The Winter We Met

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘I’m just a little worried for those of us who aren’t so artsy,’ I said. ‘And what with me working full-time and Lily being more of an outdoors sort…’

  ‘We’ve thought about that.’ Davina put the coffee pot down onto the low gilt table.

  ‘That’s what worries me.’

  Cara chuckled.

  It would have been easy to write off the Parents’ Association at Birchfield Primary as a bunch of people who had too much time on their hands. But it wasn’t. Tease as we did, Davina did a lot of charity work and, having been an accountant, still did the books for her husband’s building firm. The other members were either single like me and held down jobs, or, like Cara, they were busy stay-at-home parents.

  And then there was redundancy, illness, divorce, caring for elderly relatives…

  Everyone had a story.

  Simply navigating the day to day was tough enough. Limiting screen time. Encouraging reading. Trying to make fruits and vegetables sound as appealing as chicken nuggets…

  Davina proceeded to explain how she would design and provide everyone with a template made out of cardboard, her sleek, naturally blonde ponytail waving cheerily from side to side as she spoke.

  ‘Just don’t tell John’s mum.’ Cara undid her hand-knitted cardigan, its swirling pattern mimicking her wavy bob. ‘Audrey has always bemoaned the fact that Christmas starts too early and is so commercial.’ She’d lowered her voice as if her mother-in-law’s hearing aids could pick up far-off conversations.

  I studied the dark rims under her eyes, accentuated against the pale, freckled skin characteristic of redheads. Life for Cara had been hard since her widowed mother-in-law had moved in two months ago following a fall. Although, now she was getting better, Audrey seemed like such a help. She was always playing with the children and kept Cara company, what with my friend’s husband, John, working all hours.

  ‘Maybe she’s got a point,’ said Davina. She slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet under her bottom. ‘Being involved with the food bank has really made me grateful for the life I have with Max, Jasper and Arlo.’

  That’s where I first met him. Kit. For just a few seconds I’d seen nothing but those warm chestnut eyes. The way they’d crinkled at the corners and made me feel like the only person in the room.

  ‘Volunteering there has made me think about all the money we waste without even realising it,’ continued Davina. ‘One man was telling me that sometimes he has to choose between buying toothpaste or deodorant.’

  ‘Imagine that,’ said Cara and shook her head.

  ‘So this Christmas I’ve told relatives we are to limit how much we spend on each other. Fifty pounds each should do it.’

  Cara and I both looked affectionately at Davina. Her attempts at budgeting were like born chef Cara deigning to buy ready-to-bake cake mix – one of Davina and my staples. Or like me complaining about aeroplanes flying over my semi, which was probably one of the quietest on the small estate, compared to Cara’s terrace next to a drummer and Davina’s detached house serenaded by a nearby cockerel.

  Davina untucked her legs and rubbed her forehead. ‘To be honest I’ve been worrying all week. Have you heard about it being under threat?’

  I frowned. In the spring I’d grown to know Chesterwood’s food bank well whilst researching a story on local unemployment. I’d met Kit’s eyes across a stack of tinned tuna and was immediately hooked. The wild mocha hair. Tall toned frame. The surprisingly shy smile that caught me off-guard. I hadn’t looked at another man like that since Adam, yet all this while I’d felt nothing but friendship for Kit – until our recent cinema visit.

  ‘Up until now the warehouse it’s based in has been charging minimal rent just to cover the rates. As you know, Fern, it’s only small. The landlord inherited it and hasn’t previously wanted the bother of doing much with it. But a developer has shown interest and made him realise he’s missing out on some serious money.’

  This didn’t sound good.

  ‘He had no idea the property had such potential and wanted to sell up straightaway but Ron who runs it talked him round.’

  ‘So what’s the problem exactly?’ I asked.

  ‘The landlord has said unless they can start paying a competitive level of rent, he’ll have to evict them.’ Davina shook her head. ‘It’s an astronomical amount. Not outlandish in terms of the market – in fact modest, by all accounts – but for a strapped organisation that previously has hardly had to pay a penny…’

  ‘The news must have been such a shock,’ said Cara. She sat a little straighter. ‘The community should do something about this.’

  I exchanged glances with Davina. It was nice to see a glimpse of the old Cara who always roped Davina and me into supporting her latest cause. Like the animal rescue centre last year that the council had stopped funding. She’d baked cookies with cat faces on to feed the demonstrators standing outside in the rain. However, she’d just not been herself lately.

  ‘Yes. Ron looks even more tired than usual. With more wintry weather approaching volunteers can hardly cope with demand, as it is, and he’s working all hours,’ said Davina. ‘The food bank’s account can just cover rent until the end of December, but after that who knows what will happen? He’s going to approach as many charities as possible in the hope that the place will be able to operate under their umbrella, and gain support and funding that way. Initial talks have made him feel optimistic that might happen but setting it up will take time. Max and I gave a donation—’

  ‘That was good of you,’ said Cara. ‘I wish John and I were in a position to do the same but I account for every penny that we spend, and there’s never much left over after the essentials each month.’

  ‘Same here,’ I said. Adam’s death had paid off the mortgage but there were still living costs. Much-needed holidays to save for, along with university funds for Lily one day – and my old age. I never used to think much about things like that but Adam’s death had brought my finances sharply into focus. I was now very aware of the fact that Lily was dependent on me alone, and that I needed to be completely self-sufficient.

  Davina shrugged. ‘There was only so much we could give, especially as our earnings haven’t been as high this year. Ron really needs to cover January’s rent, as well, to tide the food bank over properly until a more permanent rescue plan is in place – and to give the landlord the reassurance he wants that they are committed to paying long-term.’

  The food bank couldn’t close down. I’d seen first-hand how it changed people’s lives, offering hope to those who didn’t know where their next meal was coming from. And it benefited the community in so many other ways, bringing people together and reducing food waste. Local supermarkets, restaurants and hotels all donated goods they’d otherwise have to pay to store or throw away.

  Not that I’d known any of this until researching my article. And I doubted many people in the community did. A food bank was one of those essential, highly important places that nevertheless existed away from sight, in the background.

  She sighed. ‘Anyway, enough about my concerns – Cara, has Hannah got over that nasty bug yet? Did little Lex catch it?’

  I listened to Cara reply, relishing the relaxation. It was the autumn half-term holiday and the three of us had been keen to meet. I tried to plan my work so that I could free up days whenever the schools broke up. There was never enough time to chat in the playground. The children were currently upstairs in Arlo’s bedroom practising a play they’d made up, about dragons, that they wanted to perform to us before lunch.

  ‘So, Fern – what are you wearing on tomorrow’s date?’ said Davina briskly. ‘I meant to ask yesterday, at the indoor play area.’

  Cara stopped stroking the cat. ‘Date? How come I’m the last to know?’

  ‘Because it’s not a date,’ I said firmly and glared at Davina who had a gleam in her eye.

  ‘Oh please. This Oliver guy has asked you out to dinner. And quite right too. You are
giving his mindfulness venture a plug in your column.’

  ‘It’s business. And there’s been nothing remotely flirtatious about our emails,’ I said, thinking the sleet outside must be nice and cooling. The colder weather had come early this year.

  ‘Gosh… this is your first, isn’t it? Since…’ Cara’s voice softened.

  Since Adam? It was. And my lack of enthusiasm towards Oliver didn’t mean I wouldn’t be ready to meet someone else if the right person came along. My thoughts flicked to Kit.

  Last night we’d gone on one of our cinema trips. We both loved science fiction. The only seats left were in the back row. Kit had winked and I’d laughed. We sat down next to a young couple with their arms around each other.

  ‘I’ve only got eyes for ice cream at the movies,’ Kit had whispered, holding up two Cornettos.

  Playfully I’d snatched one from him. It fell. As the lights dimmed, we’d both bent down to retrieve it. On straightening up our faces came the closest they’d ever been. I wasn’t sure why but I couldn’t help thinking about it now.

  ‘She doesn’t even know what this Oliver looks like,’ said Davina.

  ‘Actually, I did a bit of research.’

  ‘You mean you’ve stalked him on social media,’ she said comfortably. ‘Perfectly understandable. Let’s see what he looks like, then.’

  I took out my phone and went into Facebook. ‘Great blonde hair. Doting eyes. Could be a keeper, don’t you think?’

  Cara reached for my phone. A smile crossed her face. ‘Perhaps you should be wary of a man who puts a photo of his dog up as his profile picture – although I do love terriers. Have you got a babysitter?’

  ‘Young Megan, next door.’

  ‘First things first, Fern,’ said Davina. ‘What are you wearing?’

  I opened my mouth then shut it again.

  ‘As I thought. Come with me. I’ve got a new green dress that will match your eyes perfectly.’

  ‘It’s really not nec—’

  Davina stood up and gave me a piercing stare that only a mother of twins could master. She and Cara came over and waited for me to get to my feet. Then they linked arms with me, one either side.

  Grumbling, I acquiesced, despite feeling sick. But it wasn’t the thought of the date giving me nausea. It was the idea of the food bank disappearing. Cara was right. Something had to be done. The weeks I’d spent interviewing the unemployed made me realise any one of us could end up sleeping on the streets. When Adam died, I’d started drinking a bottle of wine every night – until the time Lily was ill. I couldn’t drive her to hospital and had to book a taxi instead.

  That was the wake-up call I’d needed. But what if I hadn’t woken up? I could have lost my job. My home. Lost Lily. The sympathy of family and friends. Ended up as a rough sleeper, dependent on the kindness of others.

  Keen to troubleshoot, my mind started racing. That came with the job. A journalist was used to working out speedy ways to find witnesses to corroborate stories or evidence to provide proof. I needed to come up with a plan to save the place that had saved so many people from going hungry.

  As we walked up the stairs, an idea stormed into my head and demanded attention, inspired by Davina’s talk of the Parents’ Association and a foreign news article I’d read last year.

  My heart thumped so loudly my friends could probably hear it.

  It was certainly ambitious.

  Some might say crazy.

  Did I even have time to organise it?

  Acknowledgements

  Huge thanks to my industrious editor Hannah for helping me make this book the very best it can be and for bringing some added Christmas magic to the pages. I really appreciate the hard work she and the rest of the team have put in despite the unprecedented challenges of this last year.

  Thanks to my agent, Clare Wallace of the Darley Anderson Literary Agency, for her fantastic perspective, vision, support and care.

  Rachel Gilbey and all the bloggers who continue to be cheerleaders of my stories – you guys are the best and it’s so lovely to connect with people who share such a passion for books. Thank you.

  Martin, Immy and Jay I love you very much. Thanks for always being there.

  A special word for my lovely readers: I know the last year has been difficult for all of us in many different ways. It’s an honour to know, from reviews and by connecting on social media, that in some small way my novels may have helped. Good times come and go but books and escapist stories are always there, in the background, waiting for you when things get tough. Keep on going, one day at a time. Sam xx

  About the Author

  SAMANTHA TONGE lives in Manchester UK with her husband and children. She studied German and French at university and has worked abroad, including a stint at Disneyland Paris. She has travelled widely.

  When not writing she passes her days cycling, baking and drinking coffee. Samantha has sold many dozens of short stories to women’s magazines.

  She is represented by the Darley Anderson literary agency. In 2013, she landed a publishing deal for romantic comedy fiction with HQDigital at HarperCollins. In 2015 her summer novel, Game of Scones, hit #5 in the UK Kindle chart and won the Love Stories Awards Best Romantic Ebook category.

  In 2018 Forgive Me Not, heralded a new direction into darker women's fiction with publisher Canelo and in 2020 her novel Knowing You won the RNA's Jackie Collins Romantic Thriller Award.

  Become an Aria Addict

  Aria is the digital-first fiction imprint from Head of Zeus.

  We are Aria, a dynamic digital-first fiction imprint from award-winning independent publishers Head of Zeus. At heart, we’re avid readers committed to publishing exactly the kind of books we love to read — from romance and sagas to crime, thrillers and historical adventures. Visit us online and discover a community of like-minded fiction fans!

  We’re also on the look out for tomorrow’s superstar authors. So, if you’re a budding writer looking for a publisher, we’d love to hear from you. You can submit your book online at ariafiction.com/we-want-read-your-book

  Get in touch: aria@headofzeus.com

  Subscribe to our newsletter

  @Aria_Fiction

  @ariafiction

  @ariafiction

  Addictive Fiction