‘Morning, lovely.’ Zenya beamed. ‘Honestly, I’m so pleased everyone has decided to come down from High Meadow for breakfast today. It’s so much nicer preparing food for real faces rather than shoving bits into takeaway boxes. Feels more communal.’
Rita sank herself onto a stool. ‘Apologies if I’m slightly absent this first week. I’m going to be up to my eyes in paperwork. The wedding licence alone requires so much information. Kids! It really is never-ending.’ Trying to push away the thought that she may well be starting this whole circle of life all over again, Rita forced a nervous laugh.
‘It’s OK, Teo and I are seasoned professionals now.’ Zenya started taking mugs from the cupboard and placed them on the side.
Rita smiled. ‘That you are. I will definitely come to the first moonlight mantra, though.’
Zenya popped the kettle on. ‘Good, but honestly we’re doing OK, Rita.’
‘You’redoing OK, I have no doubt of that, but are the guests behaving themselves?’
Zenya started to cut a freshly made loaf. ‘They’ve only been here a minute, but behind the bravado, they are mostly a lovely bunch. I stayed with them a bit longer than usual last night and noticed that Cass never sits still. Odette rarely stops moaning about men and her writer’s block, Priya could realign all our chakras with a single smile, Davie is constantly talking of filmingLove Chalet: The Seahaven Edition, and Imogen’s still giving strong “don’t try to make me join in” energy.’
Rita laughed. ‘Well, let her be, I guess. Still waters run deep and all that. I’m so lucky to have you and Teo and boy, does it smell heavenly in here.’ Rita’s voice quietened. ‘I’m not feeling brilliant, though, Zen. Bit off. I think it’s the perimenopause doing its thing. I’m going to ring the doctor in a bit.’
Zenya stilled. The brightness in her face softened into something deeper, more searching. She stepped in front of Rita and lowered herself slightly, so they were eye level. Her gaze unmistakably intense. ‘May I?’
Trusting Zenya implicitly, Rita nodded at whatever was to come. Zenya hovered her palms around Rita’s head, down her shoulders, then over her middle, not touching, just sensing. It sent a shiver through Rita, like a soft breeze brushing her skin.
Zenya inhaled sharply, then in a whisper said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Rita. Aside from being pregnant, that is.’
Rita froze. Her heart lurched against her ribs.
‘Zenya, come on, how do you know that for sure?’
Zenya’s expression was gently certain, the kind of certainty that felt older than logic. ‘Because your energy is glowing. It’s… new life. I can feel it.’
Rita’s eyes stung. ‘I feel far from bloody glowing.’
Before Zenya could reply, the door banged open.
‘Moooorning!’ boomed Davie, designer cap askew, his face still half asleep. ‘I know it’s early but I’m starving. I’m sonotused to having a full fridge in the room next door to dive into. Been dreaming of eggs on toast all night. Properly haunting me.’
The absurdity of everything Davie said caused Rita to laugh; hewasso over the top, but so lovable with it.
‘Well.’ Rita pushed off her stool and pointed to the egg basket. ‘You’d better get some of these freshly laid ones inside of you, before you starve to death.’
‘That sounds almost pornographic but thank God,’ Davie declared dramatically, flouncing onto a bench with his buzzing phone aloft. ‘A real-life food angel in our midst.’
Zenya caught Rita’s eye. ‘I’m running the gong workshop this morning but will be planting out in the allotment later.’
‘Lovely,’ Rita said, heading for the door. ‘See you later. Have a good day, Davie. And is that a phone I can see… and hear…?’
‘Busted.’ He grimaced and put it face down on the table.
Rita left them to it, grinning, and stepped out into the soft April air.
Behind her, Zenya called, ‘Everything’s growing fast out there now. It’s that time of year.’
Rita touched her stomach without thinking. Kelly had sown the first seed of doubt, but Zenya had deep-rooted it. And now, ready or not, she had to face the possibility that shecouldbe carrying Jago Jenken’s child.
Later that day, Rita stood in the farmhouse kitchen, sunlight streaming through the windows and dust motes dancing like tiny fairies. Henry was curled up on his bed in front of the Aga, snoring softly. Bless him, the old Labrador was definitely slowing down even further. His legs had steadied after hisoperation, but now he only managed one proper walk a day, and even that seemed like a marathon. Rita crouched to scratch behind his ears.One thing at a time, Rita. One thing at a time.
After she left the Cosy Café she had called the doctor’s surgery, but it was a week until she could be seen. Seven whole days. A lifetime. And she couldn’t wait, not a single second longer.
So she’d driven to the big Tesco, barely conscious of the journey, bought a test with shaking hands, and come home with that small rectangular box burning a hole in her handbag.
She’d got back five minutes ago and immediately gone to the bathroom and unpacked the test, peeing on the stick, following the instructions like a sacred ritual. Now it sat on the edge of the kitchen counter like a tiny, silent judge, holding all her hope and fear in its plain white plastic casing. Her heart thudded louder than the ticking clock. Rita stared at it, willing it to reveal its secrets. Her fingers itched to pick it up, to look, to know. But no. Not yet. She wanted to leave it as long as possible so she’d know it had worked. Her mind raced. What if it was positive? What if it was negative? How would she feel? And what about Jago if she was pregnant? He’d admitted to her months before how much he’d wanted children when he was younger, before darling Elodie had mucked that dream up for him, that was. Yet here she was, heart hammering, staring at a little white stick that could change everything for the both of them.
