‘A good trip?’ Iris asked, as if Greta had returned from a weekend mini-break rather than facing one of the toughest decisions of her life.
Greta considered Iris’s previous instruction, to take things from each experience, and to consider what she’d learned. There were many lessons she could identify from her overall time in Mapleville, but the main one was that she was going to look forward, not back. ‘Yes, it was . . . eventful.’
They sat together a while longer. Outside the winter sky was striped lemon and platinum, gleaming like precious metal. The floorboards in the shop creaked as they expanded in the warmth. Light bounced off the rows of coffee jars.
Greta picked up the jar of loose pearls, tipping them from side to side, the diamante clasp glinting through the curved glass. She wanted to give the broken necklace to Leonard, hoping he’d believe it had once belonged to Millie. Greta wanted to tell him how his mother had helped her to see things more clearly. To find her way back to herself, and to embrace life again. She slipped the jar into her pocket.
Iris cleared her throat and began to stand. ‘I need to close the shop.’
Greta blinked, then shot out a hand. ‘Wait,’ she said, her voice urgent. Her fingers swept through the air. ‘I’m not ready to leave yet. I’ve already had to say goodbye to one place that I loved.’
Iris folded her arms tightly. She cocked an eyebrow and remained standing.
‘I’ve lost two people, my mum and Millie,’ Greta explained. ‘And now I might never see you again either. You know a lot about me, but I know nothing about you. Please tell me something. Our paths may never cross again in the future. So, what have you got to lose?’
Iris held her gaze for so long that Greta thought she’d glitched.
Eventually, Iris said, ‘I used to be a nurse. Children’s oncology.’
The two words carried such a weight that Greta could almost feel it. A children’s cancer ward. ‘Is that why you don’t believe in magic?’ she asked.
Iris nodded. ‘Magic has no power over nature. But I did see the power of wishes. I learned that people need comfort in different forms. Once I offered medicine, and now it’s coffee.’ She sealed her lips, as if signalling she’d shared enough. ‘As I said, I’m closing.’
Greta stood, too. She picked up her dirty clothes and carried the empty white rabbit jar over to the counter. ‘Can I keep it as a memento?’ she asked.
Iris plucked it from her hands. ‘Sorry. No takeaways. Remember?’
‘Yes, but rules are sometimes worth bending.’
Iris tutted, and Greta watched her carry the jar into her storeroom. She placed it on a shelf alongside hundreds of others.
‘You should expect withdrawal symptoms,’ Iris said when she returned.
‘Similar to caffeine? Headaches, a dry mouth, and itchy arms?’ Greta said. ‘I think I know the drill.’
‘Those are just the physical side effects.’
‘You mean emotional echoes?’ Greta asked, the term finally clicking in place. ‘I’ll think about my time in Mapleville and feel emotional about it?’
Iris nodded. ‘More than that. Though, once you accept them, they won’t seem as bad. It’s the struggle that makes them feel worse.’ She paused. ‘The past will always knock on your door, Greta, but it’s up to you whether you answer—and how. Do you let it nourish your soul, or let it sap and take something from you? It’s your choice.’
Greta knew that her grief for her mum would last a lifetime. Like a scar that might fade, it would always be part of her. Maybe she’d feel a similar ache for the perfect versions of Jim and Lottie, too.
But she also knew she didn’t want to be like Edgar, surrounded by nostalgic reminders and clinging to the past. Her own memories would still be there, on TV, in re-runs of the Maple Gold ads. And she vowed to feel proud of them rather than tied to them. That chapter of her life had been glorious, something to celebrate rather than mourn.
Greta’s head felt clear, as if she’d given her brain a proper spring clean. She was ready to look ahead and embrace the future, flaws and all.
She was just one of many customers who’d passed through the little coffee shop. Maybe, like the patients Iris had once tended in hospital, some stayed in her thoughts longer than others. Greta hoped she might be one of them. ‘I’ll miss your riddled way of talking,’ she told her.
Iris didn’t look up as she picked up her mortar and pestle. ‘I doubt it.’
Greta stepped toward the door, realising she was still wearing Iris’s clothes. She rested her hand against the door-frame.
It felt like there should be more to their farewell, a grand gesture like a thunderclap, an embrace, or even just a handshake. She waited for Iris to flash her a smile, or say something profound. Instead, she slit open a vanilla pod, scraped out the seeds with a tip of a knife and added them to her bowl. She began to grind.
‘Turn over the Closed sign on your way out,’ Iris said.
‘Thanks for everything,’ Greta said as she pressed on the door handle. ‘Should I bring your clothes back for you?’
