A Summer Escape and Strawberry Cake at the Cosy Kettle: A feel good, laugh out loud romantic comedy

by Liz Eeles

  Mary nods but Dick folds his arms across his skinny chest. ‘Only if Flora’s in overall charge of the whole thing. No one wants Stanley in charge. No offence, but he’s gone completely loopy since his eightieth birthday.’

  ‘You say “loopy”, dude. I say “authentic”,’ drawls Stanley, making a peace sign with his fingers. ‘I’ve finally become my true self, and not before time. But it’s probably best if Flora co-ordinates everything so I can devote more time to sorting out my wardrobe for the occasion.’

  Taking on even more to organise right now isn’t wise, but I’m too chuffed by Phyllis saying ‘you’re part of the town’ to protest. She probably means the shop and café, rather than me, but I’ve still got a warm glow of belonging that blots out any concerns about what exactly Stanley’s ‘hip costume’ might entail.

  Two hours later, I’ve finished ordering customers’ books as the clock clicks ever closer to five thirty. The door is propped open because it’s so hot today, and snatches of conversation are floating into the shop when people wander past. I glance down at Day of Desire: it’s calling to me from under the counter. I so want to know what happens, but there’s no point in getting stuck into the story now, just before I head back to Starlight Cottage.

  April Devlin is picked out in silver across the bottom of the cover and I do a quick search online of her name plus author, but nothing particularly relevant comes up, apart from a link to her book. April doesn’t appear to be very hot on self-marketing. Why go to all the trouble of writing a book – a really good book – and not shout about it? Without some promotion it’s likely to sink without a trace.

  With a few clicks, I order some copies of her novel for the afternoon book club, and the evening book club too. Then, I add a dozen extra copies to sell in the shop. The books will take up precious shop space and Malcolm will say that taking a punt on an unknown author with no online presence is foolish. But April’s thoughtful, insightful book has touched me; it deserves to be read and, as a bookseller, I’m ideally placed to champion a book that I love.

  ‘Who cares what Malcolm will say?’ I mutter, which feels rather like committing heresy after two decades in his business shadow. But times have changed and I can do whatever I like with my business. Whether it stands or falls depends on me and me alone.

  Sadly, my sudden rush of confidence fades quickly while I’m switching off my computer. Malcolm can be bossy when it comes to business but he knows a lot more than me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hasty in ordering so many copies of Day of Desire, but it’s done now.

  I slip Daniel’s copy of the novel into my bag and start cashing up so I can close the shop.

  Chapter Ten

  There’s something about Starlight Cottage that lifts my mood as I bump along the potholed track towards it. Maybe it’s the mellow yellow stone surrounded by green countryside, or the smoke curling from the chimney that tells me Luna’s home.

  Whatever the reason, I’m smiling as I step out of my car and shoo away a chicken that scuttles over to peck at my feet. The situation with Malcolm is still a mess but there are good things in my life: this gem of a cottage, Charter Day excitement, the bookshop and The Cosy Kettle – and the kindness of strangers.

  Luna stepped in to help when I was at a low ebb and I’ll always be grateful to her for that. I open the back door of the car and take out the large bunch of pink and purple peonies I bought on the way home. Giving her flowers is rather ‘coals to Newcastle’ because the cottage is surrounded by banks of pretty primroses and cornflowers. But it’s the thought that counts.

  I’ve negotiated the front door’s low-hanging dreamcatcher and almost reached the kitchen when an unwelcome thought strikes me. What if Luna doesn’t approve of cut flowers? She apologised to the fruit and veg patch the other day before picking broad beans and strawberries. So she’ll probably take one look at the perfect peonies and accuse me of unnecessary floricide. But it’s too late now.

  ‘Daniel, is that you?’ drifts from the kitchen.

  ‘No, it’s me,’ I say, walking into the room, which is blisteringly sauna-hot. Seemingly oblivious to the heat, Luna is stirring a wooden spoon around her black cauldron. The flames underneath it are sending smoke up the wide stone chimney.

  ‘Ah, Flora. It’s good to see you. Do you fancy some Mediterranean stew later, with lots of herbs?’

  ‘Yes please. It smells delicious. You’re such a good cook, Luna.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Luna smiles and pushes strands of silver hair under the trailing lilac scarf around her head. ‘It’s very nice to have people to cook for.’

  ‘The cottage must have been a bit lonely when you were living here on your own.’

  ‘Not really. I’m enjoying having people around the place again, but I’ve never felt truly alone here because this cottage is full of souls.’

  That’s just the kind of thing Luna says that makes the back of my neck prickle. The kind of thing I remember when I wake in the early hours and have to switch the light on for comfort.

  ‘What are those, Flora?’ Luna points at the peonies I’ve tucked under my arm. Their smell is mingling with the thick aroma of herbs that’s flooding the room.

  ‘These are for you, to thank you for being so welcoming,’ I say, proffering them at her and hoping she’ll accept them in the spirit they’re intended.

  Luna puts down her wooden spoon, scoops up the flowers and buries her nose in the deep pink and purple petals.

  ‘They’re absolutely gorgeous, Flora. Thank you so much, but you really shouldn’t have.’

  You really shouldn’t have because you’re condoning floral murder? I’m relieved when Luna starts humming as she fills a pottery vase with water and arranges the peonies. That’s got to be a good sign.

  I’ve just peeled off my cardigan, and I’m contemplating shedding more clothing, when my phone beeps with a text. My stomach lurches when I see it’s from Malcolm, but I take a deep breath and open it:

  Flora – hope you are well. I have exciting news. Will call into shop tomorrow. M x

  That’s it. Short and to the point, though I’m not sure what that point is. ‘Hope you are well’ sounds terribly formal but then he’s signed off with a kiss. Heaven knows what his ‘exciting news’ could be.

  My rollercoaster mood dips and Luna looks up from her flower arranging.

  ‘Is everything all right, Flora?’

  ‘Yeah, fine, thanks.’

  Luna wafts over in her flowing turquoise tunic and places the vase of flowers in the middle of the table. ‘Why don’t you go and relax in the garden until tea’s ready?’

  ‘I was going to help you get things ready.’

  ‘I’m all organised so there’s no need.’ Luna takes a firm hold of my elbow, pulls me to my feet and guides me to the open back door. ‘Off you go,’ she says, almost pushing me outside. ‘And don’t come back in until it’s time to eat.’ Then she talks about my chakras being blocked and how steeping myself in nature will help to get my prana flowing. Or something like that. I don’t really understand her but I get the gist, and she’s right that her beautiful garden makes me feel better.

  Ahead of me, the lawn runs towards the vegetable patch and, beyond, there are trees in full leaf and fabulous views across the valley. I settle into a shabby striped deckchair on the grass and breathe out slowly. This garden isn’t always a haven of peace. Caleb’s often running around with the cat or playing football with his dad, and there’s often a background hum of tractors in the fields or cars on the country lane. But this evening there’s only the sound of birdsong and water tumbling over stones in the stream, as the sun slides towards the hill.

  It’s the perfect place to relax but, although I close my eyes, my muscles feel tense. The thought of seeing Malcolm tomorrow has made me jittery. It would be so much easier if I could hate him for betraying me, but I just can’t. Hating someone you’ve loved for over twenty years isn’t so easy, whatever he’s done.

  I sigh and shif
t about in the deckchair. Luna’s always going on about the benefits of meditation so maybe I should give it a go. Anything that might quieten the thoughts tumbling around my brain is worth a try. Luna always meditates cross-legged on the rug in the parlour, with a beatific smile on her face. I’d feel like a prat doing that in the garden, where anyone might see me. So I stay where I am, forget the smile, and just start breathing deeply. In and out. In and out. But my thoughts keep coming and they seem even louder: Can I cope on my own without Malcolm? Will I ever feel a proper part of Honeyford? Who the hell is April Devlin?

  I don’t think I’m doing this right. Should I be chanting ‘Om’, or something? I deliberately slow my breathing even more and I’m just starting to feel more relaxed when I hear a weird noise. It sounds like hiccups.

  I sit up and look around me, but there’s no one about. Ahead of me, leaves are gently rustling in a soft breeze and there’s a myriad of different greens across the valley. From the palest smudge of sludgy moss-green to bright emerald. There are definitely worse places to spend a summer evening, I decide, taking in a deep breath of sweet scented air. The restaurant in Oxford will be hot and airless, in spite of the fans whirling on the ceiling.

  I settle back down in the deckchair but jump up when I hear the hiccupping sounds again. They’re coming from the huge oak tree that stands on the boundary between Luna’s land and the farm beyond. It’s only when I get closer that I notice a flash of blue in the branches and realise it’s Caleb’s trainer.

  ‘Caleb, are you up there? I can see your shoe.’

  When there’s no answer, I’m tempted to leave him to it. He probably climbs trees all the time. But he’s only little and he’s a very long way up. What would his mother do if she were here?

  I run my fingers across the rough bark and call up into the branches, ‘Are you allowed to climb up so high? You’d better come down now before you fall down.’

  The only sound is the wind rustling in the leaves, even though I can now make out Caleb’s little backside far above my head.

  ‘Caleb, answer me!’ My words come out quite sharply and Caleb’s white face appears through the leaves. He has red rings around his eyes, as though he’s been crying, which worries me even more. If he’s upset, he’s far more likely to miss his footing on the way down.

  ‘Come down now, Caleb. Very slowly, please. For me.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, he starts scrambling from branch to branch so quickly that twigs and leaves shower onto the ground.

  ‘Whoa, slow down!’ I shout, opening my arms wide to catch him, though he’ll probably flatten me. ‘If you fall, your dad will kill me.’

  I definitely shouldn’t have said that to a child whose mother has died. Malcolm’s right when he says I’m not good with children. Adults I can cope with, but children make me nervous in inverse proportion to their size. Tiny babies absolutely terrify me. Caleb slithers safely down the rest of the trunk and stands in front of me with his head bent. There are stains on his Manchester City football top, and leaves are poking out from his blonde hair. I brush them away.

  ‘What were you doing up there?’

  ‘Sorry,’ mumbles Caleb, still looking at the floor. He gives a loud hiccup and winces. ‘I don’t want to get into trouble.’

  He stumbles over his words and, instinctively, I put my finger under his chin and lift his face towards mine. He’s definitely been crying. There are red smudges on his pale cheeks, and a dribble of snot is pooling on his upper lip. Poor lad.

  ‘Here you go!’ I fish in my pocket for a tissue and push it into his hand. ‘You’re not in trouble. I was just worried about you being so high up, and you look a bit upset.’ I look around for backup, but there’s no one in the garden except the two of us. Oh, blimey. ‘Why don’t you come and sit with me for a minute?’

  Caleb scuffs his feet, as though that’s the last thing he wants to do, but he follows me without a word and plonks himself down next to me on the wooden bench near the stream. There’s dirt on his trainers and a tear in his school trousers above the knee.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yep, fine,’ he replies, staring at the tumbling water. He dabs his nose and hiccups some more as a crow swoops low over our heads and lands on the fence that marks the end of Luna’s garden.

  ‘Something’s obviously upset you. Would you like to talk about it?’

  ‘Nope,’ he replies, still staring straight ahead.

  ‘Are you sure? I know I’m not your… well, you don’t know me properly. But I’d like to help if I can.’

  ‘You can’t.’ When he gives a tiny, shuddering gulp, I feel so sorry for him.

  ‘Are you feeling ill, or has something happened at school? It’ll be the summer holidays soon and you’ll enjoy those, won’t you?’

  Caleb shrugs and kicks a stone towards the stream. It bounces on the grassy bank and plops into the fast-flowing water.

  Honestly, I’m hopeless. If I was touchy-feely like Callie, I’d know exactly which words would coax him to talk. She has a real gift with people. And if I was his mum, I’d put my arms around him and get him to tell me what’s wrong. But I’m no one’s mum and Caleb is still wary of me. We sit in silence for a few minutes until he suddenly jumps to his feet and stands in front of me.

  ‘Please can I go now?’ he asks, still not catching my eye. He turns his foot over and gnaws at the inside of his cheek.

  ‘Of course you can go if you want to. And I’m sorry that you’re upset. Whatever’s bothering you, I hope it gets sorted out really quickly.’

  Caleb finally glances up and gives me a smile that’s much too sad for such a small person. ‘Thanks,’ he mutters, before running indoors for some proper maternal comfort from Luna.

  I watch him go and wonder how much having a child would have changed me and Malcolm. Maybe it would have softened my sharper edges, and made Malcolm less self-obsessed, and we’d still be together, united in our love for our child. Or maybe the stress of caring for an infant would have pushed us apart years ago. We’ll never know.

  Caleb picks at his tea and eats hardly anything, even though it’s delicious. Luna really is a whizz with a vegetarian cookbook and a witch’s cauldron, and her Mediterranean stew matches any of the posh food served at The Briar Patch.

  ‘You all right, mate?’ Daniel asks, ruffling his son’s fair hair. ‘You usually love Granny’s stews. You’re not sickening for something, are you?’

  ‘Just not hungry,’ mumbles Caleb, pushing food around his plate with his fork.

  Luna holds the back of her hand to her grandson’s forehead and leans forward to kiss him on the cheek. ‘You don’t feel like you’ve got a temperature, but you’re definitely not right this evening. Shall I save you some food in case you feel hungry later?’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ Caleb scrapes his chair back across the quarry tiles. ‘Please can I go to my room now?’

  Luna glances at Daniel, who shrugs. ‘I guess so, if that’s all you’re going to eat.’

  Daniel watches his son walk into the hall, puts down his knife and fork and follows him. Framed in the doorway, he catches up with Caleb, kneels in front of him and says something. I can’t hear what he’s saying or Caleb’s reply because the washing machine in the corner has reached its spin cycle and is drumming up and down on the tiles. Cups and saucers on the worktop above it are rattling like crazy.

  Caleb looks at me and then Daniel does the same and narrows his eyes, before he comes back to the table.

  Oh, great! What did Caleb say about me? I’m already in Daniel’s bad books for rummaging around his bedroom. And I doubt he’s truly forgiven me for shouting at his beloved son in The Cosy Kettle. Daniel eats a few more mouthfuls before pushing his plate away. ‘I’m going out for a walk, Mum, if that’s OK? I could do with clearing my head. Save the washing-up and I’ll do it when I get back.’

  ‘Of course, love. Some fresh air will do you good after being cooped up in an office all day.’ Luna pla
ces her hand on his arm. ‘And don’t worry about Caleb. He’ll be fine.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Daniel scrapes the remains of his stew into the compost bin before leaving the kitchen. He doesn’t look at me once.

  I swallow a few more mouthfuls but hardly taste the food. What did Caleb say?

  ‘Not hungry either?’ asks Luna, running her fingers over the chunk of pink rock crystal around her neck. She appears to have a wearable rock for every occasion. She fixes her eyes on me and stares as though she can see into my soul. I wish she’d stop doing that – her weird stares are very disconcerting.

  ‘I’ve eaten loads and the food’s delicious, but I’ve run out of steam.’

  Luna’s amber eyes glint in light from the candles on the table. ‘You are looking a bit peaky this evening, Flora. Just like Caleb. Maybe you could do with a walk too, to put some colour back in your cheeks. What do you think?’

  Before I can reply, she stands up, walks behind me and pulls out my chair so quickly that I almost fall flat on my backside. ‘Off you go. You can probably catch up with Daniel if you get a move on. I dare say he’s headed off down the lane, towards Greenings Farm. Off you trot!’

  ‘I can stay and get the washing-up done before Daniel gets back.’

  ‘Or I can do it while you’re off communing with Mother Earth. Chop-chop or he’ll be out of sight.’

  There appears to be no arguing with Luna when she’s insistent about communing. So I slip on my trainers and jacket and head off into the summer evening. It’s still glorious out here. The sun is a huge orb hanging low in the sky and the light is golden. The cottage windows are bright with reflected sunshine and a thick soup of pollen is floating in the air. I glance up at Caleb’s room but his window’s closed and there’s no sign of him.

  A walk isn’t such a bad idea after being cooped up in the shop for hours. It was so busy today, I only got a ten-minute lunch break. And if I catch up with Daniel, I can let him know that Caleb was upset earlier – and try to find out what Caleb said about me to his dad.