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.
