Jude waved a hand, modest. ‘You don’t need to thank us. That’s what community does. We show up. Especially when it’s as terrifying as that. Teo says thankfully the barn stayed intact.’
‘Yes, we were so lucky.’ Rita smiled, the familiar prickly pressure behind her eyes threatening to undo her, but she blinked it away. ‘I’m also after a recommendation,’ she said, taking the offered cup and saucer from him. ‘I’d like to leave a book in the yurts for the wedding guests who are staying at the farm. Something thoughtful, romantic, uplifting. Short enough for them to dip in and out of.’
Jude’s face lit up. ‘I have just the thing. How about our good friend Tennyson,In Memoriam and Other Poems? Beautiful, timeless love poems.’
He pulled a slim, elegantly bound edition from the shelf and handed it to her.
Rita turned it over in her hands, imagining it resting on a little table in a yurt. Jude leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret. ‘There’s a place inIn Memoriamthat always strikes me.’ He began to recite:
‘I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
’Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
‘Simple, beautiful.’ Jude smiled warmly. ‘It reminds you why love is worth everything.’
Rita was wide-eyed. ‘I so didn’t know that was Tennyson.’ She put on a voice and quoted, ‘It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, that’s it, isn’t it? I quote that all the time.’ Jude nodded and smiled as Rita’s exuberance continued. ‘Wow, I’ve learned something today and I love that. So poignant.’ Her thoughts suddenly turned to Archie, and she wiped a lone tear away with her hand. She noticed Jude’s face fall.
‘Oh, Jude. I hope it hasn’t stirred up memories for you, too.’
Jude pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘No, not at all. I’m so happy with Teo. He’s everything I could have wished for and more. The past really is past for me now.’
‘Aw. That is so sweet.’ She wiped another tear away.
‘Are you OK, Rita?’
‘Yes.’ Rita managed a laugh. ‘Just a bit emotional at the moment.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘So do you have more copies of this one?’ She held up the book.
‘Four in total,’ Jude said. ‘Is that enough?’
‘That’s all I need. Imogen can go without,’ Rita said with a conspiratorial smile, finishing off her coffee in one go.
‘Imogen?’
‘Yes, a guest but also a secret journalist. She wrote something dodgy about the farm.’
‘Oh, shit.’ Jude took Rita’s empty cup.
‘Yes, she’s stirred up all kinds of trouble, I think.’ Rita decided to leave it there.
‘I needed that little pit stop; thanks for the drink.’ She stood up. ‘Right, if you could invoice me as usual for these that would be amazing. I’d better crack on.’
Popping the books into her bag, she stepped back out into the bright sunlight and turned towards Betty’s.
The harbour in June was a painting come to life. The sun glinted off the water in soft shards of gold, boats bobbed lazilyin the gentle swell, and the air carried the faint tang of salt and varnish. It was the calm before the schools broke up, a brief lull when the town seemed to breathe. Pensioners sat on benches, hands resting lightly on laps, watching the tide roll in. Families with toddlers lingered by the railings, letting little feet tap cautiously on the wooden boards while parents smiled and pointed at the bobbing boats.
The hush was almost reverent, a gentle interlude before the summer noise. Seagulls circled overhead, calling softly, and the occasional bark of a distant dog punctuated the serenity.
Rita inhaled deeply, letting the peace wash over her. The wedding felt suddenly tangible in the sunlight and the clean air. ‘Flaming June,’ she murmured with a grin to herself. Perfect for a coastal wedding.
She turned into Betty’s, where the warm smell of baking hit her immediately, a comforting blend of yeast, cinnamon, and sugar.
‘Morning, Rita!’ Betty greeted from behind the counter, flour smudged on her apron. Her white hair was now coloured a luminous purple. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘Beautiful.’ Rita scanned the tasty display on offer. ‘I’ll take some made-up rolls, a mixture of fillings, please. Let’s say twenty of them, and fifteen cinnamon buns.’
