Page 36 of Summer at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

‘And Tom? What a mess that is right now …’

He’ll come around. But you two need to keep talking.

Like you didn’t, she thought, ironically. Her dad had never opened up about his depression, those heavy burdens, and it had killed him. Rachel would never forget that, nor the day that they found him. Her poor, poor dad.

Exactly, lass … Like I didn’t … and look where that got me.

Rachel’s gaze drifted across to the old stone church. Gosh, they’d be here for the wedding in just a few weeks, with Rachel walking down the church aisle. Well, they had better be … She needed to make sure she and Tom worked through this horrid glitch. It was true, hiding from your problems never made them any better.

The earth beneath her legs and bottom felt solid, grounding. She was alive, and she too needed to find a way to move forward. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face, through her clothes, the mossy grass soft and pleasant beneath her, and she closed her eyes for a few mellow seconds. The birdsong of a blackbird trilling nearby, leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. Life was still sweet, even if it did keep throwing up these damned curveballs at her. She just needed to find her way through them.

‘Love you, Dad.’

I love you too, sweetheart.

It was time to head back to Primrose Farm.

18

EVE

Eve was sitting at her sewing machine at her dining-room table. Heaped before her was a mini mountain of craft items: scraps of material, felt, buttons, cotton thread in all colours.

She was currently working on some more bunting to decorate the tipi for Rachel’s wedding – they’d need plenty to cover the large space. Eve had chosen pretty offcuts of materials in vintage spots, stripes and florals to complement the wedding colour scheme. She was now stitching the gorgeous flags onto a thin white band, ready for hanging. Despite her own troubles, she couldn’t help but smile; she was so looking forward to being maid of honour for her best friend. It was going to be such a special day.

There was also a big craft fair coming up very soon, at which Eve had booked herself a stall. It was to be held at a village hall at a popular spot on the coast, and last year she’d done well there. She needed to make lots more of her felt soft toys, some extra knits – cute little children’s jumpers and cardigans. The pressure was on and she needed to make sure she had plenty of stock ready.

There were other pressures on her too. She had heard that a certain someone else was going to be exhibiting there too … and though she kept trying to put him to the back of her mind, or out of it altogether, that was proving nigh on impossible. In fact, her stomach was a tangle of nerves and – she had to admit – also bubbling with excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

They had exchanged a few short chatty texts over the past couple of weeks, mentioning that they were booked into this craft event. Aiden had said he was looking forward to seeing her again, which made her heart give a little leap when she read it, and she noted the one little ‘x’ that came after that. It was all fairly innocent, she told herself, just friends with a shared interest in arts and crafts. She’d even left the texts on her phone. But why the hell did it feel so much more than that? Why was she getting all churned up about it, if it was just friends? And why did his face, his striking blue eyes, and handsomely scruffy dark-blond hair keep appearing in her mind? Just thinking about him now left a tremble in her fingertips, and her sewing went skewwhiff, with the next bunting flag sewn on wonkily, dammit. She paused, took a slow breath, and looked up and out of the window for a while at the drifting summer clouds in the sky.

Aiden was a local artist who painted seascapes, mostly in oils. Bold, dramatic and moody paintings that captured the stormy north coast seas. She glanced at the picture that she had recently hung on the wall across from her work station; Aiden’s painting. It captured, uniquely, the arc of the waves, the sea spray. It was as if she was there watching the waves crash to shore. She’d bought it at the last craft fair they had both attended. A small treat for herself. She hadn’t told Ben how much it had cost, or anything about the artist behind the image. She felt a flash of guilt. This man had certainly put a storm in Eve’s heart, and she wondered where all these crazy new feelings were taking her.

Bloody hell, she needed to get a grip. She spotted the family photo of the three of them there on the mantlepiece, down at the beach a year or two ago, a happy, sunny picture of better days. She was a married woman. Her relationship with Ben was okay, really. It was fine, mostly calm, but it was just so predictable – boring, even. Ben watching football on a Saturday after work, followed by a takeaway for two in front of the telly. And then, to top it all, whilst she had been hoovering the other day, she’d found a heap of his toenail clippings on the floor by his side of the bed … really. How was that the most exciting thing that had happened in their bedroom of late?

Their marriage was a safe haven, no doubt. But why did it feel almost too safe; as if they were going through the motions most of the time. Crikey, they hadn’t even kissed in months, not a proper passionate kiss. And sex, well it had become infrequent and, to be honest, pretty uninspiring. Her mind drifted then; how might it feel to make love with Aiden? She felt a mix of yearning and guilt swirl in her stomach just letting her imagination stray like that.

She slammed the thought down. What was she even thinking? She was married to Ben, for goodness’ sake. She had a gorgeous little girl to think of – their Amelia. She wasn’t the sort of woman to have a fling, to hurt them all, not on some selfish whim. But the guilt sat tinged with curiosity, the ‘what ifs’, the ‘grass might be greeners’. Perhaps it was laced with a yearning for a different kind of life.

Okay, okay … stop these stupid, crazy notions. She had work to do, bunting to finish. Felt toys to make. This dithering was helping no one. She only had an hour and a half left before Amelia was due to be dropped off from the school bus. She put the strand of slightly wonky bunting to one side and started to cut out the felt pattern for her Mr Fox, who was to wear a smart tweed waistcoat, and another for Sammy Squirrel with his red spotted bow tie.

A message pinged onto her phone. She pulled it across from its position on the table top, wondering if it might be Aiden:

Hi Eve. Everything okay with you? It was Rachel, of course it was.

Yeah, not bad. How about you? She remembered Rachel had been wrestling with the ‘where to live post-wedding’ scenario the last time they had talked.

Okay.

Even by text the word sounded flat.

And Tom?

A pause and then: Things are a bit difficult, to be honest. He’s a right Mr Grumpy just now.

Oh, sorry hun. Do you want to call round? x

Can’t just now. Heading back to work at the Pantry. x