Chapter 14
GRETA COUNTED DOWN the hours with the eagerness of a teenager waiting for gig tickets to drop.
She set an alarm, showered quickly and skipped breakfast on Sunday morning, determined to be Iris’s first customer of the day.
Visiting the coffee shop again felt like an itch she had to scratch.
It made her weekend feel not as long or as aimless.
She could hopefully visit Mapleville again and still be home in time for dinner with Lottie.
She left a note propped against the kettle to let Lottie know she was going out for a while. Her daughter was still asleep in her bedroom and had plans with Jayden later to take Benji for a walk in the park.
Greta fastened her coat and slipped out of the flat. Her heartbeat skipped as she walked through the damp, deserted streets of Longmill. Most people were probably still in bed, enjoying a weekend lie-i n before getting up to eat bacon sandwiches and read the Sunday papers.
The town centre looked under threat from the dark sky hanging above it like a heavy blanket.
The drizzle was almost invisible but left a sheen of droplets on her shoulders.
It all added to Greta’s sense of anticipation.
Would the coffee shop still be there, how she’d first experienced it?
Or would it be the derelict shell she’d shown to Jim?
Edgar’s messages, seemingly confirming its existence, pushed her onward.
Greta made several circuits of the park to kill time. Her insides grew jumpier with each step she took towards the slender building.
When she saw a dim light inside the coffee shop, she gulped with relief. This time, the door wasn’t peeling, and there was no chain or rusty padlock. The weeds were gone, and the shop looked open. She checked her watch, and again, the second hand quivered at 11:00 a.m.
Her hand shook as she pushed down on the handle, a bell tinkling as she stepped inside. The air was warm, and the rich aroma of coffee and other infusions wrapped around her like a favourite scarf.
Iris stood behind the counter, just as calm and still as before. Her slight smile made Greta feel understood and mystified at the same time.
‘Morning, dear,’ Iris said, dropping something in her jade bowl and crushing it.
‘Morning,’ Greta replied, stepping up to the counter. ‘Am I the first one here?’
‘It certainly looks that way.’
‘What would happen if someone else arrived before me?’
‘Well, we don’t need to think about that, do we?’
Greta’s head flooded with questions she couldn’t keep inside.
Her time here felt too precious to devote to pleasantries, such as the weather and traffic, so she dived straight in.
‘I’ve been exchanging messages with someone called Edgar Barker.
It sounds like he’s been here, too. Do you remember him? ’
Iris showed no sign of recognition as she carried on grinding her ingredients.
‘Many patrons have visited over the years,’ she said.
‘I’m only the current guardian of this coffee shop, and I won’t be the last. It’s been around much longer than you, much longer than I .
. .’ She pressed her lips together, as if choosing not to reveal more.
She made the shop sound almost ancient, and Greta frowned.
‘I brought my husband to visit, but the building looked abandoned. Why did it appear differently to him?’ She reached up to touch her pearl necklace.
‘And this? How did I get it? Someone gave it to me in Mapleville, yet it followed me here. How is that possible?’
A knowing glint appeared in Iris’s eyes. ‘You don’t need to know the answers to everything in life. Sometimes the not knowing makes things more interesting. Were you the kind of child who enjoyed watching magic tricks, or did you always want to know how they worked?’
Greta blushed, her rosy cheeks giving away the answer. ‘I’d just like to understand things, that’s all,’ she said. ‘Like, how did you find this place? How did you end up working here? What’s your background?’
Iris smiled to herself. ‘Not many people ask me things like that. They’re usually more concerned with themselves.
But then, maybe it’s better that way, don’t you think?
’ Without elaborating further, she bent down under the counter and produced a small jar with the white rabbit label.
Greta’s name was written on it. ‘I assume you’re looking for this? ’
Greta reached out for it, her excitement laced with caution. She noticed Iris had evaded most of her questions, but she let it go. ‘What if I want to spend longer in Mapleville this time?’ she asked. ‘Can I make the coffee stronger?’
Iris’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve already told you. Rules are rules for a reason. There are no shortcuts and no guarantees. The coffee will be in tune with your desires. Do you need me to run through the rules again?’
‘No, thank you.’ Greta hadn’t meant to offend her. She was just curious. ‘I know the rules by heart. I just wondered what might happen if someone didn’t follow them fully?’
Iris pressed her lips into a fine line. ‘I would say that is most inadvisable. There are some things, once done, that cannot be undone. Both from my perspective and from the effects of the coffee.’
Greta shivered. Iris’s words sounded like a warning.
Ignoring a glimmer of worry in her stomach, she carried her jar to the booth, eager to carry out the ritual.
‘Am I okay to start?’ Iris studied her for a moment, as if appraising her.
Then she nodded. She set a small glass coffee-pot, cup, saucer, spoon, and a small jug of hot water on a tray and carried them over.
This time, Greta didn’t feel as apprehensive.
Taking off her coat, she made herself comfortable in the booth.
She carefully spooned coffee from the jar into the pot, poured in hot water, then watched the grounds swirl.
While the coffee brewed, she inhaled its rich, earthy aroma with a quiet sense of well-being washing over her.
Finally, she pushed the plunger down and poured the coffee into her cup.
‘Have you considered your second wish?’ Iris asked. ‘I overheard the first one. You said you wanted your life to be like a coffee commercial . . .’
Greta blushed. ‘I suppose that sounded silly?’
‘I’ve heard stranger requests, more extravagant ones, too.’ Iris chuckled. ‘Sometimes, what we want most is a way of avoiding things we don’t want to face.’
Greta stared into her cup, the surface of the liquid rippling slightly. The weight of her next wish felt heavier now. She didn’t want to tamper with her original one too much because everything had felt so right the first time around.
She thought back to precious moments on set with Jim and Lottie, when everything had felt simple, in sync. She missed the ease of being together, how natural and warm things used to be between them. Could Mapleville be a place she could rediscover that connection with her family again?
‘If I drink this, I will go back to Mapleville, won’t I?’ she double-checked. ‘Just like before?’
Iris stepped closer. ‘Yes. The coffee amplifies what’s already inside you, what you’re seeking.
It works though your subconscious, aligning it with your inner truth.
But remember, Greta,’ she added firmly, ‘it can only offer a mirror, not a solution. Perfection isn’t always the answer we think it is . . .’
Greta swallowed. It wasn’t something she particularly wanted to hear. She wasn’t looking for a lesson, just an escape. A chance to leave her everyday life behind and immerse herself in a place that felt more welcoming.
Despite Iris’s warnings, she still wanted to drink the coffee.
A chorus of cheerful greetings from friendly Mapleville folk echoed in her mind.
She imagined herself wearing a tailored dress and heels, and a smile formed on her lips when she pictured Jim in a Panama hat.
The charming version of him in the Maple Gold commercials felt far more appealing than the one who was starting to feel like a stranger.
Greta picked up her cup, taking her first sip. She stared into the brown liquid, this time actually believing her wish would work.
‘My second wish,’ she said, her voice clear and steady. ‘I wish my family could be perfect again, just like we were in the Maple Gold commercials. I want us to be friendly and supportive, a real family unit, and the best versions of ourselves.’ She took another sip.
As before, nothing seemed to happen at first.
Then the edges of Greta’s vision blurred. The room felt like it was revolving, and sounds around her began to muffle.
She didn’t have to repeat her wish this time around.
Greta felt a strange sensation pulling her down, as if into a warm pool of syrup, comforting and cocooning.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and her body slumped as she sank deeper.
And then deeper still.
*
A SLANT OF sunlight cut across the tidy bedroom.
Greta opened her eyes and lay still in the sumptuous bed, looking around her and taking in the scene.
The cream linen curtains hung neatly, their pleats precise, and the walls didn’t have any scuffs or chipped paint.
Everything around her looked immaculate.
Her body felt trim, and when she ran a hand through her hair, it was thick and silky smooth again.
Certain that she was back in Mapleville, Greta let out a relieved, happy sigh.
Not wanting to waste a moment, she sprang out of bed and padded over to the mirror, where she admired her bright eyes and flawless smile.
‘Hello, you,’ she said softly. ‘It’s good to be back.’
A radio sat on the dressing table, and she turned the dial, searching for some pop music to dance around to.
Each station played soothing melodies that sounded like elevator music, and all the news was about Mapleville.
There was a dog show in the park and a promotion on currant buns in the bakery. A school was hosting a village fair.
‘And the weather today will be dry and sunny,’ the presenter trilled. ‘Don’t forget to start your day with a delicious cup of Maple Gold, folks.’
Greta laughed out loud, feeling like she’d arrived home.
She showered quickly, brushed her hair, and marvelled at how effortless life was here. She didn’t need to pluck her eyebrows, tweeze her chin, or moisturise her knees and elbows. Her whole body felt lighter, as if she’d shed a winter overcoat.
The pink, mint and blue dresses she’d got from Millie’s boutique were hanging in her wardrobe, paired with matching shoes.
The pearl necklace sat on her dressing table as well.
If she could be in two places at once, she supposed the necklace could, too.
Was the real version of it here, with a projected version in Longmill?
Or was it the other way around? Greta didn’t linger on the question.
She simply picked up the necklace and fastened it around her neck.
Pulling open the curtains, she placed her hands on her hips and breathed in the cordiality and calm.
Sprinkler systems hissed on the glistening lawns, and neighbours chatted over garden fences while nursing steaming cups of coffee.
A dog and a cat strolled side by side along the street in perfect harmony.
She could hear the a cappella singers in the distance.
Welcome again, to our beautiful town,
life is brighter when you’re around.
You’ll soon find your way and enjoy your day,
this time, are you here to stay?
You’re always at home with Maple Gold.
Greta whistled the tune as she made her way downstairs. She could smell the ever-present aroma of coffee mixed with something else. Perhaps sugar and lemon? It reminded her of her mum’s baking, making treasured memories flood back.
They’d always loved making Victoria sponges together, her mum singing as she spread the jam and cream. Marjorie loved licking the cake mix off the spatula, and Greta could never resist dipping a finger into the icing sugar.
She’d tried several times to get Lottie interested in baking together, but it had never worked.
A sudden clatter in the kitchen made Greta freeze mid-step on the stairs. Her pulse raced, and she cocked her head, straining to listen.
There was someone else in the house.
An unmistakable clang of pans was followed by a muttered word, ‘Drat.’
It was a word Greta hadn’t heard for ages. A burglar wouldn’t say drat, would they? She doubted theft even existed in this lovely town.
So, who else was here?
She listened out for other sounds, but couldn’t hear anything.
Greta cautiously padded down the rest of the stairs and headed toward the kitchen.
A figure stood in front of the worktop, wearing a pink-and- lilac-checked skirt suit, baby-blue flat court shoes, and white ankle socks. Their hair was curled under, neatly held in place with a sparkly diamante slide.
Greta blinked hard, and her stomach swooped with surprise. The scene was almost too blissful to be true.
Yet there she was.
The person turned, holding a spatula.
‘Hey, Mum. You look pretty,’ Lottie said with a wide smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘I’ve just made pancakes for breakfast. Want one?’
Greta’s breath hitched, sharp and unsteady. Her daughter was here, looking at her with genuine affection, and with no trace of sarcasm in her voice. It had been so long since she’d spoken to her lovingly like this, and it made tears prick her eyes.
‘Lottie?’ she gasped. ‘Are you really here?’