Summer Secrets at the Apple Blossom Deli: A laugh out loud feel-good romance perfect for summer. Portia MacIntosh
Good luck with that, darling.
‘I can’t apologise enough for being late,’ I say again, not that I think it’s doing me much good.
‘Well, I was hoping to show you both around, but I’m not sure there’s time now,’ Mrs Snowball says. ‘How about I go get Frankie a real breakfast and show him the ropes. And then, when you come to collect him after school, I’ll show you around.’
‘OK, sure,’ I reply. ‘That OK, kiddo?’
‘Come on now, Mum, he’s not a baby. You’re fine, aren’t you, Frankie? What’s Frankie short for?’ she asks me.
‘Probably because he’s only 8,’ I quip, laughing at my own joke, but I’m getting nothing from my audience. Mrs Snowball clearly has a different sense of humour to me, I must remember that when I do what I always do and fill awkward encounters with terrible gags.
‘I meant his name,’ she says, not at all amused by me.
‘Sorry, just a joke. Frankie is his name.’
‘Exotic,’ she replies.
‘Well, be a good boy,’ I say, because I feel like that’s a parent-y thing to say. ‘And you know that if you need me, Mrs Snowball has my number.’
‘He’s not going to need you,’ she laughs, ushering Frankie away from me. ‘We’ll see you at three.’
Back in my car, I look at myself in the rear-view mirror. Why did you have to be late today, Lily? Why? Of all the days, it just had to be Frankie’s first day of school and my first day of work.
Speaking of which, I am now twenty minutes late to meet the site manager at the deli.
My first job, after I had Frankie, was working behind the counter in a YumYum deli. Back then there were only three branches, all in London, but now they’re popping up all over England as the business rapidly expands.
No one grows up with big dreams of working in the deli business, do they? I can’t say it had ever crossed my mind. I only (reluctantly) took the job because I was a single mum and it was close to home, but it turned out to be a perfect fit for me in many ways.
I’ve always had a passion for food – a fact my thighs will attest to – and working in the deli, I got to share this passion with the customers, giving them recommendations on what to buy and making suggestions for their lunch. I loved the work, I loved the customers and most importantly I loved all the delicious food.
While I was working there I got to know the bosses, Eric and Amanda, a married couple who had no idea that, when they opened their first deli, they would one day be sitting in a swanky central London office, with a thriving deli chain. I think the fact that they didn’t expect their success is why they’re probably still so humble and generous. Eric and Amanda saw my passion for the products we sold and promoted me, giving me a job in their head office, where I would source new products to stock and make decisions about what we sold in each branch. Sure, I missed the customer-facing work, but I loved looking for new and exciting foods to sell.
I often fantasise about running my own deli one day, but know I’d never be able to afford it. So when, out of the blue, Eric and Amanda said they were opening a new branch in a tourist town up north, and needed someone who knew the business well to go and oversee the important opening and then run the branch, I jumped at the chance. Not only is this my chance to get as close to running my own deli as possible, the fresh start couldn’t have come at a better time.
I pull up outside a little stone building and it’s just perfect. Exactly what I had in my head when I conjured up my dream deli. It’s a small, standalone building that looks like it perhaps used to be a cottage. I’m guessing the stone walls have been sandblasted, because it looks almost like new, and unlike weather-beaten Apple Blossom Cottage, you can see all the different coloured stones that were used when it was built. There is a small, paved section out front, perfect for a few tables and chairs to be put out when we’re ready to open, and the walls are adorned with large, absolutely gorgeous hanging baskets. The only thing missing is the sign, which reminds me that it is my job to find a name for this place. The owners don’t want their delis to seem like chains, even though they technically are, because each deli is unique and deserves a unique name.
I quickly search my bag for some chewing gum. It’s weird how, when you forget to brush your teeth, you feel fine up until the point you realise you haven’t brushed your teeth, and suddenly they feel alien in your mouth. I spot a packet with a couple of pieces in that, truthfully, I don’t remember buying, but it’s not like I plan on swallowing it, is it?
Once again, I see the corner of the postcard poking out of my bag, the postcard I’m trying so hard to keep out of my mind.
As I chew the stale chewing gum, I glance over at the deli again. I’m just thinking about how perfect it is when I notice something propped up outside – it looks like a cardboard sign.
I step out of the car – which I always forget is lime green when I’m in it – and walk cautiously towards the sign.
It reads: ‘You’re making a misteak’ in large red letters. The spelling mistake stands out a mile in bright red letters but that isn’t enough to take away from the intimidating message. Is this meant for me? It can’t be…
I pick the sign up and look at the other side.
‘Burger off!’
This can’t be good…
When my bosses offered me this job they were keen to mention that it needed someone with both business and shop floor experience. They said that Marram Bay was a hugely popular coastal town, overflowing with tourists who would lap up a YumYum deli. I don’t think they would have sent me here if they didn’t think I was up to the job, but they did neglect to mention one small detail…
‘What do you mean no one wants us here?’ I ask Mike, the site manager.
‘No one wants us here,’ he repeats himself, just in case saying the exact same thing twice provides a little more clarity.
I blink.
‘The locals,’ he says in a strong cockney accent that makes me feel both comforted and homesick.
At YumYum we have an in-house team of fitters responsible for decking out the delis with everything they need. Mike is their manager and today he’s supposed to be showing me around, except there’s just this one little problem.
‘I saw the sign outside,’ I tell him. ‘Are you telling me one of the locals left that there?’
‘No, no. They left it in here, I just put it out there, ready to go in the skip. They had a protest, everyone had their little signs. That one was the butcher’s.’
That explains the terrible pun.
‘Why were they protesting?’ I ask.
Mike takes a battered looking iPhone from the pocket of his paint splattered jeans and taps the screen a few times before handing it to me. I notice that he’s calling Eric, one of the big bosses, so I hold the phone to my ear.
‘All right Mike, what’s the problem now?’ he asks, and it sounds like there’s been a lot of problems so far.
‘Eric, hello, it’s Lily,’ I say as brightly as I can manage.
‘Lily,’ he says, sounding a little sheepish. ‘You made it there OK then? You all settled in?’
‘Erm, it’s not exactly what I had in mind,’ I say, choosing my words carefully. I decide that now is not the time to mention the state of the cottage – I’m dealing with it anyway – so instead I get straight to the point about the deli. ‘Mike says no one wants us here?’
‘No,’ he replies.