Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange by Jenny Kane (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📗

would be a bit pointless giving you cups and then having to top you up every five minutes.’

The café owner was gone before they could thank her, so Thea carried on. ‘Is there something wrong at work?’

‘It’s the same as when you left it, but with more for me to do.’

‘Surely the board replaced me?’

‘No, the decision was made to split your workload between existing staff.’

‘That’s management speak for telling me you’ve been saddled with it all.’ Thea was horrified. ‘I’m so sorry, Helen. I had no idea that would happen.’

‘Of course you didn’t. It would probably have happened anyway. You could have been “streamlined”. Cost-cutting is the order of the day.’

‘Your job’s safe, isn’t it?’

‘So I’m told.’ Helen lifted the coffee cosy and gave it a hug. ‘I’ve never seen one of these on a coffee pot before; it’s fabulous.’

‘Sybil is unique in many ways!’ Thea made sure the waitress heard her as she deposited two plates of fresh cheese scones and eggs on the table.

‘You’d better believe it.’ Sybil leant down and, in a stage whisper, said to Helen, ‘If the eggs aren’t good you can blame your friend.’

Helen cut into the nearest poached egg, squeaking in delight as rich golden yellow liquid cascaded over the side of her scones. ‘Your eggs?’

‘Yes. I haven’t had time to introduce you to our chickens yet. You’ll love Gertrude and the gang.’

Helen laughed, her mouth full of eggy scone. ‘Great name. Very 1920s.’

Wiping her mouth on a napkin, Thea explained, ‘We’ve got new hens settling in. They’ve been living in the same coop separated by chicken wire, but we ought to let them mix now.’

‘Do you have a lucky rooster?’ Helen laughed.

‘Oh yes! Poor Gertrude, she’s nuts for that cockerel, and has enough trouble with her second in command, Betty, fluttering her eyelashes at him, without competition from newly arrived Mavis.’

Helen chuckled. ‘It sounds like an entire Whitehall farce is going on in your henhouse.’ She put down her knife and fork. ‘I’m so glad I popped by, Thea. I honestly don’t think I’ve laughed this much in ages.’

‘I’m glad you did, and not just because I welcome your views on the fortlet.’

‘I shall be sorry to leave, but you know how it is. If I don’t get back to the coalface the paper mountain will be insurmountable.’

Thea regarded her friend with interest. ‘How much holiday are you owed?’

‘Years probably.’ Shrugging, Helen added an illicit lump of butter to her warm scones. ‘At least three weeks for this year, maybe more.’

‘And how much holiday did you take last year?’

‘Well, umm…’ Twisting a napkin between her buttery fingers, Helen sighed. ‘Three days at Christmas and then my birthday.’

‘Four days. You took four days off all year.’

The scone mixture in Helen’s mouth suddenly felt as if it needed extra chewing as her throat constricted. She’d been determined to stay positive; to treat her trip to Exmoor as a short break to herald a new start. Helen hadn’t banked on having to explain herself to anyone. For so long there’d been no one to share with and she’d never established the habit.

‘Are you alright?’ Thea was concerned. ‘I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn. You work so hard. You deserve a break. A proper one.’

‘I’m fine.’ Helen ruffled her hair. The curls framed her face like a copper halo. ‘I wanted to see the site, that’s all.’

‘And I’m glad you did, and I’d love to chat more about the fortlet, but I’m not buying it.’ Thea refilled their cups for the third time. ‘You don’t have to talk about it, but if you want to, then I’m happy to listen.’

Pretending the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes weren’t there, Helen said, ‘I’m fine. Bit stuck in a rut maybe. It’s normal I suppose, turning forty next year and overthinking.’

‘Suddenly the job isn’t enough anymore, however much you love it.’

Helen played with the crumbs on her plate, all that was left of the full-fat concoction she’d happily consumed. ‘I’m not getting any younger, and if I keep eating comfort food I’m not going to fit through my front door.’

Thea was stunned. She’d never considered Helen in terms of appearance and it hadn’t crossed her mind that her friend could be lonely. ‘What are you talking about? You’re beautiful. Look at yourself, woman. Perfect curves, perfect hair. You’re the reincarnation of a Viking goddess! You are Freyja herself!’

‘Hardly! Freyja was the goddess of love, fertility and magic. I’m more of the large capable type.’

‘I didn’t mean…’

‘I know, I was joking.’ Helen reached across the table, fiddling with the mock-Victorian sugar tongs that sat amid a pile of sugar cubes. ‘But I think comparing me to the epitome of Viking womanhood might be going a touch too far.’

‘Well I don’t; although if you start doing magic, then I’d appreciate a wave of your wand over Mill Grange.’

‘You’re worried about it?’

‘Not really, but there’s so much to do and not much budget left to do it with.’

‘And now Sam wants to advertise for a tutor?’ Helen separated the brown and white cubes with the tongs. ‘The sponsorship thing could help.’

‘I emailed Shaun about it this morning. He’s lost his phone, so I won’t get a response until after he’s finished today’s filming.’

‘You’re a lucky girl – you know that, right?’

The wistfulness in Helen’s voice filled in a lot of the blanks in the conversation they weren’t quite having. The name Sophie flittered through Thea’s mind, as she said, ‘I can’t quite believe it sometimes. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting someone to whisk Shaun away from me at any moment.’

‘But that’s just normal insecurity rather than something that’s likely to happen.’

‘I hope so.’ Realising they’d drained the coffee pot, and knowing she had lots to get on with, Thea smiled. ‘Let’s go and see the chickens.’

As they strolled back through Upwich to the manor, the shadow of the old mill loomed before them. Although she was used to seeing it, Thea