by Karen Clarke
‘Well, I hope it works out for her, I really do. And she deserves to be happy.’ Cassie drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Her glass wobbled, and Tilly reached out and grabbed it before it fell. ‘Do you think she always sensed deep down that he was still alive?’
‘If she did, she never let on.’ I thought about her collectibles, and wondered if they’d been a subconscious link to Mike all along. She’d known he’d had a fondness for antiques, all those years ago. Maybe it had been her own little way of keeping him alive.
‘I was going to say, I’m surprised she never tried to look him up, but of course she thought he was dead.’ Tilly took a sip of Cassie’s wine. She’d emptied her own glass and nibbled her way through half of the cherry cake I’d hastily sliced and put out. ‘I suppose it’s a good job she never remarried. That could have been awkward.’
‘I think Mike expected when he called that she would be, but I reckon Mum would have dumped a husband for him.’
‘Your dad would still have wanted to see you, anyway,’ said Cassie. ‘It must have been so emotional, for all of you.’ She rested her chin on her knees. ‘Wasn’t there a storyline in Friends about a dad turning up out of the blue?’
‘You’re thinking of Chandler’s,’ I said automatically. ‘He and Monica went to find him to invite him to their wedding and he turned out to be a woman, played by Kathleen Turner.’
‘Wow,’ said Tilly, putting the glass on one of the coasters Sam insisted on using to avoid ring stains on the wood floor. ‘I’m kind of sorry I never watched it now.’
‘Oh, Meg!’ Cassie’s head shot up. ‘Your dad can give you away at your wedding!’
‘Mum did mention that.’ I shifted position, easing my legs along the length of the sofa. Outside the sun was setting, staining the sky a deep orange, and the air felt sultry, despite the open windows. ‘I don’t know, though,’ I said.
‘How come?’ Tilly gave me an astute look, her eyes catching the light so they looked especially green. ‘You don’t want your dad at your wedding, or…?’ She left the question dangling.
‘I would love him at my wedding,’ I said, though I still wasn’t sure about him walking me down the aisle. Or whether I even wanted there to be an aisle. ‘I just don’t think there’s going to be a wedding.’
Cassie inhaled so sharply, she had a choking fit. ‘Sorry,’ she croaked when we’d finished slapping her on the back, and she’d swallowed half a glass of water. ‘I thought you said there might not be a wedding.’
I smacked back down on the sofa and told them everything, including the kiss with Nathan, and Beverley telling me she’d never thought I was good enough for Sam. When my words finally petered out, the sky outside was navy, and Cassie reached around and switched on the floor lamp.
‘I can’t believe Sam’s mum said that to you.’ Her voice was tight with anger. ‘What a bitch.’
‘I can’t believe you snogged Nathan and didn’t tell us,’ said Tilly, moving to sit by the granddad chair, her crop of dark hair gleaming in the pool of light. ‘What was it like?’
‘Tilly!’ Cassie nudged her with her foot.
‘It was amazing,’ I said on a sigh. I shouldn’t have had that second glass of Prosecco. ‘It felt like my insides were on fire.’
‘That’s indigestion,’ said Cassie. ‘I’m just saying.’ She raised a hand when I started to protest. ‘Are you really prepared to throw away your wedding to Sam for a kiss with someone you hardly know?’
‘Says the woman who dumped a millionaire banker for her old school crush.’ Tilly grinned at Cassie’s indignant look. ‘Just saying,’ she mimicked.
‘I wasn’t due to marry the millionaire banker,’ she pointed out. ‘I just think if Meg tells Sam about the kiss, and they love each other enough, they can probably get past it.’
‘It’s not just about the kiss,’ I said, at the same time as Tilly said, ‘I don’t think it’s about the kiss.’
‘Go on,’ I said, keen to hear her theory.
She pushed a hand into her hair and had a good scratch. ‘Sam doesn’t really support you, as far as I can tell. It’s like…’ She paused to consider. ‘It’s like, he’s fine as long as you’re good old Meg, doing whatever he wants—’
‘It’s what I wanted too,’ I chipped in, sitting up straight, and wincing as my head began to thump. I grabbed a slice of cake off the plate on the floor and stuffed it in my mouth. ‘I’m not a total pushover,’ I said, spraying crumbs down myself. ‘I mean, I wanted to get married and have a baby, I really did.’
‘But now you don’t,’ said Cassie.
‘Not with Sam,’ Tilly corrected her, popping a cherry in her mouth.
I waggled my ring finger. ‘I think he only gave me this so I wouldn’t have a go at him about doing this cycling challenge.’ My voice had risen to a wail. ‘And I think he fancies George.’
Tilly and Cassie exchanged looks.
‘She’s a girl at the cycling club,’ I said. ‘But he never told me she was a girl, and I bet it was deliberate, so I wouldn’t wonder what he was up to all those evenings when he was supposed to be training.’
‘But why would he want to marry you if he was seeing someone else?’ said Cassie. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I suppose not.’ I deflated. ‘The point is, if I trusted him, I wouldn’t even be thinking like that.’
‘The point is, do you love him?’
A month ago – two weeks ago – I’d have said yes without really thinking. We were getting married, so it went without saying we must love each other. Why else did people get married?
‘It sounds really strange, but I don’t really think about love when I think about Sam,’ I said slowly. ‘Being in love’s for films and books… other people, I suppose. We’re just… Meg and Sam. I couldn’t imagine not being married to him.’
‘But now you can.’ Tilly’s gaze was deadly serious.
‘Meg, you have to do what you think is best for you.’ Cassie sat forward as if to make her point more clearly felt. ‘If you don’t love him, you have to tell him.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ I said miserably. ‘We’ve been together so long, I don’t know what I’d be like without him.’
‘Maybe it’s time to find out.’ She came over and sat at the end of the sofa, taking my feet in her lap. She was wearing a T-shirt I recognised as one of Danny’s with a pair of rolled up combat trousers, her glossy hair flipped up in a ponytail – nothing like the person she’d been when she’d worked in London, with her purple hair and monochrome suits, arranging celebrity parties and meeting Kanye West. She’d believed for a long time she wanted one thing, when really she’d wanted something completely different. She just hadn’t known it until she came home. ‘What do you want to do next?’ she said.
‘It’s such a big step to cancel a whole wedding, especially when we’ve booked the venue.’ I half-closed my eyes at the heavenly feeling of Cassie’s hands massaging my foot. ‘And Nathan’s leaving on Monday, so nothing’s going to happen in that department.’
‘That’s no reason not to cancel your wedding, and you can’t go ahead with it just to be polite.’ Tilly sounded amused. ‘Grow a backbone, Meg.’
My eyes popped open. ‘What, and stop letting people tell me what to do, you mean?’
She raised her hands. ‘OK, point taken.’ She grinned. ‘I just meant where Sam’s concerned. You can’t get married if you’re not in love.’
‘Not that I’d know anything about that,’ we chorused. It was becoming Tilly’s mantra.
‘I don’t want to talk about it any more.’ I leaned over and helped myself to the last slice of cake. ‘I think I’m going to focus on the bakery until Sam comes back, and then I’ll talk to him,’ I said. ‘Could you do my other foot now, Cass?’
Chapter Twenty-One
True to my word, I spent the next two days getting the bakery ready for opening. On Thursday morning, I scrubbed and cleaned the shop after baking my cake
of the day, while Tilly touched up the paintwork, and Cassie replaced the product boards behind the counter and drew some little loaves on them in chalk. Even Danny helped, coming over to clean the windows and take down the For Sale board, which I stashed in the downstairs toilet, and to touch up the sign outside so it looked as good as new.
‘Sure you don’t want to change the name?’ said Cassie.
I shook my head. ‘I feel like it should still be the Old Bakery. At least for now.’
Big Steve had popped in early to say Tesco had agreed he could leave his job after his Sunday shift, but he would make sure he baked some bread for the shop on Saturday before he went to work, and I’d given him a spare key so he could let himself in.
During a tea break, after checking Facebook – Sam had posted This is the steepest hill we’ve experienced so far, so it’s important to pace ourselves and not over-do it! along with a photo of him hunched, red-faced and sweating over his handlebars amidst mountainous scenery – I emailed the local paper to ask if they’d run a story about the bakery reopening, which they happily agreed to do. It was the most significant thing to have happened in Seashell Cove since Mr Moseley’s demise, and they were keen to report a happy conclusion to the story. We’ll send out a photographer on Saturday morning, and well done for flying the flag for local trade!
‘Local bleedin’ celebrity, you are,’ Gwen said at the café that afternoon, after numerous customers had congratulated me, and made clear their intention to start shopping at the bakery again. ‘Lydia and Ed are gonna wonder what’s ’appened when they get back on Monday and find you’ve gorn.’
‘Cassie’s already let them know, and they’re pleased for me,’ I said. ‘And I won’t have gorn far.’
Gwen tutted at my attempt to mimic her accent. ‘Will Just Sam be there for the grand reopening?’
My smile faltered. ‘He won’t be back until Saturday evening.’
‘You couldn’t ’ave waited until Monday?’ She threw me a perceptive look. ‘Poor sod, I’m sure ’e’d want to be there on your big day.’
That was the problem. He wouldn’t. Well, he would if he happened to be around, and wasn’t doing anything more important, but it wouldn’t be a priority.
‘It’s no big deal,’ I said, affecting nonchalance. ‘It’s not like I’m flying to Geneva to watch him cycle across the finish line.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because…’ I wasn’t invited. ‘It’s – it’s not the sort of thing we do, I suppose. He does his thing, I do mine. We tend to support each other in spirit.’ I was getting sick of spouting that line, and could tell Gwen wasn’t convinced.
‘Sounds to me like ’e ’ain’t interested in what you’re up to, unless it’s what ’e wants.’
‘How can you say that, Gwen?’ A spike of guilt pushed me to defend him. ‘You don’t even know Sam.’
‘Exactly.’ Her caterpillar eyebrows lifted. ‘’Ow long ’ave you worked ’ere, and ’e’s been in, what? Never? I’ve never seen ’im. Why don’t ’e wanna ’ang out wiv you, sometimes?’
‘He’s very busy. He works in Kingsbridge, and when he’s home he likes to relax and go cycling, not come to the place where I work. I don’t hang out at his office, do I?’
‘Dunno, do you?’
‘Well, I sometimes used to meet him for lunch, just after he started working there, but it’s hard when we do different hours. We can’t always coordinate and anyway, he goes out to price jobs, he’s not always in the office. I can hardly call him and say,’ I lifted an imaginary phone, ‘“Where are you, Sam? I’ll come over and we can hang out.”’
‘All right, all right, point taken. Bleedin’ ’ell, I’m just sayin’. Defensive, much?’
I recalled hanging out with Nathan at the bakery, and on the beach, and how I was certain he’d turned up because he wanted to spend time with me, but cut off the train of thought as my head began to buzz. ‘You and your husband didn’t do things together,’ I said, without thinking.
‘Yeah, and look ’ow that ended up.’
I’d walked into that one, and couldn’t find a response.
As I was leaving, Kath collared me in the car park, flashing her gusset as she clambered out of a taxi in her denim skirt, to enfold me in a hug that smelt of baby milk. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, rocking me from side to side in a tight embrace. ‘Your dad’s lovely! You must be made up.’ She held me at arm’s length, her eyes dancing over my face. I was pleased to see her false eyelashes were back, and she was rocking some fuchsia-pink lipstick. Kath didn’t stay down for long. ‘And shocked, I expect, you poor love.’
‘Just a bit,’ I said, smiling, though in truth, the shock had started to wear off a bit, and I was looking forward to going round to Mum’s for dinner later. ‘She told you then?’
‘I was round there like a rat up a drainpipe once you’d gone the other day,’ Kath said. ‘I thought she must have shacked up with a toy boy from the way you rushed off, it gave me quite a fright.’
‘I’m sorry about that.’ I flushed. ‘I hadn’t got to grips with it all, but we’ve been texting, and they know I’m OK with it.’
‘Oh, love, I completely get it.’ Kath squished my arms. ‘You could have buttered my bum and called me a biscuit once your mum had explained who the good-looking fellow was.’ Her hair wavered as she shook her head in wonderment. ‘You can tell they’re made for each other, it’s in their eyes,’ she said. ‘Can’t keep them off each other, and he seems like a proper gentleman, too. The way he talked about you nearly made me cry.’ Her eyes grew shiny. ‘He said he felt reborn, like he’d been given a second shot at life and was going to do his best to make you and your mum proud.’ She clutched her hands beneath her chin. ‘And do you know what, Meg, I really think he will.’
‘I do too.’ I felt a burst of emotion. ‘I know I went rushing off, but I think he understood it was because there was too much to take in, considering I’d thought Mum was in bed with the flu.’
‘And now we know why she was really in bed!’ Kath’s cackle died in her throat. ‘Sorry, my love, that was crude.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said and it was – as long as I didn’t think about it too deeply.
‘Oh my love, I’m so pleased for you both.’ I could tell Kath was genuinely moved – she’d come to Seashell Cove to tell me as much – and I was sad and cross in equal measure that Freya couldn’t see how special Kath was.
‘How’s Milo?’ I asked.
‘Oh, he’s gorgeous.’ Her eyes grew even shinier. ‘He’s with his dad, and I’ve been invited over there for Sunday lunch.’
‘Oh, Kath, that’s lovely.’ I wondered whether Sam and I would be having Sunday lunch with the Ryans, once we’d talked when he came home.
‘Don’s sending a car to pick me up.’ Kath ran a finger over her upper lip, where beads of perspiration were breaking out. It had been another glimmery, hazy, hot day, the sea in the cove dappled green. ‘He said there’s a room for me at the house, and I can stay whenever I like.’
Don was shooting up in my estimation. ‘That’s nice of him,’ I said. ‘Have you heard from Freya?’
‘Only a text to say sorry, and that she’s not cut out to be a mum.’
I felt a twist of disgust. ‘Shame she didn’t think about that sooner.’
‘But then I wouldn’t have Milo.’
I smiled. ‘That’s true.’ I bent to give her a hug. ‘He’s so lucky to have you.’
Her arms tightened in acknowledgment. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve any cake, love?’ She let me go, eyeing the inside of my car where I’d placed a box of leftover almond slices. ‘I fancy something sweet for my pudding tonight.’
I nodded. ‘By the way, Kath, can you start work at the bakery on Saturday?’
I woke on Friday after a night of turbulent dreams, in which I was either singing too loudly while a faceless person tried to shush me, or running along in clown shoes, but not knowing where to – only that there was somethin
g I needed to see.
By the time I arrived at the bakery just after seven, although I was tired, I’d reclaimed the glow I’d felt at dinner at Mum’s the night before. Mike (I couldn’t yet call him Dad) had cooked and served a surprisingly delicate Irish stew, while Mum laid out the ‘best’ cutlery (antique silver), emitting the kind of joy that only came from having a loved one return from the ‘dead’. The conversation had been light too. Mike, with impeccable timing, had regaled us with amusing tales of the people he’d met during his antique foraging, and had talked about his wider family in a way that made me feel I’d love to meet them one day. Apparently, they were dying to meet Mum and me, and Mum was actually going to visit Mike’s brother Stuart and his wife the following week. At their place in Yorkshire. I guessed with Mike by her side, she felt invincible, and, although I didn’t think it would be that simple, I was happy she was even considering going all that way.
Sam, the wedding and babies hadn’t been mentioned once, to my relief.
At the bakery, I propped open the door – the weather looked set to be hot again, the sun rising in a cloudless sky – and started making a couple of apple and raisin cakes and some ginger parkin, knowing they’d improve their flavour overnight. Then I baked some heart-shaped gingerbread biscuits with my new cookie cutters, which I planned to pipe with icing on Saturday morning, and give free with every sale, as a way of saying thank you to my customers (providing there were any). I found myself singing ‘My Heart Will Go On’, remembering how I’d been obsessed with the film Titanic for a while, and almost dropped the tray when I turned to the oven and saw a familiar figure at the doorway.
‘Nathan!’
‘Sorry,’ he said, leaping forward to steady the tray of hearts as it tilted towards the floor. ‘I should wear one of those bells, like a cat, so people know I’m approaching.’
Our eyes locked briefly, and my heartbeat doubled. There was a pillow crease on his cheek, and his hair was wilder on one side than the other, as if he’d just rolled out of bed and pulled on the clothes nearest to him – faded blue jeans and a grey T-shirt – and driven straight over. In other words, he looked gorgeous, and smelt of… rumpled bedding was the first thing that sprang to mind.
