2005
MAPLE GOLD COFFEE COMMERCIAL SCRIPT
VOICEOVER: ‘Maple Gold is here for endings
and new beginnings . . .’
The scene opens with a young woman,
Greta, standing on the pavement, waving as a car pulls away. She’s holding a
small cardboard box.
GRETA (WHISPERING): ‘Bye Mum.’
She turns to face a pretty white house,
straightens her back and smiles bravely. She’s ready to enter a new phase of
her life—moving into her first home.
The front door is ajar, and she enters a
hallway, then a sitting room. We can see there are more, bigger boxes sitting
around the place, sealed and ready to unpack.
VOICEOVER: ‘It’s here for the good times
and the even better ones . . .’
Greta looks apprehensive but takes a
moment to take in her new surroundings. She switches on the kettle and opens a
cupboard, disappointed to find it empty.
She spies her name written on the side
of the box she carried in and opens it. Inside is her old teddy bear and a jar
of Maple Gold coffee, a gift from her mum. Greta takes the jar out, becoming misty-eyed
as she makes herself a cup of coffee. Wrapping her fingers around the cup helps
her to feel more at home.
The doorbell rings, and she opens the
door to find a group of her new neighbors gathered outside. They present Greta
with flowers and another jar of coffee as a welcome present. It’s Maple Gold,
of course.
They all laugh, and she invites them
inside for coffee.
A CAPPELLA GROUP (SINGING): ‘You’re
always at home with Maple Gold.’
Chapter 1
Present Day
GRETA PERKS LOVED three things in life more
than anything—her family, the thrill of performing, and a fine cup of coffee.
When she could combine all three, it was as satisfying as a frothy cappuccino
on a cold day. But recently, a happy home life and sparkling career seemed to
be slipping through her fingers.
‘I wish you could stay longer,’ she said,
glancing between her husband, Jim, and their daughter, Lottie, as coffee cups
clattered in the background. ‘Tonight’s important to me.’
She’d volunteered to be the guest speaker
at Brewtique’s monthly Coffee Lover’s Night Out, talking about her acting
career. It had been a while since she’d last performed in public, and her
nerves were jumping around like frogs in a pond.
Jim offered her a smile. ‘I wish we could,
too. But I promised Lottie I’d get her back to school.’ He passed Greta a
shopping bag like it was a peace offering. ‘Just brought a few things you might
need . . .’
‘Talent show rehearsal,’ Lottie muttered,
not looking up from her phone. ‘Total waste of time.’
Greta and Jim shared a glance, a silent
understanding of the challenges of raising a fifteen-year-old together while
living apart.
‘A
talent show? Sounds fun.’ Greta gave Lottie’s arm a quick reassuring rub. ‘What
are you doing? A show tune, or a monologue? Perhaps even a Shakespeare sonnet?’
Lottie shrugged a disinterested shoulder.
Greta’s spirits dipped a little. ‘Well,
whatever you do, I bet you’ll be great,’ she said.
‘We’ll grab a burger afterward, then I’ll
drop her back at your place.’ Jim opened his mouth slightly, as if wanting to
say something more. ‘Stay safe returning to your car tonight, okay?’
Greta nodded, hoping for a word of
encouragement, perhaps a ‘good luck,’ ‘break a leg,’ or even a quick hug. But
Lottie was already heading toward the door.
Jim’s fingers lightly brushed Greta’s arm,
but didn’t linger.
Then he turned and followed their daughter
outside.
Through the window, Greta watched as her
family dashed across the road without her. She smiled brightly and waved, even
though her stomach was twisting.
‘Drop her back at your place.’ The
words stung like a paper cut.
She and Jim were over four months into a
trial separation, with just a few weeks left until their self-imposed New
Year’s Eve deadline. At that point they’d agreed to make a final call on the
future of their marriage.
It didn’t seem as clear-cut as Greta had
hoped. What had once felt like a simple decision—to try to rebuild their
marriage or let it go—now felt tangled with uncertainty. After almost twenty
years together, was she still in love with Jim? Was he still in love with her?
Greta peeked
inside the bag, her mood lifting when she saw Jim had brought her herbal throat
lozenges, a new notebook, and a spare pen.
Outside, the
wet, grey pavement was the same color as the inky November sky, and she
suddenly craved a rich mocha.
Greta turned to face the room. In half an
hour, the place would hopefully be buzzing with people. She was determined to
deliver an entertaining talk, even if it wasn’t exactly her kind of coffee
shop.
She preferred cozy spaces where she could
curl up with a good book, sipping coffee from mugs the size of plant pots. The
type of place that served homemade rocky road and had a corner dedicated to
board games.
Brewtique, on the other hand, had
industrial-style light- bulbs and blackboards showcasing quirky concoctions,
such as rhubarb and custard lattes. A pink neon coffee cup on the wall cast an
eerie pink glow on her face. The spindly branches of a Christmas tree on the
counter looked like they’d been pecked by crows.
Her long-time agent, Nora, had applauded
Greta for spotting Brewtique’s Facebook post asking for local speakers.
‘Putting yourself forward shows brilliant initiative, darling. Well-done,’ Nora
had gushed. ‘You never know who might be in the audience. Any exposure could
help give your career a little boost. Plus, it’s a great way to plug your
acting classes.’
A boost? Greta knew her career needed a
defibrillator. If one human year equals seven dog years, the same rule
definitely applied to actors out of the spotlight. She felt like her career had
been on pause for too long, and she was ready to hit Play again.
Greta missed the camaraderie on set,
filming the iconic Maple Gold coffee commercials she’d starred in with Jim and
Lot- tie a decade ago. Nothing compared to the soar of her senses when the
director called, ‘Action,’ and everything clicked into place. She longed to
find that spark again, not just for herself, but in the hope of pulling her
family back together again.
If Greta was
honest, she also missed the attention. Champagne on ice in a silver bucket,
fans queuing around the block for her autograph, and the occasional limousine
whisking her to grand events had been cherries on top of the cake. Those
memories felt almost unreal now, as if they belonged to someone else.
The students
she’d coached since then seemed to enjoy her acting classes, but it wasn’t the
same. Guiding nervous amateurs through voice projection techniques or stage
presence didn’t give her the same buzz as stepping in front of a camera or an
audience. Hopefully, tonight would rekindle some of that feeling, proof she
still had something to offer.
The sound of dropped cutlery pulled her out
of her thoughts. Greta turned to see Brewtique’s owner, Josie, rushing around,
a dusting of flour in her hair. Meanwhile, her young pink-haired assistant,
Maisie, dawdled in a corner, glued to her phone.
‘Need a hand with anything?’ Greta called
out.
‘Oh gosh, no.’ Josie shook her head
frantically. ‘You’re the talent. I’m just running a bit late with everything .
. .’
‘Are you sure? I’ve already prepped for my
talk.’
Josie bit her lip, tempted. ‘Well . . .
setting up the refreshment table would be helpful, while I get changed. I’ve
just popped fresh brownies in the oven. Maisie knows to keep an eye on them.’
She gave Greta a pointed look. ‘She’s new here.’
‘Sure,’ Greta said, catching her drift.
‘Leave it to me.’
Greta set out coffee cups with vigor,
arranged cookies on plates, and laid out napkins. Her pulse quickened when she
saw the time. ‘Maisie!’ she called out. ‘We need to hurry. There’s only fifteen
minutes left until showtime.’
The young woman barely raised her eyes.
‘Didn’t your family once star in some coffee ads or something?’ she asked. ‘One
day, I’ll get discovered like that. Want to see my latest TikTok audition?’ She
held out her phone.
‘Yes, we starred in them.’ Greta briskly
polished a spoon on her apron. ‘I’ll look at your clip later. Now, please check
all the glasses. Some of these are
scratched, and Josie said you’re in charge of the brownies...’
When Josie reappeared wearing fresh
clothes, she glanced out of the window and sighed. ‘Looks like we’ve got a
smaller crowd than usual.’
‘How many are you expecting?’ Greta asked,
joining her. ‘Six or seven. I’ve just checked my messages and had quite a few
cancellations. Christmas is coming, and it’s the Strictly Salsa final on TV
tonight.’
Greta chewed her lip. Disappointment was
part of an actor’s life—the rejections, the scathing reviews, and the
occasional inappropriate behavior from a director she’d once respected. She
hadn’t expected a theatre-sized crowd, but six?
‘An intimate gathering,’ she said with a
nod. ‘I’ll make it work.’
Josie welcomed the guests inside. When they
were settled down around tables with coffee and cake, she launched into her
introduction.
‘Welcome to the monthly Brewtique Coffee
Lover’s Night Out. We’ve been fortunate to hear some incredible stories from
our speakers this year—conquering Mount Everest, training guide dogs for the
blind, and a brain surgeon who worked in war-torn countries. And tonight we’ve
got the former star of the Maple Gold coffee commercials. Let’s bid a warm
welcome to our special guest, Greta Perks.’
No pressure,
Greta thought, smiling brightly as she stepped forward.
‘G . . . good evening, everyone,’ she
started, feeling woefully out of practice. ‘Thanks for coming.
‘I’m going to tell you a story about how I
became the face of the Maple Gold coffee commercials. Yes, for ten years, I was
the lady who made you believe coffee could make your life perfect.’
A
few chuckles rang out, and Greta soon found her flow. She paced up and down,
commanding the little coffee shop as if starring in a West End theatre
production.
‘Did you know that Maple Gold was born in
1950, as a humble roastery in the back streets of London? Over the years, it
became a household name, beloved for its delicious blends and vintage appeal.’
She leaned in, as if sharing a secret. ‘And who wouldn’t want to live in
Mapleville, the idyllic town from the commercials? The sun always shone, the
grass was emerald green, and the whole town thrived on cups of Maple Gold.’
She took out her phone and played the
jingle.
When you wake
at sunrise,
and open your
eyes.
You’re ready
to start your day, the Maple Gold way.
You’re always
at home with Maple Gold.
From the faraway looks on a few faces, it
seemed like nostalgia was working.
‘I locked eyes with my love interest, Jim,
when he painted my garden fence in the commercial, and things went a bit
further off-camera,’ Greta said with a wink. ‘We got married and then had
Lottie, our own little star. We were such a happy family, on-screen and off . .
.’
She paused as a twinge of sadness crept in,
like how bitter- ness stays on the tongue after an espresso. A screech of metal
chair legs against wooden floorboards made her flinch.
A woman in the audience called out,
uninvited. ‘Are you guys still working?’
Greta blinked, the question taking her by
surprise. ‘Yes, everything’s going wonderfully,’ she said, feeling guilty at
embellishing the truth. ‘Jim’s still gracing the stage and screen,
Lottie’s currently rehearsing for a school
Christmas talent show, and as for me . . . well . . . I run some excellent
acting classes, if anyone is interested?’
A few seconds of silence followed before
more questions flew at her like arrows.
‘How’s Lottie?’
‘Where’s Jim?’
‘How do you feel about Maple Gold replacing
you with a different family?’
‘Does Lottie resent you putting her
on-screen at such a young age?’
‘Those are some great, um, deep questions,’
Greta said with a swallow. She grabbed her notes, hurriedly trying to recover
her thread. ‘I think my talk will cover most of them . . . Now, where was I?’
Then, suddenly, the shrill scream of the
smoke alarm pierced the moment. Greta jumped and spun around to see smoke
billowing from the oven.
Josie shouted out over the bleeping alarm.
‘Maisie. Did you forget about the brownies?’
Maisie’s head snapped up, her eyes widening
when she noticed the grey clouds. ‘Oops.’
A flurry of activity broke out.
Maisie darted behind the counter and yanked
open the oven door, waving her arms as the grey smoke curled out. ‘It’s fine.
Totally under control.’
Josie grabbed her oven gloves and pulled
out the tray. The burnt brownies looked like steaming lumps of coal, and she
tossed them into the sink.
Greta rushed over to help, spinning on the
tap so the brownies spat and sizzled. She threw open the front door to let in
some fresh air, then grabbed a tea towel and wafted it in front of the smoke
alarm until it stopped. ‘Is everyone okay?’ she called out.
An
elderly couple had already put on their coats and scuttled outside. The
remaining four guests had drifted toward the buffet table, their focus now on
cake rather than conversation. Greta followed them, trying to salvage what was
left of the evening.
One man wrapped cake into a napkin and
slipped it into his pocket. A couple of women wearing matching blue anoraks
conversed loudly.
‘I didn’t recognize Greta at first, did
you? She’s put on quite a bit of weight,’ one said.
‘I know. Age isn’t kind to some ladies,’
her friend replied. ‘Ahem.’ Greta stood beside them and picked up a cookie.
‘I’m forty-five and proud of it,’ she said,
biting it into it. ‘Worth every extra pound, don’t you think?’
The women paused with their cakes suspended
mid-air, before nodding sheepishly.
Greta attempted to spark interest in her
acting classes, but the attention was elsewhere, mostly on the kitchen, which
looked like it had been trampled by a herd of buffalo.
She joined Josie at the door, wearily
bidding goodnight to the guests as they filtered out.
‘Sorry everything didn’t go to plan. I
can’t thank you enough,’ Josie said. She handed Greta a brown envelope
containing her small fee. ‘I’m not sure I’m cut out to run a coffee shop . . .’
Greta mustered a tired smile. After
tonight, she felt the same way about performing in public.
She said goodnight, then called Lottie
while trudging to her car, leaving a message on her voicemail. ‘Hi, sweetheart.
I’ll be home soon. Hope your rehearsal went well.’
Rain pelted down, and Greta hunched her
shoulders against the cold. The streets were empty and quiet, and icy droplets
snaked down her neck, making her shiver. In the dark, she noticed a hunched
figure approaching, and Jim’s warning about staying safe echoed in her mind.
She tried to swerve, but the person bumped her arm.
Startled, Greta dropped her car keys and
stooped to pick them up. When she looked up, a woman in a long, dark coat stood
over her. Her face was part hidden by a voluminous hood, and long tendrils of
her damp white hair hung down. With a quick muttered apology, the stranger
handed a piece of paper to Greta and hurried across the road.
As she stood up, Greta’s heart thudded in
her chest. Under the dim street lamp, she uncurled her fingers and glanced at
the flyer. It was probably just a pizza menu, but the vintage-style design
caught her eye. It featured an illustration of a white rabbit and the words
‘Looking for the Perfect Blend?’ Beneath it was an image of a jar with the
label ‘Drink Me.’
She gripped the flyer tighter, unsure what
it was even promoting. A strange feeling of curiosity rippled through her body.
Looking for the perfect blend? In her life, she most certainly was.
She climbed into her car and tossed the
flyer onto the passenger seat. Sitting there for a moment, she flopped her head
against the steering wheel as the evening’s events raced through her mind. Was
she ever going to get her life back on track?
With a deep sigh, Greta turned the key in
the ignition and waited for the engine to rumble to life. The light from the
street lamps twinkled orange in the raindrops on the wind- screen, and she
released the handbrake.
It was probably just a trick of the light,
but as Greta pulled off the car park, she could have sworn the white rabbit on
the flyer gave her a wink.
From The Time
Hop Coffee Shop by Phaedra Patrick. Copyright © 2025 by
Phaedra Patrick. Published by Park Row Books, an imprint of HarperCollins.
