Chapter 15
GRETA TOOK A small step back, trying not to stare. Lottie was standing in front of her in the kitchen. Not only that, her hair was styled, her clothes were pretty and neat, and most unexpectedly of all, she was smiling.
‘Mum?’ Lottie prompted, her tone sing-song and sweet. ‘Do you want one pancake or two? Sit down and I’ll dish them right up.’
Greta held on to the back of the chair to steady herself. She slid into it, still in a daze. ‘You’re really making me breakfast?’ she said.
‘Of course.’ Lottie’s laugh tinkled. ‘I thought I’d treat you. You do so much for me.’
Greta held a hand to her mouth, suppressing an astonished laugh. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ she said, still stunned. ‘Thank you.’ She looked around her, not having checked out the dining room properly before.
The colour scheme was fifty shades of coffee.
The table was covered with a brown-and-white gingham cloth, and a fruit bowl overflowed with impossibly shiny bananas, apples and grapes.
White china plates and coffee cups were part of a matching set, and all the cutlery was sterling silver.
Everything looked like it has been ordered from an up-market catalogue for a dream home.
When Lottie opened a kitchen cupboard door, Greta caught a glimpse of its contents.
Food boxes were arranged in neat rows without any brand names or labels on display.
Cheerful ladies in pastel clothing beamed out from the illustrations on the packaging.
When Greta plucked an apple from the fruit bowl, it was the juiciest, shiniest one she’d ever seen.
The batter mix bubbled in the frying pan, and Lottie hummed as she flipped the pancakes over, the perfect goldenbrown shade.
She slid a pile of them onto a plate and set it down on the table, followed by a pot of steaming coffee.
‘You can’t beat a freshly brewed Maple Gold,’ she said, inhaling the aroma with a dreamy smile. ‘I learned that from you, Mum.’
Something seemed to stick in Greta’s throat. Her daughter’s words were sweet, but this didn’t sound like the Lottie she knew. Greta hoped she’d passed on more inspiring things than how to make good coffee. ‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ she said, raising her cup for Lottie to fill.
After setting down the pot, Lottie headed toward the back door. ‘There’s one of us missing. I’ll give him a shout.’ She opened it and called outside. ‘Dad. Breakfast is ready.’
Greta sat up straighter in her chair with all her nerve endings tingling. Jim was here, too? She held her breath as footsteps approached the house.
The toe of a shiny brown shoe appeared first. Greta’s eyes travelled upwards, taking in the crisp turn-ups on a pair of smart slacks, a jacket with a handkerchief in the pocket, and a neatly knotted tie. All the way up to a jauntily perched Panama hat on top ofJim’s head.
It was her husband, but not quite him, like a computergenerated version of him brought to life.
His skin had a bronzed glow like he’d just returned from a Mediterranean holiday, and his eyes were a piercing blue colour, more pigmented than in Longmill.
When he smiled, Greta wondered if his teeth had ever been that supernaturally white before, even after a trip to the dental hygienist. His hair was neatly combed and parted.
Jim’s eyes brightened even more when he saw her. ‘Hi, honey. Well, don’t you look a picture today.’ He walked over and kissed Greta’s cheek, then winked at Lottie. ‘My, this spread looks wonderful. Nice work, Lottie.’
Lottie batted a bashful hand, as if it was nothing.
This all felt like a fantasy come true. Greta couldn’t remember the last time the three of them had sat down for breakfast together as a family.
Prior to her and Jim going their separate ways, mornings had always been a chaotic rush, with the kitchen worktops covered in toast crumbs and splashes of coffee.
Lottie usually munched her cereal in silence with milk dripping down her chin, and Jim held his newspaper in front of him like a barrier until he felt ready to face the day.
But here, everything felt neatly staged, like being part of a play. Greta half expected an audience to break into applause when she passed the jug of milk.
At first, Greta ate her pancakes with her shoulders a little rounded, anticipating Lottie grumbling or Jim making teasing remarks that went down like a lead balloon.
She waited for a silence to descend on the table that felt like a veil made from chain-mail.
But the atmosphere remained bright and cheerful.
Lottie passed around honey for the pancakes, and Jim announced the weather was going to be warm today. He listened intently whenever Greta spoke, his attention making her feel like she’d stepped out of the shadows and onto the bright side of the street.
‘What are you doing in school today?’ Jim asked Lottie as he poured himself another coffee.
‘It’s the talent show rehearsals, and I can’t wait.’ Lottie wriggled excitedly in her seat. ‘They’re going to be so much fun. Though, I still can’t decide what to do for my act. Should I sing What a Wonderful World or perform a magic trick?’
‘Tough choice. What magic would you do?’ Jim asked. ‘Oh, you know, pull a white rabbit from a top hat or something,’ she replied. ‘What do you think, Mum?’
Greta paused with her coffee cup mid-air. It took a moment to register that her daughter was actually asking for her opinion on something. She wondered if the mention of the white rabbit was pure coincidence.
‘Both ideas sound fantastic,’ she said. The thought of seeing her daughter performing anything filled her with joy. ‘You’ve always had the most wonderful singing voice, and you’ve got great stage presence . . .’
Lottie beamed. ‘Thanks, Mum. You’re the best.’
Her smile reminded Greta of the little girl she used to tuck in bed at night, her covers pulled up to her chin and her eyes shining at the stories Greta and Jim used to read to her. She still missed kissing Lottie’s downy forehead and whispering goodnight as she tiptoed out of her bedroom.
‘Righto,’ Jim said, rising to his feet and tucking his newspaper under his arm. ‘I’m afraid I need to leave my two favourite ladies to go to work.’
‘Work?’ Greta stared up at him. Wasn’t this her dream? Her experience? Now she was here with her husband and daughter, she wanted to spend more time with them. She hadn’t considered Jim and Lottie might have their own agendas in Mapleville. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
‘I’m recording a radio commercial. Should finish it by early afternoon. Then I’d love to take my beautiful wife on a date.’ He raised a hopeful eyebrow. ‘If you’d like that?’
‘A date?’ The word made Greta feel fuzzy inside. It had been so long since they’d done anything like that. Too long. A giddy feeling spread through her. ‘I’d love that. It sounds wonderful,’ she said.
Lottie grabbed her leather satchel and placed a sandwich she’d made inside it. ‘See you later, Mum. Have a great day.’
Greta followed her husband and daughter to the front door, reluctant for the moment to end. Jim kissed her cheek, then whistled his way down the path with Lottie skipping beside him. They looked so happy and carefree it felt almost rehearsed.
For a fleeting moment, Greta thought a director might step out from behind the bushes to call, ‘Cut!’
It didn’t really matter because, right now, she just wanted to hold on to this ideal version of her family forever.
This is real, isn’t it?
Greta pinched her forearm to check. She felt real. Watching Jim and Lottie stroll away, laughing together, they were real.
After waving and closing the door, Greta pottered around the house for a while, getting to feel more at home. All the carpets were plush, the towels were neatly folded, and the kitchen cupboards were well-stocked. All the bed linen was clean and expertly turned down.
Heading back into the living room, Greta’s gaze landed on her mum’s old rocking chair in the corner.
A familiar ache of grief pressed hard against her ribs.
She trailed her fingers across the worn wooden armrests, wondering what it was doing here.
The chair rocked gently under her touch, and for a moment, Greta could almost see her mum sitting in it, leafing through Hello magazine, checking out the latest celebrity fashions.
Perhaps this was the different reflection of reality that Iris had mentioned.
Greta’s eyes shifted to the mantelpiece, where a neat row of photos caught her attention. Stepping toward them, she took a closer look.
The shots showed her enjoying a life she didn’t recognise.
In one, she skated on an icy pond, wearing a white dress with a faux fur trim.
In another, she waved pink cheerleader pompoms. Greta frowned to herself, trying to recall the feeling of her blades cutting through ice, the cold air pinching her skin, but she couldn’t conjure up the vision.
In Mapleville, Greta apparently played the trumpet, whereas in real life, she didn’t have a musical bone in her body. Yet here she was, performing from a sheet of music while Lottie twirled a baton beside her.
Greta blasted a sharp laugh, feeling weirdly proud of herself.
These images didn’t seem like invented memories.
They felt like a different version of her—a dynamic, adventurous woman who hadn’t made mistakes, or struggled to hold her marriage and career together.
The Greta in the photos was the perfect woman she wanted to be.
And she decided she wanted to live up to that image in Mapleville.
The house suddenly seemed too still and quiet, and not wanting to waste time musing questions she couldn’t answer, Greta headed upstairs.
She took a tiny handbag out of the wardrobe and slung it over her shoulder. Today was for exploring Mapleville again, not quizzing how she got here.
She opened her front door and skipped along the garden path, just as Lottie had done.
As before, the streets were a swirl of colour and chatter. The vibrant town hummed with life and possibilities.
‘Morning, Greta,’ called out a young woman on a bike with flowers overspilling from the basket on the front.
The baker whistled as he balanced a tray full of golden loaves on his shoulder.
The line of workers streamed toward the centre of the town again, all bidding her good day.
A hot-air balloon floated in the sky, and a small airplane with a propeller trailed a banner that said Maple Gold.
Greta soaked up the scene, looking forward to what the day ahead might bring.
She strolled past all the colourful gardens until a small commotion caught her attention. A man stood outside Millie’s house, patting his pockets and rummaging through his bag with growing frustration. Greta recognised him from Millie’s photographs. Jefferson.
Even though he was flustered, his slicked-back, shiny black hair remained neat and tidy with distinguished smudges of grey at his temples.
‘I’m late,’ Jefferson called toward the house, his voice full of exasperation.
Millie appeared in the doorway with a flower basket hooked over her arm. She wore her lavender dress and exuded an air of calm. ‘What’s all the fuss about, darling?’
‘I’ve forgotten something, but can’t think what it is.’ Jefferson scratched his head. ‘I’ve got a big day ahead in the office.’
Millie calmly reached into her basket and held up a silver Thermos. ‘You forgot this, didn’t you?’ she said with a knowing raise of her eyebrows.
Relief washed over Jefferson’s face. ‘Ah, thank you, my love,’ he said. He took the Thermos from her, unscrewed the top and poured himself a steaming cup of coffee. After one sip, he let out a contented, ‘Aaah . . .’
Millie patted his arm. ‘Don’t worry. Maple Gold helps to melt your troubles away. A wonderful coffee is the best start to any day.’
Greta’s lips twitched with amusement, feeling like she was watching one of the old commercials. ‘Maple Gold is saving marriages now,’ she murmured to herself. If only it were that simple.
Millie waved Jefferson off to work, her fingers mid-twinkle when she spotted Greta. ‘Hello there. Lovely to see you again,’ she called, beckoning her over. ‘Are you coming to the town hall for coffee this morning?’
Greta didn’t hesitate. It was the ideal chance to get to know the town and its people better. ‘Yes, I’d love to,’ she said.
‘Fabulous.’ Millie beamed. ‘I see you’re wearing your pearls. Do they make you feel any . . . different?’
Greta touched them and smiled. She had started to feel more confident lately. Was it because of the pearls, or all down to her? ‘I believe they do,’ she said.
‘Good. You wear them far better than I ever did. Shall we walk together?’
The two women fell into step, both watching as Jefferson gave them a final wave with his Thermos before disappearing around the corner.
‘Everyone and everything here feels right,’ Greta said with a contented sigh as they headed toward the town square.
Millie took out her compact, pausing to reapply her copper lipstick. ‘But of course. We try our best.’
Greta laughed. ‘Though if things were truly perfect, Jefferson would make his own coffee to take to work.’
Millie chuckled lightly, though a slight wrinkle appeared across the top of her nose. By the time they reached the fountain, her expression had shifted. A contemplative air had settled over her, as if Greta’s comment had sparked a thought or two.
‘I suppose it’s easy for things to look flawless on the outside,’ Millie said quietly. ‘But sometimes, well, I feel there must be more beneath the surface. Don’t you think?’