Chapter 11
Monday morning dawned and after a decent night’s sleep, Lauren’s mood had improved.
She was pleased to see a beautiful pink sunrise as she finished her coffee and got ready to open the café.
She’d learned early on to unlock the doors at eight thirty during term time, which meant she would catch parents either on their way to or coming back from the school run to Everscombe.
Lower Brambleton’s primary school had closed its doors more than a decade ago, but there was a newly opened cycle path that ran from Lower Brambleton to Saint Peter’s Primary School in Everscombe that many parents used, since the narrow country roads that connected the two villages often got clogged with school traffic, and parking was a nightmare.
The entrance to the cycle path was only about ten metres from the café so on dry days, even in the winter, many parents from the Brambleton popped in for a coffee either to drink in or take away after they had deposited their precious offspring at school.
Lauren made sure the coffee machine was switched on and ready to go, topped up with the organic Costa Rican mellow blend that had proved so popular, and, now that the weather had turned chilly and frosty, she had plenty of what she termed ‘comfort confectioneries’ and ‘blissful bakes’ to tempt even the most self-disciplined school-run parent.
Lauren was savvy enough to realise that what she lacked in sales patter, she could make up for in cake.
Food was her love language, she thought with a smile, as she laid out the first ten of the mini sweet potato and marshmallow slices she’d baked on Sunday evening.
A traditional American Thanksgiving recipe she’d found online, she was hoping the locals might appreciate the trans-Atlantic flavours alongside their regular hot drinks.
At just gone nine o’clock, her tables were all full, as they always were on a Monday morning.
Sam Parker the novelist, who usually came in early and bagged the same table in the far corner, was reduced to asking if he could balance his laptop on the end of the counter until somewhere else became free.
With a grin, Lauren said he could. She liked Sam, and it was nice to have someone to chat to as he filled her in on the plot of his latest work in progress.
‘You see, I just don’t know if I should be setting this story somewhere more exotic,’ he said as he sipped his mocha latte. ‘Perhaps six books in the same village is pushing it. What do you think?’
‘I think you should go with your gut,’ Lauren replied as she slid a slice of the sweet potato and marshmallow bake over to him. ‘And your gut is telling you to try some of this.’
Sam looked sceptical. ‘Beetroot brownies I can cope with, and the courgette flapjacks were just about tolerable. But sweet potato? Sorry, love, I don’t think I can put glitter on this one.’
Lauren giggled. Sam was so easy to talk to.
It was a shame he wasn’t into women. He’d made his name as a romantic novelist some years back, and every novel he wrote was an instant bestseller.
He’d told her several times, with a twinkle in his eye, how, at his frequent book signings, there were always some customers who hadn’t twigged that Sam was short for Samuel and not Samantha and been ‘shocked to the core that a man should have such a good understanding of female desire’.
Having read a few of his novels, Lauren wasn’t entirely sure she agreed but figured that perhaps her desires were a little removed from those of his regular readers.
Not that she was into anything that might be termed outlandish, but Sam’s heroines always seemed so desperately in need of a man.
Lauren would have settled for decent conversation and a home-cooked meal once in a while.
The morning rush kept Lauren’s mind off the worry about Myriam and her imminent trip, but as the café cleared out, and she cleaned down the tables ready for the next influx of customers, Sam caught her eye again.
He’d moved to his usual table when it had been vacated and had requested another latte.
She brought it over to his table and hovered, looking out of the bay window into the street.
‘What’s up?’ Sam asked.
Lauren started. ‘Nothing.’
‘Oh, come on, love. How long have we known each other? You’re gazing out of that window as if you’re willing Mr Darcy to ride up on his sweating stallion and whisk you off to Pemberley. What gives?’
Lauren shook her head. ‘It’s nothing like that.’
‘So, what is it, then?’
Not a confider, generally, Lauren hesitated. She even felt disloyal at the thought of telling Sam what was bothering her, but they’d known each other a while, and she needed to talk to someone.
‘It’s Mum,’ she said. Then, at Sam’s look of concern, quickly added, ‘No, don’t worry, she’s fine. More than fine. It’s just…’ She looked away from Sam, and, for want of something to do, fiddled with the metal spiral of her order pad.
‘Go on,’ Sam said gently. ‘I’m all ears, and the soul of discretion.’
As Lauren haltingly told him, Sam nodded along, until the whole story was out.
‘I don’t know why I’m so worried,’ Lauren admitted. ‘It’s been ages since she had a relapse. I suppose, I don’t know, I feel a bit as though… she’s leaving me behind. Does that make sense?’
Picking up his latte, Sam took a long sip before he spoke. ‘It makes perfect sense, darling. It’s been you and your mum for as long as you can remember, right? I mean, when was the last time you had a holiday on your own?’
‘Um… I can’t remember.’ Lauren could feel the blush on her cheeks before it came. But they’d never had much money for solo trips, and the trips they had been on had been brief and largely UK-based. She wasn’t even sure if she still had an in-date passport.
‘Seriously?’ Sam nearly dropped his mug. ‘Well, if the two of us are still single this time next year, we’re booking a last-minute deal to somewhere sunny and getting the first plane out of Bristol!’
Lauren laughed. ‘It’s a deal.’
‘All joking aside, though, you’ve got to let Myriam do this. You said yourself that this Gary guy is a decent fella and he’ll look after her. Why are you so het up about it?’ Sam’s expression of concern made Lauren stop and think before she answered.
‘I suppose,’ she said softly, ‘I’m worried she doesn’t need me any more.’
‘Oh, darling.’ Sam reached over and gave her hand a squeeze.
‘You’ll always have each other. Try to think of it not that she doesn’t need you, but that, perhaps, after all these years of caring for her, being there when she needed you most, she’s got a chance to be more independent… and so have you.’
‘You always make a lot of sense.’
‘Tell that to my dad,’ Sam said, a trace of bitterness in his tone. ‘He still can’t work out what he’s more ashamed of: the fact I’m gay, or that I make my living writing romance novels!’
‘Well, he needs his head examined,’ Lauren said firmly. ‘You’re brilliant.’
‘Thanks. Now how about another latte by way of a therapy fee? And if you really want me to, I’ll have a go at that sweet potato marshmallow thing you’re trying to sell.’
‘It’s a deal,’ Lauren said. Sam was always a tonic and nearly always spoke good sense. Feeling a whole lot better about the situation, she hurried off to refill his mug.