Chapter 15 #2
‘So that’s why you repainted it,’ Lettie says. ‘We were wondering what that was all about, but no one seemed to know.’
‘What a lovely name. It’s a real little ray of sunshine,’ Madge says as Wilma peers over the top of her glasses, and I get the feeling that whenever the council send out that environmental health officer, he won’t be half as thorough as she is.
I’d already told them what I was planning, out of courtesy mainly, because Lettie sells cakes in her shop and I didn’t want to upset anyone, but they’ve all been fully supportive, and Madge has wanted to know all my recipes so she can direct me to the best ingredients.
‘Half the village is talking about it,’ Lettie says. ‘And Reece told us all about your lemon meringue pie. I think he prefers it over the Yorkshire curd tarts I buy in.’
Now that is high praise indeed. From the back window, I can see him making his way down the steps. I didn’t realise I was smiling until Madge reaches up through the campervan window and pats my cheek with a knowing look on her face.
‘We thought we’d better come and conduct our own inspection,’ Wilma says with a seriousness that’s probably meant to sound like a joke, but doesn’t. ‘We can’t have substandard food and drink in Thimblenouth.’
‘What can I get you?’ I ask, and then quickly add, ‘And it’s on the house for you three. Well, on the campervan. A thank you for making me feel so welcome.’
Lettie goes to protest but Wilma quickly thanks me, and they order three cups of tea and one each of my three available bakes, and go to sit down at one of the pub tables with an air of esteemed judges at a baking competition.
‘Sponge texture is excellent,’ Lettie announces after her first bite of chocolate fudge cake, speaking loudly enough for everyone within a ten-mile radius to hear. ‘Nice and moist. Not too heavy.’
‘I haven’t had a coffee kiss like this in decades,’ Madge says. ‘The flavour is well-balanced and the buttercream is perfect.’
They’re taking it so seriously that I think they might actually have judged baking competitions in the past.
Wilma’s got the lemon meringue pie, and it feels like the most crucial test of all.
Reece has come to the window and is standing outside for moral support.
I can see she’s expecting the worst, but even her severe look softens when she tries a forkful.
‘Oh, that really is good. I can’t think of a single bad thing to say about it. ’
Silently, Reece’s hand comes through the window to offer me a fist bump.
‘You’ll do very well here, dear. This is exactly what we needed.’ It feels like extra approval seeing as it’s Wilma who makes the declaration, but then she adds, ‘Not as good as the pub was back in the day, mind, but better than nothing.’
Reece chooses that moment to make himself scarce and finds something absolutely vital to check on in the empty skip.
‘The heart of our community, that was.’ Madge looks up the hill towards the pub, taking in the scaffolding and general state of the building.
‘Now look at it. All boarded-up and half-demolished. That awful millionaire-type doesn’t know what he’s destroyed.
Taking our quiz nights away from us… he might as well have ripped our hearts right out of our chests! ’
I glance towards Reece, who’s tactfully moved out of earshot, but I can see from the set of his shoulders that he’s heard every word, and his subdued posture suggests their comments are hitting harder than he lets on.
I file it away alongside all the cryptic things he’s said, slowly building a picture of what I think is really going on.
They stay for another half an hour, coming back for multiple tea refills and holding court at the outdoor seating area, effectively providing the best advertising by announcing the excellence of everything I serve to everyone who walks past. By the time they leave, promising to spread the word to everyone they know, I’m glowing with pride.
The end of the afternoon brings a steady stream of walkers, all surprised to find tea and cake available in such a remote place.
I chat with people about their walks. Some are locals who have heard about the Marzipan Campervan and come to see what’s happening, others are tourists, visiting before it gets really busy in the height of summer, and each interaction feels like a gift.
I’d imagined the things I’d bake at The Nostalgia Café, but I’d never imagined the people I’d bake them for, and it makes such a difference.
By five o’clock, I’m exhausted but exhilarated.
I’ve been on my feet all day. I’ve only eaten lunch because Reece brought me a sandwich.
Every slice of cake, pie and each coffee kiss was sold out an hour ago, and I’m already planning my menu for tomorrow.
It’s a freedom I’d never dreamed of. It’s up to me.
It’s all up to me. After years of depending on everyone but myself, drifting along with other people’s plans, I’ve created something that belongs to me alone…
in something that doesn’t belong to me at all.