Time to Rise (TV 24 #1)

1

Nora’s best friend had the worst poker face in Sm?land. Which was why Nora was worried when Bea looked her straight in the eye without so much as a twitch at the corner of her mouth after Nora asked her to repeat what she had just said.

“It’s true.” Bea was clearly excited.

“But ... hold on a minute.” Nora wiped her floury hands on a red-and-white-checked dishcloth and took a deep breath. “You’re telling me a TV team is coming here? To my patisserie?” She gazed at her friend skeptically before realizing that this wasn’t a cruel joke.

Bea’s expression grew serious. She leaned against the baking table behind her, put her hands on her hips, and looked Nora in the eye. “You know that Nymans needs some fresh energy—to help you get out of this mess.” She waved a hand around as if to underscore her point. “And they want to meet with you to go over the logistics.” Bea shrugged, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Brushing over the fact that she had applied for Nora to take part in a national TV show—without her friend’s knowledge.

Nora loathed Let’s Get Baking . Though she’d never actually watched it, the trailer was enough for her: an egocentric celebrity baker traveled around the country to shake up struggling bakeries and specialist cake shops known as patisseries. But Nymans—the oldest and most renowned patisserie in V?stervik—didn’t need shaking up. Nora’s establishment was a classic. A landmark. An institution. Way too good for some dumb reality show.

“I just don’t understand why Henrik Eklund would want anything to do with Nymans. Our customers like the place the way it is, and so do I. It hasn’t changed since Grandma took over, and that’s how it’s going to stay.” She looked defiantly at Bea.

“Your grandma took over in the sixties. Don’t you think it might be time for a change?”

Nora shook her head, though the same thought had occurred to her on more than one occasion. She was losing customers and knew she ought to do something, but she never had the time or the money for a radical makeover. “Mom and Dad did some renovations in the nineties—you have no idea how upset some of our customers were!”

Bea sighed. “I just think Nymans needs a boost. But it also deserves more attention, which the Let’s Get Baking Christmas special would provide.” She reached out and touched Nora’s arm. “It might mean you’d be able to afford to take on another patissier, or someone to work full-time in the café. You’ve been running everything on your own for years. How long do you think you can carry on like this?”

“You know how much I hate shows like that. What does a big-shot celebrity baker know about running a patisserie in our little town?” Nora turned around and went over to the enormous baking table, picked up a tray of loaves that had finished proofing, and carried it over to the huge oven, a recent investment that had almost brought the business to its knees. The next major project was to sort out the ventilation system. It hadn’t been touched for decades, and when the oven had been blasting away for a long time, the heat became almost suffocating, and the only thing that helped was to have all the windows wide open.

“Have you even seen the show?” Bea asked.

Nora opened the oven and slid in the tray. She remained silent as she thought about the trailers she had seen, where those poor bakers were routinely ridiculed by celebrity baker Henrik Eklund.

“The Christmas special pulls in almost a million viewers,” Bea went on when Nora didn’t respond. “You must have heard what a boost the featured bakeries have had?” She followed Nora over to the freshly baked rolls waiting on trays farther along the table. Nora picked up a bread knife and sharpened it, then sliced through the crust on the first roll.

Bea meant well, she knew. Her beloved patisserie was on the verge of bankruptcy. But secretly applying to the show on Nora’s behalf was a step too far. Bea was well aware that Nora would never let someone else dictate how to run her business.

Bea came and stood beside her. “You can’t turn down the meeting.”

“I know it’s a good opportunity, but that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Nora headed for the cool room, opened the door and held it ajar with her foot, leaned forward and grabbed a carton of butter and a pack of sliced cheese. She returned to the table and picked up a butter knife.

“I mean, it might be difficult to turn down the meeting, because it’s today.”

“Today?”

Bea’s smile was more than a little strained. “Yes, they’re coming here today. I waited until the last minute to tell you because I didn’t want you to back out.”

“I’ll have to postpone.”

“But you’ve got a meeting with the bank this afternoon,” Bea pointed out.

“And?” Nora looked up at her friend.

“And didn’t you say you’d reached your overdraft limit? I should think the bank will want to discuss that.”

“In which case I’ll tell them the truth—it’s been a difficult fall. The new Espresso House down the street has taken some of my customers, and so did that hip bakery that opened last year. But I have my regulars, and they’re a loyal bunch.”

“It hasn’t only been a difficult fall, Nora. It’s been a difficult five years.”

Bea laid cheese on the buttered rolls, and then Nora added two cucumber slices and put the halves together. Bea arranged the rolls on plastic trays.

“Why don’t you just meet the production company anyway? There’s no guarantee that Nymans will be chosen, but at least you’ll have tried.”

Nora didn’t say a word.

“Please, Nora. This could be your salvation. The patisserie’s salvation.” Bea gave her a quick hug. “Call me after the meeting. I have to go, but I’ll forward you the email about the meeting. They’ll be here at eleven.”

Nora suppressed a worried sigh. The fact that her best friend was a police officer and therefore risked her life as part of her job was almost more than she could bear. She scattered a handful of flour across the table as Bea turned and left.

Nora went back to the cool room to fetch a piece of the cold-proofed dough made from the century-old sourdough starter that her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother had nurtured and cared for all these years. It was one of Nymans’ claims to fame. She dumped the dough out on the table, sending the flour swirling. She ran her floury hands through her hair with a sigh, and glanced up at the clock: five to five. Time to open up.

She employed a full-time baker, but this was Renée’s day off, which meant that Nora arrived at four, worked in the patisserie until five, then opened the café. She did some baking and prepped for the day while serving customers until eight, when one of the part-time workers arrived. After that Nora concentrated on making cakes and tarts until midday, when she took a break for lunch. At three she took over in the café until closing time. She knew this approach was unsustainable. She needed two people to work in the café, plus another full-time baker if she was going to stay open for as long as she wanted to, while maintaining the high quality of everything she made.

It hadn’t always been like this. She hadn’t had to cut down on staff until a couple of years ago, but since then the pressure had been relentless. She sometimes wondered why she bothered, given that some of her customers had deserted her anyway.

Soon the construction workers would be in for breakfast. She hurried into the café with the rolls, switched on the cash register, unlocked the door, and put out the sign: C OFFEE he’d brought the last consignment. Maybe he was making an extra visit to see her? It had been a couple of months since they’d gone home together after an evening at Harry’s. He’d texted her a few times afterward, but Nora had responded evasively.

She opened the door and smiled at him, then helped him to carry in the order—boxes of tomatoes, lettuce, cucumber, and bell peppers; crates of milk, yeast, butter, whipping cream, and cheese.

“Thanks,” she said as she placed the last crate of sour cream and yogurt on the table. Jonathan stood there shifting from one foot to the other; he looked as if he were searching for something to say. She hoped he wasn’t going to ask if they could see each other again—hooking up with a guy more than once wasn’t really her thing.

She was about to say goodbye when he cleared his throat. “It’s ... I take care of the company finances, and I just wanted to mention that our last two invoices haven’t been paid.”

Nora felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

Jonathan cleared his throat once again. “I think you’ve had a reminder?”

“Oh—yes. Of course.” Nora hesitated for a few seconds. “Yes. I apologize—I’ll make sure it’s dealt with. Obviously.”

Jonathan gave a brief nod and began to back away. “Listen, if you feel like meeting up sometime ...”

“I’ll be in touch, thanks.” She closed the door behind him. Jesus, she definitely couldn’t see him again.

She took her phone out of her apron pocket and hurried back into the café. No new customers. She logged on to her bank account; she was absolutely certain she’d paid those invoices.

She was thirteen kronor in the red. The payments had been rejected.

Just then her phone pinged with a message from Bea.

I saw the Veg Guy delivering to Espresso House as I was leaving—did he stop by your place too?

Yep. And he reminded me that I owe him money—apparently the payments didn’t go through. It’s a good thing I haven’t slept with him for a while—I would have felt like I was selling myself. A fuck for two boxes of cucumbers and a crate of milk!

LOL , Bea replied.

And I’m in tears. Nora felt as if she was actually on the verge of crying.

Let’s Get Baking could save you.

Nora took a deep breath. Not being able to pay her suppliers was serious. Bea was absolutely right when she said that something had to be done.

She ended the conversation and returned to the web browser, where Henrik Eklund’s smiling face appeared at the end of the trailer. She saw nothing but scorn in that smile.