Page 3 of The Second Chance Supper Club

Helen evidently realised she’d better change tack. ‘So, how’s Adam doing? Whereabouts is he now on his travels?’

‘He’s great. Enjoying his adventures … in Cambodia, the last I heard. Touring some long-lost temples.’ The last she’d heard being well over a week ago now, but hey-ho.

‘Ah, that sounds interesting. Jonathon’s just lined up a job with Pearson’s. You’ll know them, one of the top accountants in Manchester.’

‘Hey, well done, Jonathon.’ Cath tried to sound chirpy. ‘That’s great news. Bet you’re all delighted.’ She couldn’t help feel the stab of parental comparison.

Cath was sure that Adam was nowhere near sorting a job in the real world, post-university and his Zoology degree. It would no doubt all fall into place at some point in the (fairly distant) future, once he’d finished exploring and chilling out on the Asian continent. The fact that his parents were at the very same time throwing their marriage to the wolves probably hadn’t helped his feeling in a state of flux, Cath mused. ‘Why throw your life away stuck in some boring job?’ had been Adam’s motto for quite some time now. Like teaching, was surely the subtext.

Indeed. Why throw your life away stuck in some boring marriage, had seemed to be Trevor’s choix de vie recently.

Whatever had happened to commitment, hard work, trust and compromise? Or was she the only daft fool in that house, who’d been living by those steady rules these past years?

‘Cath?’

‘Yep, still here.’

Cath then heard the distant ding-dong of a doorbell down the line.

‘Oh, well, that’s Janice here for coffee. It’s the Macmillan fundraising event coming up soon, so we’re having a planning session. Scones, afternoon tea, or do we do cakes and coffee? To Tombola or not? We’ll miss you there, darling.’

Yes, Cath would have been there doing her bit, enjoying the chit-chat and the cake, glad to be helping a good cause. ‘I’ll be sure to give a donation online. And I’ll miss you lot, too. Enjoy.’ ‘You could always pop back down for the event? Stay at ours,’ Helen ventured.

Three doors down from all that might once have been? ‘Ah, maybe … but you know, I just need to settle in up here first. It feels a bit too soon …’

‘Of course, I understand.’ Her friend’s voice softened. ‘Well, look, I really do have to go. We’ll catch up again soon. And do let me know when I can visit? I’m ready for a night away and a good old gossip over a glass or two of fizz. Give me a call, soon … we’ll sort out a date.’

As much as she appreciated Helen’s friendship, a meet-up was exactly what Cath was desperate to avoid just now. Cath was sure she’d been, and still was, the target of local gossip, albeit in, hopefully, a non-nasty way – more of a ‘There but for the grace of God go I’. Her and Trevor’s downfall had been feeding them all sorts of juicy lines and scenarios to fill the social chatter for some time now.

Cath ended the call feeling ruffled. Here she was in her new nest, and though she was trying to take some brave new steps towards flying, well, perhaps flapping her wings at this stage, she felt like her feathers were still being slowly plucked one by one.

Chapter 3

Time for a breath of fresh air. After her wobbly day unpacking yesterday and Helen’s phone call just now, she needed to get outside. Remind herself why she’d chosen to move here – how much she loved this rural part of Northumberland. In a quick change of plan – she’d go and fetch the paint for the kitchen this afternoon, instead – Cath popped on her trainers and grabbed her jacket. There was no point feeling sorry for herself when she had a whole new life to lead.

Stepping out of her cottage front door, the fresh air brushed her cheeks, and she could hear the bleating of sheep in the nearby fields. And there, in the low-walled small square of her front garden, she noted the daffodils were just going over, and several clusters of pretty bluebells were starting to bud. A pot of red and yellow tulips, no doubt planted last autumn by the old man who’d lived here, greeted her as she locked up. She wondered if he had lived here on his own for a while. Had he enjoyed his life of independence in the village? Had he been married once? He’d certainly loved his garden by the looks of it, tending the borders with care, planting bulbs. The bold shoots of those tulips giving a spring-like sense of hope, of new beginnings.

She walked along the little main street, with its row of honey-grey stone houses and cottages, turned in by the ancient stone parish church, through the graveyard with its mossy headstones, heading to the fields on the public footpath. Yellow bursts of celandine scattered the grassy floor of the ancient cemetery making it look far from gloomy. Blackbirds and sparrows were busy tweeting away as they gathered twigs and moss. A shady path led her under huge beech trees that were just starting to bud, and then she came out into the cool sunshine of late April. Sheep grazed the field, giving her a nonchalant glance as she passed, their young lambs skipping in giddy groups, as she made her way along the mud track that edged the pasture, following alongside the river. The gentle rush of the River Till murmured its way soothingly through the valley.

Cath spotted a moorhen with three fluffy black chicks paddling in a sheltered spot near the bank. A pair of white cabbage butterflies fluttered past. The steady beat of her steps, the vivid greens and golds of late spring, the soft sounds of nature began to work their magic. Being out in the countryside always calmed her.

She strolled on through two fields, coming out onto the back lane that would eventually lead to the market town of Alnwick one way and back to Tilldale the other. She paused for a while to take in the vista, gazing towards the purple-brown hues of the Cheviot Hills in the far distance. Rolling farmland, and then moorland, that would scarcely have changed over the centuries. Life didn’t feel so rushed here. Maybe it was time to slow down, for her to take stock, to just be. To feel the breeze on her face, the warmth of the sun, the scent of … ah, manure. She smiled to herself; whilst idyllic, this place was also real, people worked and lived this land. And that was a good thing, it felt grounding.

She came back to the village along the lane; the vroom and then air-thrust from a couple of passing cars, a touring campervan trundling by, followed shortly afterwards by a big noisy tractor. Crikey, she’d backed into the hedgerow for that one. She set off again with a new sense of purpose. Tilldale village was soon within her sights. A cluster of cottages with dark-grey slated roofs, a few cars parked along the main street, and the village pub, a pretty stone building with a small grassy garden in front of it, The Star Inn.

It was nearing midday, and with nothing much planned for lunch, she thought she might as well call in to the village shop. The jingle of an old-fashioned bell marked her entry as she opened the navy-painted door. Wooden shelves lined with all your grocery basics, large wicker baskets of fruit and vegetables, local arts and crafts, cards and newspapers, and the smell of freshly baked and far-too-tempting pastries greeted her. Along with, and behind the counter, the tanned and toned body of a slightly shaggy-haired male, his chest sculpted into a white T-shirt. Not what she’d expected.

She gave a smile, as he said a cheery ‘Hello.’ Well, things were looking up.

His hair was dark, his eyes a deep brown, set off by olivetoned skin. He looked to be in his forties, definitely a tad younger than her. But it was very nice indeed to be greeted by an attractive man. A man without a pot belly, and years of history together.

‘Good morning, is there anything I can help you with?’ There was a slight edge to his tone that suggested foreign climes … and perhaps something a little more sensual? Or was that just her imagination? Hah, she’d been out of the dating game for far too long. In fact, she had absolutely no intention of getting back into it. Now was the time to enjoy her newfound freedom and a simple life, away from the trials and tribulations of any relationship.

‘Ah … well, yes, lunch. Something for lunch.’ She sounded all dithery, for goodness sake.

‘Of course. In our deli selection, we have freshly made sandwiches, locally baked pies, a feta and spinach quiche. And for sweet treats, I’ve made some fresh baklava and a honey cake this morning with our beautiful Northumbrian heather honey …’

‘Wow, that all sounds delicious.’ Cath’s eyes scanned the gastro goodies. Had she just discovered the village shop from heaven? It must have changed hands since they came here on holiday. Mind you, that was several years ago. She’d have remembered this kind of fab food for sure … and the owner, if indeed he was the owner. ‘Ah, I’ll take a slice of the quiche.’ Oh, and she saw that the baklava was drizzled and sticky, with a sprinkling of walnuts too. ‘And I’ll have to try the baklava – two pieces, please.’ One for her … and one for her. She felt like she’d been transported to some delightful Mediterranean deli.