“There you are. Nice to see you, Corey Wells.”
Three hours, two arguments over who was paying, and one amazing dye-matching job later, I’d stepped out of the salon in Norwich Rain had found, with hair that looked as thoughit had never been coloured before. It looked like mine. The rich auburn colour was the perfect match for my green eyes, and for the first time in ages, when I changed into some of the cheap yet functional clothes I’d picked up at Primark, I looked like myself. The version of myself I saw in my own head of who I wanted to be.
And I was so happy.
Rain and I stroll to Poppy’s for lunch, and I’m charmed by the rustic quaintness of the village as we pass through. Thatched cottages with rounded, grey flint pebbles pressed into the render, a small village shop and post office stand next to the gates of the small village school, and an honest-to-goodness duck pond in the middle of the village green, complete with ducks quacking for food every time a passer-by gets too close.
Poppy’s Café stands over the quiet road from the duck pond, and she has a basket outside selling cones of duck food for 75p each. On a whim, I grab a couple on my way inside, and Rain just smiles at me indulgently.
The counter to the right as we walk in is packed with huge cakes that make my mouth water. Victoria Sandwich with strawberries and Chantilly cream, coffee and walnut,cherry Bakewell cake, and the biggest millionaire’s shortbread I’ve ever seen. I ask for one to take away, not wanting to miss out on that bad boy.
The hot roast beef baguette with rocket and horseradish I order for lunch is, quite simply, one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth. And the gravy accompanying it is so good, I swear it gives me a foodgasm.
“Enjoying that?” Rain asks with a giggle.
“You don’t even know,” I mumble around a mouth full of food. Gran would be disgusted at my table manners, but it really is that good.
Rain introduces me to Poppy and Chris, who own the café, and Wren, who pops in briefly for coffee. She’s Aidan’s sister and stands a couple of inches shorter than me with a mess of dark curls piled up on her head, secured inside a scarf. Her style is giving modern-day Land Girl, and I have to say, she nailed it. She’s casual and beautiful, and in that sense, she reminds me of Emma, and I make a mental note to call my crazy Scottish friend later on tonight.
We’re just about to leave, coats, hats, and gloves tugged on, when Nash walks in. I smile, glad to see him in a non-medical, non-awkward capacity.
“I er, just need to talk to Poppy before we go, babe. You OK for a minute?” Rain asks, a strange smirk on his face. I nod and follow him to the counter.
“Hi, Doc,” I say with a smile.
“Hi. How’re you settling in?” His coffee cup is steaming and smells delicious, rich and nutty with a hint of smoke. Maybe I should get one before we head back to the house, I think to myself.
“Good. I was just about to go and feed the ducks,” I show Nash one of the cellophane cones filled with duck food I pull out of my pocket. “Want to join me?” I ask, almost certain he’ll laugh in my face at the juvenile suggestion. He looks like the type of man who hasn’t fed ducks since he was three years old. His reply startles and delights me.
“I’d love to. Can I get you a coffee to keep warm? It’s nippy outside.”
Is he a mind reader?
“I-I’d love one. Thank you,” I say, suddenly shy and unable to understand why.
“What can I get you, sweetheart?” Poppy asks from behind the counter, her warm expression relaxing me.
“Um, a medium oat milk caramel latte with a shot of chocolate syrup, please.”
“Chocolate and caramel?” she asks. I smile sheepishly.
“Yes, please.”
“Do you want cream on top?” she asks, and I’m not sure if she’s gently taking the piss, but that sounds delicious.
“Ooh, yes please,” I reply, and her grin widens.
“A man after my own heart,” she says and gets to work on my drink. When she hands it to me, Nash taps his card quickly and then ushers me out the door.
Now, I find myself leading him across the road towards the ducks, coffee cup in one hand, cone of duck food in the other.
“I hope that is Parish Council-approved duck food, sir,” he says, teasingly.
“It’s Poppy approved, will that do?”
“Top-notch wildfowl fayre, I’d say,” he says, leaning next to me against the railing that circles the pond. “What’ve you been up to today?”
“Rain and I had a good chat, caught up,you know?” He nods in understanding. “Then we went into Norwich so I could sort out my hair.
