Log Fires & Toffee Apple Cake at the Little Duck Pond Cafe - Rosie Green Page 0,3

down, not just melted the tray. I had to buy a new one out of my pocket money, and somehow it always came up in arguments after that.

I was constantly questioned about where I was going and who with, and never, ever trusted. It was clear to me that the twins made Dad really proud. While all I seemed to do was irritate him, however hard I tried not to.

Even now, when I’ve left home and am supposedly a grown-up, I’ll occasionally catch him looking at me with disappointment in his eyes.

It doesn’t help, of course, that he and I are so different.

Dad’s quiet, a deep thinker; never one for great displays of affection. I, on the other hand, am loud, outspoken and feel a definite affinity with marmite, which I reckon gets a really bad rap. (I mean, who wants to be boring?) I look strikingly like Mum with her chestnut hair, brown eyes and ‘strong’ nose, while Dad’s colouring is more Scandinavian, like the twins.

But despite this, it never once occurred to me to wonder if I was really his daughter.

Until that day, back in May, when I was searching in Mum’s drawer.

The only person I’ve told about my discovery is my new friend, Lucy, who I met earlier this summer, when I was on holiday in Cornwall with the girls. It felt easier talking about it to a relative stranger. I haven’t even told Katja yet, but I will. Once I’ve plucked up the courage to tackle Mum…

My insides shift uneasily at the thought of the difficult conversation ahead. How will I even bring up the subject? It’s not like me to have something on my mind for so long without talking about it, but every time I try to psyche myself up to confront Mum about who my real dad is, I chicken out. I’m obviously not famed for my tact and diplomacy, but even I know that on this tricky subject, I can’t just plunge in regardless. For a start, I’ve no idea how Mum will react. How will she feel, knowing I’ve discovered her secret…a secret she’s obviously worked hard to keep from me all these years?

‘I really like your dad,’ says Katja. ‘He loves you to bits, I’m certain. He probably just worries about you, like all dads do.’

I nod, knowing she’s just trying to make me feel better.

‘Hey, how come you’ve all managed to take a lunch break at the same time?’ asks Jaz suddenly.

There’s a loaded silence, and we glance furtively at each other. Then Ellie says nonchalantly, ‘Oh, I just thought it would be nice for us to spend some time together.’

Jaz looks puzzled. ‘So who’s in the café, holding the fort?’

‘Sylvia and Gran,’ says Katja.

Primrose grins. ‘Olga and Sylvia. The famous double-act. They’ll be keeping the customers amused, that’s for sure.’

‘Zak says he’ll help out as well,’ puts in Ellie.

‘Zak?’ Jaz stares at Ellie. ‘Since when has Zak done a shift in the café? He’s got books to write!’

‘He says being around people helps when he’s writing dialogue.’ Ellie glances at her watch, just as I spy a black stretch limousine approaching slowly along the road by the green.

Ellie sees it, too, and starts packing away the spare ice-cream cones. ‘I’ll take this lot back to the café before we go. And can someone find out where Fen’s got to?’

Katja jumps to her feet and holds out her hand to a bemused Jaz, while Primrose fishes out her phone to call Fen.

‘What’s going on?’ Jaz stares at the limo, as Katja and I haul her to her feet.

Pushing thoughts of Dad and my birth certificate away, I fold the blanket we were sitting on and toss it over to Ellie, and she heads off, calling back, ‘Don’t leave without me!’

Primrose ends the call to Fen. ‘The van’s broken down and they’re waiting for a tow to the garage. But she says she’ll try and join us at the spa later.’

Jaz frowns at me. ‘Spa?’

‘Yes, indeed. An afternoon at a spa with lots of pampering for the mum-to-be. Travelling in style, of course.’ Indicating the stretch limo, from which the driver, in peaky cap and shades, is now emerging, I grin at her. ‘Welcome to your surprise baby shower!’

CHAPTER TWO

‘Baby shower? Really? But how…when did you organise this?’

Katja smiles. ‘Behind your back, obviously.’

We walk over the grass to where the limo is parked outside the café. The driver, who looks in his forties, raises his cap with a grin, revealing