Cafe Paradise

Patricia Combs

Description

After Jackie Dalrymple-Jones finds her domineering mother lying dead, face down in a bowl of porridge, she has to take responsibility for Cafe Paradise. The greasyspoon in York has seen better days, but Jackie's plans to modernise are not appreciated by her wilful staff ...Zumba dancing, feckless chickens, cross-dressing and the world's most fiery curry all play their part as Jackie and her friends find love and fight financial skullduggery.

Sujets

• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: 2QT Limited (Publishing
• Date de parution: 27 septembre 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781910077450
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

CAF É PARADISE



Patricia Comb



2QT Limited (Publishing)



eBook published 2013
2QT Limited (Publishing)
Burton In Kendal
Cumbria LA6 1NJ
www.2qt.co.uk

ISBN 9781910077450
Copyright © Patricia Comb 2013
The right of Patricia Comb to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that no part of this book is to be reproduced, in any shape or form. Or by way of trade, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser, without prior permission of the copyright holder.

A Paperback version of this title is also available
ISBN 978-1-908098-93-1



Contents






PROLOGUE


CHAPTER 1


CHAPTER 2


CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4


CHAPTER 5


CHAPTER 6


CHAPTER 7


CHAPTER 8


CHAPTER 9


CHAPTER 10


CHAPTER 11


CHAPTER 12


CHAPTER 13


CHAPTER 14


CHAPTER 15


CHAPTER 16


CHAPTER 17


CHAPTER 18


CHAPTER 19


CHAPTER 20


CHAPTER 21


CHAPTER 22


CHAPTER 23


CHAPTER 24


CHAPTER 25


CHAPTER 26


CHAPTER 27


CHAPTER 28


CHAPTER 29


CHAPTER 30


CHAPTER 31


CHAPTER 32


CHAPTER 33


CHAPTER 34


CHAPTER 35


CHAPTER 36


CHAPTER 37


CHAPTER 38


CHAPTER 39


CHAPTER 40


CHAPTER 41


EPILOGUE



PROLOGUE

Even before she opened her eyes, Jackie knew that something was wrong. She lay still in bed trying to work it out. What was it? Her semi-conscious mind was registering that something was different. What? Jackie opened her eyes and shut them again immediately. Full daylight filtered through her closed eyelids making patterns dance before her eyes.
Daylight! Jackie opened her eyes again and sat up, staring at the window. It was only January; it should be pitch dark out there. What time was it? She turned to look at the clock on her bedside table. Hells bells! 9:00 a.m. She peered at the settings and realised she hadn’t set the alarm the night before.
Jackie jumped quickly out of bed and began to throw on the clothes she had carelessly strewn on the chair the night before. She grumbled away to herself as she wrestled, bleary-eyed, with bra straps, tights and the too-tight zip on her trousers.
‘I don’t know, Mother. If you’re not the most awkward, cantankerous woman in the whole of North Yorkshire, I don’t know who is. You knew I had to be up early today so why couldn’t you have given me a nudge? I know damned fine you’ll be downstairs feeding yourself and that mangy moggy of yours and I’ll have to go out hungry.’
Jackie hurriedly dragged a comb through her short fair hair, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. She knew she would look a sight in crumpled clothes, with her wavy hair sticking out at all angles.
Picking up her handbag and car keys she ran downstairs. She raced through the lounge and on into the dining room where her mother sat at the table.
To Jackie’s disgust, Samson, Marilyn’s adored cat, was sitting on the table contentedly lapping at a plate of porridge clearly meant for Marilyn. Barely checking her stride, Jackie swept the cat off the table. He somersaulted elegantly and landed on all fours, spitting and growling at her.
‘Oh Mother!’ she exclaimed, ‘do you have to share your breakfast with the cat. From what I can see he spends most of his time licking his backside, but if that’s who you like to share with…’
Jackie headed into the kitchen and began rummaging around for something to put in a sandwich. She opened the fridge door and peered in. A packet of sliced ham caught her eye. That would do, quick and easy. She could sneak into the Ladies and scoff it once she’d shown her face at the supermarket. Quickly she buttered some bread and slapped the ham inside.
As she was doing this Samson sauntered into the kitchen. He sat down and curled his long black tail around him, staring up at her, mee-owing plaintively.
‘Bugger off you ugly, over-fed, smelly mog,’ Jackie snapped. She called out to her mother, ‘He might have had your breakfast but he’s not having mine.’
Marilyn made no answer. She of the acid tongue and mistress of the put-down was silent. This was so unusual it made Jackie pause. She glanced back into the dining room. Marilyn sat very still and silent at the head of the table.
Uneasiness stirred. Why didn’t Marilyn snap back at her as usual? She turned and walked back to her mother. Marilyn sat very still, staring straight ahead. Bending down, Jackie looked more closely at her. Marilyn did not move. Jackie peered into her face. She saw all the colour had drained from Marilyn’s usually pink cheeks and no warm breath came from her lips. Her skin had taken on a waxy tinge; her eyes were unseeing.
Jackie gasped and jumped back. No, she couldn’t be …, not Marilyn, her feisty, domineering mother. She was invincible; always had been. She was the one who dealt with any trouble: had seen off Jackie’s more dubious boyfriends in her younger days; dealt with the teenage crises and, generally kept the show on the road. She was only sixty-four, she couldn’t possibly be…
‘Come on now.’ Jackie shook Marilyn by the arm. Her mother fell forward, her head landing straight into the bowl of porridge. It splattered over Jackie and she backed away, tripping over Samson in her rush for the door. He dug his claws hard into her leg and dragged them slowly down, ripping the skin beneath her trousers. Jackie felt pain flare through her leg as she stood dumbly in the doorway, staring in horror at her mother lying lifeless across the table, plastered with lumps of cold, grey porridge.
Icy sweat beaded her forehead and trickled into her eyes, mingling with the tears that began to roll down her cheeks. Somewhere inside her head a voice was telling Jackie that her mother had just died and she should pull her out of that plate of porridge. She had never touched a dead body before. She shuddered, Mother would be cold. Jackie backed towards the kitchen.
In the same instant a thought occurred to her. Who would run the café today? With Mother... Jackie shied away from the word. She would have to go herself and see to things. Café Paradise wouldn’t run itself and Mother had never missed a day.
She turned and ran, slamming the door behind her and racing down the path to her car she wrenched the door open and flung herself into the driver’s seat and drove away at speed from No. 2 Mayfield Grove.
Inside all remained quiet. Pleased with his revenge on Jackie, Samson jumped back on the table and delicately licked at the porridge splattered on the cloth.


CHAPTER 1

The rain lashed relentlessly down on Walter Breckenridge as he leaned his bike against the window of the café.
‘Come on, Walter lad, find the bloody key. You’re not dressed for this weather.’ Muttering to himself, Walter fished a large bunch of keys from his sodden pocket and raised them to his face, peering at them short-sightedly, trying to find the one that would open the café door.
‘No, well you’re not dressed for this weather because that stupid woman on the weather said it was set fair,’ he continued. ‘”Brisk winds pushing the showers away,” my arse. If she’d told the truth I’d be wearing my waterproofs instead of standing here soaked through to my vest.’
He fumbled through the keys. It wasn’t only wet, it was pitch black too. Marilyn used to leave some of the lights on through the night after they’d closed, but had recently stopped.
‘I’m not wasting electricity and contributing to global warming,’ she’d said po-faced when he’d complained he couldn’t see to open up in the mornings. Then she’d suggested he bring a torch. Bring a torch! As if it was his responsibility. He needed to check; there must be some health and safety regulations that she was breaching by making him struggle to open the bloody door.
Global warming! She’s no more interested in global warming than I am; just too tight to pay the electricity bill.
He found the key he needed and fitted it into the lock. Even as it turned smoothly he cursed himself for a fool because the burglar alarm immediately started its monotonous beeping. He could hear it and see the small red light on the console flashing through the plate-glass door. He had one minute before the siren started to wail and the light above the door flashed. Then the police would arrive and the neighbours in the nearby flats who would be woken by the din would nail his nadgers to the nearest tree for waking them up again at six in the morning.
‘Alarm code, Walter,’ he said to himself. ‘What’s the bloody code?’ 70 96 14, was that it? Or was it 70 14 96? Or 76 40 98? ‘How the hell am I supposed to remember?’ he wailed. ‘If I had a head for figures I’d be an accountant not a cook. And I’d be making a lot more bloody money for a lot less effort.’ The beeping seemed to increase in volume and the red light flash brighter.
He feverishly searched his pockets for the piece of paper on which he’d written the