While he munched, I filled myself a glass of water, headed over to the sofa, and sat for a moment, looking round. I wondered what my team – or anyone else who knew me, for that matter – would say if they could see me in my home environment. They’d probably be surprised. The only people who’d ever seen the inside of my flat were the trades. Even Carly had never been in. I’d always engineered it so that I went to her flat or we stayed downstairs in the café. With comfy seats, cosy lighting and plenty of refreshments to hand, there’d never been a reason for her to venture upstairs.
I doubted anyone would guess I had a house rabbit, and they’d be stunned to discover that I was a closet crafter. Everyone knew I did Pilates and that I sometimes went swimming, although I let them assume I meant a few lengths in the warmth of the leisure centre pool rather than a bracing dip in the North Sea. Dad had been a keen swimmer and had taught me, taking me to the local indoor pool regularly from when I was a baby. Kirsten and Tim had loved it too and had introduced me to open water swimming in the River Thames. It was so much more exhilarating than a chlorine-filled swimming pool and I was immediately hooked. Leanne detested swimming and Garth had never learned so it was something that just belonged to the three of us. The first time I’d donned my wetsuit and ducked beneath the waves of the North Sea, about two weeks after moving to Whitsborough Bay, I’d known it was a little part of my old life I was going to cling on to – something untouched by Leanne and Garth, something that somehow kept that tiny connection with Kirsten and Tim as well as to my dad.
I set the log burner going and lit the scented candles on the hearth. With warm-white fairy lights on, the ambiance was exactly how I liked it. It normally relaxed me immediately, yet I couldn’t seem to settle.
And I knew exactly why – sodding New Year’s Eve and memories of Garth.
He didn’t deserve even a minute of my precious time yet I knew I could easily waste the whole evening on him if I didn’t pull myself together. Sighing, I picked up the sales report from the kitchen worktop and took the stairs up to the mezzanine level – my office and crafting studio – where I entered the figures on my account’s spreadsheet. Calculating the percentage increase in sales from the same date the previous year made me smile although it wasn’t about the money. For me, it was about running a successful business. It was about me making decisions that affected my life instead of someone else making them for me. It was about me being in control instead of being controlled.
Picking up an A4 pad, a clipboard and some pens, I returned to the lounge area and started a wish list and planner for The Chocolate Pot for the year ahead. There were going to be a few staff changes. One of my full-timers, Niamh, would be going on maternity leave in March and wasn’t planning to return, and two of my students, Lana and Cody, were going to university in September. Lana was staying in the area so wanted to keep her part-time job but Cody was going… actually, I wasn’t sure where he was going, but it wasn’t local so he needed replacing. I also had a hankering to do something else in the community, but what? I’d always supported The Hope Centre with leftovers. Could I do something more for them? Workshops about food preparation on a tight budget, perhaps? Or maybe I could work with colleges in the area, providing guidance to students interested in running their own businesses and mentoring anyone who decided to make a go of it? Either of those options would be perfect for getting out and about a bit more. I spent far too much time in the flat, thinking, regretting.
The next couple of hours passed quickly while I scribbled down more ideas. When my stomach rumbled, I took it as a cue to stop working, retrieved my quiche and salad from the fridge, and settled myself at the table with a magazine.
As soon as I stopped focusing on the business, Garth was in my head again. Perhaps I should have accepted Maria’s or Carly’s invite to spend the evening with them instead of moping round the flat, stewing about the past. Maria and Marc were hosting a party at Marc’s house but it sounded like it was all couples and their kids. Not for me. It was hard enough being on my own, thinking about what Garth had done to me, but being surrounded by happy couples and children, knowing that he’d made me into a person who could never have that, was a million times worse.
Keen to empty my head of all Garth-related memories, I thought again about Sofia and George’s adorable request to Santa for them to unite as a proper family. I was exceptionally cynical about romance in my own life but couldn’t seem to stop being a romantic Pollyanna when it came to other people in love. My Christmas wish for Carly and Liam to get together had come true. I hoped my wish for Maria and Marc would come true too. Despite what happened with Garth, I still believed true love existed; just not for me. How could I not believe in love after I’d seen my parents together? Even on her darkest days, Mum had always looked at Dad with such adoration, and everything he said and did showed how much she meant to him. Kirsten and Tim, my foster parents, had clearly been very much in love too. Despite demanding careers, they always made time to be together and they used to write affectionate messages to each other on Post-it notes and leave them round the house. Whenever I thought about them, I pictured them laughing or dancing. Yes, I certainly knew what true love looked like.
‘You’re the only fella for me, aren’t you, Hercules?’ I said, picking him up. ‘How about you and I see the New Year in with a film-fest?’
Curling up on the sofa with Hercules, we immersed ourselves in a couple of action movies. Car chases, guns, explosions – exactly what I needed to distract me from my fourteenth New Year’s Eve in a row, all alone, thinking about how different things could have been if I’d never met Garth Tewkesbury. If I’d never been fostered by the Sandersons. Or if my wonderful dad hadn’t died, leaving my mum unable to cope with me, or with life.
7
I was piping chocolate ganache onto the top of a chocolate and raspberry gateau on Wednesday morning when Maria burst through the kitchen door, grinning. We’d opened for business again on the second but Maria had booked it as holiday so this was her first working day.
‘Happy New Year!’ she declared brightly.
‘And the same to you.’ I put the piping bag down and picked up a dish of plump raspberries. ‘How was the party?’
‘Amazing.’ She removed her gloves and thrust her left hand towards me. ‘Guess who got engaged on New Year’s Eve?’
‘Oh Maria, that’s amazing news. Congratulations.’ I put the raspberries down and admired her ring. ‘Vintage? It’s gorgeous.’
‘It was Marc’s grandmother’s and I love it. Couldn’t be more perfect.’
‘Why don’t you dump your stuff upstairs and make us some coffees while I finish up here, then you can tell me all about it?’
Five minutes later, we sat at one of the tables at the back of The Chocolate Pot with a couple of lattes.
‘So how did he propose?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Tara, it was so lovely. It was about an hour before any of our guests arrived and Marc had made me a cup of tea so I was relaxing on the sofa while he and the kids were drawing at the table. They announced that they’d all drawn some family pictures – Marc included – and they wanted to show me them. They lined up in front of me and the kids turned their pictures round one at a time, revealing the words “will you marry me?” and, when Marc turned his round, there was a ribbon taped to the back with the ring dangling from it.’
‘That is so gorgeous,’ I said, a warm and fuzzy feeling in my stomach.
‘Isn’t it? I absolutely love that he involved the kids. They were so excited. As soon as I said yes, Sofia asked if she could call Marc Daddy and George asked if he could call me Mummy. My heart melted.’
‘I’m not surprised. I’m so happy for you.’
‘I can’t believe how lucky I am,’ she gushed. ‘After how Tony treated me, I genuinely didn’t believe there were any good men out there. I certainly didn’t believe in love or marriage.’
‘And then you met Marc?’
She nodded, her eyes s
parkling. ‘He completely swept me off my feet. The first time he kissed me, it was as though he flicked a switch inside me and suddenly I believed in love again. I believed in magic. And I knew that he was the one for me forever.’
I smiled, not trusting myself to speak. Love. Magic. Forever. Yes, I’d felt that too the first time Garth kissed me.
Maria continued to enthuse about how happy Marc made her and how thrilled Sofia and George were that they were going to become a family. I smiled and nodded and said, ‘aww,’ occasionally, but I wasn’t really in The Chocolate Pot with her. I was an eighteen-year-old again on the private roof terrace off my foster parents’ bedroom with Garth Tewkesbury, longing for midnight to arrive so that I could kiss that gorgeous man.
‘Five… four… three… two… one…’ The countdown drifted to us from the revellers downstairs at the New Year’s Eve party at The Larches.
‘Happy New Year,’ Garth whispered, cupping my face in his hand and slowly lowering his lips to mine. Fireworks exploded above us and fireworks exploded inside me. I had never experienced a kiss like it – gentle, yet somehow passionate too. I fell for him right then and there. It didn’t matter that, at forty, he was more than twice my age. It didn’t matter that we’d only met that evening. It didn’t matter that I knew very little about him except his name, occupation and that he was Leanne’s estranged cousin. He made me laugh and that’s what I’d always dreamed of – someone to make the dark days brighter, just like my dad had done for my mum. Leanne had said we’d be perfect for each other and I trusted her. I trusted her implicitly. What a mistake that turned out to be.
Closing my eyes for a moment, my heart racing, I could still feel his lips against mine, his hands in my hair, his body pressed against me. And I hated that I could still feel that sense of desire and longing for a man who had hurt me so badly. I shuddered and tuned back into what Maria was saying.
‘… so I think I’ve got champagne flowing through my veins right now.’
I smiled. ‘I’m not surprised. Any plans for the big day or is it too early to say?’
‘Yes, we have plans, but it might be a bit out there.’ She wrinkled her nose.
‘Saying “I do” while dangling from the air sea rescue helicopter?’ I ventured.
‘Not quite that out there.’ She sipped her latte. ‘We’d like it to be this year. We both love Christmas and so do the kids, of course, so we’re thinking a Monday in late November or early December.’
‘A Monday? Oh. That’s different. Why a Monday?’
‘A Saturday or even a Friday wouldn’t work for the venue we want because they’re too busy. A Monday, on the other hand, is their quietest day.’
‘Where is it?’
She wrinkled her nose again. ‘Marc and I would love to get married and hold our reception right here in The Chocolate Pot.’ She released a nervous-sounding giggle. ‘I told you it was a bit out there.’
I stared at her open-mouthed. A bit out there? She wasn’t wrong.
‘Promise me you’ll think about it,’ Maria said as I walked her to the door after we’d cleared up that evening.
‘I’ll definitely think about it and please tell Marc that it’s certainly not a no. It was just a bit unexpected. I’ve never considered The Chocolate Pot as a wedding venue.’
‘Look at it,’ she said, sweeping her arm round the room, taking in the lights twinkling on the pillars, the tree in the corner and the bespoke decorations. ‘It’s so magical at Christmas. And it’s where we met so this place is extra special to us both. We don’t want a huge wedding and we don’t want a traditional top table or anything like that. It’s not us. We want our wedding day to be relaxed and informal with a buffet, music, laughter… and The Chocolate Pot’s Christmas magic.’
Her enthusiasm was infectious and I couldn’t help smiling. ‘If you ever leave this job, which I hope you never do, you’d do great in a sales role.’
She grinned. ‘I promise I won’t pressure you, but I’ve done some research online about how to get licenced for weddings, so I’ll email you the links tonight and then leave it with you. Whenever you’re ready. No pressure at all to say yes. None. You won’t break anyone’s heart if you say no.’
Laughing, I opened the door. ‘Get yourself home, email me your research and we’ll see.’
Closing and locking the door behind her, I leaned against it and swept my eyes round the ground floor. She was right about the place feeling magical. Customers often commented on it at Christmas – probably half the reason we had to practically shove some of them out the door at closing time. A wedding, though. Hmm. Assuming we could get a licence, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. The first floor was bright and spacious, having been deliberately created as an overspill café/function room. We could hire in folding chairs and create a ceremony space upstairs, move the guests downstairs for a buffet while we cleared the chairs, then have a disco upstairs if that was what they wanted, or simply put the tables and chairs out again and have two floors available for mingling and chatting.
But it wasn’t the logistics that concerned me. It went much deeper than that.
‘Hercules?’ I called, returning to the flat a little later with my plate of dinner. ‘Where are you?’
He bounded across the wooden floor, nose twitching, ready for cuddles.
I picked him up. ‘Guess what? Marc proposed to Maria on New Year’s Eve and they want the wedding in The Chocolate Pot. Do you think we can pull that off?’ I smiled as Hercules twitched his nose as though in agreement. ‘I think you might be right. A Christmas wedding. Might be nice to do something different. It’s just that…’ I shook my head.
After sorting out some food for Hercules, I heated up my slab of lasagne in the microwave, added a leafy salad, then took it over to the table with a crafting magazine. But, once again, I was distracted. Weddings. And, more specifically, my wedding.
I hadn’t wanted to get married. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in marriage because I absolutely did. After all, my parents had been great role models for what a successful marriage looked like, even when one half fought a tough battle with their mental health every day. For me, the objection was to the ceremony itself. Kirsten and Tim had been wonderful foster parents and they couldn’t have done more to make me feel like a part of their family rather than the foster kid who never left, yet there was this nagging feeling of being disloyal towards Mum and Dad. Dad, rather than Tim, should have been there to give me away, patting my arm proudly. Mum, rather than Kirsten, should have been fussing with my dress and telling me I might be all grown up and getting married but I’d always be her little Pollyanna. Yet they weren’t there and hadn’t been for a long time. I’d worried that I’d find their absence too overwhelming and would cry throughout the wedding, which surely wasn’t a good omen for a happy marriage.
Garth understood – or at least he said he did – yet he somehow got exactly what he wanted. He was oddly old-fashioned, declaring no living together and no sex before marriage so, if I wanted to have a proper relationship with him, I didn’t really have a choice about getting married.
I suggested eloping as a compromise but Garth didn’t agree with ‘sloping off’ as he put it. Why wouldn’t I want to show the world we loved each other? Was I embarrassed by the age difference? Why would I hurt the Sandersons and Leanne by cutting them out of such an important day?
Although I didn’t think of it as ‘winning’ at the time, Garth won. As always. The tiniest of compromises was his agreement to a small wedding – church (also at Garth’s insistence) followed by a reception in the Chelsea branch of Vanilla Pod rather than a grand hotel or country estate.
Kirsten invited me for a walk through the park one Sunday afternoon in early October, three months from the wedding. We huddled together on a bench for warmth as we watched children tossing bread to the ducks on the pond.
‘Are you having doubts about Garth?’ she asked.
‘Gosh, no! Why do you ask?’
/>
‘You seem sad whenever your wedding is mentioned.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s not Garth. Definitely no doubts about marrying him. It’s the wedding itself. It’s just that…’ I tailed off. I didn’t want to lie but how could I tell the truth without hurting her?
She took my hand and squeezed it gently. ‘It’s just that you wish your mum and dad could be there to see it,’ she suggested.
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘There’s no need to apologise to me. I completely understand and I’m sure I’d feel the same if I was you. But you know that Tim and I are making no assumptions, don’t you? Tim can walk you down the aisle, I can, we both can, or neither of us can. It’s your day – not ours – so make it what you want it to be. All we want is for you to be happy.’
I lay in bed that night and, as I often did, I imagined what Mum and Dad would think of the situation and realised that they probably wouldn’t have understood why I was making such a fuss, especially when the Sandersons had been my foster parents for longer than my real parents had been in my life. I wasn’t being fair to them. They loved me and I loved them and I had to stop feeling guilty about them doing anything that, in a fair and just world, Mum and Dad would have done.
Despite my reservations that it was the wedding Garth wanted rather than what I wanted, it turned out to be a wonderful day. Kirsten played mother of the bride to perfection, making me feel as special as if I’d been her own flesh and blood while also acknowledging how proud Mum and Dad would have been. Leanne was a beautiful bridesmaid in a simple floor-length dusky lilac dress. As Tim walked me down the aisle, beaming at me, I felt quite overwhelmed with emotion. I wasn’t related by blood but, as far as my foster parents were concerned, I was as much their daughter as Leanne was. I had to admit that Garth had been right about making it a day that my second family could share. I resolved to stop feeling guilty for loving my new family as much as I’d loved Mum and Dad and accept that there was space in my heart for everyone.
Starry Skies Over the Chocolate Pot Cafe Page 4
