Please let the coffee shop be there.
Her knees almost gave way when she saw the white rabbit ornament sitting in the window. All the panes of glass were intact, and the door was solid. The weeds were gone.
Greta caught sight of her reflection in the window. Her hair was wild, her clothes were crusty, and she looked like she’d been lost in the woods for days.
With a shaky hand, she pushed the door open and stumbled inside.
‘Iris,’ she called out. ‘I feel like I’m falling apart, and I don’t know what to do.Pleasehelp me.’
Chapter 29
THE AROMA OFroasted beans made Greta want to drink a hot cup of coffee, wrap herself in a blanket, and hibernate. Iris’s TV was playingLittle House on the Prairie.The Ingalls family had gathered for dinner, cheerily passing plates of food to each other and making life look so simple.
Iris stepped from behind the counter, her stare as sharp as a tack. Folding her arms stiffly across her chest, she surveyed Greta hunched in the doorway. ‘It’s not the New Year yet,’ she said curtly.
‘I know.’ Greta shivered. ‘But I reallyneedyour coffee. I don’t have anywhere else left to turn.’
Iris’s eyes remained granite-like.
‘If you can’t give me a cup, can I at least collect my pearls?’ Greta asked. ‘I left them behind the last time I was here.Please . ..’ A trace of something crossed Iris’s face. Greta hoped it was sympathy.
‘I’ve kept them for you,’ Iris said with a slight sniff. ‘You’d better come in.’
Greta’s shoulders sloped with relief. ‘I was worried you might not be here. I’m so glad that you are.’ She dropped down to take off her boots. ‘I don’t want to get mud on your floor,’ she explained.
Iris weighed her up from top to bottom. ‘Never mind coffee. You look like you could do with a change of clothes.’
‘I really need both.’
Iris hesitated, still seemingly unimpressed. ‘Fortunately, I make a great cappuccino. I’ll see if I can find something for you to wear.’
Beneath her brittle tone, Greta detected a hint of something softer. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
Iris disappeared into a back room, returning a few minutes later with a towel and a small pile of clothes. She handed them to Greta with a gruff nod. ‘You can use the bathroom to freshen up. Your coffee will be waiting.’
Greta hugged the clean clothes to her chest, breathing in the comforting smell of washing powder mixed with coffee. It made her feel like crying. ‘Thank you, Iris,’ she said, her voice catching.
Iris gave a slight purse of her lips and turned away.
In the tiny bathroom, Greta peeled off her soiled clothes and folded them neatly. She washed in the sink and changed into the clean garments. Iris had given her a roomy grey cotton dress, a chunky sweater and clean socks. The simple comforts felt like pure luxury. Slowly, warmth returned to her limbs, and she began to feel more like herself again.
Stepping back out of the bathroom, Greta took a wrong turn. The back of the coffee shop was something of a labyrinth, with narrow corridors twisting in unexpected directions. She found herself peering into yet another storeroom, smaller than the one she’d seen before. The jars here looked older, their labels yellowed with age, and with cobwebs hanging between them like threads of beads.
‘Are you okay?’ Iris called out.
‘Yes,’ Greta replied, swallowing as she backed away. ‘I got a bit lost.’
Back in the main area of the shop, the two women sat facing each other at a small round table.
Greta cradled her cappuccino, letting its warmth soothe her hands. Iris’s clothes felt light, warm, and comfy. ‘You were right,’ she said, raising her cup to her lips. ‘This really is great coffee.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Iris said. She took a small jar containing the pearls from her pocket and slid it across the table. ‘I believe they’re all there.’
Greta gripped the jar, grateful to have it back. ‘Thank you. I know a jeweller who can restring them.’ She paused, thinking about the photo of Millie displayed in Leonard’s jewellery shop. It must have been shattering for his mother to vanish from his life without a word, and waiting for clues that might lead to nowhere. She supposed no one ever knows for sure the intricacies of other people’s lives.
An ache bloomed in Greta’s chest and she rubbed her breastbone. She had the strongest urge to see Millie again, to return the pearls to her. Maybe even to tell her the truth, that Millie had once lived a different life. That she had a son who loved and still grieved for her.
‘Do you know a woman called Millie Maxwell? Or Millie Moss?’ she asked Iris. ‘I think the pearls belong to her. Her son told me she’s been missing for forty years. But I’ve met her in Mapleville. We’re friends there.’
