Jude had told her and then asked, ‘Why, were you thinking of coming?’
‘Oh, good heavens, no. Just wondering when it was supposed to be happening. Because I haven’t seen any publicity for it locally.’
‘Don’t worry, you will soon. We have a publicity officer on the committee, fresh from a London PR job, who is going to “carpet-bomb the punters”. Soon everyone in the southeast will know about the launch.’
Carole sniffed. In her view all publicity was evidence of the trait that her parents always discouraged in her – ‘showing off’.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ Jude asked mischievously.
‘No, of course I don’t. I may be in Fulham looking after Chloe that weekend.’
‘Ah. Fine.’
But as the relevant weekend approached, it turned out that Carole’s services would not be required in Fulham. So, with characteristic lack of grace, she said to Jude that she ‘might come along to Polly’s, just to see what kind of a mess they’d made of the place’.
By the Friday, the day before the launch, Carole Seddon was positively excited about what she was going to see in Polly’s Cake Shop – or, as it was now called, Polly’s Community Café. She also felt good because she reckoned she had finally tracked down perfect Christmas presents for both Lily and Chloe.
The impression they had, on entering the premises for the relaunch (and having their ‘WELCOME TO POLLY’S COMMUNITY CAFÉ’ badges stuck on), was of considerable change. During the five days of the café’s closure, the rough white plaster of the walls had been smoothed down and painted a duck-egg blue. The red and white gingham table cloths had been replaced by ones in French navy, and the horse brasses and warming pans hanging from the beams had given way to impressionistic splurges of local seascapes. ‘Done by this wonderful little woman we know,’ Phoebe Braithwaite explained later. ‘So talented. We bought all the pictures from her outright, which means we can sell them to customers – who I’m sure will just love them – and then all the money we make will of course go straight into Polly’s funds.’
Whereas the previous décor of the café had had a distinct retro style of the 1940s, its new incarnation seemed to Carole stranded in time, not fussy enough to be archaic nor yet minimalist enough to be modern. Jude had similar views, and also wondered how much of Kent Warboys’ twenty grand had been eaten up by the refurbishment. ‘At first,’ Phoebe Braithwaite explained later, ‘we had thought of getting together a huge community group to strip the place down and do the redecoration ourselves. But wiser counsels prevailed and we decided we didn’t want to spoil the café for a ha’porth of tar and it would be cheaper to get in a professional to do the job. And we’ve got this wonderful little man who’s done all the decorating work at Hiawatha and …’ Jude also wondered how much that had cost.
But the expense of the decorating must have been small beer compared to that of the new costumes for the waitresses. Gone were the black and white uniforms of Agatha Christie adaptations (and popular sexual fantasies), which had toned so well with the previous retro style. In their place, Phoebe Braithwaite’s cohort of Joannas or Samanthas were wearing short-skirted tunics in French navy, on the front of which were embroidered the anchor and cannon motif which had distinguished Quintus Braithwaite’s notepaper. ‘We wanted a completely fresh look,’ Phoebe Braithwaite explained later. ‘And I know this wonderful little woman in London who runs up stuff like that on an absolute shoestring. She’s done so many “special occasion” dresses for me. Her own original designs are but so, so economical.’
Jude again wondered how much of Kent Warboys’ twenty grand was left.
She overheard Phoebe responding to compliments on the café’s new look. ‘Well, I think it’s very important that we take the place a bit upmarket. The Seaview Café on the beach is always there for day-trippers and people from the Downside estate. We want Polly’s to have a bit more cachet …’
It was hard to discover what the format of the relaunch was. The people of Fethering, all intrigued to inspect the makeover, drifted in to be fed coffee and cupcakes. Phoebe Braithwaite’s blue-liveried Joannas or Samanthas were very efficient at serving these. The café’s Italian coffee machine did not present any problems for them – they all had much more advanced versions in their own kitchens. And serving a cupcake on a plate with a doily on it was not rocket science. ‘Just for the launch,’ Phoebe Braithwaite explained later, ‘we did buy in the cupcakes. Of course we’ll bake everything on site when the café’s up and running. But with all the decorating going on, it was difficult to get into the kitchen at Polly’s. And I do know this very clever little woman in Brighton who does the most splendid bakery of all kinds. And I thought having the words “Welcome to Polly’s Community Café” in icing on them was a justifiable expense … as a one-off for this very special occasion. And also I thought it’d be good publicity … you know, a photo of one of the cupcakes in the local press – or, even better, on the telly-box – would be just massive free publicity.’
For the relaunch Polly’s doors had opened at ten thirty. Tasteful Vivaldi played in the background, though it was soon inaudible against the clash of voices. Phoebe’s Volunteer Rota of Joannas or Samanthas were squeakily loud in their high-pitched chatter, and their husbands, all dressed in crushed strawberry corduroy trousers and quilted khaki gilets, brayed constant hilarities to each other. The locals, as usual, exchanged the latest Fethering gossip.
One person who hoped to be conspicuous by his absence was Arnold Bloom. He boycotted the relaunch as an expression of his protest against the changing of the café’s name. But, sadly for him, nobody noticed he wasn’t there.
A long time elapsed before it became clear whether there was going to be any focus for the morning’s activities. Or was everyone just going to sit around all morning sipping coffee and eating expensively iced cupcakes? Eventually it was established that Quintus Braithwaite would be saying a few words of welcome at twelve noon. Having heard enough of his oratory to last a lifetime, Jude didn’t feel tempted to stay that long.
The one thing there was no sign of amongst the throng of cupcake-munchers was a strong media presence. Certainly no sign of television cameras, not even radio reporters with microphones. And among the guests whom Carole and Jude did not recognize, none had the looks – or indeed the notebooks – of press reporters.
They were close enough to hear a rather fretful Quintus raise this issue with his publicity officer and to hear the reply from Lesley Tarquin, dressed for the occasion in purple leggings, orange baseball boots and a dress that appeared to be made of lametta. Apparently Vince at the Fethering Observer had started his Christmas break early and nobody from the West Sussex Gazette or Sussex Life was interested. Jezza from FOAM FM was tied up with a Secret Santa Charity Foam-Fight, Will at Radio Solent was hosting a Twenty-Four-Hour Christmas Carol-a-Thon, and Flick at Radios Surrey and Sussex hadn’t got back to her, in spite of …
Jude caught Carole’s eye. ‘Shall we slip away to the pub?’ she said.
The Crown and Anchor would fill up later with weary shoppers whose Christmas spirit was already draining away, but at half past eleven when Carole and Jude got there they were among the first customers. Zosia, who was in charge of the bar, greeted them warmly and, without waiting for an order, poured two large glasses of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.