Chapter 9
MILLIE OPENED HER garden gate, sweeping an arm as if welcoming an honoured guest.
Greta gazed around her, noting this was the beautiful garden she’d spotted earlier. With its large pale pink roses, topiary peacocks and perfectly clipped hedges, it looked like a scene from the Chelsea Flower Show.
Greta’s own interest in gardening had recently blossomed, too.
Weekend walks in the country took her past rhododendrons and orchids in the newly renovated park conservatory.
She’d even considered buying pots of mint and basil to use in cooking and to give herself something to nurture as Lottie became more independent.
She followed Millie along the neat path, admiring the symmetry of the flower beds. ‘Your garden looks beautiful,’ she said.
Millie deftly snipped off a rose, produced a pin as if by magic from her pocket, and fastened the bloom to Greta’s dress. ‘There. Now you match the setting,’ she said. She took a step back to admire her handiwork. ‘That looks splendid, if I do say so myself.’
She took a silver compact from her pocket and applied a fresh coat of lipstick, as if preparing for a close-up. ‘Now, might I tempt you with another cup of Maple Gold?’ she said. ‘It has that wonderful aroma of . . .’
Greta thought her words sounded scripted, and she didn’t really want another coffee. But she did want to find out more about Millie and Mapleville. ‘Absolutely. Thank you,’ she said.
Millie’s sitting room exuded an air of timeless glamour, as if it belonged in the pages of a vintage interior design book.
The walls were painted in rich shades of coffee and cream, giving the room a classic, chic feel.
Each piece of furniture appeared perfectly curated, with polished wooden surfaces and tasteful ornaments on display.
There were flowers everywhere, delicate blooms in shades of pink, ivory and yellow, adding bursts of colour.
The air smelled sweet, of coffee and roses.
While Millie disappeared into the kitchen, Greta noticed framed photographs sitting on a shelf.
Here was Millie in a neat white dress holding a cocktail at a party.
Another captured her in a polka dot swimming suit and oversized sunglasses.
In every image, she looked effortlessly elegant, as if each part of her life had been carefully choreographed.
The final photo showed her laughing beside a distinguished man who wore a suit and had slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair.
Catching sight of herself in a nearby mirror, Greta was once again surprised by her own reflection. Inside, she still felt like a messy, middle-aged mother of a teen, but the woman looking back at her looked polished, like someone who had life all figured out.
Millie hummed the Maple Gold jingle while brewing the coffee. When she returned, she said, ‘Here we are. Coffee time,’ offering Greta a bone china cup on a silver tray. ‘Isn’t this just the best part of the day?’
Millie’s devotion to Maple Gold seemed rather over the top, yet also infectious. Without thinking, Greta found herself holding the cup with her little finger extended, a touch of Millie’s grace already rubbing off on her. ‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked.
Millie smiled, touching her pearl necklace. ‘Oh, it feels like forever. In the most delightful sense, naturally.’
‘You have such a beautiful home, and life.’ Greta gestured toward the photo of the handsome man. ‘Is that your husband?’
‘Yes, that’s Jefferson. He’s ever so kind, thoughtful, and rather dashing, wouldn’t you agree? Mapleville is like a little slice of heaven. Perpetual sunshine, delightful company and wonderful coffee. What more could a girl want?’
Greta nodded. Life in Mapleville did seem charming, like a storybook come to life. ‘I wish my own life was so shiny, or at least less complicated,’ she sighed.
‘Compli . . . cated?’ Millie stretched out the word, as if she’d never used it before.
‘Yes. You, know . . . we women spend so much time trying to be what others expect—wives, mothers, daughters. Always performing, in a way. But right now, none of those roles feel like the right fit for me.’
Millie studied Greta for a moment. Then she reached behind her neck to unfasten her pearls. ‘There you are,’ she said, holding them out. ‘Do try these on.’
Greta blinked at them, shimmering in a shaft of light. She couldn’t help wondering if they were real or imitation. ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly . . .’
‘But of course you can. They’ll suit you.’ Millie stood and stepped behind Greta, draping the necklace around her collarbone. ‘Pearls have a certain je ne sais quoi, don’t you think? They add a touch of elegance, a gentle reminder that you are, indeed, rather special.’ She fastened them in place.
Greta touched the pearls, cool against her skin. They were something she’d never usually wear, but they somehow made her want to sit tall. ‘They feel beautiful and kind of . . . powerful . . .’
‘So are you,’ Millie replied simply. ‘And you deserve to feel that way.’
It was a long time since anyone had spoken to Greta like that, and even longer since she’d let herself believe it. It was the kind of lovely thing her mum used to say.
‘Thank you.’ She blushed, holding her coffee cup to her lips. ‘My mum would have loved this necklace.’
‘You must certainly show it to her.’ Millie smiled.
Greta swallowed and lowered her cup, a choke rising in her throat. ‘Mum passed away earlier this year,’ she said. ‘She spent her final few weeks watching re-runs and clips of old TV programmes and commercials. She particularly loved the Maple Gold ones, said they whisked her away to a nicer world.’
‘I’m so sorry. That must have been tough,’ Millie said softly. After hesitating for a while, she added, ‘You mentioned commercials?’
‘Oh, you know, the smiling ladies, charming men, friendly chats over the garden fence, and chic dinner parties—all fuelled by cups of Maple Gold,’ Greta said. ‘My family starred in the ads for ten years . . .’
Millie shook her head. ‘I’ve never had the pleasure of viewing them, but they sound utterly delightful.’
Greta knew not everyone would have seen or remembered the ads. Millie didn’t appear to know she was living in a town originally designed for a coffee commercial.
‘Do tell me more about your mother,’ Millie said.
Greta was happy to do so.
‘She was different to other mums. When I was young, she would wear imitation Chanel suits to the supermarket while everyone else was in jeans and T-shirts. She was part of a local theatre company, always starring in one play or another. My friends used to think she was the epitome of glamour.’
‘Style and class? She sounds like my kind of lady,’ Millie said, her eyes twinkling. ‘When you shine, the world shines with you, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose it does.’ Greta smiled. She’d never considered this before, and it definitely applied to her mum.
‘When I was a young girl, I used to put on one-person shows for Mum at home, using my toy animals as the audience.
I even made paper tickets to hand out. I think, in a way, her love of performing became mine, too.
‘Sometimes, if I couldn’t sleep, I’d creep downstairs to find her watching TV in the dark. I’d snuggle up next to her, and we’d discuss the characters together. My parents’ marriage wasn’t the happiest, so I think Mum found solace in fiction. My dad finally left us when I was ten.’
‘An unhappy marriage?’ Millie frowned as if she didn’t quite understand.
Greta raised a surprised eyebrow, unsure how to explain. ‘Sometimes people just aren’t right for each other. Or, they should be together, but can’t seem to make things work.’
‘Ah,’ Millie replied, as if the concept was still foreign. ‘I’ve always seen marriage as two people who love each other and have made a commitment to stay together. My husband, Jefferson, and I are very happy.’
Greta supposed there’d been many happy couples in the Maple Gold commercials over the years. ‘That’s probably the ideal, but it’s not always so simple.’
She’d come here to escape the complexities of her own marriage, not to dwell on them, and she breezily steered the conversation elsewhere. ‘Anyway, that’s enough about me. What about you? What do you do here in Mapleville?’
Millie sighed contentedly. ‘I have plenty to keep me busy,’ she said.
‘I love managing my little boutique, tending to my garden, hosting our delightful coffee mornings, and spending time with Jefferson . . .’ Her eyes glimmered for a moment, as if searching for a thought but not quite reaching it.
‘And, of course, I adore a rich cup of Maple Gold. It always brightens one’s day. What’s not to love?’
‘Absolutely nothing. Everything here is wonderful,’ Greta said. A prickle of heat circled her neck, and the room was beginning to feel stuffy. She set aside her cup, leaving some coffee in the bottom. ‘I should be heading off,’ she said.
‘Yes, me, too. I need to return to the boutique.’
Greta reached for her shopping bag. ‘Thank you so much for your kindness, and the pearls. It’s been wonderful to meet you.’
‘It was my pleasure.’ Millie stood up and smoothed down her dress. ‘You must come to the next coffee morning at the town hall. The ladies of Mapleville love a good get-together, and you’d be very welcome. We always have a few stories and activities to share.’
Greta wondered what she could possibly contribute to this perfect world. It was unlikely anyone would remember her as a former coffee commercial actor. ‘Perhaps I could give a talk, or run a drama class, to thank you for your hospitality?’ she suggested tentatively.
Millie’s face lit up. ‘Yes! How marvellous. The ladies will love that. Let’s compare diaries soon.’
As Greta walked back down the garden path, she felt like she was walking on air. She and Millie embraced on the pavement, exchanging double kisses on the cheek as they said their farewells.
Greta looked forward to getting back to her pretty white house, to kick off her heels. They were now really pinching.
Now more familiar with her surroundings, she noticed finer details in Mapleville as she walked, such as the golden filigree hands of the town hall clock, and the doves perching on the intricate cream stonework.
Birds flew in formation, creating shifting patterns in the sky—an arrow, a circle, then a heart.
However, by the time Greta’s own street came into view, her footsteps began to falter.
Her body felt sluggish, and she felt off balance, as if the ground was shifting beneath her feet.
Her surroundings seemed to tilt, and Greta stumbled toward a nearby bench to sit down.
She felt light-headed, as if suffering from a touch of sunstroke.
Things seemed to slip in and out of focus. She was vaguely aware of concerned expressions on the faces of passers-by, but they looked indistinct, as if viewed through fog.
‘Are you okay?’ A man’s voice reached her. It sounded muffled, like he was speaking through cotton.
Greta squinted at him, struggling to make out his features. He moved closer, but his figure was blurred. Through her hazy vision, she could make out he was wearing a suit, a tie and a Panama hat.
Her heart leapt when she realised who he was. ‘Jim?’ she gasped.
‘Yes. Hi, honey . . .’ His voice was distant like an echo.
‘W . . . what are you doing here?’
‘I got these for you . . .’
Sunflowers appeared before her, bright yellow, but with faded edges. Greta reached out to touch them, her fingers sweeping through the air. Everything around her started to shimmer, like in a heatwave.
She blinked furiously. Mapleville seemed to be falling away, and she didn’t want to lose it. Jim’s smile slowly melted into a featureless face.
‘No, wait . . .’ she said, reaching toward him. She felt helpless as he dissolved into a mass of shapes and colours. Her eyelids felt like they were setting to stone.
Greta wanted to stay here, to talk to Jim, to get back to her house, to take off her shoes, to smell the sunflowers. But a dense darkness pulled at her, as if sucking her into a thick blanket. A black veil descended, so she could no longer see anything, not even her own hand in front of her face.
Greta tried to resist, to fight against the smothering sensation.
Iris’s warning suddenly rang faintly in her head. Don’t struggle. Don’t try to stay.
And then Greta heard actual words. This time closer, as if someone was beside her, speaking right into her ear.
‘Don’tfight it.’
Greta felt someone grip her arm, lightly shaking her.
And then Iris’s voice, much stronger and clearer now. ‘Welcome back, Greta.’