Chapter 12
A FEW DAYS LATER, Greta applied a fresh coat of coral lipstick before she headed to the garden centre.
She wore the pearls and dug out a black floppy-brimmed hat from the back of her wardrobe.
Teamed with a black dress, boots and faux fur coat, she looked like she was stepping out for a pretheatre dinner.
She didn’t look quite as polished as she’d done in Mapleville, but it was a start.
With time to spare before meeting Jim, she wandered the aisles of potted plants, admiring the miniature roses and poinsettias.
Freshly cut flowers were arranged in buckets on a striped cart with wheels, looking like something from the streets of a romantic movie.
She inhaled the earthy pine smell of the real Christmas trees on sale.
There was a pet section, gifts, and a coffee shop housed in the same building.
When Lottie was a little girl, she used to love giggling at the gerbils as they scurried in the sawdust. She’d especially enjoyed the aquariums where fish flitted and fake treasure chests overflowed with shiny plastic jewels.
Greta decided to take a cautious approach with Jim, a leisurely look around together before she told him about Iris’s coffee shop.
As she browsed, Greta noticed a couple of women pausing nearby, glancing in her direction. She couldn’t help overhearing their conversation.
‘She looks glam. Is she famous or something?’ one murmured.
‘Not sure. She looks like she should be . . .’
They both laughed, their tone warm rather than unkind.
Greta’s cheeks speckled pink with pride.
She was lost in thoughts about Millie’s elegant home décor when she spotted Jim near the garden tools, examining a pair of shears. He wore his denim jacket slung over one shoulder and sported the khaki cargo trousers she’d always liked.
An unexpected wave of attraction swept over her, leaving her feeling a little dizzy. She approached him with a casual smile. ‘Fancy seeing you here . . .’
Jim glanced up, barely registering her at first. ‘Greta?’ He did a double take. ‘You look . . . different.’
Greta flicked the brim of her hat. ‘You mean fabulous?’ She laughed. ‘Looks like one of us made the effort.’
His gaze lingered longer than she expected. ‘I didn’t realise there was a dress code for plant shopping,’ he said. ‘I feel a bit underdressed.’
‘Maybe we could start a trend.’
Jim set the shears back on the shelf. ‘I miss having a garden,’ he said quietly. ‘Didn’t think I’d ever miss hanging out the washing, or reading the papers in the sun.’
‘There’s a solution for that,’ Greta quipped, watching to gauge his reaction.
But Jim only offered her a small, guarded smile.
They began to meander along the aisles together, though Greta felt like an invisible barrier was still holding them apart.
She picked up a small cactus off a shelf, noticing a tiny orange flower growing amongst the spines. Jim, meanwhile, seemed engrossed by a display of hydrangeas.
When they reached the clothing section, a Panama hat caught Greta’s eye. It reminded her of the one Jim had sported in Mapleville, and she picked it up.
Flicking the brim with her fingers, she offered it to him. ‘If you’re still feeling out of place, this might suit you,’ she teased.
Jim hesitated before taking it, turning it over in his hands. ‘Yeah?’ He placed it on his head and struck a pose. ‘What do you think?’
Greta took a step back to see. ‘It looks surprisingly good.’
‘Yeah? Jim glanced at a nearby mirror. ‘I’m not so sure. Maybe if I was going to an Indiana Jones convention, or on a Nile cruise.’ He laughed and placed it back on the shelf.
‘Shame,’ Greta said, watching him walk ahead. ‘I thought it really suited you.’
She followed him to the gift shelves, where Jim reached for a soft penguin toy. He held it up to show her. ‘Lottie used to love stuff like this, didn’t she?’
Greta stood beside him, her heartstrings tugging as she pictured their daughter’s chubby hands clutching her stuffed animals. ‘She probably still does. Not that she’d ever admit it to us. She’s really into animals at the moment.’
‘You noticed that, too?’ Jim moved the penguin so it looked like it was waddling. ‘When I dropped her at the talent show rehearsal, one of the teachers mentioned it, too.’
‘Lottie told me she wants to work with them . . .’
Jim turned to her, his brows raised. ‘And what do you make of that?’
Greta paused, choosing her words with care. Jim had always found it easier to talk about their daughter than about the two of them. ‘She’s got a special gift for performing, but if animals make her happy, that’s what really matters. Maybe she just needs to find her own way to shine.’
Her fingers sought out the pearl necklace. Was this really her talking? Her words felt foreign to her, yet also right. Greta decided she liked this newer, more optimistic woman who was starting to peek through.
‘I just worry she’ll regret giving up acting,’ Jim said, flexing his jaw. ‘It gave her confidence. She used to bound onto set like she owned it, so full of spark.’
‘She’s a teenager, Jim. Still figuring things out.’ Greta smiled gently. ‘Maybe she needs to build confidence in her own way. Not the way we expect her to.’
Jim studied her with a look of quiet surprise in his eyes. ‘Maybe you’re right . . .’
Greta’s thoughts took her back to Iris’s shop. There were still three days to go until she could go back for the special brew, but surely Iris must serve regular coffee, too. It would be nice to spend time with Jim and talk about something other than their daughter, or their marriage, for once.
‘How about we chat properly over coffee?’ she said lightly. Jim glanced at his watch. ‘Sure. But I don’t think the café here opens till lunchtime.’
‘That’s okay. I know somewhere else, but it’s a bit . . . unusual,’ Greta said, smiling to herself. ‘We could go there now? I think you’ll find it very interesting.’
‘Yeah? Where is it?’
Greta looked around her, to make sure no one else was listening. She wanted Jim to hear her out and not make her feel foolish. ‘I know it sounds strange, but I found a new coffee shop,’ she confided. ‘It kind of appeared out of nowhere.’
‘A new building?’
‘No. An old one that wasn’t there before . . .’
Jim twitched a small, bemused smile. ‘Appeared from nowhere, huh? Sounds intriguing.’
Greta pressed on. ‘The woman who runs it made me a coffee she called the perfect blend. When I drank it, I somehow arrived in Mapleville, and—’
‘Mapleville?’ Jim cut in, his face scrunching.
‘I know it sounds bizarre, like it couldn’t possibly happen. But it really did. The sky was the brightest blue, the houses were pristine, and the lawns glistened. Everyone was happy. People drank Maple Gold all the time, just like the commercials we starred in.’
She studied his face, half-expecting disbelief, but hoping he’d believe her.
Jim’s cheeks puffed like he was about to laugh. When he saw the sharp look in Greta’s eyes, he straightened his face. ‘Are you serious? You definitely drank coffee, not a bottle of wine?’
‘I mean every word . . .’ Greta stepped closer, ready to add her pièce de résistance. ‘You were there, too.’
‘Me?’ He picked up a small pink orchid, sniffing it as if playing for time. ‘Right. Let me guess. I was dressed in a silver suit, riding a unicorn? Or maybe wearing that Indiana Jones hat?’ He flashed her an awkward grin.
Greta twitched a shoulder. ‘I didn’t tell you so you could laugh at me . . .’
Jim set the flower back down. ‘I’m not saying I don’t believe you. It just sounds . . . unlikely. You’ve been through a lot recently, losing your mum, trying to find work . . . and things between us . . .’ His eyes clouded, and he looked away.
‘I didn’t imagine it,’ she said tersely. ‘If we go together, you’ll see what I mean.’
Jim stroked his chin, silent for a beat. ‘Why not?’ he said eventually. ‘I could do with a hot drink . . . in nowhere land.’
They left the garden centre together, climbing into Jim’s car and leaving Greta’s behind so she could direct him to the coffee shop.
When they turned onto the familiar street, she gripped her seat. Craning her neck, she saw the slender building was there again, next to the launderette. She felt giddy at the sight of its green door. ‘There it is,’ she said, pointing as Jim parked.
They got out, crossed the road and walked toward the building together. A truck swept past, flecking their shins with dirty water, but Greta didn’t notice. She was too busy staring up at the boarded-up windows.
The place was barely recognisable. Paint peeled from the weathered door, which was now secured with a chain and a rusty padlock. A crudely painted sign hung lopsidedly. Closed. Forever. The weeds were knee-high around them.
‘It’s not exactly Starbucks,’ Jim said, trying to peer through a gap in the boards. ‘Are you sure this is the right place? It looks like it’s been shut for years.’
Greta’s stomach clenched like a fist. Her memory of the coffee shop was beginning to feel hazier now, like she might have dreamed it after all. ‘It didn’t look like this before. It was clean and cosy,’ she insisted.
Jim looked up at the crumbling brickwork. ‘And you’re absolutely sure this is the right place?’
She rubbed her throat. It was tight with frustration. ‘You think I made it up?’
‘No,’ he said quickly. Then he reconsidered. ‘I’m not sure what to think . . .’
Greta stepped forward. The tendons in her neck strained as she knocked on the door. She willed something to happen, anything to prove Jim wrong. But the noise echoed hollow inside. Her only proof of her visit to Mapleville was the pearl necklace. Though Jim probably wouldn’t believe that either.
She knocked again, and flakes of paint drifted to the ground.
Greta’s knuckles soon grew sore from rapping. Then she remembered the flyer in her pocket. Pulling it out, she thrust it toward him. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing at the address.
Jim took it from her. ‘The Perfect Blend,’ he read aloud. He squinted as he checked out the surrounding building numbers. ‘The flyer doesn’t exactly scream coffee house. But you’re right—it looks like the right address.’
‘This proves something, doesn’t it?’ Her voice cracked slightly.
He handed the flyer back to her, his face unreadable. ‘Looks like we’re both seeing things differently . . .’
The words hit her like a karate chop to her throat. It sounded like a metaphor for their entire marriage. Something inside Greta slid. Had it been a mistake, bringing him here? Trying to reconnect again? Especially when it seemed like she was making all the effort.
‘You’re right. Yes, it does,’ she said quietly, her gaze dropping to the pavement.
Jim scratched the back of his neck. ‘While we’re both here, there’s something I should tell you. Martin called me to say he’s met someone on set. Apparently fallen head over heels and decided to stay longer in Chicago.’
‘Oh? That’s really great for him,’ Greta said, sensing there was more to come.
‘It means I can stay at his place for longer, if I need to . . .’ Jim trailed off. ‘Maybe some extra time apart will help us think things through.’
Greta’s stomach turned over. ‘If you need to stay for longer, or if you want to?’ she asked, more sharply than she meant to.
Jim’s shoulders hitched up toward his ears. ‘It’s just an option. I thought it might help.’
‘I’m beginning to think you don’t want to work on our marriage . . .’
‘That’s not true. We haven’t decided anything yet, have we? Isn’t the point of a trial separation some space to figure things out?’
Greta shivered. For months, she’d been certain she’d wanted everything to work out between them. Now, for the first time, she wasn’t so sure.
She glanced up at the derelict building, her faith in the coffee shop, and her marriage, wavering. Had her visit to Maple- ville been a trick of her imagination after all? She wished she could slip back there now, to escape this painful conversation.
Jim gestured toward his car. ‘You look cold. Fancy grabbing a coffee somewhere else instead?’
Greta took one last look at the cracked windows and straightened her back. ‘I need to go back to the garden centre to get my car. I want to buy some plants to brighten up my flat. Especially if I might be living there for longer.’
She let her words hang, and they headed back to Jim’s car in silence.
After they arrived back, Greta stepped onto the car park. ‘Thanks for coming to the coffee shop with me,’ she said stiffly.
‘You’re welcome. It was . . . interesting.’ He dipped his head to look at her through the side window. ‘If you ever need to, you know . . . talk, you know where to find me.’
‘Yes. In the penthouse with your scented candles,’ Greta said, and walked away.
She pushed a trolley straight toward the fresh flower cart, craving something to make her feel better.
There, she selected bunches of red-and-white dahlias, masses of lush ferns, as well as armfuls of cheerful silk carnations and roses.
By the time she reached the till, all the plants were chest-high.
The cashier chortled as she scanned the blooms. ‘Got plans for all these?’
Greta set down a final bunch of carnations. ‘Just adding some colour to my life.’
She loaded all the flowers into her car, until her boot and back seat resembled the garden of a stately home. When she drove away, the colourful heads bobbed with the motion, as if cheering her on.