Page 20 of Tricks & Treats at The Cosy Cornish Bakery

‘Thas right.’ Pammy nodded. ‘I do a few wholemeals and the farmhouse tin loaves are always popular.’ She huffed. ‘Don’t know what else folk want.’

‘Well, sourdough is popular. Gluten free for those who need it.’

‘Sourdough my arse.’ Pammy slurped her tea noisily.

Chloe bit down her frustration. ‘It’s very popular. You have an allergens notice up?’

‘Course I does. I knows I has to. It’s back yonder.’

‘And the cakes from Trendells sell well?’

Pammy looked shifty. She sucked in another mouthful of tea and slammed her mug down. ‘Reckon.’

What did that mean? ‘Is that a yes?’

‘Look, Chloe maid, them cakes from Trendells, they’re not like home-made. Some folk like ’em.’

‘You could make better?’

‘Course I could.’ She affected a superior air. ‘I’m known for my spiced apple cakes and my lemon drizzle. Use my own cookers in the spiced apple cakes. Come out a treat. Bramleys, see.’

Chloe frowned. ‘Then why don’t you?’

Pammy leaned forward, her eyebrows making indignant arches. ‘You think I got time to make three dozen loaves of a morning and cakes, plus all this bloomin’ sourdough nonsense you be wanting?’ The arm went under the bosoms again. ‘I serves in here an’ all, don’t forget.’

Chloe sat back. It was true. However stubborn and stuck in her ways, Pammy was the one keeping the bakery going. She had no idea if finances could stretch to it, but something needed to change. An assistant maybe? Despite Ginger’s opinion that Pammy was providing what the village wanted, Chloe doubted the bakery could keep going for much longer in its present form. It was scraping by and could do so much better. Be so much better. She looked around again at the bakery’s shabby interior. It needed to change in order to survive. And if it didn’t Pammy would be out of a job and unlikely to get another one. She hazarded a guess; Pammy must be in her late fifties or thereabouts. A long way from her state pension. To her surprise Chloe felt the first stirrings of responsibility. It was weird. She’d never considered the people who worked for her before. In the cut and thrust world she’d inhabited, employees were either up to the job or got booted.

She could simply close the bakery. But if she did, a family business would die, the village would lose an asset, and Pammy would suffer. Plus she’d have to endure the wrath of Dulcie who would be apoplectic. Shutting the bakery, however, would be the simplest decision, freeing her up to re-enter the world of finance. The alternative would tie her to Wheal Kitty Cove. At least for a few months.

Chloe stared out of the window again, remembering the glow of satisfaction she’d had from doing the beach clean. That had been most definitely missing from her London life. Was she up to a return to London and Jasper and Cindy? So far, none of her friends had been in touch. It was as if she’d slipped out of their orbit and now didn’t exist. She’d scrolled through some of their socials but, apart from that, hadn’t missed them. Not true friends at all, then.

The sun had got up and was blazing against a vividly blue sky. It was another crisp autumnal day. One or two golden leaves drifted down from the sycamores lining the lane and a woman, wrapped warmly in a Barbour and wearing wellies, walked her springer spaniel briskly downhill in the direction of the beach. Chloe thought of the images of the bars and clubs, the beaches and shopping hauls her friends had posted on their Instas. This was a whole different world to the one she’d left. Was she still desperate to get back to it? What if she used some of her redundancy to get the bakery up and going, put an assistant in, or even a manager, and then she could consider what her future might hold?

Closing her eyes for a second, she swallowed a deep breath. If she said it, there would be no going back, at least, not for a while. Sensing the woman on the opposite side of the table was staring at her, she opened her eyes, met Pammy’s gaze and blurted it out before she changed her mind. ‘Pammy, if I had a look at the finances, figured a way of getting you some help, would it free up enough time for you to bake more?’ The woman scowled. ‘Things you’re happy to bake, that is,’ Chloe added hurriedly. ‘Some more of these delicious biscuits, for instance. We’ll forget the sourdough for the moment. I might even have a go. It’s not supposed to be too difficult.’

Pammy huffed and did another bosom lift.

The bakery door opened and a man popped his head round. ‘You open yet, Pammy? Got my regular?’

Pammy stood up. ‘Be right with you, Karl. Will that be all, Chloe? Only I got work to do, maid.’

Chloe nodded. She took it as a yes. At least it wasn’t an outright no. She had the feeling if it had been, Pammy would have taken great delight in telling her so.

CHAPTER 12

‘Sounds like Pammy didn’t take it too badly, then?’ Ginger sipped from her glass. ‘Ooh, mulled cider with rum. Could get used to this. Don’t like that sea fret outside.’ She shivered. ‘Feels too much like winter’s come early.’

She and Chloe had met in the pub again. It was quiet and, again, they’d bagged their favourite table in front of the fire. It was a clammy sort of a night. A thick fog had rolled in with the tide cloaking everything with damp. The inglenook, with its cheery fire, was now decorated with a huddle of pumpkins and Halloween-themed bunting was strung around the beams. The addition of several fat candles on the table in front helped the cosy, slightly spooky feel.

‘You didn’t go down the route of targets and instant dismissal, then?’ Ginger asked.

‘Don’t joke.’ Chloe pulled a face. ‘Funny thing is, I was determined to go in there, all guns blazing and sort things out.’

‘But?’

‘I just couldn’t do it. Pammy’s given most of her working life to that place. She is the bakery, even more so now Mum’s retired. She’s getting on. Wouldn’t have a dream of getting another job. She doesn’t drive, does she?’

Ginger shook her head. ‘Don’t think so but I don’t know her very well.’ She took another sip of cider. ‘Don’t think anyone knows her very well. Keeps herself to herself.’