Page 10 of The Second Chance Supper Club

You sound tired, honey.’

‘Yeah, I am tired … it’s weird, I have loads of time on my hands now, and yet I still feel so shattered.’

‘You’re bound to. Give yourself a break, sis. This is a big life change – everything you’ve been through, all that emotional trauma, no thanks to shit-face Trevor, as well as the move …’ ‘Do you think I’ve done the right thing … really? Moving here?’ The façade was finally beginning to crack.

‘Honestly? I think you’re brave, but I think you’ve taken on an awful lot at a time when you’re already vulnerable. But I admire you, too. It’s always been somewhere you’ve loved. So, good for you. Maybe, it is just the change you need.’

‘Only time will tell, I suppose.’

‘True. And hey,’ Susie added, ‘if you’d like me to come up and visit soon, I could bring your new home gift in person, just let me know.’

‘Aw, thank you.’ Cath sensed that was Susie’s way of placing a supportive foot in the door, without making her little sis have to admit that perhaps she was a tad lonely. ‘That sounds great, and I’d really love for you to come up soon, but …’ She needed to be honest here. ‘I really need to give myself chance to settle in … on my own, just for now. It’s the only way I’m going to find my feet.’

‘Yeah, no worries. And if you change your mind, and you want some company, I’m just a phone call and a couple of hours drive away, okay?’ The Peak District, where Susie now lived, was actually a three-and-a-half-hour drive, but Cath knew she was trying to make it sound simple to drop everything and go. She loved her for that, and for all the other things that had made her such a great sister over the years. Yes, they’d had their fair share of sibling bickering as teenagers, and indeed occasionally as adults, but that was just the way their family was. They let off steam with each other, because they felt safe to. This was one of the most rock-solid relationships in her life. Her sister knew her inside out. She’d been the keeper of her secrets, the shoulder to cry on. Closer than any of her friends (and she’d had some good ones) had ever been.

‘Okay, thank you. So, how are Beth and Hannah?’ They were Cath’s nieces, Susie’s two girls. Beth had got married last year and was now living in Sheffield (it was the last official engagement she and Trevor had attended together, and unfortunately hadn’t been the easiest of days for Cath, despite it being a beautiful wedding). Hannah, who’d definitely inherited the family’s mathematics gene, was now in her second year at uni in Bristol, doing a Maths degree.

‘They’re good, thanks. Beth’s getting on great with her new job in the corporate legal team with Westerleys; most of it’s online with the odd trip to London now and again. And Hannah seems to be enjoying student life. Making the most of the socialising as well as the studying, I think.’

‘Ah yes, she always was the party animal of your two. Bit like her mother, hey.’ Cath smiled. Susie was far noisier and more confident than Cath, growing up. ‘Well, good on her.’ It was great to think the young ones were enjoying life, as long as they were keeping up with their studies too. ‘Send them both my love when you next speak.’

‘Will do.’

The conversation flowed, with Susie asking about Adam, and then if Cath had heard from Trevor at all, either directly or otherwise.

‘Nope, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s all about the moving on, Suz.’ Cath sounded braver than she felt at that point.

If she repeated the mantra enough to herself, she hoped that one day soon she’d find it was actually working.

Chapter 8

Lying in a hot bubbly bath, Cath soaked her sore limbs. After speaking with her sister, she’d gone back to working on the shed, and time had run away from her. She now felt physically as well as mentally shattered, after all that sawing, sanding, scrubbing and hammering. The roof was fixed, the waterproofing shed-felt was on, and the inside was clean. She’d made a good start, but she was aching from head to toe. Despite all that, she felt brighter than she had done for weeks, no, months. It was like a little light had been switched back on inside. She felt purposeful, even a spark of hope.

There were hours, possibly days, of work yet to complete before the shed might be useable as a dining area – the task still felt Herculean. Hah, she’d love to be able to call up ‘SOS DIY’ and get a team in for a 24-hour takeover and transformation – a glimpse of hunky presenter Nick Knowles might be very nice too – but that so wasn’t going to happen. The best thing she could do was get an early night, and get ready to go again. But for now, whilst she lay here in the warm suds, she may as well have another ponder on what to cook. After all, she mustn’t get so wrapped up in the renovations that her focus drifted from the main event, which was in fact to cook her newfound friends a tasty supper. Ah, it was going to be wonderful to have people to cook for again. Fingers crossed for fine weather and a summery feel to the ‘feast’ – she was using that term loosely.

Mediterranean-style food was definitely calling her. Italian, a summery pasta dish, something with prawns? Or perhaps a Spanish-style supper … a large pan of paella, or an all-in-one chicken and chorizo bake? Whatever it was, it needed to be fairly easy to cook, ideally prepared mostly in advance, taste delicious and look good. Oh, jeez, she was feeling a bit panicky already.

Trying to calm herself, she closed her eyes and tried to picture the scene, with her shed all finished and a balmy evening. A starter platter of charcuterie meats, local cheeses and olives came to mind, with a glass of chilled rosé wine. Yep, that might work well. She had a couple of olive-wood boards that would look great for that. Oh, yes, she’d bloody well made sure those had been packed, as well as all her best kitchen equipment, crockery, serving dishes and all the herbs and spices. If Trev had hardly bothered to cook for them in the past thirty years, he darned well wasn’t going to get half the contents of the kitchen – he probably wouldn’t have known what was in there, anyhow! The only things she’d left him were a kettle and toaster (choosing to buy herself a nice new cream-coloured set that she knew would look good in her cottage kitchen), a basic set of crockery and cutlery, and a few essential pans (the ones that used to stick and annoy her). It had felt like a small but meaningful victory in the scheme of things.

Okay, when she got out, she’d go and jot down her menu ideas so they didn’t float away by morning, but for now she was going to enjoy her soak, with those fragrant bubbles popping around her, and a vanilla-scented candle glowing on the side. She closed her eyes, and breathed in slowly. Making the most of these small and simple pleasures … in a world that she knew could be so big and complicated.

Cath had never expected to be starting from scratch again at fifty-two years of age, arriving in a village where she knew no one. She was desperate to find her feet in this new community and make herself some friends. But as the days counted down, she felt anxious about the impending supper event. And yes, whilst the lads in the shop had seemed really chatty, she’d only seen Nikki for what, all of five minutes, and then there was the merry – hopefully – widower; she had to admit she really didn’t know any of them that well. What if they didn’t get on together? Or if the gathering felt a bit forced? Roundhay-based dinner parties of latter years had been with well-established friends, people she’d known for years. She was so about to step out of her comfort zone.

With a mere twenty-four hours to go, she was finally getting a grip on the shed renovations, with one last coat of exterior paint needed, before she could move the dining furniture up from the house. Then tomorrow, she could focus on the cooking and the finer details. There she was, paintbrush in hand, four steps up the ladder, when the looming black clouds – clouds she hadn’t spotted massing behind her, being so stuck on her task – decided to give it their all. Not a simple shower, oh no, but a biblical downpour which drenched her in seconds, spoiling the batch of paint she’d just poured out into the painting tray. She scrambled down, ducked inside the shed, shutting the glass doors (that she’d now fixed) behind her, and stood there watching rivulets running down the panes … Then, soul-destroyingly, a stream began to form, soon pouring down her garden steps – and, oh bugger it, right into her still open back door. And with it, seemingly, all her hopes and dreams …

Dammit, the shed would never be ready in time now, and her kitchen – the back-up plan dining zone – looked as though it was filling with bloody water. Why hadn’t she thought to close the back door? But it had been such a lovely morning just an hour or so before.

Shitty McShitface. Out she flew, securing the shed doors behind her, bolting down the aforementioned stream of now-slippery steps, and more or less tumbling through the kitchen door, slamming it behind her. Wet through to her T-shirt, jeans and knickers, she stood in a dripping daze. Luckily the kitchen area had wooden floorboards rather than carpet, but already it was soaking.

Mission mop and bucket next, then. After finishing the clear-up exercise, she went for a much needed pee, catching sight of her frazzled-wet banshee state in the bathroom mirror: hair a bedraggled tangle, mascara running into panda eyes. What the hell had happened to her? It wasn’t just the rain, she thought drearily, she’d not bothered going to the hairdresser for months now. And, that flash of mascara and lip balm was about all the make-up she managed these days. OMG, she really had let her self-care slip dramatically. Her hair, face and clothes no doubt echoed her recent mood – utterly devastated.

When had all that begun to drift? When had she in fact stopped looking after herself? Oh, probably when Trevor stopped caring what she looked like, far preferring his little fling, who, no doubt, was perfectly coiffed, groomed and made up to the nines. (Cath actually had no idea what she looked like. She had never, and would never, want to set eyes on the woman.) But as she registered the sodden mess in the mirror, a big note-to-self flagged up in her mind, to find a local hairdresser, and soon. It was perhaps not possible in time for tomorrow’s supper club, and she had so much else to do anyhow, but yes, some hair TLC was absolutely in order.

Feeling pretty miserable at this point, Cath was in need of a pick-me-up. She made a cup of strong coffee, took a long, warming sip, and sat for a while, looking out at the now drying garden. It looked fresher and greener than before with a raindrop-glistening glaze. A blackbird dipped its head, enjoying a drink out of an old saucer that had been left in one of the borders – ah, so that’s what it was for. It then warbled a happy springtime tune.

She thought she may as well get a step ahead for her big day tomorrow and organise some of the utensils she’d need for her cooking. Wondering where she’d put away her big pasta pan, she crouched down and delved into the lower kitchen cupboards. It wasn’t that long ago she’d unpacked, surely it had to be in there somewhere. Ferreting about in the back of the cupboard, behind her everyday pots and pans, she felt something else there. She leaned in a little further, and pulled out an old-fashioned ceramic mixing bowl. It was white-and-blue-striped and in good condition, other than a tiny chip in the top. There was a wooden spoon left in it too. They looked all ready to mix up a cake. It reminded her of the bowl on the cover of the old Be-Ro recipe book her mother used to have. It must have belonged to the old man whose house it had been. Reggie, that was it. Or perhaps it had been his late wife’s and this was her much-used and loved bowl, which he’d kept as a special memory? Well, he wouldn’t be needing this now. She decided to wash it up and keep it. It felt like it belonged with the house.

After locating her pasta pan on the bottom shelf of the other low-down cupboard, plus a square baking tin for a bread recipe she wanted to try, she made an easy supper for herself of cheese on toast; she’d save her culinary efforts for tomorrow. She then sat and read her latest crime novel for a while in the sitting room. It wasn’t long before she felt ready to go to bed. It had been a busy day after all. But just then, a call came in from her sister.