Sunday's Child

by Clare Revell

  “What about you though? Won’t that leave you alone when Steve goes? Or will he get someone in to help this time?”

  “I’ll just have to manage.” Hattie shrugged. “Anyway…”

  “You need a rest. And a holiday, just as much as anyone else.”

  “You’re the second person to tell me that today.”

  “Then take it as the Lord directing you to take time off. When are you coming? Pick a different week—actually two weeks.”

  “You know me too well. I have the diary open in front of me. How does the last week of September, and the first week of October sound?”

  “That looks wonderful. Can Steve spare you?”

  “Probably not, as he insists I’m indispensable.” She sighed. “But it’s tough. They have four people booked in those two weeks, and if I can do twenty-three alone, they can manage four between the two of them.”

  “Twenty-three? Alone?” Her aunt sounded incredulous. “I know you said Penny is away, but where’s Steve today then?”

  “We had a disagreement and he took off, same as he always does. The thing is, I wanted to go out for a couple of hours and he didn’t approve. And if it sounds like I’m complaining—”

  “It’s because you are. What did you do? Date a guest or something?” Her aunt’s tone was teasing, but she’d unwittingly hit the proverbial nail on its head.

  Hattie paused. “It’s been a rough week. I haven’t stopped for a minute. Steve and I had a fight after church, because someone asked me to go for a walk with him. OK, he’s a guest, but I know the rules. It was just a walk. And he ended up jumping in the weir to save a kid’s life.”

  “Steve did?”

  She laughed. “No, the guest. His name’s Cal and he’s kind of cute for an ex-footballer. But it was just a walk, nothing more. Thing is, Steve knew I was doing a roast, and he up and left me to feed twenty-three anyway. Just to prove a point.”

  “Will he be back to help you serve?”

  “No. His note said he might be back for breakfast. Though if he is, it’ll be a miracle. But I’ll manage tonight. I’ll set it out buffet style. It won’t kill them, just once.”

  “A buffet roast?”

  “Like the carvery. I’ll plate the meat, then they do the veggies themselves.”

  “Ah, yes, with you now. Anyway, dear, I shall let you get on. I’ll see you at the end of September. Don’t let anyone stop you from coming. If Steve says something, tell him to take it up with me.”

  “I will.” After a few minutes more, Hattie hung up, a smile on her face. Somehow talking to Aunt Laurie always made her feel better. She pulled out the heated hostess trolley and plugged it in to start warming up. This would also cut down on the amount of dishes she had to wash up afterwards.

  She busied herself with chopping veggies and making the quick setting jelly for the mandarin tarts. The cream could wait until the last minute before being piped on. She kept half an eye on the time, needing to adjust when she did things to ensure everything was done, but there just wasn’t enough time. The doorbell rang just as she finished the tarts. Wiping her hands on her apron she went to answer it.

  Cal stood there, tray in his hands and a carrier bag looped around his fingers, looking decidedly warmer than he had. He smiled at her.

  She smiled back. “Hey. You look a lot better.”

  “I feel it. I thought I’d bring this down for you.”

  “Thank you. There was no need though.” She took the tray.

  “Well I figured I was coming this way anyway.” He held out the bag. “The wet clothes you insisted on having.”

  Hattie set the tray down and took the bag. “Thank you. I’ll have them back to you tomorrow if that’s OK.”

  “Tomorrow’s fine, thank you. Something smells good.”

  “Thank you. I’m hoping it’ll taste good, but I’m running late.”

  “That’s probably my fault for taking you for that walk.”

  “Not at all,” she said honestly. “Steve’s gone to see Penny, and I’m trying to do everything by myself.”

  Concern flickered in his handsome chocolate eyes. “Can I help? I’m pretty good in the kitchen, if I do say so myself.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that. You’re a guest.”

  “You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

  She thought quickly. She would never be ready by five on her own. By six maybe, but everyone would be expecting the meal at five. “Can you carve?”

  “Like a pro.” He grinned.

  Hattie swallowed her pride and nodded. “Then, please, some help would be good. I’ve never been late with a meal yet, and I’m nowhere near ready.”

  “Sure. Show me what you need me to do.”

  Hattie picked up the tray again and led him into her part of the house, down the short passageway to the kitchen. She set the tea tray down on the side and put the bag on the floor to deal with after dinner. She was aware of his eyes glancing around, taking in the décor and furniture and she was glad the house was clean and tidy.

  She checked the oven and pulled out the meat. Then she stabbed the veggies with a knife to see how cooked they were. “I figured self-service for the veg from the heated trolley tonight. I can do dessert same as usual. But there won’t be a starter as I don’t have time.”

  “What were you going to do?”

  “Ganoush with ciabatta toast, but I don’t have time to make the ganoush now.”

  “You have the ciabatta bread already?”

  “I made it this morning.”

  “What about salad?”

  “I have baby tomatoes, but that’s it.”

  “So make bruschetta.”

  She looked at him. Something that simple hadn’t occurred to her. “Seriously?”

  He grinned. “Why not? I love it. Toast the ciabatta on one side and top with the tomatoes. If you’re doing a roast, it’s not going to be too heavy either. And it’s something you can put on the table before people come in.”

  “Sounds like a brilliant idea. Thank you.”

  His smile melted her again. She’d knock the evening meal off his bill for this. His lips started moving again and she forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying. “…And as for tea and coffee after the meal? Fill the flasks like you do at breakfast and set them out when you bring dessert through. People can serve themselves when they want that way.”

  “You are just full of good ideas tonight. Want a job?”

  He laughed. “I’ll think about it.” He began carving, neat deft strokes that were far quicker and far better than Steve could do.

  She sliced and toasted the bread and added the tomatoes. She didn’t know why she’d never thought of this before. Such a simple idea, yet the food looked so pretty, especially with the small sprinkle of herbs on the top. She took them through and looked at Cal in surprise. She thought he was still in the kitchen. “How did you get in here?”

  He winked. “Through the door whilst you were busy singing and making the bruschetta. I finished carving and thought I’d lay up in here.” He took the tray. “I’ll do this, you go and get the other one.”

  “Thank you.” She paused, mortified. “Singing? I was singing?”

  “Very nicely as it happened.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks burned. Why would the floor never open up and swallow her whole when she wanted it to? “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I liked listening to you sing. I’ll even give you a hand with the dishes afterwards.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “You’re on your own, there is every need.” He grinned. “I might even be persuaded to sing along next time.”

  She went and got the other tray, not sure what she’d done to deserve someone being this nice to her. And not just any someone either. He really was nothing like the Callum Trant she’d read about on the internet. That Callum seemed to do nothing but wine, women, and party. Almost every picture and article she’d read had him linked to a different woman.


  But Cal was the total opposite. Almost as if he was a changed man. Perhaps he was. Maybe God had worked in his life, turning him around completely. She didn’t much care for the footballer, but the man who’d given up part of his holiday to help her, the man who’d leapt into the raging water to save a child he didn’t know without so much as a second thought…? Now that was a man she could care for.

  She went back to the dining room, and Cal took the tray from her, finishing the tables off.

  “I can’t find my camera. Do you still have it?”

  “Yes. I put it in my bag for safe keeping. Come back with me, and I’ll give it to you.”

  He walked with her. “Thank you. Can I ask a favor?”

  “After all your help this afternoon getting dinner ready, you can ask anything.”

  He smiled. “Don’t tell anyone about this afternoon.”

  “About you helping me out in the kitchen?”

  “No, I mean about me rescuing that kid. I don’t want the press getting wind of it and turning it into something it isn’t.”

  She tilted her head, confused as she opened the door. “Why ever not? It’s something to be proud of.”

  “I don’t want a fuss made and if word gets out, then people will realize who I am and it’ll be splashed all over the papers. The kid and his family don’t need that.” He paused. “Besides I’ve done my fair share of being headline news. It’s someone else’s turn now.”

  She smiled, and pulled his camera from her bag. “OK, Mr. Anonymous Hero, my lips are sealed.”

  “Thank you.” He kissed her cheek.

  Flustered, she looked at him. It should be her thanking him for his help, not the other way around.

  “I’ll go before someone sees me and then you can ring the bell for dinner. The meat is in the trolley keeping warm.”

  “Thank you.” She watched him leave, her hand covering her cheek. She could still feel the imprint of his lips. He made her feel like a normal person and even though she was working, time with him had flown by and she’d loved it. It was just a shame it could go no further.

  6

  By the time his two week holiday was over and it was time to go home, Cal was convinced his trousers were a little snugger around the waist. He’d certainly eaten better than he had in a long time, and far more than he’d normally eat. But that’s what holidays are for, right? He could easily lose any excess weight when he got back in the gym.

  He was going home both spiritually and physically refreshed. He was going to miss the Steeles—Hattie in particular and not just her cooking either. If only things were different. He’d enjoyed the Sunday afternoon they’d spent together immensely. In fact, he’d go as far as to say it was the highlight of his time there. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a woman and not wanted anything more than just friendship. Not that he’d turn away anything else if it came along, but the likelihood of seeing Hattie again, was microscopic.

  Cal pulled himself up short. That sounded wrong, even to him and he was the only person privy to his thoughts. Well, that wasn’t true either as God knew what he was thinking. He didn’t mean the kind of relationships he’d had before. His whole life had changed since then. He was a new creation and proud of that fact.

  He’d hoped to say goodbye to her in person, but Steve had been there and said Hattie was out. So he would write instead. On the station concourse, he spent ages looking at the cards, so long in fact that he almost missed his train. He chose one of the weir, paid and then got on the train with seconds to spare. He stored his large case in the luggage rack by the door and then made his way down the swaying carriage to his reserved seat.

  For once there was no one sitting in it. Putting the small case in the overhead rack, he set his rucksack on the table and then slid into his seat. He looked out of the window as the train pulled out of Headley Cross. Once the houses were replaced by countryside, he set the card on the table and pulled out a pen.

  By the time he got further than Dear Hattie, he was half way home and the lid of the pen was chewed beyond recognition. Oh come on, Cal. At this rate you’ll be home before you say anything. How hard can it be?

  Very he replied, before deciding he was clearly insane for having a conversation with himself.

  He glanced down. Thank you for a wonderful time he wrote. Definitely the best holiday I’ve had in years. I will be back. Cal Trant.

  Then he closed his eyes, knowing he couldn’t sleep past his station as he lived at the end of the line. He woke just as the carriages rattled over one of the twin bridges that separated Penry Island from the mainland. The locals called the rail bridge Nessie, after its humped high girders and the road bridge Spiky after its suspension pillars.

  He gazed from the window as his island home grew nearer. He’d lived here all his life and loved it. One of the bigger islands off England’s south coast, the sea around the northern edge turned to mud flats at low tide. The rest of the island had an idyllic mix of both sand and shingle beaches, incredibly good for surfing, but hid a rip tide and sadistic current, which caught many a sailor and swimmer unawares.

  Cal lived in one of the smaller villages on the eastern edge of the island, within sight of the bridges, where everyone knew everyone else and all the small details of their lives. Most times he hated it, but it did have its advantages. If someone hadn’t been seen for a day or so, neighbors checked on them. That level of care and friendship had saved several lives last winter.

  The train was buffeted by the wind and Cal glanced up at the sky. It looked as if a huge storm were building. He’d best drop off his case, then drive down to the lifeboat station and pick up his pager.

  Although he wasn’t on duty until Tuesday morning, it wouldn’t hurt to let them know he was back on the grid.

  The carriage was empty as he pulled down his small case and went to retrieve the larger one from the luggage rack. Rain pounded the windows as the train halted and he quickly stepped down onto the platform.

  Carter stood waiting and enveloped him in a manly hug. “Missed you, bro.”

  “Nah. You just missed having no one to tease.”

  “You know me too well. Come on, there are heaps of things to tell you.”

  “Heaps?” he asked, amused. “I was only gone two weeks. How can heaps possibly happen in a dead end village like this one?”

  Carter took one of the cases and started walking. “Joanne in the post office is expecting again. So is Mrs. Firth. Peter Johansson had a heart attack, but he’s doing better now and should be home next week. Dr. Kneebone, my orthopod, says my knee is fine now. So I can start training again tomorrow.”

  Cal trundled the other case behind him, stifling the grin at the doctor’s name. So apt, but Carter never got the joke. “Can we go via the base and pick up my pager. I’m back up crew until Tuesday and there’s bound to be a call out tonight.”

  “Blue Watch is on duty until Tuesday at 0700 and you’re still officially on leave.”

  “I know, but old habits—”

  “Speaking of old habits, how was your holiday?”

  “It was really good. You’d love it there. There are plenty of places to go riding, including some fairly steep hills called the Downs. And the lodge was amazing. The woman who helps run it and does the cooking—”

  “She’s pretty. Harriet Steele, blonde, bit younger than you, of Rainbow Lodge, Headley Cross.”

  Cal stopped dead under a shelter. How did he know? “I’m sorry?”

  Carter pulled a folded newspaper cutting from his pocket. “Lifeboat hero is never off duty,” he read. “Found on Eliza Craig’s blog, and printed with her permission, these photos show the dramatic moment that one of our dedicated lifeboat crew, and former England footballer, Callum Trant, leapt into a weir to save the life of her six year old son, Thomas Craig.”

  “What? Let me see that.” Cal snatched the paper and read the rest of the article in dismay. There were pictures of him in the water, one with Thoma
s and one with Hattie.

  “So? What’s the story behind the one in the paper then?”

  “You read it here. There’s nothing much else to tell.” Cal gave the paper back. “We went for a walk after church, the kid fell in the water, and I pulled him out. End of story. Can we go home now?”

  “You wanted to pick up your pager.”

  The change of subject wasn’t going to fool him for an instant. He hesitated. “Has everyone seen this?”

  “Oh, yeah. Jim from the Courier made sure of that. And Alba helped a lot.”

  Cal sighed. Jim was a member of White Watch, which meant everyone at the station would have seen it. And then some. Probably also framed it and put it on the noticeboard for good measure. And Alba ran the village store and spread the local news faster than a speeding bullet, jungle drums or the internet. “Then, no, I don’t want to pick up my pager. Like you said, I’m on holiday until Tuesday.” He ignored the stunned look on his brother’s face and headed back out into the rain towards his brother’s car. “They can tease me about it then.”

  Carter followed him. “You like her.”

  “I like a lot of women.”

  “No, Cal. She’s different. I can tell.”

  Cal stopped, the driving rain sticking the hair to his head. “It’s not like I’m ever going to see her again. It was a few conversations as she served meals and one walk that got interrupted.” And one afternoon spent cooking in her kitchen, but he wasn’t going to mention that. She also had a very protective older brother.

  “And…”

  “Yes, OK, fine. I admit it. She’s not like any of the others. She’s different.”

  Carter smirked. “I think you’ve finally grown up, little bro. Women are not objects to be desired and used and thrown aside.”

  Lightning split the sky and thunder crashed overhead almost immediately. It was as if a cosmic light bulb switched on over his head like in the cartoons he’d watched as a child. Lost for words he just nodded.

  Carter thumped his shoulder. “That’s great. Now, let’s get out of this storm before we drown. I want to see your photos. And I don’t care what you say; I want to know what this Hattie is really like. You can also tell me all the details about the rescue you did. And more importantly, those cycle routes. Maybe you and I go check them out.”