When the traffic lights turned red, she pulled on her handbrake and took the chance to inspect the shop more closely. Although it appeared closed, a dim light glowed inside. Rows of glass jars lined the shelves, and vintage coffee grinders filled the window display. A large white rabbit ornament with piercing yellow eyes seemed to stare at her, its gaze more inquisitive than menacing.
A coffee shop? Greta imagined well-worn floorboards and the aroma of roasted Arabica beans. The words and illustrations on the flyer suddenly made more sense. But what was ‘the perfect blend’ on offer?
She squinted at a sign on the door.
OPEN AT 11.00AM. ONE AT A TIME. NO TAKEAWAYS.
Greta frowned. One at a time? What did that mean? She checked her watch and wondered why a coffee shop was closed at one in the afternoon. She couldn’t shake the feeling it offered something beyond hot beverages.
A couple of car horns behind her honked impatiently, and she realised the traffic light had turned to green. With an apologetic wave, she pulled forward, any thoughts of Jim, Lottie and Nora momentarily replaced by ones of the little shop.
Back in her flat, Greta took in her surroundings. Compared to Martin’s plush pad, the beige walls felt uninspiring, but at least the place was hers for now. It was hopefully just a stepping stone to the future.
The living room was a neat, square space with just enough room for a small sofa and chair. Two modest bedrooms overlooked a small courtyard, adding some much-needed charm. She still missed the high ceilings and creaking floorboards of their old family home.
Greta eyed the dated wallpaper, repeating Jim’s words with a sigh. ‘Seventies stuff is coming back in fashion? Yeah, right.’
She unfastened the button on her jeans and sank down onto the comfy, worn sofa. With an hour to kill until Lottie got home from school, her thoughts drifted back in time, to the letter she’d penned to Maple Gold that had changed everything.
I’m a young, hard-working actress looking for my big break. I admire Maple Gold’s traditional values and the coffee tastes delicious, too . . .
She’d never expected to be invited to a series of auditions, let alone be picked from hundreds of other hopefuls for a starring role.
Her mum had helped to sew gold buttons onto Greta’s charity-shop skirt suit to help her stand out from the crowd.
‘There, just like new,’ Marjorie had said, holding out the jacket. ‘This is a one-in-a-million chance, and you’re going to knock their socks off.’
Greta had slipped it on and brushed a hand down one lapel. ‘Do you really think they’ll notice me? What if I mess things up?’
Her mum placed her hands on Greta’s shoulders. ‘Of course, they’ll notice you. You’ve got a sparkle they can’t miss.’ She kissed her cheek. ‘If ever things go wrong, just try and try again.’
What followed had been a dream come true. Greta had been awarded her own personal make-up artist, a wardrobe of tailor-made dresses, pastel Italian leather stilettos and a generous pay packet. She’d soon grown used to autograph books thrust into her hands, cameras flashing at posh dinner galas, and even love letters slipped into her handbag.
Even better were the friendships she’d made on set with the crew and other actors. They’d been a tight team, in it together when the success of the commercials took off. Greta had kept in touch with a few of them over the years, even though the industry was transient. People flitted between jobs like bees between flowers.
Then, after the Perks family had starred in the commercials for a decade, their success had ended so suddenly. So unceremoniously. Being dropped had blindsided Greta, plunging her into a dark place she sometimes still struggled to climb out of.
Her family had been replaced so easily with a newer, fresh tribe that included a graphic designer, her yoga instructor partner, and their blended family of half brothers and sisters.
Sitting on the sofa, Greta ran a hand through her hair. A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over her, not just for her part in the commercials, but for the confident, dynamic woman she’d once been, on-screen and off.
She stood and headed into her bedroom. A favourite dress she’d worn in the commercials still hung in her wardrobe. She supposed it was deemed vintage by now, but its powder- blue hue still looked bright against her other clothes. She’d attempted to donate it to charity numerous times, but always dug it out of the bag at the last minute, and hung it back up.
Slipping out of her jeans, she stepped into the dress, performing a wriggly dance to coax it over her hips. Miraculously, she managed to squeeze into it, though it was very tight in places. She reached behind her, struggling to zip it up, biting her lip when the pull tab got stuck halfway. Greta sucked in her stomach, trying to yank the zip up, then down. But it wouldn’t budge.
She glanced over her shoulder in the mirror, groaning when she saw her skin bulging through the gap in the fabric like buttercream between two layers of sponge cake. With one last determined tug on the zip, she gave up. ‘I’ll need the fire brigade to get me out of this,’ she muttered.
She draped a blanket around her shoulders like a cape to cover herself up.
Not my classiest look.
Back in the living room, Greta sat down and picked up the TV remote, idly flicking channels to pass the time until Lottie got home.
Her breath caught when she spotted the Maple Gold programme Jim had mentioned was about to air. Should she watch it? Could she bear to watch it?
With a rush of curiosity, she jabbed the play button. When the title appeared on screen, she hugged a cushion to her chest.
THEGOLDENBRAND-CELEBRATINGSEVENTY- FIVEYEARSOFMAPLEGOLDCOFFEE.
