Time to Move On by Grace Thompson

thing left was to apply for the vacancy at the café, which she still hadn’t properly seen. She hoped it was more exciting than the view she’d had from across the road before being soaked by that careless driver.
    They and their bicycles were given a lift back in Geoff and Connie’s van, which smelled strongly of paraffin, and Stella and Connie went with her to look through the window of the café. The place was a long way from the beautiful tea rooms she and her mother ran. Tables covered with American cloth that was easily wiped clean, chairs scuffed and of several different styles. The walls were painted cream, but apart from a mirror to enable those in the kitchen to see the tables, bore no decoration. She wondered sadly whether she could work in such a place.
    She went to the bakery opposite to tell Babs her news. Small, plump and, rosy cheeked, Babs gave a whoop of delight when she heard her friend would be moving to Cwm Derw. She called her brother Tony and they sat and discussed things until Seranne had missed her last bus. Tony offered to drive her home, but Babs insisted. ‘Tony gets up before four o’clock to start the baking. I’ll drive you,’ she insisted. ‘Fantastic!’ she said as they set off. ‘It’ll be great to have you living near. And, I do think you’re right to leave home and let your mum and Paul get on with their life.’
    ‘The café doesn’t look inspiring but if I do get the job I might be able to change things, smarten it up.’
    Babs shook her head. ‘Mrs Rogers isn’t one to accept change. Mind you, she hasn’t met you yet, has she|!’
    When Seranne returned home she looked around their attractive tea rooms with some anxiety. Could she really leave all this and start again in that sad café and live among strangers? Then she called up a picture of the house on the lane and the smiling faces of all but one of the few inhabitants she had met and knew that whatever happened, she would not be among strangers for long. Stella Jones was right, by some mysterious way the house had invited her in.
    Luke was best forgotten, he was just a foolish, half-formed daydream and not important. She seethed when she remembered the soaking, and the embarrassment of his undisguised amusement. Her coat needed dry-cleaning and she hoped the unsympathetic onlooker would soon suffer the same fate.
    She went back the following day after a phone call and met the café manager, Mrs Rogers, who offered her the job. ‘From what you tell me your present position is a bit more glamorous than this place, so don’t expect me to provide tablecloths and fancy cakes. It doesn’t attract that kind of customer,’ Mrs Rogers said warningly.
    Seranne was about to suggest that a little improvement would encourage a few more people through the door, but she stopped in time. This wasn’t the moment. Taking things slowly she could do a lot more and besides, she didn’t want to lose the job within minutes of being offered it!
    ‘We buy bread and cakes from Hopkins’s bakery and when there’s time I sometimes make a few scones.’
    ‘I can do that. Scones are one of my specialities.’
    ‘Scones we sell but specialities are not on the menu. Right?’
    She went to see Geoff and Connie at their ironmonger’s store to pay her first week’s rent and found them both serving customers at the worn wooden counter. To her annoyance, one of the women waiting to be served was the woman who had witnessed her soaking the previous day. She waited, staring at her until she saw her, then glared and turned quickly away.
    ‘She’s the woman who was so rude to me when I got soaked by that thoughtless driver,’ she hissed.
    ‘That’s Mrs Williamson-Murton. She’s very unhappy. Don’t let her worry you,’ Connie said.
    ‘But she was blaming me! I got soaked! I was the one expecting sympathy and she blamed me,’ Seranne insisted.
    ‘She lost two of her three sons,’ Connie explained. ‘How can she cope with such