Page 46 of Summer at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

‘But you don’t need to sit having cosy suppers with him … not least when you were meant to be bloody well here.’ The colour had risen in Tom’s face. ‘I … I … Jeez, Rachel, I’ve gone all out here, I don’t know what to say.’

‘I just forgot … I made a mistake. It was difficult with him turning up unexpectedly like that.’

‘Yeah, and you forgot about me. The man you’re marrying in a few weeks’ time.’ He paused, looking gutted. ‘Bloody hell, Rach. I wanted tonight to be special. A great lead-up to our wedding. To say sorry, for being a grump lately about all this court case stuff, and to show you how good it can be here, how I want to look after you … you and Maisy. I know you’re worried about leaving Primrose Farm, about bringing Maisy here too …’ He sat looking stunned. ‘It’s just disappointing, that’s all.’

‘It is special, Tom. It’s been lovely, and all the thought you’ve put into it, I really appreciate it. I’m sorry, Tom, don’t be mad …’

‘I even made a sticky toffee pudding for you. It took me back to sharing it with you in the lambing shed that day. I think that’s where it all started, where things changed for us …’ He sounded nostalgic.

‘Oh, Tom …’ Rachel remembered the moment well.

‘Look, maybe I can come back tomorrow and we can share some sticky toffee. How does that sound?’ Rachel was desperate to put things right between them, she hated all this rockiness, it wasn’t like them.

Tom managed a small smile, which made Rachel’s heart leap. Thank heavens.

‘What about lunchtime, then?’ Tom prompted, catching on with the idea. ‘Can you sneak off work for a half-hour perhaps?’

Ah … this was getting trickier. ‘Oh … I’ve promised to take Maisy across to the beach … And we were going to tie in picking up the wedding favours at the chocolate shop. One less job to do before the big day.’

‘So, maybe I could come along too? The sticky toffee can wait till later.’ He arched an eyebrow suggestively.

‘Ah …’ She was digging herself in deeper now.

‘Hang on, isn’t Jake still about tomorrow? Where does he figure in all this then? Won’t he want to see Maisy?’

‘Yes, he does. Look, he’s coming along too,’ she admitted. No more hiding the truth. ‘Maisy wanted us both to go.’

‘Oh, so it’ll be sticky toffee with me, and what … 99 flake ice creams on the seafront with “Jakey”, will it?’

‘It’s not like that, Tom. Don’t be daft. There’s nothing at all between me and Jake but our little girl. Maisy has a hard enough time as it is, not having her dad around for most of the year. She just wanted one day – well, a few hours even – with both her mum and dad together.’

‘Well, don’t spoil your plans for me.’ Tom stood up to clear the plates, scooping up Rachel’s half-finished dish with a frown.

Mabel, the terrier, who’d been sat under the table, gave a little whimper; the tension was obviously palpable.

Rachel felt as though her world had gone topsy-turvy. Doing the right thing by Maisy felt like the wrong thing by Tom. But Maisy was, and always would be, her priority. Tom had to realise that, however much they loved each other.

‘Do you want me to go?’ Rachel asked in hushed tones, not really wanting to, but feeling the meal and the evening were pretty much ruined now. She was overwhelmed by so many emotions right then; she could feel the sting in her eyes. She hadn’t meant to hurt Tom tonight. She hadn’t meant to forget about him cooking for her … she could see why he’d been annoyed, of course, but this was about Maisy and her relationship with her dad too. Her mixed-up single family needed her fiancé’s support right now, and she wasn’t sure if they had it.

23

EVE

It was past midnight. Eve sat in the old, comfy armchair in her dining room, sewing a black-and-white felt waistcoat for a toy puffin. Once Ben had left for the pub darts and she’d settled Amelia to bed, she’d got her arts and crafts back out again. She’d needed something to keep her occupied and ease her frazzled mind after all that palaver, though she still felt extremely disgruntled. Her favourite Ed Sheeran album was playing on low, and she was trying to keep quiet, so as not to disturb Ben and Amelia who were sleeping upstairs. Mind you, from the low drone of Ben’s snoring reaching her from the bedroom above, it was highly unlikely, even with the volume up, that would happen. Yes, he’d come home, still oblivious to her dress and make-up, smelling of stale beer and saying that he was shattered and would have to ‘leave her to it’. So much for their romantic night; what a fool she felt.

It was the night before the Coastal Craft Fair in the village hall at Warkton-by-the-Sea and, seeing as her evening plans had been scuppered, she might as well ensure she had plenty of stock for her stall. It wasn’t as though Ben’s job as a mechanic brought in enough money to keep the family going. Eve’s income was important too; it helped with the bills and meant they could have the odd trip out or treat occasionally. And, Amelia seemed to be having a growth spurt right now, meaning new clothes and shoes were a must. This craft fair tomorrow should help boost the family funds.

Ben seemed to see her work as ‘just a hobby’ most of the time. Okay, so it might never turn into a booming business venture, but she was making a steady income, it fitted in with family life (generally) – the recent late nights had been the exception rather than the rule – and she was starting to get established, building her reputation for quality handmade crafts in the local area. Her husband didn’t seem to ‘get’ that, muttering just a few days ago that she ought to think about getting herself a ‘real’ job. She hated that he didn’t get it; this was her passion, but it was a viable job too, wasn’t it? What she really wanted to do was to try and make a business out of doing what she loved. She had a talent and it would be a shame to waste that; she’d had some lovely comments and reviews on her Etsy sales page, and the customers at the craft events were always mightily impressed.

Was Ben right? Should people like her – a normal country girl – dare to chase their dreams? Her confidence had dipped these past few years, but she needed to try at least. And what she really wanted was her husband to support her in that, to have a partner who cared enough to cherish her dreams too.

Oh well, if she had a successful day tomorrow, then maybe Ben might be a bit more understanding, realise why she’d had to stay up so late and appreciate all the effort she’d put in. Miracles might happen.

And … there was that familiar churn in her stomach. She took a look at her phone, just to see if there might be another message. But no, nothing today from Aiden. They’d be at the same event, in the same hall, just metres away from each other … for several hours. They’d surely get a chance to chat, catch up a bit. She was excited to see his new paintings – she loved his dramatic seascapes. He had such a talent. She looked once again at the picture hanging on her wall, his picture. She began to feel a little bit giddy, with that twist of anticipation in her gut. Had he been thinking of her lately, too? She remembered all too well the moment as they said goodbye in a near-empty hall at the last event. He’d held her gaze for a second or two too long, and then dipped his face towards her ever so slightly, as though about to kiss her, as his arm brushed her shoulder … Or so she had thought at the time, but maybe her imagination was in overdrive. Was there a spark there for him too? Best not to know …

But, if they could chat, just as friends, talk creatively, maybe inspire each other … could that be enough? It’d have to be. Because the thought of never seeing him again made her feel sick inside. Just friends it was, then. She could manage that … for all their sakes.

Putting the final touches to her work, she finished off stitching two little pockets onto the waistcoat, and fitted the item on the cute puffin toy. He looked good, ideal for a coastal craft stall. She then gave a slow sigh, followed by a yawn. Time for bed herself. Time to head up those slightly creaky cottage stairs, to her husband. Her eyes were tired and her fingers stiff from all the fine needlework.