Chapter 26
GRETA TRUDGED TOWARD home through the park, noticing the door to the conservatory was open. She slipped inside where the air was damp and earthy, infused with the heady scent of orchids. Plonking herself down onto a wrought iron chair, she attempted to gather her thoughts.
What had happened to the coffee shop? Why had she only seen the decrepit version she’d shown to Jim? She hoped it hadn’t gone for good.
The more she tried to hold everything together, the more it seemed to slip through her fingers.
No one in her life could understand what she was going through, unless they’d experienced the unusual coffee for themselves. Jim even thought she might need medical help. But there is someone.
At this thought, Greta sat up straighter. She opened Face- book on her phone and navigated to the local forum, where she’d exchanged messages with Edgar.
She let out a relieved sigh when she found them, like a beacon of hope in a storm.
Glancing at his profile photo again, she assured herself he didn’t look like a serial killer. She hadn’t yet replied to Edgar’s suggestion to meet up, but desperation gnawed inside her.
Greta re-read their exchange, then began typing a message that didn’t give away her anxiety.
Meeting up would be great! I can come over to Barker’s Treasures today if you’re free?
She hit Send, chewing the inside of her cheek. She hoped her request wasn’t too short notice and that Edgar would reply quickly.
Fortunately, he responded within seconds.
I’ll be in the shop all day. Feel free to drop in any time before 4pm. Looking forward to meeting you.
Greta quickly looked up the shop’s location. It was situated next to the high street of a village she knew, just outside Manchester.
She left the conservatory, jogged home and grabbed her car keys. Then she set off to meet Edgar.
*
THE FRONT OF Barker’s Treasures was old-fashioned. Its faded teal paintwork was charming in a shabby way. Vintage mannequins stood in the window, dressed in clothes from other eras. The polyester dresses with bold geometric prints looked more dated than trendy.
‘Hello,’ Greta called out. Her nerves jittered as she stepped inside. Her initial intrigue and urgency about meeting Edgar now felt more like apprehension.
The smell of the shop was overpowering, a mix of old leather, mothballs and something musky yet floral, as if perfume spritzed decades ago had never quite faded.
The space was crammed with old clothes, jewellery, worn handbags, faded posters, and trinkets, either piled around haphazardly or displayed in glass cases.
‘In my workshop,’ a voice called out. ‘Back of the shop.’ Greta wove her way through narrow aisles, edging past all the clutter until she found herself peering into a dimly lit workspace.
An old man hunched over a workbench, tinkering with a carriage clock. Greta paused, trying not to stare. Edgar looked much older than his photo, less dapper in a dirty apron and jeans. His grey hair had thinned, and his skin was lined like parchment.
He looked up, greeting her with a tired smile. ‘Hello, my dear,’ he said, wiping his hands on a cloth before extending one to her. ‘I’m Edgar. Nice to meet you.’
She returned his shake. ‘You look a little different to your photo.’
Edgar nodded. ‘Ah, yes. It was one of my wife’s favourite photos of me. She used to say I looked smart in that one. I’ve never gotten around to changing it.’
Greta hesitated, noticing he’d spoke about her in the past tense. ‘She’s not . . . here?’
Edgar’s smile fell away. ‘No. Very sadly, Eliza passed away a couple of years ago. Barker’s Treasures was very much her baby.
Everything in here, she picked it out, polished it and gave it fresh life.
I’m just the caretaker, really. Keeping the shop going helps me to feel close to her.
’ He paused, rubbing his hip. ‘Though I’m finding it a bit much at my age. ’
Greta glanced around. The shop was chaotic, but full of charisma. ‘You’ve got some fascinating stuff.’
‘Some folks call it junk. Others call it treasure. My wife could see the beauty in everything, and I’m trying to follow her lead. Though I’m finding it hard without her . . .’ Edgar looked away, tears welling in his eyes. He shook his head, as if to rouse himself. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’ he asked.
Greta nodded, feeling like she needed a friendly face and an understanding ear more than anything.
She followed Edgar back into the main area of the shop.
Crouching down behind the counter, he took out a stack of delicate porcelain cups and saucers. ‘Don’t worry, they’re clean,’ he said with a smile. ‘I keep them tucked away for visitors. Not that many people have time to chat these days,’ he added.
‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ Greta said.
‘Rather than coffee?’ Edgar raised a knowing, bushy eyebrow.
‘I fancy a change.’ She smiled tightly.
Edgar carried two cups into his workshop, where he filled the kettle.
While Greta waited, she reached out and picked up one of the cups off the counter.
Tiny flowers were painted around the rim, under a thin band of gold.
She turned it over to check out the base, surprised to find a white rabbit painted there in such fine detail it looked ready to hop away.
‘Where did you get these cups from?’ she called out. ‘Did they belong to Eliza?’
‘No, they’re mine.’ Edgar carried in a tray and sat down on a tall stool, passing Greta her tea.
He sipped his brew, his expression growing misty.
‘An old lady brought them into the shop a few weeks after my wife passed. Oddly, she didn’t seem interested in selling them to me.
She just placed the box on the counter and said they were a gift. I thought that maybe she knew Eliza.’
Greta leaned forward. ‘Did the woman have long white hair, right down to her waist? Was her name Iris?’
Edgar snapped his fingers and pointed. ‘Aye, that’s her,’ he said. ‘She seemed to speak in riddles, and I didn’t catch a lot of it. My hearing’s not what it used to be, and my thoughts were elsewhere, with my wife.’
Greta’s cup wobbled as she set it back on her saucer. ‘Did Iris mention her coffee shop to you?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, but I didn’t really take it in at the time.
To be honest, I found her a bit strange.
But not long after, I found a flyer amongst my wife’s things, promising “a perfect blend.” There was a picture of a white rabbit again, and it piqued my interest. I wondered if Eliza had kept it because it meant something to her.
’ His eyes turned wistful. ‘I was at rock bottom from my grief, and one day, I decided to try to find the shop . . .’
‘And what happened?’ Greta asked, leaning in.
Edgar scratched his chin, as if recalling his surprise.
‘I found a small coffee shop, tucked away where I least expected it. The same woman was inside, grinding coffee beans in a bowl. She told me something about rules, though I was too broken to pay much attention. I only took notice when she mentioned I could make a wish.’
Greta’s breath sharpened. ‘A wish?’
‘I know it sounds daft.’ Edgar sighed. ‘I know these things can’t possibly happen.
But I made a wish—to be reunited with Eliza.
We’d argued the day before she died, you see, over something silly.
That night we went to bed without kissing goodnight.
I never got the chance to apologise or explain before .
. .’ He looked down, wringing his hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ Greta said softly. She paused for a moment, giving him space to collect himself. ‘So, did you drink the coffee Iris gave you?’
Edgar nodded, his eyes meeting with hers. ‘Are you asking if my wish came true?’
Greta wanted to know it more than anything, to know she wasn’t alone. ‘Yes.’
A serene air fell across Edgar’s face. ‘It did,’ he said. ‘The coffee let me step into the life I’d wished for. One where Eliza hadn’t gone yet.’
For a moment, they sat together in silence, letting his words settle between them.
‘At first, everything was perfect,’ Edgar continued.
‘Her laugh, her touch, the smell of her hair. It took me a few visits to realise things were . . . off, not quite how they used to be. Eliza didn’t argue back or tease me like she used to, and she wore different clothes.
Gradually, I came to feel like I wasn’t with my wife, rather a memory or a vision of her instead. Yet I chose to ignore the signs.’
Greta swallowed, her chest tightening. Edgar’s words cut closer than she cared to admit. ‘I’ve drunk the coffee three times,’ she admitted.
He studied her more closely. ‘I think I recognise you from somewhere. Didn’t you and your family used to star in those Maple Gold coffee ads?’ He smiled warmly. ‘They were delightful.’
Greta blushed, feeling a bit exposed. ‘Thank you. It feels like a lifetime ago.’
‘Not that long,’ Edgar said. ‘You made quite an impression. Those ads were very homey and always left me with a smile.’
He stood and moved to a rusty filing cabinet, a drawer creaking as he opened it. Leafing through the contents, he pulled out a small pile of magazines. ‘Here we are. Eliza loved collecting these things.’
He flipped to a full-page spread featuring Greta, Jim, and Lottie laughing around the breakfast table, cups of steaming Maple Gold in hand. Greta’s hair was impeccably styled, and Jim’s shirt was spotless. Lottie was little with a toothy grin.
Edgar eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You wanted to relive those happy days, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘I can tell by your face.You miss the way things used to be?’
Greta stared at the image, a bittersweet feeling creeping in. She nodded slightly. ‘Iris’s coffee shop wasn’t there the last time I went. I don’t know when or if it’ll reappear.’
‘The shop is as temperamental as its owner, but it will probably return.’
Greta laughed. It felt good to enjoy the company of someone who got it.
Edgar finished his drink and looked at his watch. ‘Almost closing time,’ he said. ‘I always lock the door at four o’clock sharp these days. You can stay as long as you like, or come back anytime.’
‘That’s okay. I should really be going.’ Greta stood up.
‘Well, I wish you the best of luck.’ His tone grew more serious. ‘But be careful with that coffee, my dear. It can become rather addictive.’
Greta nodded. ‘A bit like caffeine? I think I have it under control.’
‘More than that.’ Edgar’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you get hooked on the life you think you want, you might lose touch with the one you’re actually living. Not all that glitters is gold, and the coffee comes at a cost.’
Greta shifted a foot. Lately, her nerves felt jumpier, her arms sometimes itchy—perhaps the side effects of the coffee. But Edgar seemed to suggest it was something deeper. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said.
Edgar returned the magazines to the drawer and slid it shut. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers twitching. ‘If you do return to the coffee shop, I wonder if you could do me a favour?’
‘Sure, no problem.’
‘You didn’t hear it from me,’ Edgar said, lowering his voice. ‘But Iris keeps her individual blends in the back room.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen them, including your jar.’
His eyes lit up. ‘If the opportunity arises, might you pick mine up for me? I’m fairly certain Iris no longer has a use for it.’
It was then Greta noticed the faint tremour in Edgar’s hands, and how his eyes were slightly bloodshot. ‘Why don’t you go back for it yourself?’ she asked.
He smiled sadly. ‘Iris and I had a disagreement. She can be a little difficult. I’m sure you understand,’ he said. ‘I try not to think about the coffee, but . . . well, you know? Life without Eliza is hard. Lonely. I’m not sure I made the right choice, the last time I saw Iris . . .’
‘Choice?’ Greta asked, detecting regret in his voice. ‘What choice?’
Edgar’s eyes clouded, a shadow crossing his face. ‘Maybe you’ll find out. Hopefully, you’ll make the right one.’
Greta wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this. ‘I don’t think I can just take something for you,’ she said firmly.
Edgar nodded, as if he’d expected this reaction. ‘Of course. I understand. No harm in asking. If you’re ever in the area again, do call in. It’s been a pleasure and a solace to talk to someone about Eliza.’
He walked Greta to the door, his hand resting lightly on the latch. ‘Only you can decide how far you’re willing to go for the perfect life, Greta, and what you’re willing to give up for it. Only you can choose to live with the consequences . . . or not.’
That word again. Consequences. A chill crept along Greta’s skin. She lowered her eyes, thanked Edgar, then stepped quickly outside.
‘Good luck, but be careful,’ Edgar said quietly as he closed the door behind her. ‘The past has a way of holding on tight and not letting go.’