Maggie
Fir Tree Parks one of those delightful places that exudes beauty whatever the season, and I know how lucky I am to work here. Im blessed with the opportunity to appreciate its magnificence all year round; when the muted blanket of fallen leaves coats the weaving paths and walkways in autumn (well worthy of the admiration they get from welly-wearing dog walkers and exuberant toddlers alike) and when the icy layer atop the lake sparkles with winter wonder, pretty enough to adorn any Christmas card. And springs pale pink buds of cherry blossom are a welcome vision, cheery and uplifting in the extreme.
But during the summer months theres something extra special about the park. Its abuzz with life, more so than at any other point in the year. Once the days become longer crowds come out of hibernation, everyone keen to capitalize on the extra hours of sunlight. The armies of new mums pushing the latest must-have buggies walk with increased purpose and drive, office workers bring their sandwiches and cans of Coke on to the flat plain of grass in front of the café at lunchtime instead of wolfing their food down at their desks, and the fair-weather joggers whose trainers havent seen any action since the clocks went back they all return to the park as the weather brightens up.
As the owner of The Lake House Café, a popular meeting point in Fir Tree Park, Im delighted to see the park at its busiest. Busy means business and that can only be a good thing. But theres more to it than that. It gives me a warm glow to see the masses celebrating the great outdoors; the children splashing in the waterpark, the keen-to-please parents puffing away as they exhaust themselves on the pedalos and rickety rowing boats, the dogs chasing their tails on the large, lush lawn. These people are my people. Theres an affinity between us. Knowing the café is at the heart of both the park and the community makes me so proud I could burst.
Every day starts the same way, with me rustling up cakes in the small yet pristine kitchen at the back of the café.
Looks like itll be another busy one, I call out to my eighteen-year-old daughter, Kelly. Shes up bright and early especially to help me set up for the day ahead. I might have to conjure up another lemon drizzle cake.
Even the thought of running out of cakes brings me out in a cold sweat. Heaven forbid it actually happens: thered be nothing worse than demand outstripping supply. When I opened the café my mission was for every customer to leave happy, satisfied and itching to return. Its still my aim now, nine years on.
Kellys laugh rings out as she continues to wipe the red and white polka dot oilcloths that cover the tables. I can see her smirking through the serving hatch. Theres no chance youll sell out of cake. Youre a baking machine!
Deep down I know shes right once I get started I cant stop myself but theres a loyal band of customers who come to the café year-round in order to satisfy their sweet tooth. Its all about giving them a varied choice, ensuring people can have the old favourites if they so choose with a few more experimental options thrown in for the more adventurous clientele.
Thats why from the moment I arrive at the café each morning and pull my cream chefs apron over my head Im in the kitchen mixing up batters and doughs like a whirling dervish. By the time the doors open at 8.30am a deliciously sweet smell permeates the air people say thats what makes it nigh on impossible to resist my wares. The baking continues on and off all day, even if the cafés already well-stocked with an array of yummy cakes and biscuits. The waft of sugar lingers so you can taste it with each breath, tempting customers to buy a slice of sponge for the road as well as one to go with their drink-in cappuccino. Its a happy, homely scent. The kind those reed diffusers try (and fail) to mimic.
My over-baking is a source of great amusement to everyone. Staff often end up taking brown paper bags stuffed full of the leftover goodies home with them at the end of the day chocolate chip cookies that dont snap until theyre almost bent double; rich chocolate cupcakes with lavish buttercream frosting and rainbow sprinkles; and of course, generous wedges of my signature lemon drizzle cake. They say its a perk of the job, taking the unsold goods home. I say it gives me a chance to do more baking the next day, so its win-win.
The day we run out of cake is the day hell freezes over, Kelly calls out. Shes facing the other way, yet I can almost hear the sarcastic eyeroll that no doubt accompanies her words. Itll never happen.
I hope youre right, I answer cheerily, but I might do something quick, just to be on the safe side. Another Malteser fridge cake, maybe?
Kelly pops her head into the kitchen and lets out a long, purposeful sigh. Even when frustrated and flustered she looks beautiful blonde, lean and glowing. Youth wrapped up in a neat daughter-sized package. I know youll not listen to a word I say, but theres plenty, and youve got a fridge full of millionaires shortbread too, remember? Youre making work for yourself again, Mum.
It keeps me busy. Stops me having time to worry about you.
Its a tongue-in-cheek remark, but the truth nonetheless. Being a parent is terrifying at the best of times, and when exams are looming and you can do nothing to help but provide them with tea and cake, parenting is ramped up to a whole new level. If Id known how much brain-space kids take up, Id have thought longer and harder before having them. Not that I regret Josh and Kelly, not for a minute, but I had them young too young probably and now Im a forty-year-old single parent on the verge of an empty nest.
Ive done my best for the pair of them, but there have been many, many times Ive fallen short. The days they had to wear their grubby school sweaters for a third time because Id not had chance to put a wash on, or when I was forced to serve beans on toast for tea four nights in a row because I couldnt afford anything more substantial. Things have been tight over the years, in terms of both time and money, and I never understood it before, but I realise now that sometimes you can be doing your best and its still not enough.
When you get home you can knuckle down to that history revision. Theres only three weeks until your exam, remember. I throw a pointed look in my daughters direction, willing her into action.
I am aware, Kelly says brusquely, every inch the know-it-all teenager.
Its a funny age, eighteen. She looks like a young woman but still has the capability to act like a petulant child. Her long blonde hairs cascading down her back and her hands jauntily placed on her hip. Attitude aplenty, although shes a good girl, mostly.
Its me thats going to be panicking about it, not you, she fires.
Ha, thats what you think, I want to say. It might be Kelly revising long into the night and it might be her again, sat at a small, square desk to frantically scribble down everything she remembers about World War I and the Industrial Revolution on exam day, but Ill have as many sleepless nights over these A-levels as she will. Theyre all-consuming, I remember how it was with Josh.
It had been a different battle three years ago to the one now, but a battle it had been. Id spent hours reminding him that although he was a natural academic, his aptitude for learning was no excuse for not hitting the books. With Kelly its something else entirely. She works hard, colour-coding her notes with fluorescent sticky tabs and a multitude of neon highlighter pens. Theyre as bright as the accessory aisle in Miss Selfridge in the 80s, but for all her organisation and effort, study doesnt come easy to her.
Im a hard worker myself, never satisfied until the glass cabinet that runs the length of the old wooden counter is jam-packed full of sweet offerings. Since the day I bought the café, way back when Kelly was in junior school, it has always been the same. But its been a gruelling slog at times, and I hope beyond all hope that my children will have an easier ride than my own.
What times Fern getting in? Kelly asks, throwing the now-grubby dishcloth shes been using into the hot soapy water that fills the kitchen sink. Because Ive loads of revision planned for today. My heads a mess trying to remember all those dates and laws. I need to put the hours in if Im going to get the grades for Birmingham, she reminds me, as though Im likely to forget. Its all shes spoken about for months.
Shell be in at ten, so you can get off after that. Or you can sit at the corner table all day if you prefer? Ill make sure Fern keeps your cup filled with tea.
Im a great believer in the power of tea. A warm hug when the world feels cold, rejuvenating when you feel beaten. I pretty much live off the stuff and have passed my love of it on to both Kelly and Josh, who are equally addicted, although theyre far more liberal with the sugar than I am.
Its up to you, I add. Wherever you think youll concentrate best. My only worry is youll go home, turn on your laptop and fall down a YouTube-shaped rabbit hole.
Kellys hooked on the beauty vloggers channels, constantly looking for tips on how to perfect her eyeliner flicks and discover which foundation offers best all-day coverage on a shoestring budget. All the important stuff.
Kelly groans. Mum, really! Its me youre talking to. Ill put in the work, Im not like Josh.
I know youll put the effort in. I do, I answer, ensuring my voice stays soft and reassuring. I dont want to risk it veering off towards fussy fuddy-duddy mode, because Kelly doesnt respond well to being told what to do. Never has, even as a tot. Shed been one of those puce-faced children who kicked and screamed at the supermarket checkout when she wasnt allowed a packet of chocolate buttons, always knowing what she wanted and doing her level best to get it by fair means or foul. Both my children had been like that, and I dont want to dwell on what that says about me. A psychoanalyst would have a field day, Im sure.
I choose my words carefully, talking slowly. But I cant help but wonder if you only want to go to university because you think its expected of you, and that couldnt be further from the truth.
I catch Kellys gaze. Her turquoise eyes flash, but not with anger, and a tangible rush of love flows between us. For a second I wish I could turn back time. Things were bloody tough when the kids were little, but at least then Id felt I was making a difference. Back then Id had some level of control over her life and how she experienced the world. These days I have to trust the mistakes shell inevitably make will be minor rather than major. Kellys very much her own person, a glorious muddle of juxtapositions stubborn and flighty, beautiful and petulant, angry and delicate but beneath the lipstick and mascara shes still my baby. She always will be.
You dont have to take the same path as your friends, you know, I continue. Theres more to life than university, other options you could explore. I was already pregnant with Josh when I was your age
Are you saying I should get pregnant? Kelly jokes. Quick-witted as ever, especially when a conversation takes a serious turn. Just like her dad. He never wanted to talk about anything heavy either. I bat away thoughts of Clint because theres no point ruining a perfectly lovely morning. I didnt think youd be up for being a grandma just yet.
Absolutely not! I exclaim, flustered. I can feel my cheeks burning up; theyve probably already turned an attractive shade of beetroot.
All Im trying to say is that whats right for one person isnt always right for another. I was married with a baby on the way when I was eighteen, whereas at the same age Josh got accepted on to his physics degree. Your dad I pause, consciously trying to keep the distaste from displaying on my face. I never purposefully badmouth Clint to the kids, as much as Ive wanted to at times. Its not their fault that their dads a waste of space. well, he was already in with the wrong crowd by then. But you, my gorgeous baby girl? The worlds your oyster! You can do anything you put your mind to. And you dont need a piece of paper from a stuffy university to do most of it, and you definitely dont need the debt that goes hand in hand with it. I wouldnt be saying this if I thought history was your passion. But I dont think it really is, sweetheart, do you?
I wait for an answer, but nothings forthcoming. Kellys nibbling on the skin of her thumb, a bad habit shes had since she was small, and I resist the urge to tap her hand away from her mouth.
I smile gently, hoping it can reassure her. All Im saying is three years is a long time to be miserable.
Kelly smiles back awkwardly, more grimace than grin. I dont know, Mum. Everyonell be going away in September Tash, Meg, Luke I dont want to be the only person stuck here when theyre all having fun at freshers nights and drinking bright blue cocktails from plastic fishbowls.
Theres a tinge of fear in her voice, which I expect is linked to the thoughts of missing out on the rite of passage that is going to university. The youngsters today all seem to go, leaving in their droves every autumn. Surely they cant all be brainboxes?
Even in my day things were different, and its not like Im from the dark ages. Half my classmates went straight into work from school poorly paid jobs as receptionists, barmaids, checkout girls ordinary jobs for the ordinary people we were. There was no shame in that back then, it was the norm. How can the world have changed so much in such a short time?
Id worked as a waitress before having Josh, serving stone-baked pizzas and rich cannellonis in a little Italian restaurant on the high street, a family-run eatery. Every available surface had been bedecked in the traditional national colours of red, white and green. It hadnt paid that well but had provided a bit of pocket money, enough to get by. Even now Im hardly Deborah Meaden; I just got lucky, buying the café for a song and slowly but surely building up the business. The Lake House Cafés doing well at the moment, with café culture on the rise.
Who said anything about being stuck here? If you work over the summer, youll earn a bit of pocket money and maybe have enough to travel. Youve said you wanted to see the world. Why not do it now while you have the chance? I always fancied getting one of those train tickets that lets you go all over Europe, packing a backpack and seeing where I ended up. Imagine what an experience thatd be! You could go to Rome I say dreamily. In my mind Im drifting off on a sleeper train heading towards the Eternal City, rather than wondering if Ive got enough plain flour in the cupboard to last the rest of the week. As much as I love my job, Rome sounds infinitely more appealing.
Kelly, however, looks doubtful. I dont know. Id have to come back sooner or later, and without a degree Id struggle to get a job.
For as long as I own this café, therell be a job here for you. I know its not much, but its something. I cup my daughters hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Just have a think about things, thats all Im asking. Why dont you head off home? Fern will be here shortly, and I can manage till then. I nod towards the café door and the sprawling green park beyond. Go and hit those books.