An unease shifted within my chest as I realized how pampered I’d become. Dot even did the ironing. About the only thing I’d accomplished was being a good mum. I’d searched childcare positions but they all required certificates and experience. An image of my fashion sketches popped into my head, but my dream of returning to college was over. I needed to earn money and quick. Even if Elite Eleganz had been doing better than ever, I would never accept a single penny from Zak. Not for myself. Only child maintenance.
Noah and Elle exchanged looks, as if a telepathic conversation were taking place. He was just about to say something when the sound of knocking on glass came from the shop. Elle stood up and squeezed my shoulder firmly before leaving the kitchen. Noah lifted his cup and got to his feet, before pouring his tea down the sink.
‘Not thirsty?’ I asked.
‘Can’t stand the stuff, truth be told,’ he said. ‘I only had it as a mark of solidarity.’
For a split second a wave of emotion washed over his face. I bit my lip. The unexpected camaraderie meant a lot.
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled. ‘For …’ I looked around the kitchen ‘… for this.’
‘Any time. Mi casa es su casa.’ He smiled.
‘Gus says that to Hazel in The Fault in our Stars when he takes her to his basement bedroom,’ I mumbled, having read the book recently.
‘Great story,’ he said, in gentle tones. ’And a great message.’
I stared at Noah. I knew what he was saying. Like the book’s theme of childhood cancer, there were worse problems than mine. Somehow I had to find the inner strength to deal with my situation.
Chapter Four
I picked up the biro and stared at the notebook’s cover, in particular the silver horseshoe, and thought about my own wedding day. I’d always believed nothing on this planet looked sexier than Zak in a tux with a cream rose in the buttonhole – although if you believed Dot’s women’s magazines, a husband who put the bins out on time was much more of a turn-on.
Feeling as joyous as a small child skipping, I’d arrived at the church. Twenty-one years old. About five months pregnant. On the cusp of becoming Mrs Zachary Masters. Dad’s eyes had glistened when he saw my white wedding dress, which could have come straight off the pages of Vogue. Stylish. Classy. And nothing like the dress I’d promised myself while still at the fashion college. If I ever got married, I was going to wear a multicoloured backless creation, with a big ruffled collar, and I planned to go barefoot, with wildflowers in my hair.
Where had that rebellious artist gone? Had being under the spell of Zak’s love made her disappear in a puff of smoke, for ever?
My gaze shifted to the illustration of the dreamcatcher. At our wedding one of my aunts had drunk too much bubbly and kept referring to Zak as the ultimate dreamboat. Images filled my mind of Zak’s face, as I’d walked up the aisle. I’d glimpsed a grave expression as our eyes met, and assumed it was the sense of occasion he must have been experiencing. Instead, I now knew it concealed his disenchantment at committing to a future about which he’d been in total denial. I bit my bottom lip. Had the last ten years really been based on a lie?
During the wedding breakfast and evening dance we’d used every opportunity to touch each other. I’d spent most of the day mentally unbuttoning his shirt. When people transferred from the dining room to the dance floor, Zak had grabbed my hand and pulled me into a cloakroom. Within seconds he’d trapped me up against the coats, lips urgently pushing mine apart.
As for the wedding night, I still recalled every minute. How we’d practically run to our bedroom, having said the final goodbyes to friends and relatives wishing us all the best for our Maldives honeymoon. Me joking about how I’d married an old man who wouldn’t have the stamina to consummate the marriage. I’d trembled with anticipation as he’d unlaced my wedding dress and trailed his expert tongue down my hips and across my thighs …
‘You, me, for ever, babes,’ he’d said hours later, in a husky voice, before we eventually fell asleep.
Tears pricked as I focused again on the notepad and the lucky number seven. Perhaps if we could recapture the fire of the early days, our relationship would survive. I thought back to a seven day summer break we’d taken in Europe, on our own, a few years ago. At heart I was something of a homebird, but Zak had a huge lust for travel. I hadn’t wanted to leave April but Zak had persuaded me to go. Perhaps even then he’d sensed something going awry between us.
I recalled a late-night beach walk, the rose-and-peach sunset, the lapping of tropical waves. How we’d sat down behind some secluded rocks and, perspiring with the evening’s humidity, watched the moon rise. Guitar music from a beach restaurant had accompanied my giggles as Zak gently pushed me flat onto the sand. With one swift movement he’d removed my sundress, my heart pounding hard. Had I mistaken sexual attraction for everlasting love? Had my naivety and lack of romantic experience come back to knock me sideways, one decade on?
I put down the pen, the memory of that trip now giving me a feeling heavy enough to sink the Titanic. Just the thought of his strong, capable hands caressing another woman …
My throat hurt and constricted to fight a wave of nausea.
My mind flicked back to our other luxurious trips and how I’d occasionally thought it might be fun, for a change, to try camping. However, now that I was faced with the real prospect of swapping tents for cruise boats, the budget lifestyle didn’t seem nearly so appealing.
‘What am I going to do?’ I whispered and tears streamed down my face. ‘I still love you, Zak. Despite the bravado, I don’t want to let go. I’m scared.’ I covered my face with my hands. After a few moments I sniffed, took away my fingers, and refocused. It was exhausting, the continual push and pull I now faced between feeling as vulnerable as a young sapling’s stem, yet needing to be as sturdy as a grown tree’s trunk. Come on, Jennifer. There had to be a positive in this. Maybe not a glass half full but a glass containing at least a few dregs.
Perhaps, I don’t know, splitting from Zak was a chance for me to gain some independence – to carve an identity for myself, separate from being Zachary Masters’ wife and charity organiser. My eyes tingled again. Thing was, I’d always loved both those labels, and didn’t want to swap them for waitress or lodger or someone who had to actually check receipts and regard lunch out as a rare treat. I knew I sounded incredibly spoilt. My cheeks flushed.
‘Get over yourself, Jenny,’ I said sternly and hoped that talking to yourself wasn’t actually the first sign of madness.
I managed a wry smile and reflected on my pampered, materialistic life.
Just imagine you suddenly couldn’t afford your favourite brand of chocolate or moisturizing cream. Marriage, parenthood, it had all been so easy, with Zak taking care of the bills and me controlling the domestic front. I’d become used to the best of everything. It had felt uncomfortable at first, but soon I started taking things for granted like … like not having to worry about money when August came and we’d have to kit April out with a new school uniform.
I’d said it myself, recently, whilst thinking back to my college days – I needed to stop gliding through life. I swallowed. Perhaps this was opportunity knocking at the door – or rather, ramming a hole through it; maybe it was the wake-up call I needed.
‘Boom!’ I said and thumped my fist on the table, for one second coming over all Theresa May, a Prime Minister determined to see Brexit as a new beginning and not an end. I know. A bit up and down at the moment, wasn’t I, like an electrocardiogram reading, zigzagging into peaks and troughs? One minute distressed, the next defiant. I guessed that was how my life would be for a while.
Noah entered. ‘Everything okay? Just wondered if I had any kitchen roll left.’ He smiled, voice sounding warm and sunny like honey, lifting the sinking feeling in my chest.
‘I’m fine. Thanks. It’s becoming clearer, what I have to do. First up – concentrate on taking charge of my own life.’ I went to s
tand up. ‘Right. Better go. Sorry for … intruding. You’ve been exceptionally kind.’
He came over and gently pushed me back down, then rolled up his sleeves, as if he would help me tackle any challenge. Mad thought really, as we barely knew each other. I was just one of his customers. Noah was simply my local coffee shop owner. He sat down next to me.
‘Finding my own place to live and getting a job …’ My voice wavered. ‘At the moment it seems like a tall order but lately I’ve realised it’s time I faced a challenge. Maybe this is fate. Everything happens for a reason, right?’
‘What, even a breakup, after ten happy years together?’ he said gently. ‘That’s how old April is, right?’
‘Yes. And they were happy years. Or so I thought. Turns out Zak and I had different expectations about our future …’ I really tried to keep the self-pity out of my voice. Luxuriating in the poor me’s felt comforting, but ultimately would achieve nothing.
Noah looked uncharacteristically serious. ‘Expectations are a difficult thing to manage.’ He paused. ‘If your heart says so, then go for it. It’s always worth trying to change.’
I stared at him. What was the story behind that ever-cheerful veneer? I used to think that he was just one of life’s optimists. Now I wasn’t so sure. We were hardly the best of friends, yet he was being remarkably supportive. Had he, too, once faced life-changing events?
‘There’s really no going back?’ he said.
‘No. I don’t think so.’ Guess I’d know for sure after our imminent discussion. I gazed at my wedding ring.
Elle came in. ‘Everything okay?’
I forced my mouth to upturn.
Noah went over to the kitchen bookshelf and his fingers skimmed the contents until he stopped at a paperback. ‘Take this,’ he said. ‘It’s about a shepherd boy finding his own destiny. I find it very inspirational.’
I glanced at the cover. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.
‘Thanks,’ I said, my voice feeling scratchy again. I grabbed my handbag and slipped the book into it as I hurtled out of the shop. Eyes down, I headed towards the car park and almost slipped on a spilt ice cream. Finally I reached my yellow car, wondering if, ever again, I’d feel as sunny as it looked. I scrabbled to let myself in and collapsed onto the seat. I lowered my chin to my chest for a moment.
And breathe.
Eventually I pulled the door shut and stared vacantly into the distance. I could, of course, escape to Wales and move in with my parents, but that wouldn’t be fair on them. They’d love seeing their granddaughter but would only worry about our future – and Dad wasn’t in the best of health since his stroke. Plus, April would want to see her dad regularly. I could never deny her – I sighed – nor him, that.
I groaned. And I couldn’t ban her from seeing Skye. That meant I’d have to learn to be civilised in front of my ex-friend. But I could do this, right? I looked back for examples in my adult life of where I’d succeeded in overcoming a difficult situation. I shuffled in my seat. Nothing came to my mind. Was Zak right? Had I relaxed into my cushy life so much that I’d simply stagnated?
I reached into my handbag, to check that I’d got the pecan brownies. I had but, urgh, my phone wasn’t there. I must have left it on Noah and Elle’s kitchen table. Reluctantly I left my car and hurried back. I entered The Coffee Club, my spirits once again warmed by the tempting smells and hubbub of friendly chat. I approached the glass counter. Noah stretched out his hand, holding my mobile.
‘I would have come after you,’ he said, ‘but I wasn’t sure where you’d parked and you left so quickly I probably wouldn’t have caught up.’
‘I’m sure you could – I’ve seen you jogging around the village.’
Elle rolled her eyes. ‘Obsessed he is. Goes through about four pairs of trainers a year. He’s taking part in a race in the summer.’
‘Gosh. That’s a serious proposition.’
‘And talking of serious propositions …’ Noah looked at Elle and she nodded, just before serving a customer who’d appeared at the counter to pay. Noah took me to one side, fingers against my arm, revealing a combination of strength and gentleness. ‘We’ve just been talking. I don’t know if you’ve noticed the advert on the shopfront. I’ve been looking for extra staff for a fortnight now and found no one suitable. The café is becoming busier and busier with caffeine-mad customers now coming from other villages to try our different beans. Despite not being local, a few have even joined the tasting club. I’m chuffed to bits, but it means we urgently need help. Someone we can trust – and even better if they know the locality. We can’t pay top rates but, well, we’d be willing to throw in accommodation for the right person.’
Why was he telling me all this?
‘The cottage has a loft conversion with twin beds and a tiny living area. We keep meaning to do it up and rent it out. Don’t get me wrong. It’s clean and has a good view of the stream behind the cottage. It just needs a lick of paint. And it’s private – there’s a lock on the door. We have two bathrooms downstairs. Obviously we’d share the kitchen.’ Those mellow, tawny eyes stared at me. ‘The job and room are yours if you want, Jenny. Until you find your feet. Or for longer, if you wish. Just let me know when you’ve one hundred per cent decided about your future with Zak.’
I gasped. ‘No. I mean … me? I don’t even know how to operate a till and … That’s so generous but it’s … it’s too much. I’m grateful but …’ My head swirled. I blushed as the thought entered my head: Zachary Masters’ wife working in a coffee shop? What a come-down. Never.
Those comforting eyes crinkled for a second. ‘You’d be great, Jenny. You know all the mums and kids – in fact everyone in the village. You’re personable. It takes a while to learn how to make all the various coffees, but you could do the till and clean tables until you found your confidence. Of course, my actual role is super-complicated and important …’
We smiled at each other and I swallowed. Who was I to turn down any job? And this could really be a thing – me and April moving out. A job. A place to stay. A small kitchen with no Aga or fridge full of champagne. But hope. A – my chin trembled – a new beginning.
‘But you hardly know me,’ I mumbled. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful.’ Okay. I had a lot to learn about impressing potential employers, but to invite an overemotional mum in with her young daughter? That was quite a generous act. His domestic set-up would change dramatically. And he hadn’t had time to give it much thought. My brow furrowed.
He fiddled with the cuff of one of his rolled-up sleeves. ‘Like I say, we’ve been meaning to rent that room out,’ he said eventually. ‘And …’ he shrugged ‘… The Coffee Club means the world to me. I’d much rather employ someone who’s part of the village and who understands how things tick in Laventon.’
‘Like how Steph, the hairdresser, complains about EVERYTHING but doesn’t really mean it?’
‘Exactly. And how Postie likes to drink his coffee out on the front pavement –’
‘So that he can smoke?’
Noah gave a thumbs-up.
‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s such a decent offer.’ It was. Pride had no place in my life now. And The Coffee Club had the warmest, friendliest ambiance I could hope for. ‘I wouldn’t want to let you down.’ My cheeks flushed. ‘What with being a student and then moving in with Zak, I’ve never actually had a job.’ Heat spread down my neck. ‘Ridiculous, isn’t it, for a thirty-two-year-old woman?’
He leant forward and squeezed my shoulder. ‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Jenny. You’ve been working as a stay-at-home mum. Like thousands of other women. That means you are a counsellor, an organiser, and a diplomat all rolled into one. Plus, I saw you serving refreshments at that charity catwalk show you arranged in the town hall last month. You did a great job.’ He pulled a face. ‘Elle dragged me along.’
I raised an eyebrow, surprised that simple dresser Elle had such an interest in clothes.
A lump formed in my throat and my vision blurred as I gazed around the shop.
Noah caught my eye. ‘I know it’s no mansion, but we’ve got storage space in an outhouse and a good-sized garden for April, right in front of the stream.’
I sniffed. ‘No, it’s great … your offer … it …’ I gulped. ‘It’s so kind.’
Yes, it was small. And a garden? I couldn’t remember the last time April had played outside. Plus, how would she cope with sharing a bedroom, let alone one that didn’t contain her own television and walk-in wardrobe? Yet Noah and Elle had offered me a solution, if the worst happened, and I felt grateful.
‘What is it?’ Noah raised an eyebrow. He wrapped his fingers gently around my elbow and he led me into the back kitchen again. That honey-toned voice made my shoulders relax.
I looked at him. Bit my lip.
‘It’s scary, isn’t it? Change?’ He smiled. ‘And I guess it doesn’t sound like the most glamorous job in the world, making coffee.’
Stomach in knots, I leant against the pine table. ‘Yes, it is daunting, taking on a job, but … like you say, I’m a mum and run the books for Elite Eleganz’s charity, plus organise the fundraising events …’ I straightened up. ‘Guess I might not be totally devoid of skills. Yet managing totally on my own, that’s a whole different ballgame. And the stakes are higher – if I mess up, April will suffer and I’ll be beholden to Zak’s goodwill. Although working for you would be a speedy and easy option …’
The New Beginnings Coffee Club Page 5
