Chapter 5
LOTTIE’S FACE SHONE when she opened her birthday presents.
She loved the sample sizes of Charlotte Tilbury perfumes, and the promise of a meal at the Anvil Inn officially earned Jim and Greta cool-parent status, a rare and welcome feeling.
Now seated on gold thrones around a marquetry table in the dining area of the restaurant, Greta took in the quirky décor. Pink stuffed zebra heads jutted from the walls, and the carpet was woven with giant moths. A gold chandelier the size of a tractor wheel hung from the ceiling.
‘This is very cool,’ she announced, trying to keep the mood positive.
‘It’s certainly different,’ Jim mused, scanning the menu. ‘Matcha and Brie Omelette,’ he read aloud. ‘Half of this stuff sounds like it belongs in a chemistry lab. Is everything on here vegetarian?’
‘Yeah, Dad. No animals were harmed in the making of this menu,’ Lottie replied, cracking a rare smile.
Greta felt hope glimmer inside her. After a few further days of tension between the three of them, she hoped this dinner would be a turning point. It would prove they could be a normal, happy family.
Lottie discreetly took a few photos, glancing around for chef Joseph Wilde. He was as famous for his pop star looks as for his signature dish of Beetroot and Truffle éclair with Wasabi Custard and Olive Dust.
When Lottie put down her phone, Greta saw her screensaver was a photo of a boy and a golden Labrador. She tried not to let it bother her, but she didn’t even know this lad.
‘The Coconut Curry Burrito with Pineapple Salsa sounds good,’ Lottie said. ‘Is that okay? It’s kind of expensive.’
Greta tried not to cough at the thought of the bill. ‘It’s your birthday, sweetheart. Choose whatever you like.’
Her gaze drifted across the room, where a group of glamorous women in small black dresses were seated.
Their honey tresses were piled high, their lashes were impossibly long, and their lips were full, just like hers used to be.
Greta ran a hand down her neck, feeling suddenly frumpy in her favourite dress.
She didn’t need compliments from Jim or Lottie, but the occasional one wouldn’t hurt.
To distract herself, she focused on Lottie’s wrist. The simple silver bracelet she’d given her as an extra birthday gift glinted under the lights. It had once belonged to her mum.
Finding a meaningful gift for a sixteen-year-old had been tough, especially one who shunned make-up or anything too feminine, and so close to Christmas, too.
Greta had been thrilled when Lottie’s eyes lit up at the sight of her grandma’s bracelet nestled in its pretty box.
Her chest warmed even more when Lottie asked for help fastening the clasp.
The bracelet was at odds with the rest of Lottie’s outfit.
She wore a black jumper with a skeleton ribcage on the front (a birthday present from Jim), lace fingerless gloves, ripped jeans and three tiny gold hoops in each ear.
Greta had hoped Lottie would wait until she was older for the piercings, but she’d arrived home after shopping one Saturday, a year ago, with sore, pink earlobes and a bottle of saline solution.
A nose piercing was apparently next on her agenda.
‘Hey there.’ A waitress appeared, sporting a red skirt and matching bow-tie. She stood poised with a stylus and tablet. ‘Are you guys ready to order?’
Greta looked up and immediately recognised her. She was a pretty blonde in her mid-thirties, a former runner on a show Jim had starred in about supercars. Greta had been in the audience a couple of times.
‘Jim, right?’ The waitress’s eyes twinkled at him. ‘I worked on Life in the Fast Lane. It was such fun to work with you.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Jim beamed. ‘I remember you. Um . . .’ He struggled for her name.
‘Tina.’ She swirled a strand of hair around her finger.
‘Of course.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Tina. Absolutely. The show would have fallen apart without you.’
Lottie rolled her eyes.
Unease brewed in Greta’s stomach. Jim was an expert at turning on the charm, though at times it could come across as flirting. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lottie sliding down in her seat, toying with her bracelet.
‘Wow, I can’t believe it’s you. Small world, huh?’ Tina said. ‘Are you guys celebrating something?’
‘Our daughter’s birthday. She’s sixteen today,’ Jim said.
‘Really?’ Tina’s gaze settled on him. ‘You don’t look old enough to have a teenager.’
Lottie folded her arms tightly. ‘Well, he is,’ she muttered. ‘He’s very, very old.’
Greta tried not to laugh. ‘Thanks, Tina. We’re ready to order now.’
‘Okay, sure.’ Tina’s smile slipped. ‘What can I get you? I can recommend the coconut curry burrito.’
‘You’re the expert. I’ll give it a try,’ Jim said, snapping his menu shut.
Lottie glowered at him. ‘I was going to have that,’ she said under her breath. She stabbed a finger at something else instead.
Greta placed her order quickly. ‘Well, that was awkward,’ she said as Tina glided away.
‘I don’t even remember her,’ Jim said. ‘I was just trying to make her feel good about herself.’
‘Sure.’ Greta smiled tightly. ‘Good job.’
Jim picked up the menu again. ‘Hey, aubergine cooked three ways,’ he muttered. ‘Who needs that many aubergines?’
The three of them made stilted chat about school, films and the best-ever gigs they’d been to, with Lottie scoffing at Jim’s choices.
When the food arrived, Jim took lots of photos, turning his phone this way and that. ‘This is what you teens do, right, Lottie? Post every meal online?’
Greta and Lottie exchanged exasperated glances.
‘This looks like a work of art,’ Greta said, peering at her plate. ‘Does your boyfriend like fancy food?’ she asked without thinking.
Lottie’s eyes flashed a warning. ‘Mum.’
‘Come on, Greta. Let’s not pry,’ Jim added.
Greta shook out her napkin and placed it on her lap. ‘It was a simple question,’ she bristled. Why did everything feel like treading on sharp tacks with her family?
The three of them looked up when applause sounded around the room. Joseph Wilde had arrived, looking almost biblical with his crisp chef’s whites. The chandelier made a halo behind his black curls.
In her excitement, Lottie didn’t know where to look. She jiggled in her seat, then sat on her hands.
Joseph circled the room, shaking hands and posing for selfies.
‘I’ll ask him for a photo with you,’ Jim whispered to Lottie.
‘Dad. Don’t. . ‘
Greta touched his arm. ‘Please don’t embarrass her.’
But it was too late. Jim stood and strode towards Joseph, clapping him on the back. ‘We were famous once, for the Maple Gold commercials. Maybe before your time,’ he explained. ‘My daughter would love a photo.’
Joseph smiled politely. ‘Oh, right . . . wicked.’
Lottie’s cheeks paled as Joseph approached. She fumbled with her bracelet, her jaw dropping in horror when the clasp snapped. The broken bracelet fell to the floor just as Joseph reached the table.
‘Hey. Happy fourteenth birthday, Hattie,’ Joseph said, mishearing Jim’s whispered instruction.
Greta’s stomach plummeted. ‘It’s Lottie, and she’s sixteen,’ she corrected him, whilst trying to glance under the table. Just how bad was the damage to the bracelet? Could it be fixed?
Jim took several photos, directing Joseph like it was a professional shoot, until the chef’s smile flatlined.
‘Greta. Want to jump in a shot?’ Jim called out.
Still distracted by her mum’s broken bracelet, Greta stood up too quickly. Her elbow caught her non-alcoholic cocktail, knocking it over. Violet liquid splashed everywhere, flooding the table.
‘Oh god.’ Lottie groaned, covering her face with her hands. ‘Mum.’
People at the surrounding tables stopped talking, twisting their heads for a better look at the fracas.
Greta held up a palm to all the stares. ‘Nothing to see here. Just a minor disaster. Carry on with your lives.’
Joseph snapped his fingers at Tina. ‘Replace that dish. And the drink.’ Without another glance, he swept toward the next table.
An awkward hush filled the dining room until chatter gradually resumed.
Greta sat back down with her nerves ratcheting.
She used a menu to fan the heat creeping up her neck.
Jim scrolled through his photos, frowning at his blurred pink thumb obscuring Joseph’s face in most of them.
Lottie picked up the broken bracelet, cradling it like an injured baby bird.
A fog of discontentment swirled between them like too much dry ice at a concert.
‘We can get the bracelet fixed . . .’ Greta said, though she wasn’t sure. ‘Let’s just enjoy dinner.’
Her hopes for a lovely family meal were crumbling to dust.
All the chatter around her seemed to be growing louder, making her want to cover her ears.
When Lottie scraped her knife across her plate, it sounded like fingernails on a blackboard.
She ate with her bottom lip jutting. Jim peered at his food as if it contained bugs, examining each mouthful before he ate it.
Loud laughter rang out from a nearby table, and Greta felt like all the stuffed animal heads were watching and laughing at her.
Blood rushed to her temples, where it throbbed hot and fierce.
And something inside her snapped.
‘Can we please just try to act like a happy family for once?’ she burst out. ‘Just like we used to be. Is that really too much to ask?’ She tucked a napkin into the neck of her dress and shoved a piece of tomato into her mouth.
A moment stretched painfully long. Jim rubbed the back of his neck, and Lottie stared at her plate. For the rest of the meal, they all picked at their food in heavy silence.
Later that evening, when Greta drove home with Lottie, the atmosphere in the car felt as sticky as treacle. Lottie crossed her arms and stared out of the window at the sky, at the pavement, at her phone, at anything other than her mum.
Everything replayed in Greta’s mind, as if her failures were stuck on a loop.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the little coffee shop again. Its warm light glowed invitingly against the damp, dark evening. The white rabbit in the window stared back at her, as if to say, Hey, don’t worry. Everything will be okay.
Greta tightened her grip on the steering wheel. ‘Look, I’m sorry tonight didn’t go as planned,’ she said. ‘At least it was memorable.’
Lottie remained quiet, as if holding on to her grudge.
‘We should go shopping together this weekend, or watch a movie. Some girls’ time together.’
‘I’m seeing Jayden,’ Lottie said, plucking at her jumper. ‘Walking his dog.’
‘Oh?’ The boyfriend? ‘Well, let’s do it another time.’
Lottie nodded. She picked up the flyer that had drifted to the floor. ‘Looking for the perfect blend?’ she read aloud with a smirk. ‘Like that even exists . . .’
As the traffic light turned green, Greta set off again. A moment of doubt crossed her mind, but she quickly brushed it away. She wanted to believe the perfect blend in life could exist. Just like it had before. Otherwise, what was the point?
And somehow, strangely, she felt like the white rabbit and the coffee shop might hold some of the answers.