by Daisy James
As she left the village behind her, Gabbie fingered her mobile in her pocket, thinking about her best friend in the whole world, the friend who had called on her every day in the last few months of her mother’s illness, sat beside her in the front pew at the funeral with a ready supply of tissues and solace, and urged her not to make any rash decisions when the letter of acceptance came from Grasse. She would never be able to erase the sharply focused memory of the agony on Clara’s face when she’d waved to her from the window of her father’s Volvo on her way to catch her flight to Nice, nor how she had felt at that moment – as though she had lost a second limb in the space of just six weeks; first her beloved mum, then her loyal and caring best friend.
Would Clara forgive her for not rushing round to see her at the first opportunity? There was only one way to find out – but was ten o’clock at night the best time to make a heartfelt apology?
Chapter Ten
‘Hello? Is anyone in?’
‘Hi there, Jenny. Good to see you,’ said Max, scooting out from underneath an old Honda Civic to greet Jennifer McLean, the president of the Oakley Women’s Institute, who had ventured into the workshop, her arms wrapped around a huge Tupperware box. ‘Not having problems with the VW, I hope?’
‘No, no. I just thought I’d drop by with a batch of lemon drizzle cupcakes left over from our centenary party last night. I thought you and Wil could have a couple with your morning coffee and then hand out the rest to your customers. I didn’t want them to go to waste and I know how much Andrews Autos likes to pair their repairs with cakes!’
Jenny set down the box among the hammers, screwdrivers and oil cans on the workbench and peeled back the lid to reveal the cupcakes in all their sweet, lemony glory.
‘Mmm, they look amazing, Jenny, that’s really kind of you. Thank you. How were the celebrations?’
‘Fabulous! Just fabulous! Of course, there was enough food to feed an army and the punch Dot and Marjorie concocted meant the evening was filled with a little more jollity than we had expected, but that just added to the fun. Actually, now I’m here, I wonder if I could ask you a favour?’
‘Sure, go ahead.’
‘Well, with winter on its way, we thought it would be a good idea if you could come along to one of our meetings and give us a few tips on getting the cars ready for the cold weather. Many of our members are of an age where they left the car-maintenance side of things to their husbands, and for some that’s no longer an option.’
‘I’d be delighted, Jenny. In fact, it’s an excellent idea to get to know a few basic things to look out for that could save a lot of hassle and money in the long run. Just let me know which night’s best and I’ll be there.’
‘Thank you, Max.’
‘No problem. In fact, hang on a minute… I might be able to do even better than that. Hey, Gabbie? Got a minute?’
‘Absolutely!’
Gabbie abandoned her first serious foray into the accounts, grateful for an excuse to take a break. Her head was bursting with rows and columns of figures and complex calculations. She was desperate for another strong black coffee, even if it would be her third – despite the lecture she had given her father that morning about cutting down on his caffeine intake.
She pushed herself out of the chair and stretched her arms high in the air to loosen her neck muscles before realising that Max was leaning against the doorframe watching her, his eyes flicking to the expanse of naked abdomen her stretch had revealed. Heat flooded her face, swiftly followed by a frisson of attraction and then embarrassment when she saw Max raise his eyebrows and smirk.
‘Gabbie, can I introduce you to Jenny McLean?’
‘Hi there, great to meet you,’ she smiled, offering her palm, hoping their visitor hadn’t noticed her bright red cheeks and the fact that she was strenuously avoiding looking in Max’s direction because she knew he was still grinning at her.
‘Jenny’s just invited me to give a talk at the Oakley WI on basic car maintenance. Fancy coming along to give the ladies another perspective?’
‘I’d love to,’ enthused Gabbie, taking in their visitor’s friendly features and the trendy hairstyle that was a speciality of the local hairdresser, Juliette, who had worked at a salon in London before relocating with her solicitor husband to the countryside. ‘Just tell me when and I’ll be there.’
‘That’s wonderful! Thank you, Gabbie. Well, I’ll let you both get on. I’ll pop back for the box tomorrow. Toodle-oo!’
Gabbie watched Jenny make her way back to her car, remove a second plastic container from the boot and walk towards Juliette’s to dispense more comfort and joy to the culinary needy. She was so preoccupied with dissecting what had happened a few moments ago in the office and wondering what on earth she would say to a group of car-maintenance novices that she didn’t notice the arrival of their next visitor.
‘Hello, I hope you don’t mind me dropping by again?’
‘Hi, Andrea. No, not at all. Is everything okay with the Fiat?’ said Max, cramming the second half of the lemon drizzle cupcake into his mouth and flicking away the crumbs.
When Gabbie turned round to greet Andrea with a smile of welcome, a sharp nip invaded her chest when she saw that she and Max were standing only inches apart. With no children milling around to claim her attention, Gabbie realised how pretty Andrea was, with her auburn hair caught up in a sparkly clip and a slick of neatly applied apricot lip gloss. There was nothing whatsoever to suggest there was any kind of relationship between them, yet Gabbie was shocked to recognise the uncomfortable sensation rolling around her body as jealousy.
Okay, so she and Max had shared a moment at the lake, but that didn’t mean they were anything more than just friends. However, looking at Max through an interested onlooker’s eyes, there was no denying how attractive he was, especially that morning, when he clearly hadn’t had time to shave and sported an attractive smattering of stubble along his jawline. The jealousy was quickly replaced by a whoosh of physical attraction, so she increased her pace towards the kitchen door. Perhaps she should make herself an iced coffee to cool down the heat coursing through her veins!
‘Oh, actually, I wanted to see you, Gabbie. Do you have a few moments?’
‘Sure.’ Gabbie threw a quick glance across at Max but he simply shrugged and resumed his inspection of the Honda. ‘Why don’t you come through to the house? I was going to grab a drink.’
Gabbie led Andrea into the kitchen, scouring her brain for a reason why Andrea would want to talk to her. Surely she wasn’t going to invite her to the local mother-and-toddler group or a yummy mummies’ coffee morning?
‘I appreciate this might sound a little presumptuous, especially after what you did for Jacob yesterday…’
‘It’s no problem, Andrea. It was the least I could do. Coffee or juice?’
‘Coffee would be great, thanks. Oh, and thank you for the wonderful hand cream.’ Andrea held up her hands, still red and cracked at the fingertips from the constant cleaning, wiping and washing-up, but no longer dry and flaky. ‘It’s already made a huge difference.’
‘You’re welcome. Glad I could help.’
‘Great, because that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘The hand cream?’
‘Well, yes. Mmm, Gabbie, this coffee is amazing! I can’t remember the last time I spent half an hour enjoying a hot drink without one of the kids bouncing up and down demanding my attention.’
Andrea closed her eyes to savour the taste and inhale the smell of Jeff’s favourite Blue Mountain coffee. Gabbie laughed, relaxing a little in the young woman’s friendly company. If she was planning on sticking around Oakley, she would certainly appreciate the chance to have a chat with someone who wasn’t fixated on the workings of the internal combustion engine or the latest Grand Prix results. A stab of guilt attacked her conscience – she had Clara, didn’t she?
‘It’s Dad’s favourite treat. So, what do you want to talk to me about?’
/> ‘Okay, so…’ Andrea flicked her eyes to Gabbie’s and back down to the mug clasped between her palms, clearly nervous about what she had planned to say. ‘I spoke to my mum last night. I told her about what had happened with Jacob and how you came to the rescue by producing your magic potion. Mum told me she knew Sofia before she died and about what an amazing woman she was. I’m so sorry for your loss, Gabbie. I can’t begin to contemplate what it must be like for you.’
Andrea gave Gabbie a sympathetic smile before preparing to get to the point of the conversation, and suddenly the words tumbled forth at speed.
‘Mum says you’re a qualified aromatherapist, that you used to create massage oils and lotions to help your mum when she was ill. So, I just wondered whether, well, whether you could make something for me, to help me sleep? Oh, Gabbie, you’ll probably think I’m being really cheeky, and I wouldn’t ask, but I’m desperate. I’m exhausted all the time. Every day is like wading through a tunnel filled with treacle, but no matter how tired I am, I can’t seem to sleep at night.’
Andrea drew in a deep, ragged breath, clearly determined to get through her soliloquy without falling victim to her emotions, but only just managing to hang on by her fingernails. When she looked at Gabbie, her pale-blue eyes held such pleading that Gabbie’s heart filled with sympathy.
‘There’s just so much clutter rolling around in my brain, I think I might go crazy. Lists, lists and more lists of essential tasks that have to be done to keep the family up and running and on the right track. I’ve tried everything: counting sheep, getting lots of fresh air, even took a Zumba class that nearly killed me and made me even more tired than I was to start with – it’s a vicious circle. Gareth, that’s my husband, is often away on foreign trips so he’s not around much to help. He suggested I go to the doctor’s to get something, but I can’t do that, can I? I need to be alert in case one of the children needs me during the night. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, none of this is your problem.’
Andrea dropped her face into her palms, her good intentions about remaining calm crumbling. Gabbie moved to sit next to her, pulling her into a hug, surprised when she encountered the jutting shoulder blades concealed by the bulky hoodie. Clearly it wasn’t just sleep Andrea was missing out on.
Eventually, Andrea recovered her composure. ‘I just thought you might be able to, you know, mix up one of your lovely fragrances and…’
‘Actually, Andrea, all I did was help my mum, in whatever way I could, to cope with the pain and discomfort she experienced when she was going through her treatment.’
‘Well, would you be able to come up with something for what I’m going through?’
‘I’m really sorry to hear about your difficulties, and I’d love to help, but well… I don’t do that anymore. In fact, when I opened the summerhouse for Jacob yesterday, it was the first time I’d ventured in there for two years and I really don’t want to go back – it’s just too difficult.’
‘Oh, gosh, yes, of course, I completely understand. Sorry, Gabbie. I shouldn’t have come. Never mind, it was worth a try. Thanks for the coffee. Maybe I’ll see you around the village. Bye.’
And before Gabbie could stop her, Andrea had scuttled to the front door and let herself out. She remained sitting at the kitchen table, her thoughts flying around her brain like a hurricane. The last thing she had wanted to do was upset Andrea, but there was no way she was starting to supply the villagers with lotions, potions and aromatherapy oils to cure all ills. She just couldn’t do that.
But as she sat there, considering the dregs in her coffee mug, she realised it was time to decide what it was she did want to do. Like it or not, she was no longer the virtuoso creator of designer perfumes with a number of industry accolades to her name, but an unemployed perfumer with no prospects of anything in her line of work any time soon.
‘Hey, Gabbie? You in there? Any chance of a couple of mugs of that delicious-smelling coffee for the workers out here? If Wil’s tongue lolls out of his mouth any further I swear it’ll touch the ground.’
‘Coming right up!’
She refilled the cafetière, grabbed a couple of mugs emblazoned with advertisements for a famous brand of screen wash and carried them into the garage.
‘Thanks, Gabbie. You’re a lifesaver,’ declared Wil, taking his mug back to the rust-blistered Suzuki Swift he was working on.
‘So, what did you say to Andrea that caused her to roar away in her little Fiat like Lewis Hamilton’s younger sister? By the way, did she tell you about what she did before she had the children?’
‘No, she didn’t mention that. She did say her husband works away a lot, though.’
Gabbie leaned against the workbench sipping her coffee, guilt nestling uncomfortably in her gut.
‘Yes, he does. Actually, they both worked for VSO in Uganda for five years delivering books to remote schools and then teaching English. You should ask her about it next time you see her – I think they might have even helped build one of the schools. Amazing couple.’
Now the guilt popped like a kernel of corn in a microwave into full-blown contrition. What was the matter with her? How could she have refused to help someone who was so clearly at the end of her tether and had built up the courage to approach someone she barely knew for help? All Gabbie had to do was walk twenty paces into a little wooden cabin in the garden to provide solace, not travel across inhospitable African terrain in the scorching heat to deliver lessons to a classroom of children.
‘Thanks, Max. You’ve just taught me a very valuable lesson.’
‘I have?’
Gabbie smiled at the surprise in his dark-brown eyes, enjoying the way his eyebrows shot upwards and the cute dimples in his cheeks deepened. When he lowered his lips to his mug it was as though he was about to perform a lover’s kiss. Sharp arrows of desire shot through her veins. God! Why did Max have such an effect on her? She could barely stop herself from launching herself into his arms, in full view of Wil.
She returned to the kitchen and snatched up the keys to the summerhouse, still pondering the reasons for her attraction to Max. The closest she had come to experiencing a similar reaction was with Alberto, an Italian chef she had dated in the summer whom Jasmine had, predictably, nicknamed the Italian Stallion. Alberto had been Marco’s friend and she had really just been making up a foursome. He was handsome, in that brooding, Mediterranean-gigolo kind of a way, but it had turned out that they had nothing in common apart from Jasmine and Marco and had never progressed to a date that included just the two of them.
Her thoughts scooted back even further to her last real relationship. While studying for their A levels together, she had thought Peter Drake was exactly what she wanted in a boyfriend, but after eight months together they had gone to different universities, her to study chemistry in Bristol, him to study law at Oxford, and they had drifted apart. Actually, that wasn’t quite true. Peter had decided there was too much fun to be had as a single guy among the dreaming spires of Oxford and he didn’t want to miss out by making the trip west every weekend to see her. Last she heard, via Clara, was that he had qualified as a barrister and lived in Henley-on-Thames. She scoured her brain, trying to recall whether he had made her senses fizz like Max did, and it was a clear and resounding no.
Gabbie paused outside the summerhouse, building up the courage to open the door for the second time in two days. Stepping over the threshold, she raised her nose and inhaled the warm, fragrant air deep into her lungs. She could still detect the faint aroma of rose petals and gardenia despite the place being locked up for so long. She sat in one of the chairs her mother had upholstered in a pretty sprig pattern and ran her eyes along the shelves until she noticed the storage box they had decorated with matching fabric. She rummaged inside and found the wooden sign they’d hung outside the door whenever they’d been inside experimenting.
She recalled the day they had discussed what to call their little retreat. Her father had suggested they call it the Happiness Apothe
cary because every time she and her mother emerged from its walls they were laughing and giggling. Sofia had thought that was a bit of a mouthful and they had settle on the Summerhouse of Happiness, and her father had promptly designed a sign, painted it pink, and attached a length of twine so they could hang it on the door handle. Her father had been right in his choice of title, though. The little wooden shed was, or had been, a place of happiness where, despite her mother’s worsening health, they had both been relaxed and contented as they created ever more exotic perfumes and tinctures.
On impulse, Gabbie decided to hang the sign on the door again, gulping back the tears as she did so. But she pushed away her emotions because she was determined to produce a phial of happiness for Andrea and deliver it to her home with a heartfelt apology.
Chapter Eleven
Gabbie’s throat felt like it was wrapped around a porcupine as she hugged the steering wheel of her father’s Volvo outside Andrea’s little stone cottage in the next village. The front lawn looked as though a toyshop had exploded on it, with trikes, cricket bats and footballs scattered across its width. In the far corner, beneath an apple tree laden with rosy red apples, stood a Wendy house that had seen better days, it, too, disgorging its contents of scooters, prams, and plastic dolls in various stages of undress. Despite the kaleidoscope of garden clutter, the cottage was the perfect home for the family and a pang of something akin to regret shot through Gabbie that she hadn’t even started to think about building a home for herself, never mind creating a family of her own.
She collected the glossy cream carrier bag with pink string handles in which she had stored the oils she had prepared for Andrea, along with a diffuser. She hoped that if Andrea also put a few drops of the lavender oil in her bath and on her pillowcase before she went to bed it would at least help her to relax and get some rest. And she had added a small bottle of geranium oil for use in the mornings to help with the fatigue.
