you mean?’ I laughed, holding my white arm up against his. ‘I’ve been to my uncle and aunt’s farm. I spent all my time outside. I think I’m weather-beaten rather than tanned. Plenty of fresh air, though.’
‘Suits you,’ said Dougie, turning his attention to his lunch.
‘Thanks,’ I said, moving away. Fresh air suits everyone, I reckoned.
I tucked my hands in the front pocket of my black apron and looked around me for a second. It was good to be back at the café and quite a relief to be busy. Taking orders, toasting paninis, making coffees … It took a surprising amount of skill and timing to keep customers happy. And while I was rushed off my feet, it stopped me thinking about my conversation with Charlie.
I sighed and turned my gaze to the street outside the window.
Surely it must have crossed his mind that I might one day want children, and that saying he categorically didn’t want any more would have an on impact on our relationship? Or perhaps men didn’t think that way. And perhaps I was over-analysing. I shook myself. I was at it again – thinking.
‘Can I get you anything else?’ I asked two mums whose latte glasses were empty.
‘Actually, I ordered a croissant?’ said the taller one with a head of wild, curly black hair.
‘Freya!’ shouted Shirley. ‘Have you left something in the microwave? I can smell burning.’
‘Eek! Sorry, yes!’ I darted round the back of the counter and yanked open the door of the microwave and stared at the croissant. At least, it had been a croissant; it was now a wizened smoking lump, reminiscent of a piece of leftover bonfire toffee.
‘I’ll do you a fresh one,’ I called to the mum, who smiled and nodded. Shirley planted herself next to me and my shoulders slumped under the weight of her stare.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘I’m a bit distracted for some reason.’
Today’s big news: the Case of the Caramelized Croissant. It suddenly dawned on me what the problem with this job was: even the biggest dilemma I faced was minuscule in the grand scheme of things. Help, there’s no skimmed milk! Oh no, I’m not sure if the coleslaw is gluten-free! Whoops, I’ve cremated a croissant!
Compare these benign four walls to the 150 acres that Uncle Arthur and Auntie Sue had to shepherd on a daily basis with all the issues that go with it: an unexpected storm damaging crops, a fox getting into the chicken pen and leaving five of Auntie Sue’s hens dead and strewn across the grass (which sadly happened while I was there), a poorly calf … My job at the café suddenly seemed so trivial.
‘TBH, love, you’ve been distracted since you got back after Easter.’ Shirley bent forward to peer into my face.
I puffed out my cheeks. ‘I know, I’ll snap out of it, I promise.’
‘This might cheer you up, look – your friend Tilly has just walked in. I’ll do the croissant.’
I was over at Tilly’s side in a flash and hugged her tight.
‘Hey, you,’ she giggled, as I nearly knocked her over with my exuberance. ‘I always forget what a ball of energy you are.’
‘Well, get you and your suntan!’ I stood back and examined her at arm’s length. What a transformation from the pale-faced, anxious girl I’d met last winter.
‘You
have
to go the Galápagos Islands, that’s an order,’ said Tilly, sitting down at the only free table and scanning the menu. ‘Hi, Dougie!’ She waved to her fellow allotmenteer. ‘Soup and a roll, please. Ooh and a pot of tea.’
I couldn’t help but grin; her happiness was contagious. Whatever she was on, I’d like some, please. ‘We don’t usually see you in here during school time.’
‘I know. But I haven’t been food shopping since I got back and today’s school dinner didn’t appeal.’
I ladled the soup of the day into a bowl, added a brown roll to the plate, made her a pot of tea and set the whole lot in front of her.
‘I’m glad to see you so perky, I must admit,’ I said quietly. ‘I
‘Suits you,’ said Dougie, turning his attention to his lunch.
‘Thanks,’ I said, moving away. Fresh air suits everyone, I reckoned.
I tucked my hands in the front pocket of my black apron and looked around me for a second. It was good to be back at the café and quite a relief to be busy. Taking orders, toasting paninis, making coffees … It took a surprising amount of skill and timing to keep customers happy. And while I was rushed off my feet, it stopped me thinking about my conversation with Charlie.
I sighed and turned my gaze to the street outside the window.
Surely it must have crossed his mind that I might one day want children, and that saying he categorically didn’t want any more would have an on impact on our relationship? Or perhaps men didn’t think that way. And perhaps I was over-analysing. I shook myself. I was at it again – thinking.
‘Can I get you anything else?’ I asked two mums whose latte glasses were empty.
‘Actually, I ordered a croissant?’ said the taller one with a head of wild, curly black hair.
‘Freya!’ shouted Shirley. ‘Have you left something in the microwave? I can smell burning.’
‘Eek! Sorry, yes!’ I darted round the back of the counter and yanked open the door of the microwave and stared at the croissant. At least, it had been a croissant; it was now a wizened smoking lump, reminiscent of a piece of leftover bonfire toffee.
‘I’ll do you a fresh one,’ I called to the mum, who smiled and nodded. Shirley planted herself next to me and my shoulders slumped under the weight of her stare.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘I’m a bit distracted for some reason.’
Today’s big news: the Case of the Caramelized Croissant. It suddenly dawned on me what the problem with this job was: even the biggest dilemma I faced was minuscule in the grand scheme of things. Help, there’s no skimmed milk! Oh no, I’m not sure if the coleslaw is gluten-free! Whoops, I’ve cremated a croissant!
Compare these benign four walls to the 150 acres that Uncle Arthur and Auntie Sue had to shepherd on a daily basis with all the issues that go with it: an unexpected storm damaging crops, a fox getting into the chicken pen and leaving five of Auntie Sue’s hens dead and strewn across the grass (which sadly happened while I was there), a poorly calf … My job at the café suddenly seemed so trivial.
‘TBH, love, you’ve been distracted since you got back after Easter.’ Shirley bent forward to peer into my face.
I puffed out my cheeks. ‘I know, I’ll snap out of it, I promise.’
‘This might cheer you up, look – your friend Tilly has just walked in. I’ll do the croissant.’
I was over at Tilly’s side in a flash and hugged her tight.
‘Hey, you,’ she giggled, as I nearly knocked her over with my exuberance. ‘I always forget what a ball of energy you are.’
‘Well, get you and your suntan!’ I stood back and examined her at arm’s length. What a transformation from the pale-faced, anxious girl I’d met last winter.
‘You
have
to go the Galápagos Islands, that’s an order,’ said Tilly, sitting down at the only free table and scanning the menu. ‘Hi, Dougie!’ She waved to her fellow allotmenteer. ‘Soup and a roll, please. Ooh and a pot of tea.’
I couldn’t help but grin; her happiness was contagious. Whatever she was on, I’d like some, please. ‘We don’t usually see you in here during school time.’
‘I know. But I haven’t been food shopping since I got back and today’s school dinner didn’t appeal.’
I ladled the soup of the day into a bowl, added a brown roll to the plate, made her a pot of tea and set the whole lot in front of her.
‘I’m glad to see you so perky, I must admit,’ I said quietly. ‘I
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