Taylor-made. Heather had been in no doubt who was in charge as she issued her specific instructions with a frown.
‘You’ll need to scrape back your hair into a neat ponytail for hygiene and wear a minimal amount of make-up – we want you to engage with the customers, not make them fall in love with you. Please arrive at six-thirty sharp. We open at seven in time for the commuter rush. Georg is our resident barista – he’ll show you the ropes. Oliver will be around but busy baking obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ repeated Heather feeling sick with nerves. I am a strong, confident woman. Until I meet another woman, who is stronger and more confident. And then basically I become a jelly.
Caroline had cast a critical eye over her newest employee. ‘We’ve had no end of troubles finding someone suitable for this job – please don’t let us down.’
‘I won’t,’ promised Heather, praying that this was true.
‘So I should tell Caroline about Heather’s mistake?’ asked Georg earnestly.
‘Georg!’ cried Heather, feigning outrage. ‘How would you feel if I told Caroline about all the mistakes you make?’
Georg looked confused. ‘I do not make mistakes.’
Pete patted him on the back. ‘We’re just joking, bro. You don’t need to tell anyone anything, okay?’
‘Okay,’ said Georg, fixing Pete with a look of relief. ‘Thank you.’
Heather grinned at Oliver. She loved working here. Despite Georg’s unusual nature and the fact that she now had a mild pastry addiction, it was good fun. The place was always bustling, the customers eclectic and mostly lovely, and its location, just around the corner from where her mother had grown up, gave Heather an unexpected feeling of comfort.
‘Aha, and who is this vision I see before me?’ cried Oliver as Pamela hurried through the door with two large cake tins in her arms.
‘It is Pamela,’ said Georg, confused. Heather and Oliver exchanged glances of amusement.
‘Hello, my loves. How are we all today?’ asked Pamela, plonking the tins on the counter.
‘All the better for seeing you,’ replied Oliver. ‘And what delights do you have for us this fine morning?’
‘Just a salted caramel layer cake and a strawberries and cream sponge.’
‘Pamela, if I wasn’t a happily married man, I would drop down on one knee right now,’ declared Oliver.
‘Oh, get away with you,’ she blushed.
‘These look incredible,’ said Heather, lifting the lids on the tins. Pamela might have been Hope Street’s resident busybody but she was the closest thing they had to Mary Berry. Credit where it was due.
‘Thanks, lovey,’ said Pamela with a smile. ‘Oliver, would it be okay if I put up this poster on your community notice board? It’s for a new course all about happiness starting tonight at Hope Street Hall.’
‘Of course – be my guest.’
‘Thank you. I just met the man who’s running it – lovely eyes and so charming. I think I’m going to give it a go. I’ve always wanted to find out about that mindfulness malarkey. Anyone else fancy it?’
She fixed her gaze on Heather, who felt a flash of irritation.
Back off, lady – just because my parents died, it doesn’t mean I need to go on a course.
‘Pete?’ asked Heather, deflecting the question.
Pete grinned. ‘As an Aussie, I’ve pretty much got the happiness lark sorted, thanks, Pamela – it’s mainly down to sport and beer. Now excuse me, lovely people, but I need to crack on with another batch of sourdough,’ he said, before disappearing into the kitchen.
Pamela gave an indulgent chuckle and then looked at Oliver with eyebrows raised. He put a hand on his heart. ‘I fear that if I told Caroline I was going to a happiness course, she would see it as a declaration of weakness, which, as you know, isn’t allowed in our house.’
Pamela giggled before turning to Heather. ‘Do you fancy it then, Heather?’ she asked, holding out the poster.
Heather smiled politely as she took it from her and read out loud.
‘The Happiness List – a course led by life coach, Nikolaj Pedersen, teaching you practical skills and exercises to achieve your own version of happiness.
Ten weeks from Wednesday, 29th of March, 7-9 p.m., Hope Street Community Hall, £8 per session including refreshments.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Thanks, but it’s not for me, Pamela. I’m about as happy as it’s possible to be. Besides, Luke and I are going to be busy tonight making wedding plans.’
Pamela clapped her hands together. ‘Of course – how wonderful. You deserve to be happy after losing your dear mum and dad. But you must miss them terribly, especially when you’re preparing for such a happy event,’ she insisted. ‘I can’t imagine how hard it must be organizing your big day without having them here to lend a hand and share in your joy. I mean, who will help you pick out your dress?’
Not you if that’s what you’re angling for, thought Heather, astonished at Pamela’s tactlessness. ‘My cousin, Gemma is very supportive,’ she said with a curt smile. ‘And it was a long time ago.’
‘Oh but you never get over it, do you? I mean, I still miss my parents after all these years. I wasn’t even that close to my mother but I still catch myself wondering if I should phone to check she’s okay.’
‘Everyone’s different,’ said Heather, trying to close down the discussion.
Pamela gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you by dredging up the past.’
Heather was annoyed with herself because she had no right to be irritated with Pamela. She wasn’t being unkind. She was just speaking the bald truth – a truth that Heather hadn’t properly considered until now.
Her parents wouldn’t be there for her wedding. Her mother wouldn’t help her pick out her dress. Or argue over the seating plan. Or hold her hand when the day finally arrived and she felt shaky with nerves.
She caught a whiff of ginger and cinnamon from the coffee Georg was brewing and felt herself transported back to the day her parents died. She was sixteen and remembered sitting next to Gemma on the sofa at her house – a green velvet sofa with brown sagging cushions. It was November and the air smelled of cinnamon and ginger because her aunt Marian had been baking parkin. Her uncle Jim walked in and cleared his throat. Heather could see his face, grey with concern, and her aunt behind him crying. She couldn’t remember her first reaction to the news but she did recall Gemma wrapping her arms around her for the longest time – an embrace so tight as if she was trying to hug away the pain.
Gemma. She was the one who had propped her up ever since it happened. She’d moved in to her aunt and uncle’s house as an only child and ended up getting a ready-made family with a big sister to boot. That wasn’t to say
