The New Beginnings Coffee Club: The feel-good, heartwarming read from bestselling author Samantha Tonge. Samantha TongeЧитать онлайн книгу.
with Chanelle you could never be sure.
Travel was as important to Chanelle as her credit card and facials. I took her cheery cue to change the subject. You see, our conversation never went much deeper than the Clarins concealer on her face. Chanelle always veered away from really personal chat. Instead we shared countless shopping trips and dissected celebrity gossip. It was a far cry from my student days, when I used to drink cheap lager, wear homemade tie-dye tops, and analyse the meaning of life with friends.
‘Thanks again for having April over.’ I studied her tired face, wondering how perky it actually looked like beneath the thick make-up. ‘Let me help tidy up. You must be shattered.’
‘No, it’s fine, thanks. It won’t take long. And anyway, as if Skye would have a party without her bezzie! April’s a real credit to you, Jenny. Such good taste. Always picks the classiest shade of nail varnish. Plus she understands exactly why any self-respecting female should love glamorous reality shows …’ She was rambling now.
My mind drifted as I gave Prada another stroke. A credit to me for those qualities? Unusual, perhaps, considering her young age. But then celebrity is a modern religion and it’s difficult not to get sucked in. An image of my own mum popped into my head, with her straggly hair and hands always covered in flour, soil, or soap. She’d taught me the different colours of garden birds, plus the importance of cooking and reading. Jeez. I gave a wry smile. My childhood sounded like a chapter from an Enid Blyton book.
‘Did you have fun?’ I bent down to give April a hug. She wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed me tight. My chest glowed. If I could bottle that happy feeling, I’d become an addict overnight. We left the salon. It was a lovely May day. The sun shone. Laventon and the surrounding area was iconically English in appearance, with yellow rapeseed fields and low-ceilinged cottages. Yet it was only forty minutes from London, near enough not to miss out on that diverse city’s offerings.
April peered up at me from under her brunette fringe and gave me a lipsticked smile. ‘Fab-u-licious,’ she said in her singsong voice. I grinned at her new favourite word. ‘We watched two episodes of the Kardashians whilst Chanelle and Skye’s auntie did our make-up.’
I thought back to a few weeks previously, in the month of my daughter’s name. I’d asked her what sort of trip out she would prefer for her birthday – at her age I’d gone ice-skating, pottery painting, or the cinema maybe. She’d rolled her eyes at all three, preferring a disco limo or makeover party.
‘She’s only ten!’ I’d mused with Zak that night, as he got in late from work again. He’d loosened his tie, revealing a patch of that toned, tanned chest, and poured a whisky. My husband epitomised sexual attraction with his dark looks and undressing-you eyes. At parties, women flocked to him as if he were a sweet treat and they were flies.
‘Kids grow up faster these days. April’s probably imitating you, what with your weekly manicures and designer clothes.’ He’d smiled. ‘Where has young Jennifer Jarvis gone – the fashion student with her geometric hairstyle and outlandish dress sense?’
Hmm. Good question. But nothing stayed the same – I’d become a wife, a mum. I’d grown up. Still, over the last couple of months, I’d spent an increasing amount of time thinking about my old sketches from college. Now that April was older, a yearning had struck me to restart my studies. The very thought made my stomach flutter. I’d never finished my degree. It would have taken a woman of strong mettle – make that metal – to resist Zak sweeping her off her feet at a zillion miles per hour.
I drove my yellow Mini back through Laventon, a chocolate-box village with its cobbled pavements and window boxes. We trundled past The Coffee Club, a new café that had opened last year. Before that, the little village had only had quaint teashops, whereas this one specialised in all things caffeine, like powerful espressos and artistically decorated lattes.
‘Shall we pick up a latte for Daddy?’ said April, as if reading my thoughts. ‘He doesn’t believe the ones at The Coffee Club could be better than Starbucks.’
I smiled. The shop’s owner, Noah, might have taken umbrage at that. He lovingly nursed each cup, creating appealing designs on top. I didn’t know him well, but could tell he was passionate about coffee. He’d get this boyish grin on his face when a customer told him they’d thoroughly enjoyed their cuppa.
In fact, in keeping with his shop’s name, he ran a monthly club for regulars to taste new flavours for free. Chanelle and I had attended several of these sessions and I’d sat in awe as Noah talked about roasting methods and the quality of different beans. He ordered them in from every corner of the globe.
‘You know Daddy – he likes to stick to well-known brands.’
‘Skye’s gran goes in for one every day. The heart pattern is her favourite.’
I grinned. Once Noah had let slip that it had taken him weeks to learn latte art. Yet now he could magic leaves, footballs, teddy-bear faces, and all sorts out of steamed milk. And whilst a pure, simple black Americano was his personal favourite, he apparently spent hours researching the latest flavoured syrups that younger customers loved.
‘So, how was the party food?’ I said, as we continued to drive past.
‘We ate cans of peas,’ she said proudly.
I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Canapés? Very grown-up. What sort?’
‘Um, this pink fish and … and I’m not sure. Cheesy bits and coloured pastes.’ She grimaced. ‘And tiny black eggs that tasted of the sea.’
‘What about fairy cakes?’
A tut wafted my way. ‘No one calls them that any more, Mummy. We had skinny muffins – with soya ice cream. They were yum.’
‘Well, I’m glad you had a nice time. And to make it an even more fab-u-licious weekend …’ April giggled ‘… how about you and me go to the pool tomorrow morning?’ I said. ‘You never go outside of your swimming lessons. Laventon leisure centre is holding a big inflatable session. Daddy is playing golf but we can all meet up for a nice Sunday roast. You know how he thinks the earth will stop spinning if we don’t keep up that Sunday tradition. Dot said she’d even make your favourite Yorkshire puddings and her lovely apple and bramble crumble. Skye could come if you want.’
I smiled to myself. No point asking Chanelle, who wouldn’t dip a single one of her perfectly pedicured toes in a public bath.
April slotted a CD into the music player and within seconds Beyoncé’s confident tones rang out. ‘Nooo. We’ve just had our hair done. Swimming will mess it up for school next week. Skye says we should try and keep it nice until then. Everyone will be well impressed. And she wouldn’t want Yorkshire puddings tomorrow – or dessert. Just chicken and vegetables. Me too.’ Her voice sounded kind of sad.
‘You love desserts!’ You used to, I thought, her subdued tones pinching my stomach.
‘Chanelle says it’s never too early to start being careful about satchel-ated fat.’
‘Do you know what that is?’ I said, as we turned into our drive. I shot a look at the passenger seat before pulling up in front of our triple garage. My stomach pinched tighter. Was her dress baggier than usual? Since she’d been hanging around with Skye’s clique I was worried April had developed a concern about her size.
‘Remember that chef she once had,’ April continued. ‘He used to work for Victoria Beckham.’
My lips upturned. I knew. Chanelle had rung me after hiring him, fizzing with excitement, like an opened can of shaken lemonade. This was before her divorce and financial straits. I pressed the remote control so that the garage door lifted.
‘Why can’t we have a chef who makes sushi and healthy stuff like that?’ she asked as I parked up inside.
I unfastened my seat belt and through the dim light, turned to face April. Her lips pursed together and she suddenly looked her age, innocence radiating from eyes that knew little