“And I’ll make some nibbles,” said Annie. She was finding Gemma’s enthusiasm infectious.
“What’s going to be our first book?” asked Maeve.
“Ooh, I’ve got one!” said Gemma, her hand in the air.
Annie and Maeve looked at her expectantly.
“The Woman in White,” she said. “By Wilkie Collins. I watched it on TV and I’ve been meaning to read it ever since.”
Annie shrugged. “Works for me,” she said. “I’ll pick up a copy from the library tomorrow.”
“I’ll download it,” said Maeve. “Listen to it while I’m walking the dogs.”
“That’s cheating!” said Gemma.
“Poppycock!” said Maeve. “It doesn’t matter which way the words go in, so long as they go in.”
Gemma and Maeve left, having devoured the packet of Hobnobs between them. Gemma had the school pickup and Maeve—a retired sheep farmer, as it turned out—had to go and help her daughters, who now ran the farm between them, to fix a fence that had blown down in last night’s wind.
Annie texted Mari about the book club and received a swift response in the positive. Then, since she had nothing more pressing to attend to, she set about cleaning the tearoom.
Chapter 23
Beyond the counter, set into a wall of shelves, was a door that led to a galley area and the kiosk—also shuttered and dark—which housed the coffee machine, a small portable hob on a butcher’s block, an old butler sink, a reasonably new dishwasher, and a tabletop oven. The coffee machine was as good as Mari had promised and, whether out of chef’s habit or sheer inspiration, Annie found herself daydreaming about the possibilities presented by the kiosk and tiny tearoom as she worked.
Sooner or later she’d have to sell her half of the business. And then what? She didn’t know if she wanted to run her own restaurant again. But equally, she’d been her own boss for too long to work for someone else.
These were the thoughts that followed her around as she cleaned and dusted down someone else’s history. Had it been hard for Mari to give up the tearoom? Or had it been a relief? Annie stood back, resting her hands on top of the mop. The spider hammocks were gone, and the peach complexions of pre-war children advertising Pears soap and Cadbury’s chocolate were warmer now that they weren’t smiling through a film of grime. The incessant buzz and harsh light of the fluorescent tube in the ceiling rather spoiled the effect of what would otherwise be a lovely place to enjoy a cup of coffee, and Annie decided she would invest in some candles to light the room for the book club.
It wasn’t a fancy room, but Annie figured that with the shutters thrown open and the windows looking out onto the ocean beyond, it didn’t need to be fancy. She imagined cold, blustery weather outside and the warm scent of coffee within. She looked toward the dozens of newly cleaned empty shelves and pictured them filled with bags of coffee and stacked cups and Kilner jars of homemade granola and cookies.
Stop it! she said to herself. This is a temporary stop, nothing more! By March, it’ll either be a museum or a pile of rubble. But the thoughts kept coming, almost as though the space were whispering its possibilities in her ear.
The rain had finally stopped, and Annie decided the place could use some fresh air. She let herself out of the tearoom via the door at the far end and walked around the outside of the house to the kiosk. On a separate fob, clearly marked, were the keys to the padlocks securing the shutters. Annie pocketed the padlock and pulled back the peeling wooden shutters to the kiosk, fastening them back on the hooks on either side of the wall. Then she locked herself back inside the tearoom and flung open the kiosk windows. The wind blew in cold and fresh and the building seemed to breathe in response, as though waking up from a sleep.
Annie ran her gaze over the coffee machine and switched it on, just to see. The machine whirred satisfyingly into life, and Annie busied herself looking for the bags of coffee Mari said she had left.
“Are you open?”
Annie jumped up from beneath the counter to find a man and woman, about her age, looking in at her.
“Oh,” said Annie. “Um. Yes. Yes, why not!”
“Oh, fantastic!” said the woman. “I’ll have a mocha and, Aiden?” She turned her rosy makeup-free face up to meet his. “Latte?” she asked.
The man smiled at her. “Lovely,” he said.
“Right you are,” said Annie. She’d found the unopened bag of coffee beans and a tub of hot chocolate, but milk was going to be an issue. In the corner by the marshmallows, she spotted a multipack of long-life barista oat milks.