With the berry upside-down cake in the oven, she sat on the stool at the side of the kitchen and reached for the notebook she’d slotted behind a bread bin. It contained all her notes, her planning for the living funeral. She had a sketch of how the Sweet Life Café would look once all the tables were rearranged, and she’d selected an array of puddings to cater for everyone, noting their accompaniments – custard, ice-cream, whipped cream, pouring cream. She’d even worked out a timetable for the day when it came to further cooking as puddings disappeared, what would go into the warming ovens and when, how much crockery and utensils they’d need, the guest list and, of course, how she wanted the place to be decorated. This was a celebration rather than the funeral her nieces had thought they’d be attending, and so with the invite specifying bright colours, she had gone for the same theme. She had silver and white helium balloons arriving, which would look great against the café’s blue colours, and she’d ordered some special blue and silver bunting to loop around the interior and really make it look like the event of the year.
Louisa poked her head around the kitchen door. ‘I know you said I wasn’t needed until later, but?—’
‘Come in – there’s plenty to do, don’t you worry about that.’
Louisa, her tourist as the girls had been led to believe, had volunteered to help out at the café when it became obvious that with an event coming up there was just too much to do. Gayle had leapt at the opportunity and paid her, despite Louisa volunteering to do it for free. Louisa wasn’t much of a baker, but there were plenty of other things she could do, including tidying up and sweeping, taking things out of the oven, washing up, or driving the delivery van to take puddings to customers on the island. Louisa brought a delightful young vibe to the kitchen, with her laughter and her chatter that Gayle absolutely adored and which reminded her of the days when Addie had been at her side.
Installing her garden room had turned out to be serendipitous. She’d thought it might be a way to generate extra income, and she’d thought she might enjoy the company of holidaymakers and probably bore them silly talking about the Sweet Life Café. But then came the pandemic, and although her room was installed and she was ready to list it on Airbnb just like she’d told the girls, suddenly she couldn’t do it. Rules meant she couldn’t take guests and so the room just sat there for a while until a year or so later when the world opened up again. By then the owner of the inn had told her that they would pass guests they couldn’t accommodate her way, and it had worked well ever since. Then when Louisa showed up looking for her six weeks ago the garden room had been the perfect solution so that they could get to know one another. And when she said she’d return for the living funeral, Gayle hadn’t even hesitated to offer her the garden room again for her stay.
Louisa Miller was like a breath of fresh air. At thirty-two, she had bouncy blonde curls that cascaded all the way down her back, golden skin which Gayle had learned was largely due to her mother’s complexion, and a way of smiling that made Gayle feel like she wasn’t completely out of touch with the younger generation.
As Louisa pulled on a pair of marigolds ready to wash up a big mixing bowl and whisk left next to the sink, Gayle confessed, ‘I still haven’t told them the truth.’
She turned on the taps and put in the plug. ‘Gayle, you can’t put it off forever.’
‘I think after the living funeral would be the right time. They’ve already had a big shock.’
Louisa paused, soap suds falling from the fingertips of her marigolds as her hands dangled over the sink. ‘They both looked so upset the night they arrived.’
‘Seeing a dead person alive and kicking would do that.’
Louisa let Gayle sit with her thoughts, and when she picked up the notebook again Louisa wanted to know what else she’d added to it. She shared the order of balloons and the bunting.
‘The café will look amazing on the day.’ She set the washed whisk down on the drainer.
Gayle wasn’t sure how long it was before she felt the young woman’s eyes on her, and realised she’d leaned her head against the wall and began to drift.
‘You need some fresh air,’ said Louisa. ‘You’re overdoing it.’
‘Piffle. I need to bake. I need to plan.’
Louisa tugged off her marigolds. ‘Come on, I’ve cleaned up in here and Nancy said there’s nothing pressing. We’ll walk to the end of Bay Street and back.’
Gayle supposed a walk might make her feel more alert and less sleepy. And the end of Bay Street was about as far as she wanted to go these days.
Louisa slipped her arm through Gayle’s once they were outside. They went to the end of the street and down the trail that led to the first bench. Whatever else was going on in her life, it felt good to be here, making the most of every day she had left on this island. The second she’d moved here she’d been unable to imagine living anywhere else.
As they walked, they chatted about the living funeral, the decorations, the recipes, the guest list. Gayle was excited and nervous in equal measure, but she was glad she’d organised it, not least because the girls were here on the island again. And if the event hadn’t been planned, with or without her mistake, that definitely wouldn’t be the case.
They sat on the bench as soon as they reached it and it felt good to get off her feet.
‘It’s so pretty here,’ said Louisa. ‘Does the novelty ever wear off?’
‘It hasn’t with me. And I’m not lying when I tell you that I love it in all seasons.’ She chuckled. ‘Mind you, the winter winds are so strong they can almost knock you off your feet some days.’
‘A warm treat at the Sweet Life Café must take the edge off,’ said Louisa.
‘There’s nothing like a hot pudding on a freezing cold day.’
‘With a dollop of ice-cream…’
‘Or custard.’
Louisa giggled. ‘Always ice-cream for me. My mum’s the same.’
From what Louisa had told her it sounded like she’d had a wonderful relationship with her mother, who was fully supportive when Louisa decided she wanted to come to the island to get to know more about the Raffertys.
She looked out across the Channel. This wasn’t the best spot, but you could see enough as the bushes swayed and parted, giving glimpses of the water. She hoped she got to do a lot more of this before her time was up.
