Page 31 of Tricks & Treats at The Cosy Cornish Bakery

In early October, autumn in the village was revving up. The days showcased a symphony of trees, their leaves fired into bright flame, the sky remained a deep vivid blue and the air was crisp and invigorating. The waves pounded against the cliffs and the surf was up. Even she had to admit autumn in Wheal Kitty Cove was glorious.

She’d spent the day at the bakery with Pammy and her new assistant, Amber. When the girl had been suggested, Pammy hadn’t known who she was. Chloe was astounded. Everyone knew everyone in the village.

‘Amber?’ Pammy had sniffed. ‘What sort of name is that, then? Thas some kind of traffic light, ain’t it?’

‘It’s Amber. She works in the pub. Don’t you know her?’

‘Never goes in there, maid.’ Pammy shuddered as if The Smugglers was a den of iniquity, which it may well have been in the eighteenth century, but was now a nice pub that did food and bed and breakfast. ‘What’s her family?’

‘You mean her surname? It’s Redrick. Think they live up on the Polveanan road, in the estate off there.’

Pammy pursed her lips, creating deep grooves between mouth and nose. ‘Redrick,’ she said, thinking. ‘Redrick. Oh right, I knows them. Moved in from up country. New to the village, see.’

Amber had told Chloe that she and her parents had moved from Birmingham twenty years ago, so she hid a smile. The old adage that you weren’t considered a true local until you had three generations of family buried in St Petroc’s Church graveyard was obviously one Pammy lived by. She was sad to hear the woman never went in the pub, though. She seemed to live a very narrow life; with only the bakery and her cats. Come to think of it, Chloe hadn’t seen Pammy at the book sale barbecue and that was a major community event. With so little in her life, it was no wonder she clung to her job at the bakery and attacked any suggestion of change.

‘So, how do you feel about her coming to work here?’ she’d suggested. She’d already interviewed Amber and thought her perfect. Now it was just a matter of cajoling Pammy to think the same.

‘She qualified? Got any experience?’

‘She’s got a City and Guilds in Food Hygiene and Catering and has been working in the pub for two years. She also does the occasional shift cooking breakfasts for them and has acted as sous chef in the evenings.’

‘Big difference between frying up a sausage and baking.’

‘I agree.’ Pammy looked surprised Chloe hadn’t argued. ‘But she’s also a huge Great British Bake Off fan and has learned to bake from her mum.’

‘Bake Off you say?’ Pammy scratched her chin. ‘I likes that. Always watches it.’

‘Amber’s long-term goal is to set herself up as a caterer for parties. Cupcakes for baby showers, that sort of thing.’

Pammy’s snort told her precisely what she thought of baby showers.

‘So,’ Chloe continued, ‘I’m not sure how long we’ll keep her, but I thought it a good idea to give her a trial basis. See how you two get on, see if you can work together.’

‘Suppose it can’t do no harm.’

Chloe prayed it couldn’t. Amber had spent the day learning the ropes, serving behind the counter and Chloe had tagged along and learned just as much. It became clear that Pammy’s day began early, when the regulars popped by to collect a loaf fresh and warm from the oven, and carried on being busy until the shelves were emptied. If Amber worked out, it would free up Pammy to bake more and Chloe could even look into extending the café hours. It was ridiculous to close a café at three.

Pammy refused to comment on the new colour scheme but the café was already looking refreshed and brighter. Chloe had decided new furniture was the next task, but suspected Pammy could only cope with so much change at once. Amber and Chloe learned how to use the till, although Amber had needed little instruction as she was used to the one in the pub, and Pammy had grudgingly approved of the way Amber had made up some sandwiches for the few customers eating in. She seemed to enjoy bossing someone around and Amber was clearly in awe of the woman’s baking skills, although Chloe had overheard them having a fierce debate on the pros and cons of transparent icing on cakes.

‘Can’t go wrong with a bit of royal icing,’ Chloe heard Pammy say firmly.

She’d bought a DAB retro radio in pale turquoise to replace the ancient transistor and they’d had it on throughout the day. Although at first Pammy had scowled, Chloe caught her singing along to the Elvis track Kernow Toons Radio had played.

Now, as Chloe walked up the path to Dulcie’s house, she felt a little of the tension drop from her shoulders. It might just work out with Pammy and Amber in the bakery. As she waited for her mother to answer the door, she stared at the house, memories of her childhood flooding back. Her parents had always lived here, had inherited it from her paternal grandmother who had lived with them for a time. It was in the middle of a Victorian terrace, not far up the lane from the bakery, and far bigger than it appeared from the outside. No front garden apart from squares of paving either side of the path and no parking. Even so, it would fetch a small fortune in London. If her mother ever bothered to keep it maintained it might be worth more in Wheal Kitty Cove. There was a patch of damp on the front wall where the guttering overflowed and the ivy clinging around the faded black front door looked pretty but would only choke the pointing in between the old bricks. Halloween banners picturing cartoon ghosts draped across the two front windows and a huddle of pumpkins decorated the step. Her father had disliked Halloween and only approved of any kind of decoration to be put up on the thirty-first itself, so Chloe assumed this had something to do with Hannah’s children. The curtains were shut against the evening but she could hear the television and a volley of barking coming from the front room. Ziggy was in fine voice.

It was Hannah who opened the door. ‘Oh, it’s you. Hi, Chloe.’ She turned and left her to close the front door.

Chloe followed her sister along the hall into the dining room, which led onto the long, narrow kitchen. Little had changed. The walls still bore the textured wallpaper from her childhood although it had been painted and repainted over the years. The mantelpiece still held her father’s ashes in its urn on one end, with a framed signed photograph of David Bowie in his Ziggy Stardust incarnation at the other. They were her mother’s prize possessions; it was a toss-up which Dulcie would save in the event of a fire.

The table had been set for five, so she assumed it was Madison and Isaak who were in front of the TV. Hannah slumped onto a chair and gulped from a glass of white wine. Judging from the half empty bottle, it wasn’t her first.

‘Sit yourself down, maid,’ Dulcie called from the kitchen. ‘Take the weight off your Manolos. Spag bol with loads of cheddar, that okay? Apple and blackberry crumble and clotted cream for after.’

Chloe sighed inwardly. Her mother’s food was cooked with love and served in huge portions. Chloe had been a chubby teenager as a result. She sat opposite Hannah and poured herself a glass of wine.

‘What’s wrong, sis? Not fine dining enough for you?’

Chloe hadn’t the energy to rise to the bait so ignored her. A longing for a quiet meal at Lupa overcame her. It had been her favourite London restaurant. Since being in Wheal Kitty Cove, she’d eaten well but it had erred on the stodgy side. She ought to find a gym or go for a run on the beach but somehow hadn’t the enthusiasm. She used to be so self-disciplined and wondered where it had gone. Staring at Hannah, she sipped her wine. Her sister was a shorter, rounder version of herself. Brown hair cut in a shaggy bob, her estate agent’s uniform blouse straining across the bust, Hannah didn’t care. Wore little if any make-up, barely put a comb through her hair, ate and drank without restraint. Everybody loved her. She’d always been the popular one, the one people flocked to. Chloe, in contrast, always had her head stuck in a book, or revising for the next exam. There were six years between them and they’d never been close.