I sneak one last look over at the edgy boy. Its likely Ill see him again if hes working here all summer. Most of the park staff are much older than I am, but he looks a similar age, twentyish. Even if we never become best buddies, it might be nice to have someone else around who knows about chart music and the latest films. If he ever bothers to speak at all, that is, I think sulkily. Maggie tries her best to keep up with the trends but its not the same, and although Kelly helps out with the odd shift shes not around enough. Shes always got her head down, revising for her exams.
I cant stop the sigh that escapes me. Whats going to happen to Luke now? He wont be able to sit his exams if hes recovering from brain surgery, and without A-levels hell not be able to take up his place at Nottingham. The letter had been very clear conditional offer. Will they let him defer until next year instead, if hes well enough? Or is that it, his one chance blown because of some freak of nature that he cant control? It doesnt seem fair, but having never had any desire to go to university I have no idea how it works. Maybe thats something I can ask Kelly when she arrives.
Moving towards the window, I tap Maggie on the shoulder with the tip of my index finger. She throws me a look, a warning, as she turns, spotting the knowing smile thats playing out on my lips. I cant help it. Its so cute how enamoured with the handsome coach she is. I can tell by the rosy pink glow of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, so she can deny it as much as she likes I still wont believe her.
Tell me the truth this time, I say with a grin, is it the kids youre watching or the coach?
Maggies cheeks flush further, until they resemble two red apples on the sides of her face. Thats my answer right there. Shes smitten.
No, no, I was just looking Maggie stumbles over her words, knowing shes been rumbled.
Peering out of the window, I follow her gaze to where the coach is patiently demonstrating to the kids how to pass the ball with the inside of the foot. His lean body moves nimbly, and his young students flock around him in admiration. Hes a footballing Pied Piper. With a sweep of his hand he nonchalantly flicks his long, dark hair out of his eyes. Its like a scene from a shampoo ad, and although Maggies trying to play it cool I hear her inhale sharply at the motion.
I suppose hes quite good looking for an older man, I think out loud.
Hes probably only in his thirties, its hardly like hes taking out his pension! Maggie scoffs, fanning her face with her hand. Shes still a bit pink. Older man indeed, she adds, rolling her eyes.
But he is older.
Older than you, maybe. Id hazard a guess Ive got a good few years on him.
Hes in good shape too, I muse, hoping to coax her feelings out of her. And those European men take good care of themselves. There was something about it on that breakfast show; apparently, men on the continent are more likely to cleanse, tone and moisturise than men here in Britain. Looking after your skin is vital if you want to keep a youthful glow.
My hand automatically reaches for my face. Fortunately, my skin is one of my best features. Even during the height of puberty I rarely suffered spots and blemishes. Its more the result of good genes and good luck than beauty products, though; Lukes been blessed with good skin too. Its probably just as well. Ive neither the time nor the money to splash out on unnecessary, overpriced creams. Soap and water are good enough for me.
Maggies eyes twinkle mischievously, the first hint of a crease wrinkling at their outer corners. Are you trying to tell me Im looking old?
The thought I may have caused offence horrifies me. I dont want to insult anyone, and certainly not Maggie whos both a boss and a friend.
No, no, not at all! Youre always really well presented, but then youre one of those young, funky mums, not like mine. Youre far more open-minded than either of my parents. And you dont look forty; if I didnt know you had a son my age, Id think you were much younger.
Now its my turn to flush red; I can feel the heat spreading up my neck and I silently curse as the familiar flaming sensation takes over. Its bloody annoying how I cant stop it happening. But thoughts of Joshua Thornhill have a nasty habit of turning me into a gibbering wreck, and add to that the fear of causing offence, my cheeks dont stand a chance.
Im teasing, Fern, Maggie replies, reassuringly placing her hand on my shoulder. And although Im delighted that you think Im young and funky, my main concern is this place. She gestures around the café, to where the young man in the window is still engrossed in whatever hes reading and a group of middle-aged women are huddled around the long table near the door, sipping cups of tea whilst putting the world to rights. Her eyes rest on the large clock on the back wall. Its already twenty past eleven. Speaking of which, the football mums will be coming in any minute now. Would you be a doll and fill up the water jugs? Those little ones look so tired after all that running about and its so warm out there. I bet theyll come in desperate for a glass of water.
I hurry off, keen to please, but not before catching Maggie sneaking another discreet look at the coach.
She can deny it all she wants my boss has a crush on him, Im certain of it. I only hope itll be more fruitful than the one Ive been harbouring for years.
Maggie
Im fussing, fidgeting with the collar of my frilly white blouse, but that doesnt stop me grasping the opportunity to steal one last glance out towards the football session before heading back into the kitchen to rescue a batch of fruit scones from the oven. The coach is smiling broadly as he holds open a large net bag and the boys and girls are gathering up the balls, helpfully putting them away as their training session draws to a close. His head lifts, his angular jaw and high cheekbones visible even from this distance, and I swear hes looking straight at me. Then he nods, a half nod of acknowledgement that causes me to quickly turn away in embarrassment. I busy my hands by sorting the condiments that sit in a small silver bucket on the table, checking the use-by dates closely although theres no need. I only bought them last week. If theyre out of date already, the wholesalers will be getting an earful.
How can I let someone I hardly know affect me like this? My stomachs knotted, my heart pounding wildly. All that over a man Ive spoken to a handful of times, and then only to say thats £2.49, please? What an absolute fool I am. Its ridiculously childish.
I make my way back to the kitchen, my haven, basking in the pleasurable aroma of the scones.
The kitchen is a safe place to hide, and being out here will give me a chance to regain my composure. I dont want to be caught eyeing up the toy boy football coach even if Fern does think Im young and funky.
I know the truth. Im far too long in the tooth to do something as ridiculous as fall in love.
The lunchtime sun streams in through the window, flooding the café with waves of light. The whole room looks cheerful and welcoming with the natural illumination. The off-white walls radiate warmth, the slivers of thin red curtain that frame the windows casting a soft rosy hue.
I know the truth. Im far too long in the tooth to do something as ridiculous as fall in love.
The lunchtime sun streams in through the window, flooding the café with waves of light. The whole room looks cheerful and welcoming with the natural illumination. The off-white walls radiate warmth, the slivers of thin red curtain that frame the windows casting a soft rosy hue.
Its another moment that reminds me of how much I love The Lake House Café, and how much Ive achieved. The place had been a boarded-up eyesore when I took it on. People had said I was crazy to try to turn it around, but Id always believed it could be restored to its former glory and become a welcoming resting-place for everyone who used the park. I hoped it would become somewhere people could enjoy refuelling before heading back out on their merry way. Id been right. These days the café is the most popular spot in the park, perfect for people-watching and enjoying a naughty treat. All those doubters had been proved wrong a thousand times over, and I couldnt be more proud.
The cafés filling up again now. A glut of morning joggers have completed their circuit of the woods and are rewarding themselves with well-deserved lattes, and a young couple walking their two near-identical golden retrievers have popped in for two large sausage sandwiches slathered in generous lashings of tangy brown sauce. The man, a Dermot O Leary lookalike with a devilish grin, is secretly feeding titbits to the dogs underneath the table whilst his partner hungrily wolfs her butty down, oblivious.
Then theres the football mums buying cupcakes with lavish, brightly coloured fondant icing for their ravenous offspring. I make a mental note to put another batch in later, because at this rate theyre going to clear me out altogether. The chatter of the excitable children fills the building with joy, and their mucky boots cover the floor in a dusty trail of dried mud. Fern will have to do a quick mop round when it quietens down a bit.
Excuse me?
The interruption snaps me out of my thoughts.
Oh! I exclaim, blood rushing to both my brain and my cheeks as Im face to face with the dishy football coach. I should have guessed it was him by the exotic accent: even those two words were laced with a hint of Italian that reminded me of my current celebrity crush, TV chef Gino DAcampo. The thought of Gino only makes me blush all the more.
Im sorry, I say, momentarily flustered, I was miles away. What can I get you?
I force myself to smile, hoping I look less worked up than I feel. My manic smile can be a bit much: Im all teeth and gums.
Its so hard to choose, he replies, his voice like a song. Everything looks delicious.
Each word causes an excitable flutter low in my stomach, reminiscent of the butterflies I used to get when Clint and I first got together. That seems a long time ago. It is a long time ago, more than half my life. Surely by my age I should be well past crushes that leave me clammy-palmed and stumbling for words? The days of blaming my hormones for my lustful desires are long gone, and surely Im not menopausal yet? Although that might go some way to explaining the obsession Ive had with Gino of late
The scones are fresh out of the oven, I offer, or the lemon drizzle cake is popular. Its a bit of a favourite with my regulars.
I immediately regret my choice of words, worrying my comment might come across as big-headed.
Then Ill trust their judgement, he says with a smile. Its a wide, affable smile over a jaunty, stubble-coated chin, and his dark eyes manage to be both intense and friendly all at once. A slice of lemon cake and an orange juice please, and one of the cupcakes for Pepe.
He turns, beckoning a small boy in a navy-blue tracksuit. The child is the spitting image of the man, a miniature version right down to the floppy almost-black hair and the large, lazy smile. The similarity is a timely reminder, a warning, and I immediately chide myself for allowing my far-fetched daydreams to get the better of me. Of course a man like this is married with a family. Hes way too attractive not to be. Plus he spends his Saturday mornings coaching other peoples children. A catch like that was never going to be single.
Coming right up.
I busy myself with the order, placing a gleaming glass filled with ice cubes on to the smooth, round tray before adding a chilled bottle of juice and two matching small, white side plates. Reaching for the tongs to select a cupcake, I carefully clasp the frilly yellow bun case between them before purposefully placing it in the very centre of one of the plates. Picking up the mock-marble-handled cake slice, I carefully nudge one of the more generous slices of lemon drizzle along the cake stand, jimmying it on to its side to transfer it to the plate.
I can already smell the lemon, he says as the cake balances precariously atop the cake slice. I like it. It reminds me of home.
I look up to offer a smile and politely ask where home is, but before I can say a word the cake has slid straight on to the counter. It crumbles sadly as I exclaim Oh!, hurriedly reaching for a serviette to tidy the mess, as though hiding the evidence will somehow undo my clumsy error.
Scooping the largest remnant of the cake into the white tissue paper, I exhale, feeling every inch an absolute idiot. But I dont have chance to dwell on it as an olive-skinned hand skims my own.
I jolt back, acting on instinct. Its as though a shock has been sent through my body by his fleeting touch.
Let me help you.
Pulling his hand towards him, he brushes the rogue crumbs into the palm of his other hand.
Im sorry, I stutter nervously. Ill tidy the mess, then Ill get you another slice.
The little boy, Pepe, is wide-eyed at the mere thought of his cupcake.
Why dont you two sit down and Ill bring it over to you? I say, mortification charging through me.
Its fine, the man insists, brushing his hands against the silky black material of his shorts. Stray crumbs fall to the floor. Were in no rush, we can wait.
His eyes lock with mine and I nod graciously. I throw the cake-filled paper napkin into the bin before washing my hands in the small sink that lines the back wall. This small act gives me a moment to regain my composure. Heaven knows I need it. Inside Im a mess: a jibbering, cake-dropping mess.
Anything I can do here, Maggie? asks Fern, her rounded cheeks aglow after cleaning the tables. Shes a delicate English rose with her creamy complexion, dark hair and natural blush, a real beauty. Its just a shame Fern cant see for herself how pretty she is, but thats the reserve of the confident. Shy, retiring people rarely appreciate how beautiful they are.
This gentlemans waiting on a slice of lemon drizzle cake. I had one of my ditzy moments and managed to smash a slice to smithereens on the counter. I bring the heel of my hand to my forehead. If you could finish serving him whilst I go and check on whats in the oven, please?
Fern gives me a loaded look, one that shows she knows full well theres nothing in the oven and that Im scrabbling for an excuse any excuse to escape the shop floor after my faux pas; but she takes over anyway, managing to slice and serve the cake in one effortless manoeuvre.
Im very nearly in the kitchen when the mans voice calls out to me, polite and genuine. Thank you, Maggie.