Josie bit her lip, tempted. ‘Well . . . setting up the refreshment table would be helpful, while I get changed. I’ve just popped fresh brownies in the oven. Maisie knows to keep an eye on them.’ She gave Greta a pointed look. ‘She’snewhere.’
‘Sure,’ Greta said, catching her drift. ‘Leave it to me.’
Greta set out coffee cups with vigour, arranged cookies on plates, and laid out napkins. Her pulse quickened when she saw the time. ‘Maisie!’ she called out. ‘We need to hurry. There’s only fifteen minutes left until showtime.’
The young woman barely raised her eyes. ‘Didn’t your family once star in some coffee ads or something?’ she asked. ‘One day, I’ll get discovered like that. Want to see my latest TikTok audition?’ She held out her phone.
‘Yes, we starred in them.’ Greta briskly polished a spoon on her apron. ‘I’ll look at your clip later. Now, please check all the glasses. Some of these are scratched, and Josie said you’re in charge of the brownies . . .’
When Josie reappeared wearing fresh clothes, she glanced out of the window and sighed. ‘Looks like we’ve got a smaller crowd than usual.’
‘How many are you expecting?’ Greta asked, joining her.
‘Six or seven. I’ve just checked my messages and had quite a few cancellations. Christmas is coming, and it’s theStrictly Salsafinal on TV tonight.’
Greta chewed her lip. Disappointment was part of an actor’s life—the rejections, the scathing reviews, and the occasional inappropriate behaviour from a director she’d once respected. She hadn’t expected a theatre-sized crowd, butsix?
‘An intimate gathering,’ she said with a nod. ‘I’ll make it work.’
Josie welcomed the guests inside. When they were settled down around tables with coffee and cake, she launched into her introduction.
‘Welcome to the monthly Brewtique Coffee Lover’s Night Out. We’ve been fortunate to hear some incredible stories from our speakers this year—conquering Mount Everest, training guide dogs for the blind, and a brain surgeon who worked in war-torn countries. And tonight we’ve got the former star of the Maple Gold coffee commercials. Let’s bid a warm welcome to our special guest, Greta Perks.’
No pressure,Greta thought, smiling brightly as she stepped forward.
‘G . . . good evening, everyone,’ she started, feeling woefully out of practice. ‘Thanks for coming.
‘I’m going to tell you a story about how I became the face of the Maple Gold coffee commercials. Yes, for ten years, I was the lady who made you believe coffee could make your life perfect.’
A few chuckles rang out, and Greta soon found her flow. She paced up and down, commanding the little coffee shop as if starring in a West End theatre production.
‘Did you know that Maple Gold was born in 1950, as a humble roastery in the back streets of London? Over the years, it became a household name, beloved for its delicious blends and vintage appeal.’ She leaned in, as if sharing a secret. ‘And who wouldn’t want to live in Mapleville, the idyllic town from the commercials? The sun always shone, the grass was emerald green, and the whole town thrived on cups of Maple Gold.’ She took out her phone and played the jingle.
When you wake at sunrise,
and open your eyes.
You’re ready to start your day,
the Maple Gold way.
You’re always at home with Maple Gold.
From the faraway looks on a few faces, it seemed like nostalgia was working.
‘I locked eyes with my love interest, Jim, when he painted my garden fence in the commercial, and things went a bit further off-camera,’ Greta said with a wink. ‘We got married and then had Lottie, our own little star. We were such a happy family, on-screen and off . . .’
She paused as a twinge of sadness crept in, like how bitterness stays on the tongue after an espresso. A screech of metal chair legs against wooden floorboards made her flinch.
A woman in the audience called out, uninvited. ‘Are you guys still working?’
Greta blinked, the question taking her by surprise. ‘Yes, everything’s going wonderfully,’ she said, feeling guilty at embellishing the truth. ‘Jim’s still gracing the stage and screen, Lottie’s currently rehearsing for a school Christmas talent show, and as for me . . . well . . . I run some excellent acting classes, if anyone is interested?’
A few seconds of silence followed before more questions flew at her like arrows.
‘How’s Lottie?’
‘Where’s Jim?’
