Chapter 4
GRETA GLANCED AT the flyer on her car seat, then at the slender building that came into view as she drove along the street.
She knew this part of Longmill pretty well, but wasn’t there usually an alleyway between the launderette and newsagent?
Surely the shop wedged there couldn’t have just popped up overnight?
Yet there it was, with no signage above its multi-paned window to suggest what it actually sold.
She double-checked the numbers on the surrounding buildings to confirm she was in the right spot.
When the traffic lights turned red, she pulled on her handbrake and took the chance to inspect the shop more closely.
Although it appeared closed, a dim light glowed inside.
Rows of glass jars lined the shelves, and vintage coffee grinders filled the window display.
A large white rabbit ornament with piercing yellow eyes seemed to stare at her, its gaze more inquisitive than menacing.
A coffee shop? Greta imagined well-worn floorboards and the aroma of roasted Arabica beans. The words and illustrations on the flyer suddenly made more sense. But what was ‘the perfect blend’ on offer?
She squinted at a sign on the door.
OPEN AT 11.00AM. ONE AT A TIME. NO TAKEAWAYS.
Greta frowned. One at a time? What did that mean? She checked her watch and wondered why a coffee shop was closed at one in the afternoon. She couldn’t shake the feeling it offered something beyond hot beverages.
A couple of car horns behind her honked impatiently, and she realised the traffic light had turned to green. With an apologetic wave, she pulled forward, any thoughts of Jim, Lottie and Nora momentarily replaced by ones of the little shop.
Back in her flat, Greta took in her surroundings. Compared to Martin’s plush pad, the beige walls felt uninspiring, but at least the place was hers for now. It was hopefully just a stepping stone to the future.
The living room was a neat, square space with just enough room for a small sofa and chair. Two modest bedrooms overlooked a small courtyard, adding some much-needed charm. She still missed the high ceilings and creaking floorboards of their old family home.
Greta eyed the dated wallpaper, repeating Jim’s words with a sigh. ‘Seventies stuff is coming back in fashion? Yeah, right.’
She unfastened the button on her jeans and sank down onto the comfy, worn sofa. With an hour to kill until Lottie got home from school, her thoughts drifted back in time, to the letter she’d penned to Maple Gold that had changed everything.
I’m a young, hard-working actress looking for my big break. I admire Maple Gold’s traditional values and the coffee tastes delicious, too . . .
She’d never expected to be invited to a series of auditions, let alone be picked from hundreds of other hopefuls for a starring role.
Her mum had helped to sew gold buttons onto Greta’s charity-shop skirt suit to help her stand out from the crowd.
‘There, just like new,’ Marjorie had said, holding out the jacket. ‘This is a one-in-a-million chance, and you’re going to knock their socks off.’
Greta had slipped it on and brushed a hand down one lapel. ‘Do you really think they’ll notice me? What if I mess things up?’
Her mum placed her hands on Greta’s shoulders. ‘Of course, they’ll notice you. You’ve got a sparkle they can’t miss.’ She kissed her cheek. ‘If ever things go wrong, just try and try again.’
What followed had been a dream come true.
Greta had been awarded her own personal make-up artist, a wardrobe of tailor-made dresses, pastel Italian leather stilettos and a generous pay packet.
She’d soon grown used to autograph books thrust into her hands, cameras flashing at posh dinner galas, and even love letters slipped into her handbag.
Even better were the friendships she’d made on set with the crew and other actors.
They’d been a tight team, in it together when the success of the commercials took off.
Greta had kept in touch with a few of them over the years, even though the industry was transient.
People flitted between jobs like bees between flowers.
Then, after the Perks family had starred in the commercials for a decade, their success had ended so suddenly. So unceremoniously. Being dropped had blindsided Greta, plunging her into a dark place she sometimes still struggled to climb out of.
Her family had been replaced so easily with a newer, fresh tribe that included a graphic designer, her yoga instructor partner, and their blended family of half brothers and sisters.
Sitting on the sofa, Greta ran a hand through her hair. A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over her, not just for her part in the commercials, but for the confident, dynamic woman she’d once been, on-screen and off.
She stood and headed into her bedroom. A favourite dress she’d worn in the commercials still hung in her wardrobe.
She supposed it was deemed vintage by now, but its powder- blue hue still looked bright against her other clothes.
She’d attempted to donate it to charity numerous times, but always dug it out of the bag at the last minute, and hung it back up.
Slipping out of her jeans, she stepped into the dress, performing a wriggly dance to coax it over her hips.
Miraculously, she managed to squeeze into it, though it was very tight in places.
She reached behind her, struggling to zip it up, biting her lip when the pull tab got stuck halfway.
Greta sucked in her stomach, trying to yank the zip up, then down. But it wouldn’t budge.
She glanced over her shoulder in the mirror, groaning when she saw her skin bulging through the gap in the fabric like buttercream between two layers of sponge cake. With one last determined tug on the zip, she gave up. ‘I’ll need the fire brigade to get me out of this,’ she muttered.
She draped a blanket around her shoulders like a cape to cover herself up.
Not my classiest look.
Back in the living room, Greta sat down and picked up the TV remote, idly flicking channels to pass the time until Lottie got home.
Her breath caught when she spotted the Maple Gold programme Jim had mentioned was about to air. Should she watch it? Could she bear to watch it?
With a rush of curiosity, she jabbed the play button. When the title appeared on screen, she hugged a cushion to her chest.
THE GOLDEN brAND-CELEbrATING SEVENTY- FIVE YEARS OF MAPLE GOLD COFFEE.
Black-and-white clips of glamorous ladies from the 1950s filled the screen. Their voices were politely crisp like news anchors. With the poise of mannequins, they sipped cup after cup of coffee, smiling and declaring that everything was ‘delicious,’ ‘marvellous,’ or ‘divine.’
Greta settled back to watch, swept away to a world of genteel coffee mornings and romantic dinner dates, where men wore suits and hats, women sported pearls, and people called each other ‘darling.’
More commercials followed, from the sixties, seventies and eighties, through to the Millennium.
Then to the era Greta had starred in, from the mid-two-thousands to the twenty-tens.
Her nerves pattered as she anticipated her debut appearance, as a young woman arriving at her first-ever home in Mapleville. She could still recite the script.
Seeing herself on-screen was surreal. She recognised her own mannerisms, the way she moved, the slight lift of her mouth on one side, and the wiggle of her left eyebrow when she spoke.
Oh wow. My face was so fresh and my hair full. I actually had a waist.
Greta watched, mesmerised, as some of the best times of her life played out for the camera.
She grinned at the sight of Jim painting her fence, their subsequent horse-riding date, his proposal, then their on-screen wedding.
He’d been so keen and attentive back then, always a sparkle in his eyes when he gazed at her.
Her ears pricked when a young male celebrity she hadn’t heard of gushed about her in a talking head segment. ‘Greta was wholesome but sexy, too, you know? Like your friend’s mum who makes you a cake, then feeds it to you with her fingers.’
She let out a burst of laughter at that one, followed by a stray tear that wound down her cheek.
The jangle of keys in the door made her sit more upright. Lottie was home.
Greta stood up, wiped her face and hastily rearranged her blanket. ‘Hi, sweetheart,’ she called out. ‘Had a good day?’
Lottie entered the room and slowed her pace. She slowly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she checked out Greta’s clothes. ‘What are you wearing, Mum? You look like a bargain bin superhero.’
Greta’s cheeks flushed, and she stuck a hand on her hip. ‘No need to be rude. It’s just something I was trying on. How was school?’
‘Fantastic,’ Lottie deadpanned, dropping her backpack to the floor with a thud. She eyed the TV screen, then froze. ‘Are you really watching yourself? That’s so cringe.’
‘Really? You think so?’ Greta shrugged. ‘Maple Gold was a big part of my life, and yours, too, when you were small. It’s interesting to look back sometimes.’ She reached for the zip on her dress again, tugging it with no success. ‘Now, what do you fancy for dinner? Beans on toast?’
Whenever she couldn’t think of what to make for tea, something on toast was her go-to. You could never go wrong with baked beans.
But Lottie’s attention was still glued to the screen, where a younger Greta and Jim beamed as they cradled a baby Lottie in their arms. Another clip followed, showing Lottie trying to toddle across the living room.
Greta could practically hear the director in her head, urging, ‘Smile for the camera, baby girl.’
Baby Lottie fell down onto her bottom. Then, eyes fierce with determination, she got back up and tried to walk again.
‘You’ve always had a fighting spirit,’ Greta said gently.
‘Why don’t we chat about your talent show over dinner?
I bet you’re going to be brilliant. Maybe someone will even spot your potential.
It could lead to some great opportunities .
. .’ She stopped talking when she saw Lottie’s shoulders stiffening.
Lottie snatched up her backpack again and hugged it to her chest. Her voice wobbled when she spoke. ‘Why do you always want to put me under the spotlight? First with those ads, and now . . . this.’
‘Spotlight?’ Greta raised an eyebrow. ‘For showing an interest in your show? I just like hearing about your day, that’s all. Those ads weren’t all about fame. We had lots of fun, too. The talent show could be a chance to really enjoy yourself.’
‘The ads were part of who you were,’ Lottie snapped, her eyes flashing. ‘Everyone always expects me to be something because of stupid Maple Gold. Why can’t I just be . . . me?’
Greta’s stomach sank. ‘I didn’t realise you felt that way. You were wonderful on-screen, and people loved you. You used to adore performing. What changed?’
‘People didn’t love me. The loved the idea of me. I was like a doll to them.’
‘Now, that’s not true,’ Greta said. ‘I remember strangers stopping me in the street to tell me how talented you were. When we lost the contract, people really cared.’
She pursed her lips while other memories trickled back. An article she’d once read stuck in her mind, insisting how lucky the Perks family was. As if their success had nothing to do with the hard work they’d all put in. Perhaps Lottie had a small point.
‘Those commercials are on YouTube and get shared around school.’ Lottie sniffed. ‘I don’t want to be known as the Maple Gold kid, like it’s the only interesting thing about me.’
‘I get it,’ Greta soothed. ‘It kind of happens to me, too. Like being typecast. I can imagine how annoying that must be, especially when there’s so much more to you. But those ads are still something to be proud of, and I bet people are just jealous, really.’
Lottie cricked her neck. ‘I suppose . . .’
Greta reached into her handbag, pulling out the purple sweater. She held it out to Lottie. ‘You left this at Dad’s place. I brought it home for you.’
Lottie’s eyes instantly narrowed, as if she’d been caught out. ‘You went to the penthouse?’
Greta nodded. ‘Sure. The sweater belongs to your boyfriend, right?’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘I didn’t know you had one. What’s he like?’
Lottie snatched the sweater and tucked it under her arm. ‘He’s just a friend, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Okay, that’s fine. Whenever you’re ready. He’s welcome here anytime, you know?’
Lottie gave a sharp laugh. ‘Yeah, so you can interrogate him, too? No thanks.’ She spun around and marched toward her room. The door slammed shut, and moments later, the thump of rock music filled the flat.
Greta stood still for a moment, letting her breath hiss through her gritted teeth.
Well-done. And the Mum of the Year award goes to . . . Greta Perks.
Everything felt like two steps forward and one back with Lottie these days. She told herself to keep marching forward.
The Maple Gold programme was still running, and Greta switched off the TV.
When her phone pinged with a text, she read the message from Nora.
Darling Greta. So sorry how things unfolded. You mean the world to me. Let’s meet for lunch soon! Love Nora x
Greta pursed her lips. Her agent always thought a Caesar salad and prosecco could bring about world peace.
She couldn’t be bothered replying to such a breezy apology and headed to the kitchen, where she grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer.
The gaping dress was proof that her glory days were long gone and, with one last tug of the zip, she gave up.
Clenching her teeth, Greta sliced through the dress. The sound of ripping fabric was strangely satisfying as she set herself free.
Afterward, she sat at the dining table, her conversation with Lottie bouncing around in her head. With her daughter’s sixteenth just around the corner, she wanted to relieve some of the tension, so she reached for her phone and called Jim.
‘Hi,’ Greta said, pleased not to get his voicemail. ‘Can we arrange Lottie’s birthday dinner soon?’
‘At the Anvil Inn?’
‘Yes. Can you pull any strings to get us a table? I think we could all do with a . . . boost.’
‘Agreed. I’ll try to work the old Perks magic with my contacts,’ Jim said.
Later that evening, he called her back. ‘We’re in. Saturday at seven. A prime spot in the dining room,’ he said.
‘Thanks. That’s very impressive.’
‘Still got it.’ He laughed.
Let’s hope this helps, Greta thought as she said goodbye and hung up. If this doesn’t bring us all back together, I’m all out of options.
She picked up the shredded remnants of her blue dress and threw them in the bin.