Chapter 10
On Mother’s Day weekend, Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny.
Finally, spring was in the air. Mums and their families from Bramleigh Green and the surrounding towns and villages had seen Sasha’s flyer and local advertising and they streamed into Matcha Moments all day, laden with gifts and flowers.
Daria Carbone and her daughter, Vivian, visited with her granddaughter, Lily.
‘This is wonderful,’ said Vivian. ‘Mum’s off to my brother’s tomorrow for Sunday lunch, so it’s lovely to enjoy afternoon tea in her favourite café today!
I’ve heard so much about your desserts, they’re just as delicious as Lily’s been telling me. ’
Sasha was sorry her own parents weren’t coming. When she’d phoned and invited them she’d not had the best response.
‘Too far, lah!’ her dad had said.
Her sister Melanie had been at their parents’ house for dinner when Sasha called, and she came on the phone.
‘I would drive them to you. But I’m on call on the Saturday.
Why don’t you come into London and join us for dim sum on Sunday?
Even Ewan’s coming with his girlfriend.’ She mentioned their younger brother, whose social life usually got in the way of family events.
‘Er, because we have a special event all weekend and I’m going to be busy. I can’t leave the café.’ Sasha wished Melanie could understand how important the weekend was for her.
‘Don’t you have an employee? Can’t you get them to run things for the day?’
Of course, Annie was perfectly capable. But Sasha couldn’t leave her in charge the whole weekend.
Melanie didn’t get it, as usual. Hardly surprising, as she’d never visited the café even once.
Sasha was used to her family thinking the café was just a hobby and unimportant.
And she guessed it was, compared to Melanie’s job.
Her sister and her husband were doctors at the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel.
They dealt with life and death, not tea and cake.
And, more important to their parents, they earned salaries to match.
Sasha was constantly reminded that Melanie was the favourite and Ewan the baby.
Sasha was the middle child who couldn’t help but disappoint.
For years her mum had played them off against each other.
Melanie always got A stars in her exams and graduated from medical school with a first. Ewan was studying accountancy and wanted to work in finance after he graduated.
Sasha might have achieved a 2:1 in history, but she’d been struggling to stay interested in her law conversion when she’d been accused of plagiarism and had to give it up.
Melanie had married a fellow medic who happened to be the son of her parents’ friends.
While Sasha – well – she was halfway to being stuck on the shelf and too old to find a husband, according to her mum.
On her last visit home, Sasha had even found her Christmas gift to her mum – a carefully chosen scented candle with the rose and vanilla perfume her mother supposedly loved – stuck in a corner, getting dusty.
Melanie’s Belgian chocolates from Harrods had pride of place after dinner.
Her parents had even praised her brother’s gift of a bottle of wine, which Sasha knew he’d picked up at the last minute from Tesco.
Sasha should be used to the constant reminders that she would never live up to her older sister’s career or her younger brother’s charm.
But the barely veiled criticisms still stung.
She’d only taken the law conversion to please her parents.
She hadn’t enjoyed it – even before the accusation.
The late-night reading about statutes and cases had strained her eyes and exhausted her.
She’d started suffering panic attacks and had the beginnings of an ulcer.
When she’d been forced to give it up, she was labelled the family dropout, almost as if she didn’t have a degree at all.
Her family hadn’t come to the café since she’d set it up, nor had they commented on the photos she’d sent them.
And soon it will be too late. She dreaded the day when she would have to tell them that this venture had failed too.
Their disappointed faces appeared clearly in her mind.
She could hear the ‘I told you so’s, and their usual refrain of ‘Why don’t you try accountancy? ’
It was such a relief when the event on Saturday was a success.
The café was packed all day. Everyone ‘Ooh-ed’ and ‘aah-ed’ over the three-tiered platters containing Nathan’s pastries and delicate cakes, with cucumber sandwiches and mini quiches for the savoury layer.
Nathan’s cakes had sold out. They’d got through cases of champagne.
And, best of all, the takings were four times the normal takings for a Saturday.
Sasha fell asleep that night, exhausted but happy.
Around 3 a.m. on Sunday, a bad storm hit Oxfordshire two days early. Sasha was woken by a big crash and a howling gale. Sleepy-eyed, she stumbled out of bed.
The windowpanes were rattling as she looked out at her tiny yard and garden to see the trellis had been ripped off and a fence was swinging from its post. In the living room, she peered through the curtains and it was like watching a horror film.
The wind howled like a banshee and the trees on the green creaked and cracked, whipping backwards and forwards dangerously.
Bins and rubbish were cartwheeling along the street. Rain bulleted down on the cobbles.
With all the noise, Sasha couldn’t go back to sleep. She lay under her duvet, trying to force her anxious eyes to close, but in the end she gave up. After showering and getting dressed, she went down to the café to lay the tables and prepare for the bookings.
By eight o’clock, her phone started ringing. Emails and texts arrived with cancellation after cancellation. The trains weren’t running. Or people were too scared to make the drive to Bramleigh.
Nathan struggled in with his boxes of ingredients, ready to assemble the cakes. ‘Hey, lovely, it’s like Armageddon out there. Apparently, the wind’s been so strong cars have been upturned on the motorway. The River Leigh has burst its banks and there’s flooding in the meadows.’
‘Oh, goodness, Nathan – amazing you got here OK. Hold off assembling too many cakes. I don’t know how many people are going to make it. Most of our bookings have cancelled already.’
‘Oh, no! How’s everyone going to treat their mums? I mean – my mum is in Lanzarote – enjoying the champers and chocs I sent her, but – what about the mums of Bramleigh Green?’
Sasha looked out of the window at the darkening sky, twigs and branches skittering over the wet cobbles. ‘It’s not clearing up anytime soon. Not a day for braving the elements.’
‘We could offer to deliver some teas,’ Nathan suggested. ‘Let them eat cake.’ He twirled, channelling his inner Marie-Antoinette.
But Sasha wasn’t surprised when most of their bookings declined the offer of delivery. Many mums or families lived out of town and couldn’t make it. In the end, Nathan only delivered a box of cakes and goodies for three families nearby.
It was already lunchtime and not one customer had arrived. Sasha had called Annie and told her not to bother coming to work, but to bring her daughter if they’d like to celebrate. Nathan had finished assembling a minimal amount of cakes and made the deliveries.
‘Weather’s saying only thirty per cent chance of rain after three . . . You never know – more people might turn up than you think.’
‘Really?’ Sasha knew he was doing his best to stay positive. A clatter rattled the windows. Hail fell like bullets, chunks of ice bouncing off the glass.
‘No worries!’ Nathan grinned. ‘I’ll stick some of the sponges in the freezer.
I can make up the cakes over the week. At least you had a good day yesterday.
’ He squeezed Sasha’s shoulder and she felt the prick of tears at his kindness.
There was nothing that could be done. The weather was unstoppable.
The door bell chimed merrily.
‘Hellooo!’ sang out Mollie, arriving with Paloma, both in shiny rain macs. ‘How are you doing? Paloma’s mum’s trains are cancelled but we didn’t want to miss out on Day Two of Nathan’s amazing cakes. Crack open the champers, darlings!’
‘We just saw Mr Davis in a cab with Gloria,’ added Paloma. ‘I think they’re headed this way.’
‘Good thing too – or you’ll all be eating the leftovers all week,’ said Nathan.
‘Dear Nathan.’ Paloma hugged him. ‘If all I eat is your cake next week I will die happy!’
The door opened and Klara burst in, a floor-length red velvet coat swirling behind her.
‘Yesterday was fabulous,’ she announced.
‘Mummy and Granny adored it so much we thought we’d pop in again.
The Bookery will be a washout today – and Granny is driving Mummy crazy at home.
They’re just parking. Matcha champagne cocktails with strawberry foam . . . here we come!’
‘You read my mind!’ trilled Mollie, happily.
Mother’s Day turned into a boozy tea party among friends. Annie came in with her ten-year-old daughter, Mia, who’d bought her mum a bunch of daffodils and a pretty vase. Sasha tried to relax and enjoy the afternoon, and not worry about the cancelled bookings and diminished takings.
‘Come on, Nathan, Sasha – do join us! We’ll be far too sozzled if we drink all this ourselves,’ called out Mollie, waving yet another champagne bottle.
Mr Davis and Gloria had arrived to join the fun. ‘My granddaughter couldn’t make it, I’m afraid,’ said Mr Davis, ‘but she’s coming to stay for a while next week – she’s a bit of a whizz on the computer – perhaps she can help you take photos and tell the world about Matcha Moments.’
‘I would love a matcha cocktail, Sasha, my dear,’ said Gloria. ‘Puddles is happy with his usual treats.’
Around teatime, the hail and rain blew over and the wind suddenly died down. A few local families made the effort to come out, and there was a short rush of afternoon teas.
Sasha was glad she’d only drunk one glass of champagne. The lack of sleep had made her light-headed enough.
Nathan and Klara were singing along to show tunes to entertain everyone and Mia and a couple of the children were dancing.
Sasha looked over as the door chimed and Ben walked in.
A sunbeam filtered through scudding clouds as the door opened, highlighting his head in a halo of gold.
He hesitated when he saw the party going on, hovering in the doorway.
Sasha’s heart lifted – only because the sun was shining again, of course.
And it was good to have another customer in the café.
‘Be our guest!’ sang Klara, spinning round with a giggling toddler in her arms. ‘Ah, Ben – come in! You’re just in time for a Mother’s Day toast.’
Mollie thrust a champagne flute into his hand. ‘We’re toasting all our mothers, absent, present and long gone. Did you already see your mummy dearest?’
Ben flushed. ‘Oh – no – she lives abroad and we usually celebrate the American date. Of course, I forgot. It’s your special event.’
‘Come in,’ said Sasha, stepping forward past the dancing Klara and beckoning him towards the counter.
‘It’s been a bit of a washout – your usual table’s still free – and there’s plenty of Nathan’s cakes and champagne.
’ She waved at one of the three-tier platters on the counter. It was full of cakes.
‘Mmm – that does look good.’ She noticed her favourite dimple make an appearance in his left cheek.
‘Oolong with a few cakes and sandwiches? Or just the bubbly?’
‘A tea would be great too, thanks.’
With the café’s party atmosphere and the relaxed feeling from the champagne, Sasha found herself automatically swaying towards him for an air kiss.
Oblivious, he turned to take off his jacket, saving her from embarrassment.
She felt her cheeks flame, hoping Klara hadn’t seen her, and scuttled behind the counter to warm a teapot.
As she poured him champagne, Mollie leaned over Ben’s shoulder to read his book. ‘Good, is it?’
‘She’s only interested if there are heaving bosoms. Not just dragons,’ called out Paloma. ‘Mollie, come, leave poor Ben in peace.’
‘You really should join the Book Clubbers,’ Mollie cooed. ‘We could do with some fresh meat!’ She cackled.
‘How many of those have you had?’ Paloma said, slipping on her mac. ‘It’s time we were off, Sasha darling. Thank you for a fabulous Mothering Sunday even though my mother couldn’t make it – I’ll bring her another time.’
Mollie waved at Nathan and blew him a kiss. ‘You are a huge talent, my dear. Your cakes are divine – you’re wasted as an academic. Paloma, should we commission an anniversary cake from Nathan?’
‘Wow, I’d love that!’ Nathan beamed.
‘We’ll call you,’ said Paloma. ‘And, talking of our anniversary, my love, since Sasha was the architect of our romance, why don’t we hold our party here? Music, champagne, nibbles?’
‘Wonderful idea, my darling – you did say you wanted to host more events, didn’t you, Sasha? Keep that awful Jones-Smythe woman happy – or is it Smythe-Jones? – I really can’t remember. Venue hire would be a fabulous income generator for you.’
Sasha nodded. ‘That would be amazing, guys – let’s chat about it later.’
After Mollie and Paloma left, the families left too. Mr Davis and Gloria decided to take Puddles for a walk now the wind had died down, and Annie and Mia decided to join them.
Klara, her mum and grandmother also picked up their bags and jackets.
‘We’ll be off too!’ she called out to Sasha.
‘As the youngest, apparently it’s my job to cook tonight, so I’ll love you and leave you.
Nate – shall we leave Sasha to it?’ Klara raised her eyebrows at him and pushed her mum and granny out.
Once Klara had helped Nathan with his boxes of equipment, she pressed her face against the door, making suggestive actions with her tongue through the glass.
Sasha’s cheeks burned as she laughed, glad that Ben’s back was turned.