Chapter 8
ENJOYING A NEWFOUND sense of freedom, Greta decided to indulge in a few pleasures she’d long neglected.
If Lottie didn’t want to go shopping with her, she’d go on her own.
In an idyllic place, as an ideal version of herself, it would probably be more fun than dragging a reluctant teenager along.
The thought of being able to do what she wanted, without considering anyone else’s needs or feelings, felt liberating.
The bright sunlight made her surroundings feel even more magical. She strolled along a street where the vibrant storefronts—painted in Maple Gold’s signature colours of orange and gold—caught her eye.
The delicious aroma of freshly baked bread drifted from a bakery, while a boutique called to her with its colourful, chic display of clothes.
The bookshop window overflowed with hardbacks and gifts, and each piece of fruit on display outside the grocery store looked like it had been individually buffed.
A couple of women filed out of a hairdressing salon, sporting similar wavy bobs, and a milkshake bar served the biggest, frothiest shakes Greta had ever seen.
She entered the bakery first, greeted by rows of pastries, pies and golden-brown loaves.
Her mouth watered as she surveyed the neat rows of perfectly piped meringues and glossy chocolate eclairs.
Feeling spoilt for choice, Greta finally settled on a sausage roll and a doughnut iced with chocolate and sprinkles.
The glaze was so shiny it gleamed like porcelain.
The baker was a rotund fellow with ruddy red cheeks who handed her the baked goods in a small white box. As she waited to pay, he flashed her a curious smile. ‘Everything here is complimentary, thanks to the kind folks at Maple Gold,’ he said. ‘Good day to you.’
Greta beamed at this unexpected kindness. ‘Free? Really? Everything is covered, just like that?’
‘That’s right, madam.’
‘Oh. Thank you kindly, sir,’ she said, noticing she’d started to speak like she was in a Cary Grant film. She almost skipped when she left the shop.
Greta found a bench and sat down to eat.
Above her, the sun filtered through the trees, while green parakeets flitted gracefully from branch to branch.
Closing her eyes, she savoured a moment of true bliss when she bit into the sausage roll.
The pastry was deliciously flaky and buttery, and the jam in the doughnut burst with the taste of fresh raspberries.
The simple food packed ten times the flavour of anything she’d eaten in the Anvil Inn.
Indulging in a spot of people-watching, she realised that no one here looked anything less than happy.
Didn’t anyone ever worry about dental appointments, mortgage rate increases, or migraines?
Did headache tablets even exist in Mapleville?
She supposed everything always appeared hunky-dory in coffee commercials, any problems quickly solved by a fresh cuppa.
Greta jumped as a fire engine suddenly pulled up, its siren sounding a mellow melody. Two firemen jumped out to assist an old lady across the road, depositing her safely on the other side.
A group of smartly dressed teenagers hung out near the ice-cream van. When one of the girls accidentally dropped a sweet wrapper, a team of cleaners appeared before she could pick it up. ‘Let’s get this cleaned up, shall we, miss?’ one said, brandishing a broom with a smile.
‘Can we help?’ the teenagers asked.
Greta laughed to herself, trying to imagine Lottie dressed in a matching pastel skirt and jacket rather than her oversized sweaters and holey jeans. Offering to help tidy up was an alien concept to her daughter.
She finished her doughnut and headed over to the boutique, where she admired the window display. Classy dresses, shoes and handbags in neutrals, or sugared almond shades of lemon, lilac, mint and strawberry, looked like someone had plucked them straight off a catwalk.
Greta couldn’t see any price tags, and the thought that the handbags might also be free made her feel both giddy and a bit suspicious.
These days, she usually only bought clothes if they ticked three boxes—the fabric didn’t need ironing, the fabric dried quickly, and the garment didn’t make her look like she was wearing a tent.
As a result, her wardrobe at home consisted mainly of functional dark garments, simple though not exactly flattering.
Thankfully, practicality and budget restraints didn’t seem to apply in Mapleville. The beautiful clothes in the window seemed to call out to her.
Unsure if she was going to wake up back in Longmill or not anytime soon, Greta decided to pop in for a wardrobe update.
Standing in the shop, her mind briefly flicked back to the photos of celebrities lining Nora’s walls, with Tobias Blake occupying a particular place in her thoughts.
All the beautifully cut clothes and wide smiles in the shots reminded Greta of when her own name had topped invitation lists.
If only Nora could see her now, looking polished, poised, and utterly fabulous.
She was sure more rewarding work would come her way.
Greta glanced around, marvelling at all the elegant clothes on the rails. Should she try on things to suit her forty-five- year-old self, or ones to match her new, more youthful aura? She didn’t want to look like mutton dressed as lamb, or should that be lamb dressed as mutton?
A sales assistant with copper-red hair swept over. Her eyes were a deep orange-brown, a similar shade to her hair and lipstick. She wore a string of gleaming chunky pearls the size of marbles around her neck, and her name badge said Millie.
‘Hello. Are you by any chance new here?’ Millie asked, sounding surprised. She had the poise of a debutante, and her polished accent was reminiscent of the ones once heard connecting long-distance calls on switchboards.
Greta smiled with a nod. ‘Yes, I arrived today. I’m Greta.’
‘Well, you are most welcome. I’m Millie Maxwell, at your service.’ She daintily held out her hand. ‘Would you care for a coffee while you peruse our collection? It’s Maple Gold, a distinguished blend made from the finest beans.’
‘Thanks, but I’ve just had a brew,’ Greta said, still able to taste Iris’s coffee on her tongue. ‘It was a very unique blend.’ Millie’s brow furrowed. ‘There’s coffee other than Maple Gold?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘How very . . . intriguing.’
Greta picked out a pink dress and held it to her chin. ‘Do Maple Gold have a say in everything here?’
‘Oh, they have a hand in most things that matter.’
Greta couldn’t help feeling Millie was referring to something more than just coffee.
She gave her a sideways glance, deciding to hold off asking any further questions for now.
Her shoes were starting to pinch, and it would also be nice to find something to wear with a looser waistband.
‘Do you sell jeans and running shoes?’ she asked.
Millie arched a fine eyebrow, as if no one had ever asked her this before. ‘They’re not really the kind of thing we stock, but let me see what I can find.’
She disappeared through a door at the back of the shop, returning moments later with three dresses—in pink, mint and pastel blue. ‘These will look lovely on you . . .’
‘Oh,’ Greta said, taking hold of them. ‘Do women’s jeans not exist in Mapleville?’
‘I think I’ve heard of them before . . .’ Millie said vaguely.
Greta carried the dresses into a changing room cubicle, where they all fit her beautifully. The curtains across the cubicle parted several times as Millie passed her yet more dresses to try on.
‘Is there anything you adore?’ she cooed.
‘Everything’s lovely.’ Greta mused. The nipped-in waist of the mint-green dress was flattering, though hardly practical for her acting classes or hanging around her flat. Jim and Lottie probably wouldn’t even recognise her in it.
‘Super. You look absolutely splendid, and I bet you deserve a treat,’ Millie said with a wink.
Greta smoothed a hand over the fabric, relishing the absence of her usual lumps and bumps.
The stress of the last few days, weeks and months had given her a few stray grey hairs that were absent here.
‘Yes. Yes, I do,’ she said, a smile spreading across her face.
‘If these are complimentary, I’ll take all three dresses, please. ’
While Millie wrapped them in tissue paper, Greta meandered around the shop again, checking out scarves, shoes and handbags. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so pampered.
But as she wrapped a plaited leather belt around her waist, a few worries wormed into her thoughts.
How long would she stay in Mapleville? How would Jim and Lottie know where she was?
She felt like she’d been here for quite a while now, with no idea how to get back home.
She hadn’t told anyone she was going to the coffee shop, and Iris hadn’t given her any instructions on how to return, other than a warning not to struggle.
Greta’s pictured her husband and daughter striding around the flat, calling out her name. What if they reported her as a missing person to the police? Her veins chilled at the thought.
Was Mapleville even in England? Or was it somewhere else entirely? More questions swarmed her mind, and she clasped a hand to her racing heart.
Her panic continued to bubble until she felt a warm cup of coffee pressed into her hands.
‘You look like you might need this,’ Millie soothed. ‘Are you feeling all right?’ She led Greta to a small velvet chair.
Greta sat down. She stared into the cup, trying to calm her nerves. When she took a small sip of the Maple Gold, its rich, caramel-like taste slowly spread warmth through her body. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘I’m just worried about my family. They don’t know where I am.’
Millie tilted her head. ‘Please don’t fret too much. Families always have a way of finding each other again. Just take your time drinking your coffee. I’ll be here if you need me . . .’
Greta’s tension gradually eased. She felt calmer after the brew.
After a few minutes, Millie reappeared. ‘Here you are,’ she said brightly, setting down a shiny bag with ribbon handles at Greta’s feet. ‘All wrapped up and ready to wear.’
‘Thank you, Millie.’
‘You’re most welcome.’ Millie paused for a moment. ‘I’m about to take a break. Perhaps you might like to join me at my house for another coffee? A change of scenery and a proper sit- down might prove beneficial. Plus, I can tell you more about Mapleville . . . if that might be of interest to you?’
There was a hint of something in her voice, as if she wanted the company.
Greta was also keen to learn more about this curious place. ‘That’s very kind of you. I’d love to,’ she said, picking up her shopping bag.
Millie left her shop door unlocked. They strolled together past the park and the ice-cream van, the enticing scent of vanilla and strawberry mingling with the ever-present aroma of coffee.
‘It’s so refreshing to encounter a new face in our little town. In fact—’ Millie’s eyes widened as a thought struck her. ‘I can’t actually recall the last time I had the pleasure of meeting someone new.’
A multitude of questions dropped into Greta’s head. Why were new people so rare? And how had Millie ended up here? Something about her hinted there was more to her story.
‘I’d like to think we could become friends . . .’ Millie added with a smile.
Greta glanced at the confident, poised woman walking beside her. ‘I think I’d like that, too,’ she said.