Chapter 6
THAT NIGHT, GRETA tossed and turned, yawning and getting tangled in her sheets.
Whenever she closed her eyes to sleep, she pictured the waitress cooing at Jim, Lottie’s downcast eyes, and the broken bracelet.
The shame of her outburst felt seared into her mind, and she drifted in and out of slumber, never quite sure if she was awake or not.
When she got up the next morning, she rubbed her eyes, overcome by tiredness. Lottie had already left the flat. A used cereal bowl sat in the sink, and a hastily scrawled note lay on the kitchen table.
Gone to meet Jayden.
Greta sighed. Sunday used to be a time for family, when she, Jim and Lottie went to the park or enjoyed going ten-pin bowling.
She used to cherish those moments when they’d felt like a team rather than solo players.
Now it looked like she’d be spending the rest of her weekend alone.
The hours stretching ahead felt long and empty.
She busied herself by tidying the flat, the lavender room spray and the lines she vacuumed into the carpets not doing much to lift her spirits.
Craving a shot of caffeine to boost her energy levels, Greta opened the kitchen cupboard, only to find a few granules lying in the bottom of the coffee jar. ‘Lottie,’ she huffed aloud. ‘Add things to the shopping list.’ Did she have to do everything around here?
In need of fresh air and decent coffee, she got dressed, grabbed her coat, and went out for a walk.
The winter air was crisp, that in-between temperature that meant you put on a scarf, then took it off again several times a day.
She walked through the park, her feet crunching through the dried copper leaves, picturing a younger Lottie scooping and throwing them around like confetti.
They used to buy ice creams drizzled with raspberry sauce and sit astride stone lion statues to eat them.
The memories seemed to drift around her like ghosts.
She passed Brewtique, spotting Josie bustling around inside, serving up full English breakfasts. But Greta’s feet instinctively carried her towards the ‘Perfect Blend’ coffee shop instead. A frothy cappuccino and a brownie felt like the friends she needed right now.
The dark green paint around the windows of the shop curled like wood shavings, giving the place a slightly abandoned feel.
Yet unlike the other shops on the street, there were no dandelions sprouting through the cracked pavement in front of it.
There was no graffiti or litter either, almost like it was invisible to others.
It was 11:00 a.m., but the second hand on her watch had stuck, ticking slightly back and forth like a tiny metronome.
As Greta reached for the door-knob, her hand shook with an odd sense of anticipation, like the jumpy sensation she got before an audition.
She felt drawn towards the promise of something . . . different.
Surprisingly, the door swung open with ease, and a brass bell tinkled to announce her arrival. The warm scent of rich, freshly ground coffee greeted her, with hints of dark chocolate, nutmeg, and something smoky.
Inside, the shop was more inviting than she’d anticipated.
Fringed red lampshades cast an intimate glow, giving the place the feel of a speakeasy (minus the gin).
Greta felt instantly at ease, like she’d stepped into a different era.
There were several round wooden tables with three-legged stools, and a single leather booth draped with red velvet curtains.
In the corner, a vintage TV flickered in black and white, playing It’s a Wonderful Life.
A dark wooden counter, intricately carved with floral patterns, added to the shop’s old-fashioned charm.
Before approaching it, Greta stopped to admire the hundreds of glass jars lining the shelves.
Each was filled with coffee beans or other infusions, such as seeds, dried leaves, cinnamon sticks and vanilla pods.
The jars had stoppered lids, and she read a few of the handwritten labels—Mind’s Eye Elixir, Heart’s Desire Blend, and Emotion Beans.
Very strange. She noticed there were no blackboards or menus anywhere.
Behind the counter stood an old woman Greta recognised. She was quiet and still, with eyes like drops of mercury and white hair trailing down to her waist. She wore simple, boxy black clothes and an enigmatic smile, grinding a pale green jade pestle into its mortar.
Something behind her intense gaze made Greta’s forearms tingle, as if brushed by a feather. ‘I think we’ve met before,’ she said tentatively. ‘It was a rainy night. You gave me a flyer in the street . . .’
The old woman nodded. ‘That sounds like me. I tell people about this place, in case they miss it. Some notice the shop and others don’t.’
‘I’d just finished working at an event at Brewtique.’ Greta looked around her again. ‘Your place is much more atmospheric.’
‘Thank you kindly.’ The old lady offered her hand. ‘I’m Iris.’
‘Greta.’ She returned the shake. ‘Do you own this place? What’s its name?’
Iris smiled to herself. ‘No. I found the shop, and it found me.’
Greta waited for a longer answer, but nothing came. She wasn’t one for vague statements or riddles, preferring things to be more straightforward. ‘I don’t remember seeing it here before. Wasn’t there an alleyway? Or is my mind playing tricks on me?’
Iris tilted her head. ‘Memories can shift over time, my dear, just like light shining through a window never stays the same. It always changes, illuminating things differently.’ Reaching for a small jar of coffee beans, she took off the lid.
‘In case you’re wondering, I tailor coffee for each of my customers, offering the person what they need. ’
‘The perfect blend?’ Greta asked. ‘What if I just want a good old cappuccino?’
‘I offer those, too. They’re just not as insightful.’
It was an odd word to use to describe coffee, and Greta felt like her request had somehow disappointed Iris.
Was asking for a cappuccino here like requesting a bacon sandwich in a fine dining restaurant?
‘If the perfect blend helps with hot flashes and dry skin, I’ll take two,’ she said with a smile.
Iris didn’t laugh. ‘The coffee is free, but there are rules attached,’ she said.
Complimentary coffee sounded great, but rules? The word reminded Greta of playing netball in school. She’d zoned out when being taught how to play and had subsequently missed every goal. Besides, weren’t rules for bending? ‘Why do rules apply to coffee?’ she asked.
‘Because everything in life needs parameters. Without rules, desires and emotions can run wild, like an overgrown garden can become chaotic and tangled.’ Iris gestured to the jars lining the shelves.
‘The rules help to keep the balance. Just as each of my blends is unique, so is the experience they offer the consumer.’
‘Riiight.’ Greta glanced out of the window.
People were walking past without giving this place a second look.
It might be unusual, but it felt more authentic than all the chain coffee shops in the town.
Plus, she’d never been able to resist a freebie.
Taking a seat at one of the tables, she decided to humour Iris. ‘Okay, tell me the rules.’
Iris set down her jar. ‘Rule One,’ she said. ‘You may have only one cup of coffee a week. No milk. Drinking more can disrupt the balance, altering the effects. There can be too much of a good thing.’
Greta was trying to cut down on dairy anyway, and she nodded for Iris to continue. ‘Okay. One cup only,’ she repeated. ‘Got it. What else?’
‘Rule Two. The coffee must be consumed here, in the booth.’ Iris gestured to the velvet-draped corner. ‘I need to observe the procedure.’
Greta raised an eyebrow. Procedure? Why did this sound more like a hospital consultation than a coffee order?
Maybe it was like one of those consumer panels, where customer reactions were observed from behind two-way glass.
Or perhaps Iris had just used the wrong word.
‘Any more rules?’ she asked. ‘Do I have to recite an incantation, or sacrifice a biscuit?’
‘Actually, yes. The incantation is Rule Three. You must say your wish aloud before finishing your coffee. No biscuit required.’
Greta wondered how Iris was managing to keep a straight face. ‘A wish?.’
Surely this had to be a joke. She’d wished for many things recently, and they hadn’t come true. Perhaps she should have just gone to Starbucks instead. She’d be munching a post-coffee brownie by now. ‘Three rules, including a wish. Okay . . .’ she said. ‘Can I just get my brew? I’m really thirsty.’
Iris raised a finger. ‘Rule Four is the most important one of all. You must not resist the coffee’s effects.
Embrace what it shows you, but do not struggle when you return.
’ Her gaze grew more intense. ‘Accept your fate, and don’t try to stay.
You can’t outswim the current of life. Do you understand? ’
The hairs on the back of Greta’s neck stood on end. This sounded weird. Stay where? She only planned to drink her coffee, then go home. ‘And all the rules are strictly necessary?’
‘Yes.’ Iris’s eyes bore into Greta’s. ‘Do you understand?’ she repeated.
She sounded deadly serious, and Greta felt like her stomach was coiling into a knot. Yet she also wanted to know more. ‘Yes. Sure.’
‘Good. Now tell me about yourself. Why are you here?’
Greta swallowed nervously. ‘Um, for a coffee . . .’ A twinge of doubt told her the answer wasn’t enough.
‘I mean, why are you really here?’ Iris picked up her mortar and pestle.
Greta’s eyes flicked toward the door, relieved to see it was ajar. She could leave whenever she wanted to. That was good. What exactly did Iris want to know?
‘There’s no rush or judgement here,’ Iris added, sprinkling a few leaves into her bowl. ‘My customers often have a hidden ache, a desire, or a regret. Saying things out loud is a first step to addressing them.’