I feel like running away. But obviously I can’t. It might look a bit weird if I suddenly bolt for the door.
Jo steps forward and we shake, and I find myself mesmerised by her cool, very small hand, with its neat French polish manicure. By comparison, mine feel like Shrek’s sausage fingers, except that they’re not green. I slide my hands quickly behind my back.
‘Lovely to meet you, Madison,’ says Jo with a dazzlingly white smile.
‘You, too,’ I say hurriedly, smiling even wider, determined to show Jack I’m perfectly all right about the fact that he’s pitched up here with a stunning model-type by his side. (That white long-sleeved lace top with the cute little camisole underneath looks amazing on her. But I’ve a feeling it would make me look like a sad, jilted bride. Which is funny because that’s exactly how I’m feeling right this minute.)
To hide my nerves, I go into default mode and start talking fast and uber-cheerfully about the first thing that comes into my head. ‘Anyway, welcome to the Brambleberry Manor Café, both of you. We have all sorts of pastries on offer. And scones. And cakes, of course. The lemon drizzle is a particular speciality here. As you know, Jack. Or can I tempt you to a blueberry muffin, fresh from the oven just a wee moment or so ago?’
A wee moment?
I cringe inwardly. Where the hell did the Scottish accent come from?
Jack seems to be wondering that, too, because he’s looking at me in bemusement, as if I might be about to offer him a slice of haggis with his lemon drizzle cake.
‘Just a peppermint tea for me,’ says Perfect Jo. She smiles up at Jack. ‘But I daresay you’ll be wanting a double espresso with one and a half sugars?’
He grins. ‘You know me well.’
‘I should do by now.’ She narrows her eyes at him in a flirty way and laughs gaily.
Jack’s eyes slide to mine, then shoot away again. And I grit my teeth and fix on a smile that feels more like a grimace. (I’d probably smash a gurning contest.) ‘Right. No problem. Take a seat and I’ll bring them over.’ I glance at Jack’s milky shoes. ‘I’ll bring a damp cloth as well.’
Back at the counter, Bertha raises one eyebrow – an impressive trick I’ve never been able to master. ‘So…Jack’s history, is he?’
‘Oh, yes. Absolutely. No way am I going back there. Never ever. No.’
Seriously, I should have been an actress. Even I almost believed myself there.
‘Well, you could have fooled me.’ Bertha looks sceptical. ‘Seeing you together, you both looked more sheepish than an entire flock of Swaledales. That chemistry between you was made for the movies.’
‘Really?’ My heart lifts off hopefully.
‘Okay, well maybe not that sizzling. But I’ve always prided myself on spotting subtle connections between people, and you’re not exactly unaware of each other, shall we say.’
Landing back down to earth with a bump, I shrug sadly. ‘He’s probably more aware of Perfect Jo now.’
‘Rubbish. She’s a glamorous stick insect.’
‘You mean impossibly slender and pretty?’
Bertha sighs, which I imagine means she reluctantly agrees - and any hopes I was entertaining of getting back with Jack vanish in a puff of smoke.
I ask Bertha to take their drinks over, and I try to concentrate on the job but I can’t help casting little glances in their direction. And on one occasion, I’m so tuned in to Perfect Jo’s (slightly honking) laugh, that when Carrie comes out of the kitchen, leans on the counter beside me and asks me a question, she has to say it twice before it sinks in.
‘I was just wondering if you think it’s bad to like the guy who likes your sister?’ She follows this with a big wistful sigh. ‘You can tell me straight, Maddy,’ she urges in her soft voice. ‘I mean, I know you will. That’s why I’m asking.’
I frown, determined not to say the wrong thing. I’ve known for a while that Carrie really likes Adam. He’s a lovely guy. The café’s first-rate handy man, although just lately, he’s started renting one of the workshops next-door to make and sell his brilliant wood carvings.
Carrie is convinced that Adam just sees her as a friend, while nursing a crush on her twin sister, Krystle.
‘Does Krystle fancy Adam?’ I ask.
Carrie shrugs helplessly. ‘She’s too cut up at the moment over Ryan to think about anyone else.’
I nod. ‘Well, in that case, I’d say the way is clear for you to let Adam know you like him. You wouldn’t be stepping on Krystle’s toes at all, if you…say…invited him out for a drink.’
Carrie looks horrified. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
She gulps. ‘I’d never be that brave. What if I ask him and he’s embarrassed because he doesn’t know how to say no?’
I nod in agreement. ‘There is that, of course.’
Carrie shrinks back, and I kick myself and add swiftly, ‘I only say that because I once asked a perfect stranger if he preferred Stripping the Willow to the Gay Gordons, and he couldn’t get away fast enough. I think he thought it was a euphemism.’
She laughs. ‘But it wasn’t?’
‘No. We were at a ceilidh but he obviously wasn’t familiar with the names of the dances. God knows what he thought I was asking him.’ I shake my head. ‘But anyway, you’re not inviting Adam to a ceilidh. You’re just asking him quite casually if he fancies some liquid refreshment.’ I rack my brains for inspiration. ‘You could say you’re really hot.’
She looks at me like a rabbit in the headlights.
‘Maybe not,’ I say hurriedly, wondering what qualifications you need to be an agony aunt because quite clearly, I missed those particular lessons. Probably too busy bunking off school to smoke under the railway bridge.
‘What makes you think Adam likes Krystle?’ I ask, approaching the problem from a different angle.
She shrugs. ‘Just a feeling. They’re always joking on together.’
‘Doesn’t mean he fancies her, though. Maybe they just get on well. Adam’s a really friendly guy. He jokes on with everyone.’ I smile at her. ‘You included.’
She flushes. ‘That’s true. I think he…I think Adam likes me. As a friend.’
‘It could be more than that. But you might never know if you don’t take action.’
‘Take action?’ murmurs Carrie, looking overwhelmed again. (You’d honestly think I’d just suggested she go to Adam’s workshop and jump his bones right then and there.)
‘The fair’s coming in a fortnight. You could make sure you’re there at the same time and casually ask him to go on the waltzer with you. When you’re hurtling around at a hundred miles an hour, crashing into each other and shrieking your lungs out, all the barriers will come down and you’ll know if he likes you.’
‘You think so?’
I nod. ‘Afterwards, you could joke that you need a drink to steady your nerves, and take it from there…’
Carrie nods, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. ‘If he makes an excuse not to, at least I’d know and I could stop torturing myself with what-ifs…’