Summer Secrets at the Apple Blossom Deli: A laugh out loud feel-good romance perfect for summer. Portia MacIntosh
it a clone of every other high street out there…so they put in a lot of objections with the council,’ he explains.
‘But, all the delis have different names and identities, so it’s not going to look like a clone. And the foods we sell, they’re from all over, and it’s not like we’re opening a butcher’s to compete with the existing one.’
‘I know, that’s why the council gave us the go-ahead to open,’ he assures me.
‘But?’
‘But the locals still aren’t happy. They think the deli is going to destroy the independent shops that define the community and that we’re going to damage local businesses. They say we’re targeting transient custom, people without roots in the community who don’t care about whether or not they enrich local economy over us, who they see as “the man”,’ he says with a bit of a chuckle. They might be a chain, but they’re not exactly ruthless business people.
‘So, what now?’ I ask.
‘So now it’s your job to convince them that a YumYum deli belongs in Marram Bay,’ he tells me. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry about it, to have this hanging over your head. If anyone can make this place a success, it’s you. You’re a hard-working single mum, not some ruthless businesswoman. Let people get to know the real you, tell them about how we operate, change their minds.’
‘And if I don’t succeed?’ I ask.
‘Well, at the moment they’re trying to prevent us getting our liquor licence,’ he tells me. ‘But don’t worry about it, OK? Just do your best. Amanda and I have faith in you.’
I feel my face crumple with stress.
‘OK, sure,’ I reply.
‘That’s our girl,’ Eric replies. ‘Call me anytime if you need me.’
‘OK, I will. Thank you,’ I say, hanging up and handing Mike his phone back.
‘Not great, right?’ Mike says.
‘No,’ I reply.
‘Anyway…show you around?’
‘Sure,’ I reply.
So far my dream life in a new place has turned out to be anything but what I expected. I can’t believe the locals don’t want us here, YumYum delis are such amazing places, with a great choice of international food – why would they not want us?
What I’m not going to do is panic or, worse, get upset, because Eric is right. I’ve got this. This is my chance to show the people of Marram Bay exactly what YumYum delis are all about, and to show the world exactly what Lily Holmes can do. I want to prove to my bosses that I can do it and, even more importantly, I want to prove to myself that I can do this. Well, it would have been boring if it were easy, right?
After a long day of hurdle after hurdle at the deli, I pull up outside the school to find that, yet again, there’s no one to be seen. I know there aren’t many kids who go here, but shouldn’t there be parents around?
I hurry up the steps as carefully as I can in my heels, only to see Frankie standing in the playground on his own.
‘Hey, kiddo, where is everyone?’
‘They went home at three,’ he says, not sounding his usual self.
‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry,’ I blurt, realising it was his previous school where he finished at 3.20 p.m.
‘Swears,’ he ticks me off.
‘Sugar, sorry,’ I apologise, forgetting that, in this family, we substitute our swear words with similar sounding, inoffensive words. I’d say it was our compromise, but it’s actually just the only realistic way for me not to swear in front of my kid. Frankie is always telling me off for swearing, but it doesn’t seem like his heart is in it today.
‘You OK, kiddo? You don’t seem yourself.’
‘Yeah, I just wanna go home,’ he replies.
‘OK, sure,’ I say, ushering him towards the car. I suppose I’ve missed my tour slot, being late again.
As we make the short journey home, I look at him the rear-view mirror. He’s looking down at his feet with a glum look on his face.
‘How was your first day then?’ I ask.
‘OK,’ Frankie replies, but he doesn’t sound all that convincing.
‘Are you sure?’ I persist.
‘Yes.’
I’m not sure I believe him, but I don’t want to push him. Maybe once we get home he’ll open up a little.
I unlock the door and watch Frankie walk inside, excited for his reaction when he realises he can play video games, but he doesn’t seem bothered.
‘I set everything up for you,’ I point out, not that he couldn’t have noticed. ‘Do you want to play some games and just let me know when you want dinner?’
‘Can we have it now please?’ he asks.
‘Erm, yeah, sure. You hungry now?’
He nods.
‘OK, go play, I’ll make us some food. What do you fancy?’
Frankie shrugs.
‘Beans on toast?’ I suggest, knowing that one of his favourite dishes is bound to put a smile on his face.
He nods.
I pull a face as I head towards the kitchen and, while I prepare dinner, I watch him like a hawk. He’s far too young to be starting the moody teenager act. I wonder what’s wrong with him.
It’s off, for Frankie to be so quiet at home. Sure, he can be shy around new people, but when it’s just us, he’s usually anything but quiet.
‘So there was a bit of a hitch with the deli,’ I tell him, not that he’s going to be all that interested. I don’t have anyone else to tell about my day though. I didn’t have any proper friends in London, not really. My uni friends were all out living young people’s lives, while I was at home with my baby, and all the people I met through work, well, they already had full lives, with partners and friends. Maybe I isolate myself sometimes – I’m not sure if it’s because I always put Frankie first or because of my trust issues.
I chat out loud about the deli, unconcerned with whether or not he is listening – I imagine having a husband is a little bit like this, if what you see on TV is anything to go by. I wouldn’t know because I’ve never really had a man around.
When I found out I was pregnant with Frankie, I knew that I was going to have to raise him alone but I knew that I was up to the job, that if I gave it my everything I could do it alone, just like my mum did. I don’t know who had it worse, me or my mum, because I might have done the whole thing without a man while my mum had my dad for the first year of my life, but he died when his bike was hit by a car. My mum had to cope with a baby and a bereavement, when she was a little over twenty, and I just knew that if my mum was made of such strong stuff, then I was too.
As I carry two plates of beans on toast over to the table, I notice that my son has his head in his hands.
‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ I ask him.
‘It’s been a bad day,’ he says as he skulks over to the table.
‘You’re eight,’ I remind him. ‘You’re too young to have bad days.’
Frankie sits at the table and begins wolfing down his food.
‘Steady on, kid,’ I say, worried he might choke if he doesn’t slow down. ‘You gonna tell me what’s wrong?’
‘No