Chapter 29
THE AROMA OF roasted beans made Greta want to drink a hot cup of coffee, wrap herself in a blanket, and hibernate. Iris’s TV was playing Little House on the Prairie. The Ingalls family had gathered for dinner, cheerily passing plates of food to each other and making life look so simple.
Iris stepped from behind the counter, her stare as sharp as a tack. Folding her arms stiffly across her chest, she surveyed Greta hunched in the doorway. ‘It’s not the New Year yet,’ she said curtly.
‘I know.’ Greta shivered. ‘But I really need your coffee. I don’t have anywhere else left to turn.’
Iris’s eyes remained granite-like.
‘If you can’t give me a cup, can I at least collect my pearls?’ Greta asked. ‘I left them behind the last time I was here. Please . . .’ A trace of something crossed Iris’s face. Greta hoped it was sympathy.
‘I’ve kept them for you,’ Iris said with a slight sniff. ‘You’d better come in.’
Greta’s shoulders sloped with relief. ‘I was worried you might not be here. I’m so glad that you are.’ She dropped down to take off her boots. ‘I don’t want to get mud on your floor,’ she explained.
Iris weighed her up from top to bottom. ‘Never mind coffee. You look like you could do with a change of clothes.’
‘I really need both.’
Iris hesitated, still seemingly unimpressed. ‘Fortunately, I make a great cappuccino. I’ll see if I can find something for you to wear.’
Beneath her brittle tone, Greta detected a hint of something softer. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
Iris disappeared into a back room, returning a few minutes later with a towel and a small pile of clothes. She handed them to Greta with a gruff nod. ‘You can use the bathroom to freshen up. Your coffee will be waiting.’
Greta hugged the clean clothes to her chest, breathing in the comforting smell of washing powder mixed with coffee. It made her feel like crying. ‘Thank you, Iris,’ she said, her voice catching.
Iris gave a slight purse of her lips and turned away.
In the tiny bathroom, Greta peeled off her soiled clothes and folded them neatly.
She washed in the sink and changed into the clean garments.
Iris had given her a roomy grey cotton dress, a chunky sweater and clean socks.
The simple comforts felt like pure luxury.
Slowly, warmth returned to her limbs, and she began to feel more like herself again.
Stepping back out of the bathroom, Greta took a wrong turn.
The back of the coffee shop was something of a labyrinth, with narrow corridors twisting in unexpected directions.
She found herself peering into yet another storeroom, smaller than the one she’d seen before.
The jars here looked older, their labels yellowed with age, and with cobwebs hanging between them like threads of beads.
‘Are you okay?’ Iris called out.
‘Yes,’ Greta replied, swallowing as she backed away. ‘I got a bit lost.’
Back in the main area of the shop, the two women sat facing each other at a small round table.
Greta cradled her cappuccino, letting its warmth soothe her hands. Iris’s clothes felt light, warm, and comfy. ‘You were right,’ she said, raising her cup to her lips. ‘This really is great coffee.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Iris said. She took a small jar containing the pearls from her pocket and slid it across the table. ‘I believe they’re all there.’
Greta gripped the jar, grateful to have it back.
‘Thank you. I know a jeweller who can restring them.’ She paused, thinking about the photo of Millie displayed in Leonard’s jewellery shop.
It must have been shattering for his mother to vanish from his life without a word, and waiting for clues that might lead to nowhere.
She supposed no one ever knows for sure the intricacies of other people’s lives.
An ache bloomed in Greta’s chest and she rubbed her breastbone. She had the strongest urge to see Millie again, to return the pearls to her. Maybe even to tell her the truth, that Millie had once lived a different life. That she had a son who loved and still grieved for her.
‘Do you know a woman called Millie Maxwell? Or Millie Moss?’ she asked Iris. ‘I think the pearls belong to her. Her son told me she’s been missing for forty years. But I’ve met her in Mapleville. We’re friends there.’
Iris remained still, her face expressionless. ‘I’ve told you previously,’ she said, her voice clipped. ‘I’ve had many clients over the years. Far too many for me to recall individually.’
‘But you label your jars with people’s names,’ Greta said, recalling Edgar’s label. ‘How long do you keep the different blends? Did Millie’s vanishing have anything to do with your coffee?’
Iris’s cheek twitched. She looked annoyed. ‘I don’t know her name,’ she reiterated.
Greta suppressed a sigh, still sensing she was holding something back. ‘That’s a shame,’ she said tightly. ‘I wanted to return the pearls to their rightful owner . . .’
Iris twitched an eyebrow. ‘You’re not keeping them?’
‘Something tells me they’re important to Millie.’
A flicker of something, perhaps approval, crossed Iris’s face. She studied Greta for a moment, then set down her cup. ‘You said you needed my help?’
Greta didn’t feel ashamed to say yes. Admitting she needed help felt like moving forward rather than standing still. ‘If you can’t tell me about Millie, I need you to help me.’
Iris sat back in her seat, her gimlet stare giving way to something milder. ‘How?’ she asked.
Greta screwed her eyes shut so she could speak freely.
‘I feel like I’ve lost my way, and I have no one to turn to,’ she said.
‘Jim has always been there for me, but we’re growing ever further apart.
My agent, Nora, isn’t the most understanding person, and only Edgar, a man I met online, kind of understands what I’m going through.
He’s been to your coffee shop, drank your perfect blend, and says he saw his deceased wife .
. . but I hardly know him. And . . .’ she glanced warily at Iris ‘.
. . he warned me about getting hooked. I feel very alone in a very unique situation.
‘I was so sure what I wanted—a happy home life, my family, a great career. The perfect blend,’ she continued, clasping her hands together.
‘But now, I don’t really know who I am anymore.
I thought I wanted my past back, but now I want a future’ Iris’s gaze remained steady.
‘What did you learn from your first three wishes?’
Greta mulled over the question. ‘My first wish was about escape and rediscovering my self-confidence. The second was all about my reconnecting with my family, and my third wish was about recognition and stardom. There’s been other things I discovered in Mapleville, too, like meeting Millie and glimpsing a life that feels calm and complete.
I feel like I’m caught between two versions of my life and don’t know where I belong.
‘I’ve learned that I don’t want to use my wishes to look good, or for my family to be all polished, or to be famous. This time, my wish would be . . . different.’
Iris sipped her coffee. ‘Different? How?’
Greta shrugged. ‘What does it matter? You’ve forbidden me from drinking my perfect blend again until New Year. I know that asking you for another wish is pointless.’ She set her jaw hard. ‘I shouldn’t have added Starbright to the brew, and I shouldn’t have disobeyed your rules. I really am sorry.’
Iris studied Greta intently. ‘You misused the coffee. Broke the rules. And my deadline still stands,’ she said. ‘I cannot give you your usual blend today.’
Greta flopped her head forward in resignation. She had expected this.
‘However . . .’ Iris’s eyes began to shine with something new. ‘You said you want something different, and that’s what I can offer you.’
‘A different coffee?’ Greta’s chin jerked up.
Iris shook her head. ‘The same coffee, but updated. Enhanced.’
Greta felt a crawling sensation on her skin, like ants were walking over it. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Your first three visits offered a temporary, immersive experience. My enhanced blend would allow you stay in Mapleville . . . for good.’
Greta blinked, trying to take this in. ‘What, like forever?’
‘Yes.’
Greta swallowed. Scenes from Mapleville flashed in her mind—her beautiful home, laughter-filled breakfasts with Jim and Lottie, picnics, romantic dates, and friendly nods from the townsfolk.
A warm glow spread through her chest. No stress, no uncertainty, no casting rejections.
The versions of Jim and Lottie who looked at her with affection rather than irritation.
But would they only be a glossy echo of her family?
She gave a shaky laugh. ‘That sounds extremely tempting. There must be a catch, right?’
Iris knitted her fingers together, her joints like knots in rope.
‘I thought you might ask me that.’ Her eyes pierced into Greta’s.
‘If you drink the coffee and return to Mapleville, you’ll be given a choice—to stay there or not.
If you decide to stay, you’ll leave your old life behind.
You’ll be gone from it, as if you never were. ’
‘Gone?’ Greta gasped. ‘What? Wouldn’t I just stay in the booth, like before? Where would I even go?’
She thought of Leonard’s quiet dignity and the burden of loss he must carry. If Millie had truly disappeared into Mapleville, what wounds had she left behind? Greta’s voice trembled. ‘Would Jim and Lottie still remember me?’
‘So many questions.’ Iris let out a small tut. ‘This coffee would be a different blend. People always want to understand the mechanics, as if this were a train journey they can map out with timetables. But some choices don’t live in the realm of logic.
‘The perfect blend only calls to those already slipping away from their real lives. It doesn’t take you. It lets you go.’
Greta nodded, her heart pounding.