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

by Liz Eeles

  ‘Isn’t it? I’ve been recommending her book to everyone, and there’s a real word-of-mouth thing going on in the town. I’ve had to order in more copies to keep up with demand.’

  ‘It’s a shame the cover isn’t more appropriate for the book. That lets it down but, once you get past it, wow! Gramp is reading it at the moment.’

  ‘What do you think of the book, Stanley?’

  He sniffs. ‘Personally, I think it’s a bit over-emotional and, going by the cover, I was expecting a bit more hanky-panky. But it’s easy enough to read, I suppose.’

  Day of Desire was never going to find favour with Stanley, who prefers the sort of thrillers that he refers to as ‘blokey’.

  ‘By the way, who was that you were having a drink with?’ asks Callie.

  ‘Oh, that was Luna’s son. We bumped into each other in town and he invited me to have a drink and I didn’t have anything else to do so I said I would, rather than head straight back to Starlight Cottage and…’ I tail off, aware that I’m saying far more than I need to, and my cheeks are starting to burn. It’s ridiculous but I feel caught out. As though I’ve been doing something I shouldn’t.

  ‘He looked nice.’ Callie slides her hand onto Noah’s and laces her fingers through his.

  ‘He is, kind of. Bit grumpy at times. He’s got a nine-year-old son, Caleb, and he’s living with Luna at the moment because they both needed a fresh start. His wife died tragically in a car crash a few years ago.’

  I’m doing it again. Oversharing for no good reason. And when Callie and Noah share a quick glance, my paranoia goes into overdrive. What did that look between them mean? Do they think I’m cheating on my husband by having a drink with a man in a pub? Does it count as cheating if your husband is already a cheat, and the man you’re having a drink with is far too blunt and complicated for romance anyway?

  ‘Must go. I promised Luna I’d help her with the cooking this evening,’ I lie. ‘It’s lovely to see you all, and best of luck with the new job tomorrow, Noah.’

  ‘Thanks, Flora. I appreciate that.’ Noah’s pale stubble grazes my skin when he kisses my cheek.

  I wave when I get to the pub door, but Callie and Noah aren’t looking at me. As I watch, he puts his arm around her shoulder, pulls her close and gazes at her with such adoration it takes my breath away.

  A sharp spear of envy stabs at my heart. That’s what I want. One hundred per cent unconditional love from a man I can trust. Is that too much to ask?

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘It’s all sorted,’ announces Millicent, storming into the shop and standing in front of me.

  I’m on my knees slotting some newly arrived paperbacks onto a bottom shelf and I stand up slowly, brushing my hands down my skirt. ‘What’s sorted?’ I ask, my mind still partly on Malcolm and the text he sent this morning:

  Are you coming home today, Flora? You’ve made your point x

  Millicent sighs loudly. ‘Why, Sebastian, of course. He’s agreed to come and speak at the bookshop’s Charter Day celebration. Keep up!’

  ‘He’ll come and speak here?’ I gasp, Malcolm’s text forgotten.

  ‘That’s what I said. Honestly, Flora, reading trash is addling your brain. You need to stick to the classics. Maybe a blast of Hemingway or Nabokov will do the trick.’

  She frowns at me while I contemplate throwing my arms around her. She won’t like it but what the hell. When I pull her into a hug, Millicent stiffens but goes with it while I whisper in her ear, ‘That’s fantastic. Thank you so much.’

  ‘You really need to check out some Proust or Mark Twain as soon as possible,’ she sniffs, disentangling herself from me and patting her hair back into place. ‘Why is everyone so over the top these days?’

  ‘Sorry. I’m just delighted that S.R. Kinsley has agreed to be our star speaker, and I don’t have to try and get someone else at short notice for our high-profile event. It’s wonderful to have some good news for a change.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Millicent glances around us to make sure we’re alone. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything if you’d rather not but what’s going on? I’m not blind. I can see that you’re sad and distracted, and a friend of a friend saw you in the local pub a few days ago with a man who didn’t sound like your husband. Are you having an affair?’

  When I blink, taken aback by Millicent’s in-your-face attitude, she pulls her lips into a thin line. ‘It’s none of my business, but’ – she pauses – ‘think of the other woman.’

  ‘Oh, I am,’ I tell her, pulling her into a corner of the shop. ‘I’m thinking pretty much non-stop about the other woman who’s been sleeping with my husband.’

  Millicent’s mouth falls open and I’m horrified to see tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘Don’t get upset,’ I tell her. ‘It’s fine. Honestly.’ That’s weird. I seem to be comforting Millicent because my husband was sleeping with someone else.

  ‘Of course it’s not fine,’ she whispers. ‘I’m so sorry, darling.’ She pats my arm while I reel from the term of endearment that’s so not Millicent at all. After a moment, she gulps. ‘Actually, my husband is rather friendly with his young PA. He says there’s nothing in it and I’m being overdramatic, but I’m not stupid. So I know how you feel.’

  Millicent has hinted at this before but I’ve never felt brave enough to ask her outright about it. We’re such different people. Although… maybe not so much, now.

  Good grief, I’ve morphed into Millicent! We both have cheating husbands and don’t have children – Millicent, temporarily while her children are working abroad, and me, permanently because Malcolm and I never got around to making babies.

  ‘I’m sorry, Millicent. About the PA, and everything.’

  ‘Ah well, it is what it is.’ She shrugs. ‘Anyway, what have you done about it?’

  ‘I’ve left him. For now.’

  ‘So where are you living?’

  ‘I’m staying for a while with Luna who runs the magical emporium further along the High Street. And her son and grandson live with her too. It was her son who I was having a drink with in the pub.’

  ‘I see. I’ve heard that Luna is rather strange but if it doesn’t work out with her, you could always move in with me until you get yourself sorted. We have lots of room and I wouldn’t mind some company. It can get a bit lonely now the children have moved out and are getting on with their lives.’ Millicent swallows and stares at her sensible flat shoes while I fight the urge to give her another hug.

  ‘That’s so kind of you,’ I say, gently, ‘but I’m happy enough with Luna, and I rather think that I might get under your feet.’ This is a huge understatement. Much as Millicent and I have developed a tentative friendship, we’d likely kill each other if we lived under the same roof. She knows it too, but I’m incredibly touched by her offer.

  Millicent lifts her eyes and gives me a sad smile. ‘You’re probably right but let me know if I can help in any other way.’

  ‘Have you ever thought about leaving your husband?’ I ask, softly, as a mum and two whooping children bundle through the shop door.

  ‘Oh, I’m not as brave as you,’ she whispers.

  ‘Brave? I’m certainly not that. I’m absolutely bricking it at the thought of being without Malcolm for good.’

  I’m not sure Millicent will approve of the phrase ‘bricking it’, but she doesn’t bat an eyelid.

  ‘I think it’s very brave to try and make a new life on your own. It’s not easy to turn your back on years of marriage and security, especially when you’re hardly in the first flush of youth. You risk sliding through your middle years, alone and uncared for. I couldn’t do it.’

  Hmm, thanks Millicent. I suddenly feel like a very nervous ancient runaway.

  She snaps back into usual Millicent mode and raises her voice. ‘I couldn’t possibly leave Jonathan, anyway. How would I cope without my gold credit card, my top-of-the-range kitchen and foreign holidays twice a year? Right, let’s get back to business, Flora. As I say, Se
bastian will make an appearance on Charter Day and talk about his wonderful writing career.’

  ‘What about payment? I can’t afford much.’

  ‘He’s very generously waived a fee. He says he loves the Cotswolds and is glad to get out of London for the day. He just asks that you cover his travel expenses and collect him from Oxford station. He’d also like to sell a few of his books, obviously.’

  ‘Of course.’

  I can already picture a fabulous array of Kinsley bestsellers in the window and a display of his books at the front of the shop. Getting him here is a real coup that will put the town on the literary map and encourage new people into my shop and The Cosy Kettle. I’ll feel a real part of the local community.

  Millicent heads off for her fortnightly facial and I keep busy in the shop. It’s Saturday, always our busiest day of the week, and we’re buzzing with customers. Just wait until S.R. Kinsley is in!

  Not all of today’s visitors are buying books, sadly – some have just nipped in for a browse – but a fair few are drawn by the rich smell of coffee that’s wafting from The Cosy Kettle. Not for the first time, I thank my lucky stars that I ran with Callie’s suggestion to open the café, back when the shop was new to me and I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

  Stepping into the café, I can’t help but smile. It’s always warm and inviting in here, and today Becca has put small vases of flowers from the garden on every table. She’s busy steaming milk near our display of mouthwatering cakes – they make me feel hungry just looking at them. The local bakery that supplies us has excelled itself today. Long eclairs oozing with cream are vying for space with huge slabs of sugared fruit cake, slices of frosted sponge, fruit-studded flapjack and iced cupcakes.

  Some of the people seated at tables are tourists taking a break from wandering around picturesque Honeyford. But I recognise a couple of locals – the sweetshop owner, Amy, who’s sinking her teeth into a chocolate brownie, and Ivor, who’s run the newsagent’s shop for the last thirty years.

  A tall man with a very straight back twists in his seat and my stomach does a weird flip when I realise it’s Daniel. What’s he doing in here? I’ve hardly seen him since our chat in the pub because he’s been getting home from work late – something to do with a major client having a nervous breakdown over his tax bill.

  He spots me and half-raises his hand but stops as two arms snake around my waist from behind and I feel Malcolm’s hot breath on my cheek. He smells faintly of onions. When I move away, Malcolm smiles sadly and his shoulders slump. ‘Can’t I give the woman I love a hug?’

  His hangdog expression wrongfoots me. I’ve spent years trying to make Malcolm happy and now his whole demeanour screams that I’m not doing a very good job. There’s a very good reason for that but, irrationally, I still feel guilty.

  ‘Why are you here?’ I ask, rather more sharply than I meant to.

  ‘I just wanted to call in to give you some moral support with the business. That’s allowed, isn’t it, seeing as you’ve stopped replying to my texts.’

  ‘That’s because your texts say the same thing over and over again, and I don’t know how to reply. Nothing’s changed since the last time we spoke.’

  Malcolm brushes away my words with a wave of his hand. ‘I wanted to see you because, as I told you, we’re in this together now and your dreams are my dreams. Plus, I wanted to bring you these.’ He picks up a large bunch of flowers he must have dropped on the floor before giving me a hug. ‘Here you go. I know you’ve got a thing about lilies.’

  When he thrusts them into my arms, a familiar tickle starts at the top of my nose. I’ve got a thing about lilies all right. I never buy them because the pollen irritates my nose and makes my eyes stream.

  ‘That’s kind of you, Malcolm, but now’s not a good time. I’m too busy to talk at the moment.’

  ‘As usual,’ says Malcolm, petulantly. He’s looking less groomed today than usual. His pale grey shirt is creased as though it’s been badly ironed. He breathes out slowly and smiles. ‘Anyway, let’s not argue. It’s good to see the shop and café so busy for a change. And I wondered if you’d had the time – although I know you’re very busy – to consider when you’ll be coming home.’

  Not if I’ll be coming home, but ‘when’. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Daniel is watching us as he sips his coffee.

  ‘Not yet, Malcolm.’

  ‘Then when?’ he demands, assuming that I’m talking about coming home, rather than merely considering the issue.

  ‘I’m sorry but I don’t know.’

  Malcolm frowns at a man who walks past us towards the cake display and lowers his voice. ‘Is this delay to punish me, Flora? I’ve already apologised and don’t know what else I can do. I’m human, I was tempted in difficult circumstances, and I made a mistake. But that’s behind us now and your home and your life is with me. What else are you going to do? Live with strangers forever?’

  ‘Maybe I’ll get my own place and make a new life for myself,’ I retort, stung into standing up for myself.

  Malcolm’s mouth drops open. ‘You’ve never been on your own before, Flora, and who else will you spend the rest of your life with, if not me? I’m only being cruel to be kind but neither of us are getting any younger. You and I belong together and the only person stopping that happening right now is you. We’re soulmates, Flora. You know we are. And soulmates like us can weather the occasional spot of rain.’

  More a full-on monsoon than an April shower, I think, but I keep quiet. A busy café on a Saturday afternoon isn’t the time or place to discuss the future of my marriage.

  ‘Anyway,’ says Malcolm, as I sneeze loudly and start ferreting in my trouser pocket for a tissue. ‘I’m going to have a drink in your dinky little Cosy Kettle and think about how proud I am of you for building this up. All I ask is that you think about what we’ve built up together and achieved over the years.’

  Daniel has pushed back his chair and is walking towards me as Malcolm wanders off. The two men pass each other without a glance. I prop the damn lilies up against the wall and stand back so Daniel has room to get through the café doorway. But he stops.

  ‘That’s the husband, I presume,’ he murmurs. He’s so different from Malcolm – a head taller with sharper cheekbones and wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He’s definitely more broodingly handsome than Malcolm, who was handsome when we first met, but years of working in a restaurant have left their mark – he’s still a good-looking man, but his belly is more rounded and his cheekbones have all but disappeared.

  ‘Yes, that’s him,’ I sniffle, blinking my stinging eyes.

  ‘Are you crying? What did he say to you?’ asks Daniel, peering at my face. Concern flares in his deep brown eyes and he pulls a tissue from his jeans pocket. ‘Here, have this. It’s clean.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m fine, really. I’m just reacting to the flowers that Malcolm brought me. Lily pollen always has this effect.’ I nod at the bunch of tall white blooms and dab at my eyes with the tissue.

  ‘Does he always buy you flowers you’re allergic to?’

  ‘No, he’s never bought me lilies before.’

  To be honest, it’s been ages since Malcolm bought me any flowers at all. Our lovely bright flat in Oxford was always filled with flowers but I bought them myself. Marina had flowers in the cold store, the first time I saw her and Malcolm together; the memory passes across my mind but I bat it away for the moment. The suspicion that Malcolm bought flowers for her will be back to haunt me tonight.

  ‘Anyway, what are you doing in The Cosy Kettle?’ I ask Daniel.

  ‘I was in town picking up a few things and I thought I’d call in to support your business, preferably without knocking any china over this time. You were busy with a customer when I came in or I’d have said hello.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. What do you think of the place?’

  ‘It’s all looking very jolly and it’s busy today. There’s a real buzz about Charter Day
and the baking competition. Everyone’s talking about it.’

  They are, thanks to Becca’s poster plastered around the town inviting people to dust off Delia and take part in the first ever Honeyford Bake-Off. It’s poster number six – she dismissed the five earlier versions she produced as ‘not quite right’. No one could ever accuse Becca of not putting her heart and soul into a project.

  ‘Lots of people have entered the bake-off already, and I’ve just heard that S.R. Kinsley has agreed to be guest of honour at our writing event.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, Flora. I know how much it means to you.’ When Daniel smiles, his eyes twinkle. I’ve never noticed that before.

  ‘Thank you. I really need the day to go well so I’m a bit nervous, but S.R. Kinsley is a huge boost.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be very popular.’ Daniel glances at Malcolm who, as luck would have it, is sitting in the chair that Daniel’s just vacated and watching us intently. ‘So what does your husband want?’

  I sigh. ‘He’s still asking me to come back to him.’

  ‘Do you still love him?’

  Daniel’s straight question doesn’t faze me at all. I’m definitely getting used to him. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. But he’s sure I’ll come back eventually because who else is going to be interested in me now I’m getting on a bit?’

  ‘Did he actually say that?’

  ‘More or less. Things usually go Malcolm’s way so he kind of takes it for granted that I will go back to him once I’ve made my point.’

  ‘And will you?’ asks Daniel, staring at his feet.

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But it would be nice if he wasn’t so convinced that he’s my only option.’

  Daniel bites his bottom lip and leans close. ‘What about if you challenged that perception?’

  ‘How?’

  Without another word, he dips his head and leans closer. He’s staring at my mouth, but he wouldn’t… surely he wouldn’t.

  His mouth is getting closer and I should step back, or turn my head, or make a run for it. But I feel rooted to the spot, as though I’m hypnotised. There’s no way he’d kiss me in the middle of my shop on a busy Saturday afternoon, not even to flick a metaphorical V-sign at a cheating husband. He doesn’t even like me over-much.