Read Online The Grand Reopening of Dandelion Café by Jenny Oliver - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jenny Oliver
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much sugar.’
‘Yeah I know,’ he spooned in another teaspoonful. ‘But I only have it once a day. It’s my little treat.’
‘Wow, you really know how to live,’ she laughed.
Matthew shrugged a smile.
Annie closed her laptop and put it in her bag. Then, crossing her arms on the table, she leant forward and said, ‘So River likes climbing?’
Matt paused, the coffee cup at his lips. ‘No, not massively, but I’m persuading him, gently.’
Annie nodded and then sat back, picking up her cup and cradling it between her palms.
‘What?’ Matt said.
‘Nothing.’
‘What? Why are you looking at me like that?’
Annie took a sip of the thick bitter coffee. ‘Did you know he’s in a band?’
‘Christ yeah, it’s dreadful,’ Matt said under his breath.
‘That’s encouraging.’
‘No sorry, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just not my kind of music.’
Annie put her cup down and moved to stand up. ‘Just like climbing’s not his,’ she said.
Matt drained his espresso and stood up with her, ‘What are you getting at?’
‘Well. Who is it that’s trying to make this relationship work?’
Matt ran his tongue along the bottom of his top teeth.
‘And yet who is it that’s picking the activity?’
His mouth stretched into a you’ve-got-me grin and Annie smirked.
‘Where do you want this light hung then?’ he said with a roll of his eyes.
‘Over there in front of the counter,’ she said, giggling.
‘Got a ladder?’
‘In the back.’
‘Right.’
And Annie watched as the man who the previous weekend she’d seen named on the
Sunday Times
Rich List, sauntered off to go and get her ladder.
They spent the rest of the day working on the cafe. The newly turquoise counter surround had two little pawprints in it, where Buster had tried to stretch up and follow a brush stroke, that they left for posterity. The floor, where he’d subsequently left a trail of tiny footprints, had been scrubbed clean and Ludo was out the back with a bucket washing the furious dog’s paws. Martha, who’d had an about-turn since Annie’s apology, had nipped back to her house and returned with her collection of cake stands. All different types: some glass, some china patterned with trails of ivy, others painted with little birds. One particularly fancy one ‒ an all-over delicate silver filigree ‒ Annie placed in the new cabinet where it sparkled as it caught the sun. The others they arranged on the counter surface and on a shelf that Matt had made out of two old brackets they’d found out the back and a piece of driftwood.
In the afternoon, just as the sun came out, Annie’s mum appeared unexpectedly, carrying two shopping bags that she deposited on the table next to Annie and said, ‘I’ve made you some new curtains.’
‘Really?’ Annie asked, surprised. ‘I thought you were working this week?’
‘I am. I made them this morning. After my shift,’ she said it as if it was nothing to knock up a pair of curtains after working twelve hours at the hospital. That was what her mum did, she showed her affection in practical gestures and hated praise or acknowledgement of the fact.
Annie pulled out the cute half-curtains that would replace the tatty chequered ones in the window and held them up, delighted. Winifred had managed to find a white cotton that was patterned all over with little yellow dandelions, some with stalks and leaves, others just the feathery flowers. And along the bottom she’d stitched cream vintage lace, like bunting made of spiders’ webs.
‘Thank you,’ Annie said, going over to the window to hold the curtains against the glass, the cotton see-through in the sharp spring sunshine.
‘You can’t leave those marks on the wall,’ Winifred said, waving away Annie’s thanks and focusing instead on the dirty stains left by the missing pictures.
‘We don’t have time to repaint, Mum.’
‘Repaint?’ Her mother looked indignant. ‘Bit of Cif and a J-cloth and
‘Yeah I know,’ he spooned in another teaspoonful. ‘But I only have it once a day. It’s my little treat.’
‘Wow, you really know how to live,’ she laughed.
Matthew shrugged a smile.
Annie closed her laptop and put it in her bag. Then, crossing her arms on the table, she leant forward and said, ‘So River likes climbing?’
Matt paused, the coffee cup at his lips. ‘No, not massively, but I’m persuading him, gently.’
Annie nodded and then sat back, picking up her cup and cradling it between her palms.
‘What?’ Matt said.
‘Nothing.’
‘What? Why are you looking at me like that?’
Annie took a sip of the thick bitter coffee. ‘Did you know he’s in a band?’
‘Christ yeah, it’s dreadful,’ Matt said under his breath.
‘That’s encouraging.’
‘No sorry, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just not my kind of music.’
Annie put her cup down and moved to stand up. ‘Just like climbing’s not his,’ she said.
Matt drained his espresso and stood up with her, ‘What are you getting at?’
‘Well. Who is it that’s trying to make this relationship work?’
Matt ran his tongue along the bottom of his top teeth.
‘And yet who is it that’s picking the activity?’
His mouth stretched into a you’ve-got-me grin and Annie smirked.
‘Where do you want this light hung then?’ he said with a roll of his eyes.
‘Over there in front of the counter,’ she said, giggling.
‘Got a ladder?’
‘In the back.’
‘Right.’
And Annie watched as the man who the previous weekend she’d seen named on the
Sunday Times
Rich List, sauntered off to go and get her ladder.
They spent the rest of the day working on the cafe. The newly turquoise counter surround had two little pawprints in it, where Buster had tried to stretch up and follow a brush stroke, that they left for posterity. The floor, where he’d subsequently left a trail of tiny footprints, had been scrubbed clean and Ludo was out the back with a bucket washing the furious dog’s paws. Martha, who’d had an about-turn since Annie’s apology, had nipped back to her house and returned with her collection of cake stands. All different types: some glass, some china patterned with trails of ivy, others painted with little birds. One particularly fancy one ‒ an all-over delicate silver filigree ‒ Annie placed in the new cabinet where it sparkled as it caught the sun. The others they arranged on the counter surface and on a shelf that Matt had made out of two old brackets they’d found out the back and a piece of driftwood.
In the afternoon, just as the sun came out, Annie’s mum appeared unexpectedly, carrying two shopping bags that she deposited on the table next to Annie and said, ‘I’ve made you some new curtains.’
‘Really?’ Annie asked, surprised. ‘I thought you were working this week?’
‘I am. I made them this morning. After my shift,’ she said it as if it was nothing to knock up a pair of curtains after working twelve hours at the hospital. That was what her mum did, she showed her affection in practical gestures and hated praise or acknowledgement of the fact.
Annie pulled out the cute half-curtains that would replace the tatty chequered ones in the window and held them up, delighted. Winifred had managed to find a white cotton that was patterned all over with little yellow dandelions, some with stalks and leaves, others just the feathery flowers. And along the bottom she’d stitched cream vintage lace, like bunting made of spiders’ webs.
‘Thank you,’ Annie said, going over to the window to hold the curtains against the glass, the cotton see-through in the sharp spring sunshine.
‘You can’t leave those marks on the wall,’ Winifred said, waving away Annie’s thanks and focusing instead on the dirty stains left by the missing pictures.
‘We don’t have time to repaint, Mum.’
‘Repaint?’ Her mother looked indignant. ‘Bit of Cif and a J-cloth and
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