The Bakery at Seashell Cove

by Karen Clarke

  ‘You never have to bribe me, love.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Is it date and walnut?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  Milo was starting to stir, as if he’d heard the words date and walnut and wanted a slice of cake.

  Kath released a sigh. ‘Bless him, he’s just done a poo.’ I wasn’t sure how she knew, but her knowledge seemed instinctive. She bent to tuck the cake into the basket beneath the pram and, straightening, cast a glance at Mum’s bedroom window. ‘You’d better go and find out what she’s been up to.’

  I looked back at the car, sorry to see it was still there. ‘I’m not sure I want to.’

  Kath patted my arm. ‘You might want to let yourself in the back door, if you’ve got your key,’ she said, making me suspect she’d considered doing the same thing. ‘I’ve a feeling you’re going to need the element of surprise to find out what’s going on.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  As I walked round the side of the house, after promising Kath I’d call if I needed her, my bag vibrated. I pulled out my phone to see there was a message from Mum, but before I could open it my phone sprang to life.

  Nathan. Heart leaping like a salmon, I answered. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, you.’

  His voice, warm and gentle, sent a spark of heat surging through me. Weak-limbed, I dropped onto a stripy sunlounger outside Mum’s living-room window, noting the blind was closed so I couldn’t see inside. ‘Hi,’ I said, striving for a businesslike tone. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I was wondering whether you’d signed the paperwork yet.’

  ‘A couple of hours ago.’ A smile unfurled. ‘It’s all systems go.’

  ‘That’s great, Meg.’ His voice warmed further. ‘Congratulations, again.’

  ‘I’ve told Big Steve, and he’s going to hand in his notice at Tesco’s.’

  ‘When will you reopen?’

  ‘I was thinking this Saturday. I can’t see any reason to wait.’

  ‘It’s going to be great, Meg, I know it.’

  ‘Will you come over?’ I said, hoping I didn’t sound desperate. ‘I mean, to see how it’s going?’ Sweat dampened my armpits. ‘You can have a free slice of cake.’

  There was a longish pause. ‘Sounds tempting, but I’m actually leaving on Monday, so I’ll have a lot to do,’ he said. ‘I’m not needed here now Charlie’s mum’s back, and the editor at the Telegraph’s given the go-ahead for a series called “Cool and Unusual Places to see in Ireland”. I’m heading to a micro-valley, on the side of a mountain.’

  ‘Oh.’ A sour taste hit my throat. ‘That’s sounds fun.’ Hadn’t he said he was done with travelling?

  ‘The itchy feet are back.’ It was as though he could hear my thoughts.

  ‘It’s probably for the best,’ I said in a perky voice. ‘I mean, you might have ended up becoming an actual estate agent if you’d stayed any longer.’

  ‘I’d never stoop that low.’

  I laughed, though I felt like weeping. ‘Well, I hope you have a good time,’ I said. ‘Maybe you could pop by to say goodbye before you leave.’ Let it go, Meg. You sound like a lovesick teen.

  ‘Maybe I will,’ he said, after another brief pause.

  ‘Uncle Nafan, where are my strangled eggs?’ It was Charlie, in the background.

  ‘Strangled eggs?’ I said.

  ‘I make the best ones, apparently.’ I could tell he was smiling. ‘He keeps asking when we can go back and see the witch and the cat at the café.’

  In spite of everything, a giggle broke free. ‘I’d better not tell Gwen.’

  ‘He already did, apparently.’ Nathan’s voice was laced with humour. ‘He said he’d asked her if she could make a spell for the cat’s eye to come back, and she said no, but she could turn a car into a driveway. He didn’t get it, bless him.’

  ‘Gwen’s sense of humour’s an acquired taste.’

  ‘UNCLE NAFAN!’ roared Charlie. ‘I’ve broughted you the eggs.’

  ‘I’d better go, or they’ll be strangled all over the floor,’ said Nathan. ‘Take care, Meg.’

  ‘You too.’ I sat for a moment when he’d gone, smile fading as I pictured him in his brother’s kitchen with Charlie, making scrambled eggs, and was overcome with a sense of loss for all the things we’d never share.

  Breathing deeply, I focused on the lavender bushes fringing the path to the tree at the end of the garden, where I’d once buried a time capsule that wasn’t to be opened for a hundred years. I couldn’t even remember what was inside, or whether it was still there, but I remembered Freya calling me a loser when I told her what I’d done.

  As the urge to cry waned, I got up and went to Mum’s back door and inserted my key in the lock. The door tended to stick, so I shouldered it gently until it gave, and stepped into the kitchen, which was small and bright, with a small oak table in the middle, and pots of herbs jostling for space on the windowsill.

  Immediately, I sensed something was different. The air smelt different, and not just because the windows were shut, trapping the heat inside. The surfaces were scattered with crumbs, which was strange. Mum kept the kitchen scrupulously clean, and had done since finding a mouse one year, living off some cereal I’d spilt on the floor. The tap was dripping in the stainless steel sink and I turned it off, casting my eyes around. There were two plates on the side; the vintage, botanic-themed plates she’d bought off eBay, and only used on special occasions.

  And what was that smell? It was like… takeaway. Chinese food. Mum and I used to treat ourselves on Friday evenings and, occasionally, I’d still pick up a meal for two from the nearby Chinese restaurant while Sam was out training.

  I lifted the lid of the bin and, sure enough, there were several empty foil cartons inside. Surely Mum wouldn’t be eating a takeaway if she had the flu? Kath had been right. Mum was seeing a man and didn’t want me to know.

  There was a sound upstairs and I froze like a mime artist. It had sounded like a yawn. A man’s yawn, followed by Mum, speaking softly. As swift as a cat burglar, I slipped into the hall, back pressed against the wall. Shuffling along to the foot of the stairs, I peered up at the landing, shaded pink by the sun filtering through the curtains. The door to my old bedroom was slightly ajar, as it always was, a thin beam of daylight angled across the wall. Whoever was up there was definitely in Mum’s room.

  Bedsprings creaked, and Mum’s footsteps padded out and along the landing to the bathroom. There was the sound of water running, and Mum humming as she brushed her teeth. It was a sound I’d heard often over the years, but now it was somehow spooky and out of time. I felt like a ghost, or as if I’d never existed – or as if I’d stepped into someone else’s house.

  Unsure whether to slip away, or make my presence known, I dithered, eyes skimming the cluster of photos on the wall, and was about to ease open the front door and make my escape, when I heard a muffled scream at the top of the stairs.

  Twirling round, I saw Mum, wrapped in a towel, a hand pressed to her throat.

  ‘Meg!’ Her voice sounded strangled and panicky. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  She cast a terrified look at her bedroom door, as if warning whoever was behind it to stay put, and hurried downstairs, clutching the edges of her fluffy blue towel. ‘I left you a message,’ she loud-whispered, and I remembered it coming up on my phone before I’d answered Nathan’s call.

  ‘I know, I didn’t read it,’ I said. ‘I mean, I forgot.’ I couldn’t stop looking at her face. Although blurry with panic, she looked about ten years younger. Her creamy skin was flushed rose-pink, her hair was messy at the back, and there was a light in her eyes I hadn’t seen for… I didn’t think I’d ever seen that particular light. It wasn’t that she’d never looked happy before. She’d often told me how happy I made her, and the evidence had been in her smile. In spite of the tough times and tears – when she’d lost her job, and had to gather every ounce of courage to step outside, weeping on Kath’s shoulder – I’d seen her helpless with laughter
at times, and with joy in her eyes, and content at her computer as she sorted through her clients’ accounts. Her face had exploded with excitement and happiness when I’d announced my engagement, but this… I wasn’t sure I even recognised this look. My mind shied away from the word sex, though it was clear she’d had a man in her bed. Was she… was it possible she’d fallen in love?

  ‘I asked you to come round later,’ she was saying, glancing over her shoulder, as if whoever was up there might suddenly show up. ‘We were going to talk to you over dinner. I – we – were trying to find the right words only, I don’t know if I’m ready, I mean…’ She reached out, and gripped my arm. ‘Oh, Meg, the most wonderful thing has happened,’ she said, as if she couldn’t hold the words in a second longer. ‘I can hardly believe it myself.’

  There were tiny crescents of tears in her eyes, and my throat tightened in response. If she was in love – and what else could it be? – then it was odd, and unexpected, based on everything I knew about Mum, but how could I not be happy for her, if it was having such a strong effect? Except… it was so new. How could she feel this strongly so quickly? She couldn’t have been seeing him long, or I’d have known, and although I believed in love at first sight, she hadn’t had a relationship for years. She might have fallen for someone who didn’t have her best interests at heart, or was taking advantage of her, and how had they even met? Online dating was the only option, unless Kath had managed to drag her out… but Kath was as in the dark as I’d been.

  My thoughts ground to a halt. ‘I take it you didn’t have the flu then?’

  ‘Oh, Meg, I’m so sorry I lied.’ She sounded traumatised, but before I could say I was only – sort of – teasing, as I tried to come to terms with how well she looked, she added, ‘Although, at first, I was so shocked I was physically sick in the toilet. Isn’t that awful? And then… well, I desperately needed some time to get my head around it all.’

  Wait… what? Why would falling in love make her physically sick? Alarm swelled in my chest. ’Who is he, Mum?’ I scoured her face. ‘Why are you being so secretive?’ A thought struck. ‘Is he much younger than you?’ I tried to picture it. ‘Mum, he’s not younger than me, is he?’ I had an image of a waxed, broad-chested, tanned Adonis strolling out of her bedroom, with lustrous dark hair and big thighs.

  ‘No, no, nothing like that,’ she said, trying to laugh, but I had a feeling she almost wished that were the case.

  ‘He’s not someone’s husband?’ I whispered. Surely she wasn’t going down that road again? ‘Is he already married?’

  ‘Oh, Meg.’ She was clutching her towel again, biting her bottom lip, her eyes flicking around as if the right words were hiding.

  ‘Mum, you’re scaring me,’ I said. ‘I only came over to see how you were and to talk about the bakery, to ask if you’d do the accounts. I’d pay you, obviously, and…’ I shook my head, as she gave me a blank stare. ‘What the heck’s happening? Kath said she heard music—’

  ‘Kath?’ Mum looked puzzled as if she’d never heard of her.

  ‘She was worried, she looked through the letterbox.’

  ‘It must have been Elgar,’ Mum said tenderly. ‘His cello concerto.’

  ‘Is that his name?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The man you’re seeing.’

  Confusion passed over her face. ‘He’s a composer.’

  ‘The man you’re seeing?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said he’s a composer.’

  ‘Elgar’s a composer.’

  ‘Oh, that Elgar.’

  ‘Meg, you’re not making any sense.’

  ‘You’re not making any sense.’

  As we stared at each other, there was a groan of floorboards above. My gaze moved past Mum’s shoulder as a man materialised, taking the stairs slowly, one hand on the banister as if worried he might fall down.

  ‘No!’ Mum spun round, reacting as though she’d seen a ghost instead of a medium-height smiling man with grey, tousled hair, thankfully dressed in a blue-and-white checked shirt and dark-blue jeans.

  As he reached us, he was illuminated by a flare of sunlight through the square of glass in the front door, and I saw that his eyes were marine-blue, framed by laughter lines, and looked weirdly familiar. His skin was lightly weathered, and he looked to be Mum’s age – maybe a couple of years older – and I decided there and then that I liked the look of him.

  ‘It’s OK, Mum, you don’t have to hide him away,’ I said, smiling. ‘I’m Rose’s daughter, Meg.’

  He was looking at me with the oddest expression. I was briefly reminded of Nathan, the day before, breaking his news at the café. ‘I know who you are, darling girl.’

  Oh, he was Irish. I’d always loved the accent, although ‘darling girl’ was a bit strong.

  I became aware of a peculiar stillness in the hall, and that the man’s voice had sounded unusually emotional. Odd.

  ‘I can’t begin to tell you how wonderful it is to meet you.’ He said it in that same, peculiarly charged fashion and I glanced at Mum, who seemed to have been struck dumb, and looked on the verge of crying. ‘She’s beautiful, Rose.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ My heart had started to race.

  ‘Oh, Meg,’ Mum whispered, and pressed a trembling hand over her mouth.

  ‘Meg,’ the man repeated, looking at me as if he’d had a glimpse of heaven.

  ‘Have you two been drinking?’ I remembered the glass of champagne I’d seen on the table the day before. ‘It’s a bit early in the day, don’t you think?’

  To my astonishment, Mum’s face was soaked with tears. ‘I was only joking,’ I said, trying to laugh. I felt like I was dreaming. ‘Shall I go out and come in again?’

  I dragged my gaze from Mum’s face to the man’s, and that’s when I saw it: a tiny mole by his ear, just like mine. Everything seemed to slow down.

  ‘Meg. A beautiful name, for a beautiful girl.’ The walls zoomed in as the man held out his hands, a look of tender joy in his eyes, and even before Mum spoke, I knew what she was going to say.

  ‘Meg, this is Mike.’ Her voice cracked. ‘He’s your father.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mum caught me as I tilted sideways, her towel sliding to the floor, and Mike grabbed a coat off the hook behind him and hurled it around her shoulders.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ It came out as a whimper. ‘I thought my father was dead.’

  ‘So did I.’ Mum was still weeping, but smiling through her tears at the same time, which was horribly unsettling. ‘That’s why I nearly had a heart attack when he called me after seeing you on the show.’

  ‘Show?’ The word caught on an involuntary in-breath. My father. I looked at him sideways, trying to take it in. He was alive. He was here, looking as though he was meant to be – as if he’d been here all along, and I just hadn’t spotted him. As if he’d just come home from work, or back from working abroad. ‘You saw the show?’

  I wasn’t sure the words had made it out of my mouth, but they must have done because he nodded and said, ‘It was my brother, actually,’ and I registered his accent again, and remembered Mum saying Your dad was Irish, Meg. His name was Mike, and he had a mole on his cheek, just like yours. ‘He’s always known about me and your ma, and how much I loved her. He’s lived over here for decades, and loves the show—’

  ‘I have an uncle?’ I felt disoriented, blood galloping around my head.

  Mum’s arm tightened around me. ‘And cousins, and a grandfather who’s still alive,’ she said with a shaky laugh. ‘Let’s sit down, and we’ll tell you all about it.’

  Wobbly-limbed, I watched her fasten the belt of her ancient trench coat before taking my hand and leading me into the living room where we sat on the sofa as we had so many times – only this time there was a dad in the armchair opposite, eyes pink-rimmed with emotion, his face busy as if with all the things he wanted to say.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you heard fr
om him?’ I looked at Mum, feeling as if my eyes were going to dissolve. ‘How could you have kept it from me?’

  ‘Oh, Meg.’ She picked up my hand and massaged it between both of hers. ‘I was so shocked. I needed time to come to terms with it, before we told you.’ Her voice wavered. ‘Mike – your dad – flew over as soon as we’d spoken on the phone, and he came right here and…’ She shot him a look that made my stomach tighten. ‘All the old feelings were there,’ she said, her eyes swelling pools of love. ‘We talked for hours and hours, there was so much to say, and Mike wanted to see all the photos I had of you, and there are loads.’ She paused, and our eyes gravitated to a photo above the fireplace of me aged four, wrapped in a dressing gown, face alive with delight as I delved into a Christmas stocking. ‘I showed him your first baby tooth too, and told him about you having your appendix out when you were ten, and then we were just so tired…’ Her flow of words halted, and I pictured them falling into each other’s arms, and no doubt from there into bed, while I’d been blundering around, fretting about Sam, and worrying that Mum was ill. ‘We were desperate to tell you, but were trying to work out the best way.’

  ‘A phone call would have been nice.’

  ‘It was a lot for us to take in,’ Mike said.

  I glanced at him and saw nothing but openness and warmth in his face but even so…

  ‘How come she thought you’d died?’

  ‘Because that’s what my fiancée told her.’ I watched his face darken and fill with memories. ‘The night I was driving home to tell Patricia I couldn’t marry her, because I was in love with your ma, my car hit a patch of ice and went off the road.’ His voice was pitched low but clear, and his gaze held tight to mine. ‘I was in hospital, unconscious, when your ma tracked down my parents’ number, and Patricia picked up. I think she’d guessed by then there was someone else. She told Rose I’d been fatally injured, and to never contact the family again.’

  ‘Oh my god.’ I looked at Mum, and saw fresh tears on her face. ‘That’s awful,’ I said, brushing her cheek with my thumb. ‘No wonder you hated talking about it.’