– I know our breakfasts are good, award-winning, in fact, but I’ve not had one evoke this sort of emotion before! Sybs, what’s the matter?’ Lawrence dips down into the chair opposite, concern darting from one eye to the next and back again, both slender hands clasping the tea towel that’s pressed to his chest. He’s clearly not used to his guests crying for no apparent reason, talking of which, a group of ramblers arrive, clad in check shirts and corduroys tucked into chunky knee-length socks (handknitted, by the looks of them). They take one look in my direction and beetle off to a large table on the opposite side of the room before whipping up menus to hide behind. Oh God! And how does Lawrence even know that I like to be called Sybs? He checked me in very quickly last night, seeing as it was so late, saying I probably wanted to get off to bed right away, and as Cooper’s wife, or ‘the funny woman with the ferret’ is what Pete called her, had already vouched for me in any case … well, it was all very laid-back. He didn’t even ask for a credit card to do the usual pre-authorisation checks in case I stayed the night, nicked all the bathroom products and coffee sachets and then ran off without paying. It’s like another world here in Tindledale.
‘Um, I don’t know. I, um, er … just feeling a bit overwhelmed and …’ My voice fades as I think of the plans, the dream I had to have my own haberdashery business just like Hettie. I rummage in my pocket in search of a tissue, getting flustered when I can’t find one. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Lawrence hands me the tea towel instead.
‘Thank you.’ Dabbing at my face with the soft cloth that smells of bluebells, I press it to my nose and inhale. It reminds me of day trips to the forest in springtime, the ground carpeted in a layer of delicately scented flowers that stretched for miles, swinging between my grandparents, one on either side, gripping my chubby, little-girl hands as they whispered tales of fairies and angels hiding in amongst the sun-dappled trees. Feeling happy, loved, and long before Luke and Sasha broke my heart. And Sasha hated those walking trips, preferring to stay at home and look at her pony annuals or whatever. The moment vanishes and I take a deep breath, willing myself to get a grip.
‘Maybe you’ll feel better when you’ve had something to eat.’ Lawrence reaches a hand across the table to gently pat my arm. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with something. If you don’t mind me saying, you do look very tired.’ He smiles gently, the corners of his eyes tilting upwards. I manage a half-smile.
‘You’re very kind,’ I say, in a wobbly voice, feeling embarrassed. ‘And I really am so sorry to cry on you like this. I don’t know what came over me.’ I hand the tea towel back to Lawrence before picking up a knife and fork as a diversion tactic.
‘Well, eat up and try not to be sad, you must look after yourself.’ He scrutinises my whole face in one quick scan. ‘And just so you know, I’m here if you ever want to chat. I’m a very good listener.’
Lawrence leaves, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly as he goes and I think about what he said as I prong a chubby sausage and cut it in two, before dipping one end into the filmy egg yolk. A complete stranger spotting how tired and fed-up I look. Well, it isn’t good, but I have been feeling so down since everything happened with Luke. And then turning into a recluse and not going out very much, apart from to work and back, and then with all the cock-ups, culminating in the cock-up-to-end-all-cock-ups, well, Lawrence has a very good point. I am tired. Exhausted, in fact, from all the worrying. Which reminds me, I must check online and see if there have been any developments in the hunt for Jennifer Ford or, indeed, Mr Banerjee’s investigation into the ‘bungling employee’.
After finishing the scrumptious breakfast, I put the napkin down, push the chair back and I’m just about to stand up when Lawrence appears again with something hidden behind his back.
‘Now, we’re not going to have any more tears, are we?’ he asks hesitantly.
‘Oh, I hope not.’ I paint a half-smile onto my face. ‘And I really am very sorry about earlier.’
‘Ah, it’s fine. Please, there really is no need to apologise, these things happen. We all get emotional sometimes,’ he says, very graciously.
‘Thank you,’ I smile. ‘Oh, I forgot to ask earlier …’ Lawrence lifts his eyebrows inquiringly, ‘how do you know that I like to be called Sybs?’
‘Well, I probably shouldn’t have been so nosey, but I noticed it there on your newspaper.’ I stare blankly. ‘The message.’ And he taps the Tindledale Herald on the table next to the pomander. I pick the paper up. ‘See, right there.’
And I do.
Sybs, give me a try x
There’s even a phone number next to the message that’s scrawled in black marker pen. A feeling flits through me. A feeling I haven’t felt in a long time. A fluttery, flattering feeling. I glance up into Lawrence’s diamanté-tipped eyes and then cast a glance around the room, half expecting someone with a smartphone to pop out from under one of the tables to Snapchat me and scream ‘gotcha’ in my face. Things like this don’t usually happen to me.
‘Oh.’ I hesitate, unsure of what to say and much to my dismay, I see that my hands are trembling slightly. I really need some sleep.
‘Sorry.’ Lawrence lifts his eyebrows in concern. ‘See, you’ve got me at it now. Have I embarrassed you? Only you look a little bit taken aback.’
‘No. Not at all. I – just – I – well, I didn’t see the message before now.’ I shake my head.
‘Not from someone you know then?’
‘No, definitely not. No chance of that,’ I say wryly.
‘Well, this is rather exciting. It’s very flirty,’ Lawrence says.
‘It sure is.’ I quickly rack my brains to work out how it came to be there and then it dawns on me – the guy sitting next to the window on the train. He had a newspaper. Yes, it has to be the guy in the duffel coat with the glasses and nice eyes and the curly hair peeping out from under his beanie hat who didn’t seem to mind when Basil tried to snaffle his Costa cake. Because there wasn’t anyone else in our carriage, which means that he must have left the message while I was sleeping. And he was quite cute. My head goes into overdrive trying to fathom it all out. But what does he mean ‘give me a try’? It’s a bit forward, and with a kiss too. He didn’t strike me as the type of guy to be like that, not at all; he was very unassuming with his polite smile. No, flirty swagger is much more Luke’s style – he was very cocky – I used to think it was cheeky, in an appealing, banter-type way, but looking back now it really wasn’t. Hmm, funny how things can seem so different at the time. Lawrence coughs discreetly.
‘I have to say that it’s very intriguing! Are you sure you don’t know who the message is from?’ Lawrence asks.
‘Weeeeell, there was a guy on the train, but—’
‘Then I urge you to call the number, Sybs! It’s like a modern day Brief Encounter. You must find out who your secret admirer is, but before you do, I thought one of these might cheer you up!’ And he brings a four-tiered wire cake tree out from behind his back. And I gasp. I’ve never seen anything quite so spectacular. It’s bulging with cake – slabs of lemon drizzle, chocolate brownies the size of doorstops, delicate pastel pink and white fondant fancies, sugar-dusted squares of stollen and loads of gorgeous festive red and green cupcakes with jaunty reindeers and snowmen piped over their bulging mounds. And the smell is heavenly; a cocoon of warmth and sweetness surrounds me instantly,
