Chapter 11
GRETA SAT ON her sofa in her living room, chewing her lip while turning the pearl necklace over in her hands.
How could it possibly have come back with her to Longmill?
The more she thought about it, the more her mind tangled with possibilities.
She wasn’t someone who believed in fairy tales, but it was difficult to shake the feeling something otherworldly had taken place.
The clasp of the necklace was beautiful, featuring three diamantes in a row. When she refastened the pearls around her neck, she felt an unusual pull in her posture, a compulsion to sit up straighter, just as she’d done when Millie had draped the pearls around her collarbone.
A coral lipstick in Greta’s make-up bag seemed to call to her, one she’d bought but never worn. She found it and looked in the mirror above her mantelpiece to dab it on her lips. The colour added warmth to her complexion, and the pearls seemed to make her eyes glow.
Greta noticed the deep furrows between her eyebrows had returned. The lines that ran across her forehead like tram tracks had reappeared, too. They usually bothered her, a reminder of time passing. But now she tried to see them differently, as if they gave her an air of wisdom.
A text message from Josie pulled her attention away from the mirror.
Thanks again for your help at Brewtique. If you ever want to repeat the experience, let me know x
Greta shook her head. No chance. She wasn’t going to go through that again.
She sat down at the dining table just as the front door opened. Lottie traipsed into the hallway wearing a secretive smile that faded when she saw her mum.
‘Hi,’ Greta called out. ‘Had a good time with Jayden?’ Lottie’s eyes flicked to her mum’s orange lips, then to the pearls around her neck. ‘Are you going to a wedding or something? Is that Grandma’s necklace?’
Greta touched the pearls. ‘This? No, someone gave it to me.’
‘Must be nice,’ Lottie muttered, still eyeing the strand. ‘Looks expensive.’
Greta smiled, saying nothing more. ‘So, how was your walk? Where did you go?’
‘Just around.’ Lottie shrugged. ‘The park.’
‘Oh, nice.’ Greta didn’t mention she’d walked there, too, in case Lottie thought she’d been stalking her. ‘And Jayden has a dog, right?’
Lottie’s eyes softened a fraction. ‘Yeah, Benji.’ She shook off her coat and flopped down on the sofa, holding out a photo on her phone. ‘A golden Labrador. He’s adorable.’
Greta leaned closer. ‘Oh, look at him. Yeah, he’s gorgeous.
’ Lottie hesitated, as if choosing her next words carefully.
‘When I leave school, I think I want to work with dogs,’ she said quietly.
‘Maybe in an animal shelter or something . . .’ ‘Animals?’ Greta said, surprised.
She’d always thought, and hoped, that Lottie would return to acting one day.
She’d been such a natural in the commercials, nailing her timing and lines every time. ‘Are you sure?’
Lottie rounded her shoulders. ‘Yeah. Why?’
‘Nothing,’ Greta said, trying to mask her prickle of disappointment. Acting was a Perks family legacy. ‘You’ve always had a way with animals. Maybe you could start volunteering at the shelter, or even dog walking . . .’
Lottie shot her a wary look. ‘You’re not going to try talking me into acting again, like usual?’
‘No, I promise.’ Greta raised her palms. ‘Your dad and I just want you to be happy.’
Lottie’s eyes narrowed, as if she was waiting for a catch. ‘Did you really just say that? You’ve always pushed me into things.’
‘Not anymore,’ Greta said firmly, wanting to ease the recent tensions between them. ‘I’ve learned my lesson.’
‘Right.’ Lottie crossed her arms, still suspicious. ‘Well, acting’s just pretending to be someone else, and I’d rather just be me. Not live in a fantasy world.’
Greta’s fingers drifted to the necklace again.
As much as she’d like to tell Lottie about the magical coffee shop and Mapleville, she knew it would only add fuel to her daughter’s accusation.
‘A fantasy world, eh?’ she said, her lips curling into a half-smile.
‘Somewhere people get along, help each other out and are kind? Yeah, I’d love to live in that world. ’
Lottie flashed her an incredulous look, like her mother had been swapped for a clone who looked like her, but hadn’t quite nailed her ways. She opened her mouth, then struggled to find the words. ‘I’ll be in my room,’ she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.
She retreated before Greta could say anything else.
Greta tensed her shoulders, bracing for a door slam. But a gentle click came instead. Perhaps a small breakthrough?
As Greta curled her legs onto the sofa, Iris’s coffee shop still occupied her thoughts. Had anyone else stumbled across the place and tried the peculiar coffee? What had their experience been like? Maybe someone might have left a review.
Her eyes then settled on her laptop, sitting on the coffee table.
She wasn’t a fan of leaving feedback for restaurants, cafés or hotels, having been on the receiving end of criticism for her own performances over the years. Good reviews made her feel like she was soaring, while the bad ones felt like being buried alive, each hurtful word like a shovelful of dirt.
‘Don’t take criticism from people you wouldn’t go to for advice,’ Nora always told her.
Greta opened Tripadvisor and searched for coffee shops in Longmill, scrolling down the long list. Not able to find anywhere listed for the location between the launderette and the newsagent, she zoomed in on the map. As she’d initially thought, there wasn’t a building there, just an alleyway.
She hmm’d and scratched the back of her neck, trying Google next.
Greta conjured up and entered various names, such as White Rabbit Coffee Shop, Iris’s Coffee House, Strange Brew, and even Time Hop Coffee Shop. Nothing matched her descriptions, and she even checked Companies House, the registry for UK businesses, with no luck.
After more fruitless searching, Greta stood up and stretched her arms. She made coffee and toast for her and Lottie, digging out her mum’s fancy tableware to add a touch of Millie- style glamour to their supper.
The small roses on the china made her feel more sophisticated, and she removed the crusts from the toast and cut it into triangles.
She knocked on Lottie’s door, leaving a tray outside her room.
Seconds later, a hand appeared, pulling the drink and food inside with a mumbled ‘Thanks.’
‘Wash your pots afterwards,’ Greta called out before settling back down with her laptop.
She nibbled her toast absent-mindedly as she scrolled through local business pages and Facebook forums. The usual type of small-town chatter filled the screen—lost pets, roadworks causing chaos, bins unemptied, and plans for a new cinema scrapped.
But then something caught her eye.
Tucked away in a local history forum with barely any followers, a post mentioned a ‘hidden’ coffee shop, run by an old woman who ‘brewed your desires.’ The description stated it was ‘a place for seekers in need of direction.’
Greta’s pulse rocketed. She took a quick sip of coffee, leaning in closer, as if the words might vanish if she looked away. Could this refer to Iris’s shop?
She searched for more details, but the thread was old, abandoned long ago. To make matters worse, the person who’d posted it had deactivated their account. A dead end.
Or was it?
Determined to find out more, Greta scanned the forum’s archives, looking for anything remotely similar. After several frustrating minutes, she found a brief comment from someone named Edgar Barker.
His profile photo showed a distinguished older gentleman in a tweed waistcoat, with neatly combed grey hair and a Roman nose. He had the authoritative air of a boarding school headmaster.
His comment read,
You don’t really find this coffee shop, it finds you. A truly unique blend. Once experienced, never forgotten.
A shiver of anticipation ran down Greta’s spine. Although the message was short and vague, it seemed to echo her own discovery of Iris’s shop. If the place found you, perhaps that was why she couldn’t locate any official record. Had she stumbled onto something even stranger than she’d realised?
Greta’s fingers hovered over the keyboard before she finally replied to Edgar’s post.
That sounds fascinating. I think I’ve been there, too.
Can you tell me more about your experience?
She held her breath and, with a shaky finger, clicked Post.
Closing her laptop, Greta doubted she’d get a response, but she hoped that she might.
Later that evening, she lay on the sofa with a sense of isolation settling over her. She’d reached out to Edgar but still longed to share her bizarre adventure with someone closer, to make it feel less surreal. But who would possibly believe her?
Picking up her phone, she studied the screensaver. It was a family photo, a still from one of the Maple Gold commercials. She, Jim and Lottie were laughing together between takes, caught in a perfect frozen moment.
Greta sat up a little straighter.
Jim?
They’d shared everything once. He was probably the only person in her life who’d understand the lure of Maple Gold. And, after all, he’d been present in Mapleville, too—whether he realised it or not.
Greta scrolled to Jim’s number and stared at it. Would he think she’d lost the plot?
Before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed Call.
Jim’s voicemail kicked in as usual, and she adopted a casual tone.
‘Hi, Jim. Just wondered if you fancy meeting up sometime this week?’
She gnawed her lip, thinking quickly. It probably wasn’t wise to take him straight to Iris’s coffee shop without some kind of explanation first. A pleasant, neutral meeting place would work better, and Millie’s pretty garden came to mind.
‘Maybe we could meet at the garden centre?’ she added. ‘I haven’t been for ages, and I’m thinking of getting some new plants . . .’
Greta hung up and gripped her phone, wondering if Jim would believe her wild story. But then a smile crept across her lips. For the first time in ages, she was reaching out to him with something positive to share.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. ‘See, Iris,’ she said aloud. ‘I’m pushing forward on my own. No coffee required.’