They left the garden centre together, climbing into Jim’s car and leaving Greta’s behind so she could direct him to the coffee shop.
When they turned onto the familiar street, she gripped her seat. Craning her neck, she saw the slender building was there again, next to the launderette. She felt giddy at the sight of its green door. ‘There it is,’ she said, pointing as Jim parked.
They got out, crossed the road and walked toward the building together. A truck swept past, flecking their shins with dirty water, but Greta didn’t notice. She was too busy staring up at the boarded-up windows.
The place was barely recognisable. Paint peeled from the weathered door, which was now secured with a chain and a rusty padlock. A crudely painted sign hung lopsidedly.Closed. Forever.The weeds were knee-high around them.
‘It’s not exactly Starbucks,’ Jim said, trying to peer through a gap in the boards. ‘Are you sure this is the right place? It looks like it’s been shut for years.’
Greta’s stomach clenched like a fist. Her memory of the coffee shop was beginning to feel hazier now, like she might have dreamed it after all. ‘It didn’t look like this before. It was clean and cosy,’ she insisted.
Jim looked up at the crumbling brickwork. ‘And you’re absolutely sure this is the right place?’
She rubbed her throat. It was tight with frustration. ‘You think I made it up?’
‘No,’ he said quickly. Then he reconsidered. ‘I’m not sure what to think . . .’
Greta stepped forward. The tendons in her neck strained as she knocked on the door. She willed something to happen, anything to prove Jim wrong. But the noise echoed hollow inside. Her only proof of her visit to Mapleville was the pearl necklace. Though Jim probably wouldn’t believe that either.
She knocked again, and flakes of paint drifted to the ground.
Greta’s knuckles soon grew sore from rapping. Then she remembered the flyer in her pocket. Pulling it out, she thrust it toward him. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing at the address.
Jim took it from her. ‘The Perfect Blend,’ he read aloud. He squinted as he checked out the surrounding building numbers. ‘The flyer doesn’t exactly scream coffee house. But you’re right—it looks like the right address.’
‘This proves something, doesn’t it?’ Her voice cracked slightly.
He handed the flyer back to her, his face unreadable. ‘Looks like we’re both seeing things differently . . .’
The words hit her like a karate chop to her throat. It sounded like a metaphor for their entire marriage. Something inside Greta slid. Had it been a mistake, bringing him here? Trying to reconnect again? Especially when it seemed like she was making all the effort.
‘You’re right. Yes, it does,’ she said quietly, her gaze dropping to the pavement.
Jim scratched the back of his neck. ‘While we’re both here, there’s something I should tell you. Martin called me to say he’s met someone on set. Apparently fallen head over heels and decided to stay longer in Chicago.’
‘Oh? That’s really great for him,’ Greta said, sensing there was more to come.
‘It means I can stay at his place for longer, if I need to . . .’ Jim trailed off. ‘Maybe some extra time apart will help us think things through.’
Greta’s stomach turned over. ‘If youneedto stay for longer, or if youwantto?’ she asked, more sharply than she meant to.
Jim’s shoulders hitched up toward his ears. ‘It’s just an option. I thought it might help.’
‘I’m beginning to think you don’t want to work on our marriage . . .’
‘That’s not true. We haven’t decided anything yet, have we? Isn’t the point of a trial separation some space to figure things out?’
Greta shivered. For months, she’d been certain she’d wanted everything to work out between them. Now, for the first time, she wasn’t so sure.
She glanced up at the derelict building, her faith in the coffee shop, and her marriage, wavering. Had her visit to Maple- ville been a trick of her imagination after all? She wished she could slip back there now, to escape this painful conversation.
Jim gestured toward his car. ‘You look cold. Fancy grabbing a coffee somewhere else instead?’
Greta took one last look at the cracked windows and straightened her back. ‘I need to go back to the garden centre to get my car. I want to buy some plants to brighten up my flat. Especially if I might be living there for longer.’
She let her words hang, and they headed back to Jim’s car in silence.
After they arrived back, Greta stepped onto the car park. ‘Thanks for coming to the coffee shop with me,’ she said stiffly.
