by Liz Eeles
Sunday is a difficult day when you’re on your own. It’s a day for families and spending time with loved ones. But it’s an absolute bugger if you don’t have a proper home and your loved one has turned out to be not-so-loving after all. It’s also a right pain if you have difficult decisions to make that you’d rather not face.
That’s why I decide to go into the shop on Sunday afternoon. The café isn’t open – Becca has Sundays and Mondays off, and Callie is enjoying a picnic with Noah. But I can man the shop for a few hours, sell a few books, and keep my brain occupied.
It turns out that Honeyford on a summer Sunday is bustling, and it was well worth opening, I decide, as I lock up the shop at five o’clock. It’s been really busy, with locals and tourists wandering in to browse and buy. Though not proper restaurant-busy – Malcolm and I were always rushed off our feet on Sundays. I wonder how he’s managing without me to help out, and without Marina too. I assume she’s moved on to a different job, though Malcolm hasn’t said so. And I didn’t get around to asking.
Thinking about Malcolm and Marina makes me jittery so I take a walk through Honeyford before heading back to Starlight Cottage. Exercise might help to drown out the snatches of my last conversation with Malcolm, which keep replaying in my mind. And the town’s beautiful buttery-yellow buildings are soothing, even though billowing white clouds keep blotting out the sun.
I wander past the market house, along Church Lane and over the ancient stone bridge that crosses the river. Two small children are paddling in the shallow water, whooping with delight as they splash in their wellies, and I watch them for a while. How wonderful to be young and full of joy, rather than middle-aged with hard decisions to make. Walking on, I pass the handsome manor house that’s now the fancy boutique hotel, and reach the medieval church. It’s a big church for such a small town, with stained glass in its oblong windows, stone tiles on its apex roof, and an arched opening into its weathered porch. A flag is fluttering from the top of its crenellated tower.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ says a low, deep voice behind me as I’m staring at the church and imagining all the people who’ve been married and buried here over the centuries. The voice is familiar and I feel flustered, even before I turn around.
‘Daniel, what are you doing here?’
‘Just having a walk. I dropped Luna and Caleb at her shop. She’s finishing off her stocktaking and paying him a few pounds to help her. Though I’m not sure how much help he’ll be. He’s got his head in the clouds half the time these days.’
‘He does seem distracted.’
‘Hmm.’ Emotion flits across Daniel’s face, then he nods at the church. ‘It’s a beautiful building, isn’t it? Did you know it’s made from wool?’
‘I did not. It’s amazing what you can do with a decent pattern.’
Daniel grins. ‘The wool trade brought loads of dosh to the Cotswolds several hundred years ago and it was ploughed into posh houses and churches. Local sheep were big money-spinners, apparently.’
‘Have you been reading Luna’s local guide book again?’
‘That obvious, is it?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Busted! Look, I was just going to the pub for a quick pint.’ He pauses. ‘Would you like to join me?’
Would I? It’s such an innocuous question – ‘would you like to join me?’ But it’s sparked a cascade of conflict in my brain. Say no and I’ll seem unfriendly, but if I say yes and accompany him to the pub, I’ll feel guilty because I’m not sure a married, albeit separated, woman should.
‘It’s not a date,’ says Daniel, displaying his trademark bluntness, ‘just a lemonade, if you’re lucky.’
Oh, great! My cheeks start burning with embarrassment. Of course it’s not a date. I never thought it was, but now he thinks that I thought…
‘Yeah, that would be lovely,’ I say, wishing I’d just gone straight back to Starlight Cottage after locking up the shop.
‘Let’s head for The Pheasant then. I’m parched.’
Daniel leads the way over the bridge and back along the still bustling High Street. He doesn’t say a word while he marches along and I wonder if he’s already regretting inviting me to join him. It did seem rather spontaneous. When we reach the pub, which is a bright burst of climbing plants and hanging baskets overflowing with flowers, he stands back so I can go inside first.
‘After you, and mind your head.’
I duck under the low door of the old coaching inn and weave my way to the bar. It’s warm in here, even though a gentle breeze is blowing through both front and back doors, which are flung wide open. There are a few people I recognise, chatting at the bar. And a large group of tourists are sitting at a corner table, poring over a local guidebook and sipping beer.
‘Let me buy you a drink, Daniel,’ I insist, delving into my purse. My hair brushes against his chin when I turn my head to speak to him. ‘A pint, was it? Oh, look sharpish. There must be a table in the garden that’s free.’
A tall, angular woman, who’s come into the shop a couple of times, is standing in the doorway to the garden and beckoning me over. That’s kind of her.
‘I’m on it. A pint of bitter, please,’ says Daniel over his shoulder as he starts walking towards her, past the huge stone fireplace which is blackened with soot. I watch him go, all long legs and broad shoulders, in grey chino shorts and a white T-shirt. His calves are dead muscly, I can’t help but notice.
After a couple of minutes I catch the barman’s attention and I’m soon heading outside to join Daniel, with a pint in one hand and a glass of rosé in the other. He’s sitting at a table near the garden wall that’s almost obscured by a huge curtain of soft-pink dog roses.
‘Thanks. I could do with this. I nabbed the only free table – it’s always busy out here in nice weather.’ Daniel takes a few gulps of his beer and leans across the table towards me when I sit down. ‘How was your afternoon at work?’ he asks. ‘Luna said you’d gone in for a few hours.’
‘Good, thanks.’
‘Great. Lots of customers?’
‘A fair few. How was your afternoon not at work?’
‘Very good. There’s a lot to be said for doing absolutely nothing.’
‘There really is.’
‘Definitely. Especially when the sun’s out.’
‘Absolutely.’
If this was a date, I’d seriously need to improve the quality of my small talk. I’m so out of practice. Simply Red were number one in the UK charts the last time I went on a first date. Though THIS IS NOT A DATE, I keep telling myself. I’m still a married woman, and Daniel probably thinks I’m a bit of a prat.
He takes another sip of his drink and wipes froth from his upper lip, unaware of the monologue going on in my head.
There’s Callie, Noah and Stanley! I wave at them, happy to see familiar, friendly faces, and Callie waves back from beneath their table’s striped parasol.
‘Who’s that?’ asks Daniel, twisting in his seat.
‘That’s Callie, who works with me sometimes, her boyfriend, Noah, and her granddad, Stanley. He doesn’t look it but he’s eighty years old.’
‘What on earth is he wearing?’ Daniel cranes his neck to get a better look at Stanley, who’s rocking a shiny sky-blue shell suit, circa 1985, and a necklace of large wooden beads.
‘Stanley’s quite a character. He decided to live his best life on hitting eighty and that includes adopting his own unique fashion style. The shell suit’s a new addition. He’s usually in full camouflage gear or skinny jeans and ripped T-shirts.’
‘Crikey. Good for him.’
‘Indeed. He gets some strange looks but fashion should be an individual choice, don’t you think? Look at your mum with her scarves and kaftans.’
‘She does have her own distinct fashion flair. As do you. You always look really stylish.’
It’s such an unexpected compliment, I don’t quite know what to say. So I just gulp down more cold rosé and glance nervously around me. It’s h
ard to shake the feeling that Malcolm’s about to wander into the garden.
‘Are you expecting someone?’
‘No, no, not at all. No one. I don’t really know many people so, no, I’m not expecting anyone. Nada.’ Hell’s bells, I think I made that clear enough. I sigh quietly and focus my attention back on Daniel.
‘Did you ever find out what was bothering Caleb, the evening we went for a walk to the lake?’
‘Afraid not. I did ask but he clammed up and claimed he was fine. He says everything’s good and there’s no reason to worry.’
‘Did that make you feel better?’
‘A bit. Though I’ve learned that becoming a parent means you never have peace of mind again.’
‘I’m sure he’s OK. He’s such a lovely boy.’
‘You’re right. He is.’ A broad smile lights up Daniel’s face.
‘And you’ve done a good job.’
‘I try.’ The smile fades and he starts tracing condensation on his pint glass. ‘It’s hard work being a single parent, and I don’t always get it right.’
‘Rest assured that you’re doing a better job than I would.’
‘It just takes practice, Flora. You might be a natural if you give it some time. So you and Malcolm never…?’
‘Heavens, no. It never seemed to be the right time for children, and he wasn’t that keen. Anyway, how could I possibly head up such a globally significant business as Honeyford Bookshop and The Cosy Kettle with kids in tow?’
‘The world is very grateful.’
‘That’s good to know.’ I take a long swig of wine to hide the rush of emotion that’s come to the surface. Not having children was a joint decision but, every now and then, I can’t help wondering what if?
‘So how are you doing these days?’ asks Daniel, suddenly.
‘I’m OK.’
‘Really?’ Daniel puts his beer down and his eyes meet mine across the sticky wooden table.
Oops, here we go – zero to one hundred in the blink of an eye. Daniel’s flashes of brooding intensity are still disconcerting, even though I’m starting to get used to them. I give a nervous, brittle laugh. ‘What can I say? I’m still living apart from Malcolm and figuring out what to do long-term, but I’m scraping by and earning a crust, thanks to my little hobby.’ Does that sound too bitter? ‘I’m managing OK,’ I add, firmly.
‘I’m not always sure that you are,’ says Daniel, leaning further across the table towards me.
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean is you look stressed half the time and sad the rest.’
Is that code for ‘You look awful’? It seems I’ve got the clothes right but the face, maybe not so much.
‘I’m managing the best I can in the circumstances,’ I say, wearily. ‘But I feel rather lost without my old life and it’s weird without Malcolm, even though he let me down. This is the first time he’s ever had an affair.’
It seems important to get that fact out there, though memories of Malcolm are surfacing in my mind – him, flirting with my friends in Yorkshire, insisting on always kissing female acquaintances on the cheek, standing very close to the female chef who preceded Pierre. I never did properly find out why she left in such a hurry.
‘What did Malcolm want when he called in the other day, by the way?’
‘He wanted to let me know that he’s ditched Marina. He wants me to come home,’ I tell Daniel, surprised by just how much I’m sharing with a man I only met a couple of weeks ago. I think it helps that he doesn’t really know me or Malcolm.
Daniel sits back in his chair, until his hair is brushing against the dog roses, and stretches out his long legs. ‘I see. And will you go home?’
‘I don’t know. I miss lots of my old life and it would be easy, in many ways, to just go back to it. Starting over is pretty scary. But, on the other hand, there are bits of my new life that I wouldn’t want to give up.’ I add, quickly, ‘Like the shop and the café, and getting involved with the local community on Charter Day,’ just in case he thinks I’m referring to him.
‘Well, I think it’s great that you’re taking a chance and doing something you really want to do in Honeyford. Trust me, it’s better than being shoe-horned into someone else’s life.’ Daniel clamps his lips shut as though he’s finally said too much.
I can’t resist asking, ‘Do you feel shoe-horned then?’
‘Sometimes,’ he says, a muscle twitching in his jaw. ‘Working as an accountant, living with my mother and bringing up my son alone wasn’t exactly my dream.’
I should shut up now because our conversation has veered far enough into challenging territory. But tall, slightly scary Daniel suddenly looks so vulnerable, I can’t help myself. ‘What are your dreams, then, Daniel? What do you want out of life?’
He gazes into the distance and gives a sad smile. ‘A different career would be rather nice.’
‘You’re not a dyed-in-the-wool accountant then?’
‘Ha, hardly! Let’s just say it’s not my ideal job, but it brings in a good salary for me and Caleb so I can’t complain.’
‘So you’d like a different career. What else? Riches, fame, being signed up by Manchester City?’ I’m assuming that Caleb supports the same team as his father.
Daniel laughs. ‘That would be marvellous, plus a private jet, a villa in Antibes, and a relationship, maybe, with a woman who loves me and my son.’
‘Have you…? I mean, since Emma, have you, um…?’ I wish I hadn’t started this question.
Daniel raises an eyebrow. ‘Have I had sex with a woman since my wife died in a car accident?’
That, honestly, was not going to be my question. Or, at least, not in those exact words, seeing as my relationship with bluntness is not as advanced as Daniel’s.
He smiles at my obvious discomfort. ‘Yes, I’ve been on dates and I got close to one woman in particular, but it didn’t work out. She and Caleb didn’t gel, and my son has to be my first priority. Talking of which…’ He nods towards the pub, where Luna’s standing in the garden doorway, hand in hand with Caleb. Spotting his dad, Caleb gives one of those enthusiastic waves that starts at the shoulder. ‘I’d better take them home for tea,’ says Daniel, downing what’s left of his pint in one. ‘Are you coming with us?’
‘No, I think I’ll have a quick word with Callie before I head back.’
‘Well then, thanks for the drink. And the company.’ Daniel stands up and shakes out his long legs. He hesitates as though he’s going to say something else but then turns and walks towards his family.
‘Oh, by the way, I really enjoyed that book you lent me,’ I call out, but a sudden burst of laughter from the people on the next table drowns out my words.
After Daniel, Luna and Caleb have disappeared into the pub, I slip my feet out of my sandals and sit, for a moment, with my bare feet on the cool grass. It’s gorgeous out here, drinking wine in the sunshine. Birds are twittering in a nearby tree that’s casting shadows across the grass and a Dalmatian is lapping water from a bowl near the door. All around me are couples, groups of friends and families, laughing and relaxing on a late Sunday afternoon.
A wave of heartbreaking loneliness suddenly sweeps over me. I get up quickly, push my feet back into my shoes and hurry over to Callie before I’m engulfed.
‘Hey, Flora. Did you open the shop today?’ Callie gives me a beaming smile and pushes her wavy blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘If you’d let me know, I’d have come in to give you a hand when I finished at the coffee shop. I only went for a picnic with Noah afterwards.’
‘No, I didn’t want to intrude on your time together.’ I smile at her handsome, square-jawed boyfriend, who grins back. ‘When do you start your new job in Oxford, Noah?’
‘Tomorrow. This is my last day of freedom.’
‘Ah, good luck. And what about you, Stanley? How are you?’
‘I’m sick,’ says Stanley, pulling at the beads around his neck.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to he
ar that.’
Callie rests her hand on my arm. ‘He’s absolutely fine. He means sick as in “great”. It’s his favourite slang word at the moment.’
‘Only one of my favourites,’ insists Stanley, rustling about in his shell suit. ‘Along with “wicked”, “salty” and “goat”.’
‘Goat?’
Stanley shakes his head. ‘Short for “greatest of all time”. Honestly, Flora, I’d have thought you’d know that, what with you being such a young ’un.’
‘Talking of young,’ butts in Noah, his pale blue eyes twinkling, ‘did you know that Stanley has decided that dance is his latest passion and a good way of staying young and supple? He’s looking into doing ballet classes.’
‘Um, I didn’t realise that. No.’ A vision of Stanley wearing a pink tutu and doing pliés floats into my mind, as Callie groans quietly.
‘I have a bad case of elderly FOMO,’ declares Stanley. ‘Fear of missing out,’ he adds, helpfully. ‘So, before the Grim Reaper calls, I’m trying my hand at all sorts of things. What do you think about me being the next dance sensation?’
‘I think it’s wonderful,’ I tell him, and I mean it. Stanley isn’t opting for a life that’s familiar or safe. He’s breaking away from the norm, and I’d love just a little of his courage and chutzpah.
‘By the way, when are we going to meet to discuss the book club taking part in the Charter Parade?’ he asks. ‘I’ve got loads of ideas to help us stand out from the crowd, though I’m not sure Millie will go for them.’
‘We can have a chat about it at book club next week and maybe get a planning meeting organised?’
Stanley nods. ‘Better had. There’s a lot to sort out in a short amount of time.’
Tell me about it. Customers keep mentioning our part in the Charter celebrations when they come into the shop and it’s making me nervous. I so want it all to be a great success.
‘Talking of book club’ – Callie leans forward across the table, eyes shining – ‘I’ve just finished Day of Desire and it’s brilliant! Who the hell is this April Devlin woman and why haven’t I heard of her before? She really gets women, and her writing is amazing.’
