“Fresh baked on the premises.” Leonie sounds very proud. “My first month’s takings all went on a large oven and a professional bread mixer. I reckon every café needs a signature and mine will be fresh bread.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have any—”
She understands him instantly. “As I’m still experimenting, you can have a bread basket for one pound. Call it a special Kendric House community perk.”
Osian is all enthusiasm ordering breakfast, but my thoughts linger on what she said.
“You all right?” Osian asks when Leonie’s gone back inside to prepare.
“Sorry. Yes, I’m fine.”
“You suddenly went a bit…” He trails off.
Glancing around, I see that Leonie has already gone back inside. “She’s very successful, isn’t she? I mean, fresh baked bread. That’s a real crowd pleaser.”
Osian is watching me, a little vertical line between his brows. “Why does this upset you?”
“It doesn’t. I’m happy for her.”
The way he keeps watching me, just sitting and waiting. In the end, it makes me explain. “When did she open her café?”
His eyes flick left and right, calculating. “Two weeks ago.”
Yes, that’s what I thought. She said I was her first customer on the day I came for my interview.
“I don’t know much about professional catering equipment, but they can’t be cheap. Yet she can afford to spend that after… what, two weeks of trading? That’s a viable business.”
“And…?” he quizzes.
“My enterprise is unlikely to make that kind of profit, and not until summer.”If – please, God – I manage to clear enough ground to plant something in time.
“Did you want to be a caterer?”
His question takes me so much by surprise, I laugh. “Caterer? Me? Everything I ever cooked came out of a cardboard box with microwave instructions on the back.”
“Me too,” he agrees. “And with cooking, it’s kinda end heavy. I mean, it starts easy but towards the end there seems to be a lot of seasoning and adding things. My memories of Christmases at home are my mother dashing about for the last hour and a half trying to get everything done because most of it had to be done last minute. Gardening is the opposite. It’s slow to start – you dig and plant, and for ages it looks like nothing is happening. But towards the end you only need minimal maintenance and the plants just do the work for you. They kind of…” He makes a bursting motion with his hands.
“They explode into life,” I say.
“Exactly!” He leans forward, more animated. “It’s as if they take over and do all the growing themselves. All you have to do is—”
“Watch.” I also lean forward. “As they go on surprising you day after day, more and more.”
“You two seem very happy.” Leonie glances between us as she brings a tray over.
Osian springs up to bring a small plastic table in front of us.
“I wasn’t sure what tea you wanted.” Leonie puts the tray down. There’s an aromatic basket of bread covered with a cloth napkin and a dish with butter. “Considering it’s morning I’ve gone for Assam. What kind of jam do you want?”
Both Osian and I shake our heads. Who wants jam to mess with the pure heaven of crusty bread rolls hot from the oven and a strong cup of tea?
My worries haven’t gone away but they seem smaller. Not only because of the tea – and the way Osian butters a slice of bread and passes it to me – but also because my hope and excitement about planting has come back.
The morning sunshine makes everything seem brighter, even the old and crumbling slates under our feet where weeds have grown.
Osian, following my gaze, says, “I guess Leonie still has a lot to do before her café dream is a reality. She’s been talking about making the terrace into an alfresco eating area for the summer. She wanted me to advise her about potted orange trees.” He shoots me a meaningful look.
His meaning is clear. It’s not only the two of us who have far to go. Everyone here has been working hard to build something.
