The Windmill Café: Autumn Leaves. Poppy Blake
at them he even threatened to introduce an exam before allowing members to put their names down for future Myth Seekers trips. Brad apologized, but I thought Emma was going to launch an attack for his jugular. He’s not an easy man to like, I have to say.’
‘I agree. Would you believe he asked me what the annual turnover was of the café? When I told him that Graham was the owner, not me, he accused me of lacking ambition, saying I should make it my business to know everything about the organization I work for, no matter how small and “insignificant”. It was the first time I’ve seen Mia lost for words and she’s avoided him ever since for fear of being unable to resist the urge to spike his coffee with a generous dose of rat poison.’
‘What’s his wife like?’
‘Oh, Helen’s lovely! She visibly cringed when Rick was interrogating me about the café’s finances and five-year plan. You should have seen the relief on her face when she waved everyone off tonight. If you ask me, I think she was really looking forward to some alone time. Rick doesn’t speak to her in that arrogant tone he reserves for everyone else, but he does tend to talk over the top of her, mainly to contradict what she has to say. It’s embarrassing, but I guess she’s just become used to it.’
‘And Phil’s wife?’
‘Steph. I like her, she’s like a mother hen protecting her mate. She’s the only one I’ve seen challenge Rick when his comments become overtly obnoxious. In fact, she took him to task only this morning when he called Phil a wimp for wearing thermals and telling him that real men brace the elements! I thought they were going to come to blows! I’m not sure why Phil is so often in the firing line because he seems like a decent guy, if a little obsessed with his camera. I swear he sleeps with that thing around his neck!’
‘Rick wants to be careful,’ joked Matt as he helped Rosie over a style into a field filled with golden corn swaying languidly in the breeze. ‘Hasn’t he ever heard the story about the worm who turned? Or, perhaps in his case, the worm’s wife! All this boorish behaviour might one day come back to bite him. I’m glad at least someone is prepared to stand up to him.’
‘Helen and Rick don’t have children, but Steph and Phil have three, ranging from five to eleven, so she seems to treat Rick like a naughty schoolboy, or more precisely, the playground bully. Sadly, the bully is not yet ready to learn about the consequences of his taunting. Steph was telling me earlier that she intended to make the most of the trip down here because it was the first time she and Phil had been away without the children. She and Helen have got an evening of prosecco and pampering planned,’ she added wistfully.
Matt laughed. ‘Okay, Little Miss Intrepid, I’m pleased to announce that your torment is almost over. Look, there’s our campsite for the night! Come on, last one there makes the coffee!’
Rosie shook her head and took off in Matt’s wake towards a clearing at the edge of the woodland they had been hiking around. Of course, she was no match for Matt, and by the time she arrived her heart hammered its objection to the sudden exertion and her breath came out in ragged spurts. Maybe if she survived the night out in the cold she should really think about joining a gym.
‘Okay, this is the best area for the sleeping bags, and over here is where we’ll build a fire,’ said Freddie, unpacking the essential items for a night under the stars from his rucksack.
‘Brad, Emma, would you like to collect the water for our coffee from the stream at the other side of those sycamore trees? Rick, Phil, can you scavenge for some firewood? Rosie, Mia are you okay to erect the tent?’
A tickle of guilt meandered into Rosie’s chest, but was swiftly eradicated when she thought of the alternative. The one concession Matt had agreed to was that she and Mia, and Emma if she changed her mind about sleeping outdoors when she knew what it entailed, would be afforded the privilege of sharing the only tent for the night. At least it would provide them with shelter from the unpredictable weather that could descend on the Norfolk countryside without warning.
Feeling like she was the star turn in a comedy sketch, Rosie spent a humiliating thirty minutes helping Mia to put the tent up and by the time they had finished – to a smattering of applause from a smirking Matt and Freddie – she wished she’d opted for the open-air version! With her cheeks burning, she scanned the darkening horizon for any sign of Brad and Emma making their way back with the water so they could prepare their evening’s rations and a welcome tin mug of freeze-dried coffee. It wouldn’t be the Jamaican coffee they served at the Windmill Café, but she had to thank God for small mercies!
As Rosie took a seat next to Mia in front of the fire that Freddie had coaxed from a few twigs without any difficulty, waiting in thirsty anticipation for the scorch of hot coffee to course through her veins, she allowed her thoughts to twist over the last two months. After the poisoning incident had been cleared up, the café had gone from strength to strength and Graham had reduced his references to the unfortunate matter from daily to weekly. October was the end of the tourist season, so the opening times had been reduced to take into account the decrease in custom.
Mia was excited about her new position as trainee zip wire instructor. It meant she could stay at home and still work on her popular travel blog which was increasing its traffic every week. After her gap year, Mia had returned home with a bucket list of dreams she wanted to fulfil and was working her way through them at a rate of knots – baking maestro, zip wire expert, travel writer, camping aficionado, loyal friend. Rosie would miss her cheerful presence at the café, not to mention the daily dose of laughter and the strong bond of friendship they had formed. She knew she had Mia to thank for introducing her to Matt and Freddie and bestowing her with a second chance at happiness after the debacle with Harry.
But, as she smiled a ‘welcome back’ to Brad and Emma who were giggling at some private joke, she wondered if she was being premature in her assessment of her new-found contentment. There was now, she was sure, a higher-than-average risk that the new Windmill Café manager – herself, Rosie Catherine Barnes – was about to die of hypothermia, or be mauled by the spirits protecting the Garside Priory, or be eaten for breakfast by a shaggy dog called Black Shuck.
‘Coffee?’
‘Thanks, Emma,’ said Rosie, accepting the metal mug of hot coffee. She took a tentative sip, allowing the warmth to seep into her veins, watching the tendrils of steam wind skywards in a languid spiral against the ink-black sky.
‘Anyone want to try one of the Windmill Café’s signature apple and caramel muffins?’ asked Mia, producing a large Tupperware box from her rucksack.
The group devoured every morsel as though they’d been hiking through the fields and woodlands for days on end instead of for just over an hour and a half. Abiding by the rules of wild camping, Mia collected the paper cases and stored them back in her rucksack to dispose of later.
‘Hey, Phil, are you going to put your pinny on and do the washing up?’ called Rick, a smirk playing around the corners of his lips as Rosie cleared away the mugs. ‘I have to say, I’m surprised you didn’t elect to stay with the ladies back at the lodges. Weren’t they planning to whip up a few chocolate cupcakes before adjourning to the hot tub for a sweet sherry and an early night between the soft cotton sheets. Tell me, do you prefer cotton or silk?’
‘Rick, give it a rest, will you?’ said Brad, unable to meet their designated leader’s eyes but compelled to intervene after seeing the mortification on Phil’s puce-infused face.
Rosie saw a flash of mischief float across Rick’s expression as he slotted his legs into his sleeping bag and smiled at Phil who visibly shrank from the laser beam of malice concentrated in his direction. Phil’s shoulders were hunched into his khaki jacket and his fingers fiddled nervously with the strap of his camera which he hadn’t removed since they’d left Ultimate Adventures. He reminded Rosie of a shy meerkat – one who preferred not to poke his head too far above the parapet before returning to his hiding place out of the spotlight. With his straggly beard, his thinning hair and his pale beady eyes, his pasty appearance spoke to the excessive amount of time he spent in front of a computer screen practising his photographic hobby.
‘Hey,