She let out a watery laugh. ‘You absolute menace!’
He grinned. ‘I know.’
Then, after one last lingering kiss, he walked out the door.
She stood in the doorway and watched him climb into the driver’s seat. Her heart felt like it was being wrenched from her chest as he gave one last wave and the car began to roll down the lane, its red taillights disappearing into the night. She wiped her cheeks, whispering to herself, ‘This isn’t the end. He’ll be back soon.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Clemmie picked up the pen and walked over to the calendar that was hanging on the café wall, a quiet ritual she’d performed every morning since Oliver left for America. Another day ticked off. Eleven more months to go.
‘Don’t you be all maudlin looking at that calendar. Today is all about celebrating what an amazing granddaughter I have,’ Betty ordered.
‘I will be celebrating, don’t you worry!’ replied Clemmie.
Today her cookbook was out in the world, and Betty had gone all out. Bunting hung from the beams, fairy lights twinkled in the windows, and, of course, the life-sized cardboard cutout of the Queen had made a grand reappearance in the corner. The books had arrived in all their glossy-covered glory and were stacked high on the centre table, ready for signing later on. Betty and Clemmie had spent the whole day baking tortes, in between serving the regular customers. Prosecco, cake and books felt like the perfect combination for the evening ahead.
Still, as she checked her phone again, Clemmie’s excitement dimmed slightly. No message from Oliver. It wasn’t like him.Despite the time difference and his hectic schedule, they’d managed to FaceTime nearly every day. But today, of all days, there was silence. She shook it off. He was probably just caught up in work.
By the time seven o’clock rolled around, the queue outside the café stretched down the street.
‘Granny, Amelia, have you seen all the people queuing? It’s insane!’
‘Isn’t it just? And you deserve every bit of this success.’ Betty held up one of the cookbooks.
‘It’s time to open the door. Get that pen ready,’ exclaimed Amelia. She flung open the door. ‘Please form an orderly queue, collect a copy of the book from the first table and pay at the second table, then make your way to Clemmie, who will sign your book and be ready for any photos. Then do help yourself to a slice of torte!’
Betty was in charge of the payments, whilst Amelia was making sure everything else ran smoothly.
An hour into the book signing, Clemmie had barely had time to catch her breath as she signed book after book, sharing laughs and hugs with familiar faces. The café buzzed with conversation, the pop of prosecco corks punctuating the air. It was everything she had dreamed of, yet there was still that niggle that wouldn’t leave her mind. Why had there been no word from Oliver? She took a short bathroom break and once more checked her phone.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Amelia. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Just water for me. I know I should be on top of the world but…’
‘But what? This is going amazingly well. The press have just arrived to take some photos too.’
‘It’s Oliver. This is the first day I’ve not heard anything from him and he always messages. I feel a little anxious, if I’m honest.’
‘He’s not let you down before so I’m sure there’s a good reason. Anything could have happened: he could even have dropped his phone down the toilet, or it’s been stolen… anything. Push it out of your mind and get back to it; the queue is quite long again. Just enjoy this moment.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ Clemmie went back to the table and put a smile on her face.
She’d just finished having her photo taken with a fan and sat back down when a copy of the cookbook was pushed in front of her and she heard a familiar voice say, ‘I believe the shepherd’s pie is very good!’
Clemmie looked up and froze.
There, standing in the queue, was Oliver.
He looked tanned and a little travel-weary, but his smile– that smile– was as bright and steady as ever. He was here.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘You didn’t think I would miss this, did you?’
Tears pricked her eyes as she abandoned all decorum, pushing back her chair and launching herself at him. Laughter and applause rippled through the café as he caught her, his arms strong and familiar around her. She clung to him, her heart hammering against his chest.
When he pulled away, he, too, was tearful. ‘I can’t do it, Clem. I can’t be in America when you’re here. Not for a year, not for a day. I love you, and I want my life to be here, with you.’
