a perfect kick to it that could wake the dead.’
Eliza grinned. Could this be real? ‘Wow, this all seems so surreal. I just moved here, braced for gritty filter coffee, and instead I’ve waltzed into a rural paradise that serves Ethiopian beans? Who knew the countryside held such sorcery!’
‘Sorry,’ interrupted Agatha, ‘my sister is one of those weird city folk, who thinks that stepping out of London means Wi-Fi is a myth and baristas are extinct.’ She rolled her eyes for added effect.
‘I apologise for her. We’ll take one of your delicious Ethiopian flat whites each.
Mum will have an Americano. And throw in two of those delectable-looking cinnamon buns and a croissant, before my sister asks you for poached eggs and halloumi with the yolk on the side. ’
‘I take offence to all of that,’ said Eliza with mock horror.
‘Well, I’m delighted to be getting some of that delicious-looking bun,’ said their mother. ‘Although I couldn’t possibly eat more than half.’
The sisters caught each other’s eye, smiling, as their mother had been saying this since the day they were born. She would undoubtedly wrap the other half of her bun in a napkin and take it home for Dad.
As the barista got to work, Eliza took another look around.
Now she was less giddy she could see this wasn’t just a quick decorating job for a bit of extra cash.
Someone had taken the time to make this place special.
They had kept the original bones of the place, but made it feel homely and somehow cool with eclectic rugs on the floor, subtle lighting, sheepskins on the seats, and exactly as she’d imagined it, fairy lights lining the large double-door entrance – it was magical.
There was country music playing quietly in the background, and a few strategically placed vintage film posters on the walls.
When their coffees were ready, Eliza asked the barista, ‘Sorry to be nosy, but could you tell me, who owns this place?’
‘It’s owned by the Stanley family, but this café is the brainchild of their son Luke. He’s transforming country weekends one latte at a time – it seems like the rural folk were ready for an injection of ethically sourced caffeine and fun.’
‘So I see! Well, it’s been lovely to meet you, and no doubt you’ll soon be sick of the sight of me,’ chirped Eliza, as she headed towards a table in the corner with her mum and Agatha.
She turned back and whispered to the girl when they were out of earshot, ‘And just to check, do you actually have Wi-Fi here?’
The girl smiled. ‘Indeed we do.’
‘Well, this is a turn-up for the books.’ Eliza grinned as she sat down.
‘I feel like this could become my spiritual home, my place of healing. And the owner is obviously a lover of film and music – just look at all the posters on the wall. I wonder if they do gigs? Or host film nights? This, right here, could be my future . . .’
Just then two old farmers bustled into the barn in their dungarees, chatting away about climate change and the impact it was having on the farming community, whilst agreeing the Ethiopian coffee really was quite something.
Eliza noticed there was a real mix of customers, and she thought that this Luke guy must know what he was doing.
She felt her mind starting to tick over, her event planning autopilot kicking in.
As she took a sip of the most delicious flat white she’d had in years, she wondered whether there might be more to Farmington than met the eye.
‘So, what do you think of your new home then?’ asked Agatha, tearing off a piece of her cinnamon bun with surgical precision.
‘Well, I have to admit, it’s not quite what I was expecting,’ Eliza said, looking around the bustling café. ‘I thought I’d be drinking instant coffee from a chipped mug while staring at sheep for three months. This is actually rather civilised.’
‘Don’t get too carried away, darling,’ Margaret interjected, delicately sipping her Americano. ‘You’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. Give it a week and you’ll be climbing the walls with boredom.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mum.’ Eliza rolled her eyes. Despite her mother’s pessimism, she felt a flutter of genuine excitement about the possibilities here.
Eliza took another sip of her coffee, watching the eclectic mix of customers mill around them. ‘I have to admit, this place is giving me ideas. Maybe I could do something really great here!’
‘Oh no,’ her mother said, raising an eyebrow. ‘I know that look. That’s your “I’m about to do something impulsive” face.’
‘Maybe not impulsive, maybe entrepreneurial,’ Eliza protested. ‘Look at this place, Mum. Someone’s created something really special here. And if they can do it with coffee, imagine what else might be possible.’
‘Right, Eliza, now we’ve established you’ve landed in some sort of rural utopia, let’s talk about what you’re actually going to do with yourself for the next three months.’
Eliza nearly choked on her flat white. ‘Mum, I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. Can’t I have at least a week to settle in before you start planning my entire future?’
‘The next three months is not your entire future, darling; you’re thirty-eight years old and unemployed. Time is rather of the essence, don’t you think?’ Margaret’s voice carried that particular blend of concern and exasperation that only mothers could perfect.
Agatha shot Eliza a sympathetic look over her cinnamon bun and grabbed her hand.
‘What Mum means is that we’re worried about you rattling around on your own in that cottage with nothing to do.
But more to the point, tell us how it went with Henry yesterday.
Are you OK? I wish you’d let one of us help you move out at the very least. You can be such a stubborn cow. ’
‘I just didn’t want a scene,’ said Eliza, which obviously was a huge understatement.
She hadn’t thought she could get through the whole packing and leaving thing if any of her family had been there, and even now her sister’s concern was making her misty-eyed.
What if she’d cried and broken down in front of Henry? The horror!
She gently extracted her hand, pretending she was reaching for her own bun. ‘Look, with all of you around tutting and gawping it would just have made it more of a thing. And I know how you all feel about Henry, so I thought it was better I just made a swift exit.’
‘Well, we all hate Henry now, that’s for sure,’ said Agatha.
Eliza shook her head. ‘No, you’ve both always hated Henry. You thought he was a stuck-up prick. I know, I’m not blind.’
‘Well, that’s quite extreme, but yes, I think we all felt that maybe you could have found someone more suited to you, that’s all.
Without such a tight, you know, pompous bottom,’ said her mother.
Agatha’s mouth quirked into a childish smile, but Eliza wasn’t finding it funny . . . or at least not right now.
‘What exactly is a pompous bottom, Mum?’
Agatha jumped in saying, ‘One that is a little too round and sticks out with purpose, you know, not one you want to grab. Not an attractive bottom, like say, Brad Pitt’s .
. .’ She trailed off looking wistful, before snapping back to the moment at hand.
‘Look, Eliza, arses aside, Henry was obviously never going to commit to you, and honestly? I don’t think he really made you that happy!
I know you enjoyed the high life with him, but other than that it all seemed pretty empty to me. Did he ever actually make you laugh?’
‘Sometimes . . .’ murmured Eliza, as she considered the question.
But she wasn’t sure that was entirely true, and they all knew it.
Henry’s idea of humour had mostly involved mocking other people’s wine choices or making snide comments about their friends.
When was the last time she’d actually laughed with him rather than at him?
‘All right, fine,’ Eliza conceded, absently stirring her coffee.
‘Maybe you both have a point about Henry. But that doesn’t make this whole situation any less humiliating.
That he was busy shagging his assistant while I was planning our future. ’
‘His loss,’ Agatha said firmly. ‘And honestly? Good riddance. Now you can actually find someone who deserves you.’
‘In Farmington?’ Eliza gestured around the café. ‘I mean, this place is lovely, but let’s be realistic about the dating prospects.’
Margaret leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a stage whisper that several nearby customers could undoubtedly hear. ‘What about that handsome Dan? He must have friends.’