Page 6 of The Second Chance Supper Club

Well, then, if there was no one to look after her, she’d look after herself. In fact, she’d go right up and run a bath in that gorgeous Victorian-style white tub, and fill it with decadent bubbles. She’d use one of her Jo Malone oils, and perhaps pour herself a glass of chilled white wine. Rest her tired limbs and troubled mind for a while. She’d finished her tuition for the evening. Why not?! It was all down to her now.

Yes, you could go on thinking the cup was half-empty, feeling a bit sorry for yourself, or you could damn well start filling that cup up. Onwards and upwards, Cath Taylor. Today, a small glass of Chablis, tomorrow perhaps champagne and cocktails. But … what she really wanted was someone to share those celebratory drinks with.

Still, she quashed that thought, and managed to feel a little lift in her spirits. It was time to go and try out her new bath. The bubbles awaited.

Chapter 5

Much as she had loved the characterful village stores and meeting Dan and Andreas yesterday, there were several items she needed from a supermarket that she wouldn’t find there. She’d been putting off going ‘proper’ shopping since her arrival – her cupboards and bathroom shelves were very like Mrs Hubbard’s.

Cooking for one was going to be a new challenge, and admittedly was not the most exciting prospect. She needed to get some oomph back into her kitchen, check out new recipes and get inspired. She could be super organised and batch cook for herself, filling the freezer with her favourite meals in single portions. But her heart wasn’t in it. Finishing the dregs of her morning cuppa, she felt a little weary about it already.

Her life, she suddenly realised, had been so focused around Adam and Trevor, along with her teaching job and her pupils, that she’d lost sight of herself. What did she fancy eating, cooking … just for her? The question lingered. Sadly, her appetite had lost its way these past troublesome months. Maybe the supermarket shelves would provide a little inspiration.

She got together some shopping bags, and hopped into her Mini to drive once more along the winding country roads back to Kirkton, past rolling hills dotted with sheep – a rather different trip to the usual suburban roads to Waitrose. Arriving at the small supermarket car park – a rather niche space between the shop building and the high stone wall of a churchyard – she did a quick loop and realised it was full. She then spotted someone backing out. Perfect timing.

Another car, a blue Audi, then pulled into the parking area too. Cath stuck on her indicator, giving the newly arrived driver warning that she was about to take that free space. A quick look in her rear-view mirror, and she started reversing. However, the blue hatchback must have kept moving forward. There was a dull thud as the two vehicles collided, luckily at slow speed, but still enough to jar Cath’s torso and give her a fright.

What the hell … ? Surely the driver had seen her indicating, ready to back in!

Shit, this was all she needed. She pulled on the handbrake, and leapt out of the driver’s seat, ready to face the music and assess any damage. She sighed. Even a minor scratch seemed to cost a bloody fortune to fix these days. And after all, it hadn’t been her fault.

The other driver, male, medium build, dark hair with salt-and-pepper sides, perhaps in his early fifties, stepped out at the same time. His face was like thunder. ‘What the hell?!’

Wasn’t that her line in the circumstances? ‘Well, I’d say the very same to you … didn’t you even see me? I was already moving into that space, when you rolled in.’ Her tone was heavy with annoyance, her head already beginning to thump. She wasn’t great with confrontation at the best of times.

A couple of bystanders had stopped to see what the drama was about. ‘Well, I think we need to exchange insurance details at the least,’ she started. That was something Trevor always drummed into her. Not that she’d had many scrapes or car incidents in her thirty-four years of driving.

‘Shouldn’t we just check if there’s any damage to speak of, firstly?’ Blue hatchback driver raised his eyes as if she was being a bit dumb, his brooding look and those hazel irises distracting her for a second. Then he flicked his gaze to the area where the two bumpers would have collided, taking a few steps closer to assess any harm done.

Cath followed his lead and moved in, too. There was in fact only the tiniest scratch on the bumper of his vehicle. And amazingly, despite the ‘bumph’ on impact, her Mini’s bumper showed no sign of damage at all. ‘Oh’ was all she could muster, feeling some relief at least.

‘Damn lucky, it looks like we’ve got off lightly. I’m not worried about calling in the insurance companies with all the hassle that entails, are you?’

‘No, I suppose not,’ she conceded.

‘Though I’d be more careful when reversing next time,’ he added, giving her a sharp look.

Pompous ass! She was riled up once more. Typical bloke, assuming it had all been her fault. She was certain she’d double-checked the mirrors and indicated, before she’d made the manoeuvre. ‘And you’d better learn to take a little more care with your driving … and your manners,’ was her parting shot.

She got back into the vehicle, and with hands that were a little shaky, managed to pull into the space she’d already claimed as hers. Mr Grumpy had evidently backed off as he drove farther down the car park to wait for another space to become available.

Once parked, she sat for a few seconds, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. She’d had so much bad luck lately. This made her feel even worse. She couldn’t even go food shopping without some bloody drama now. She was left feeling really unsettled. Was it the accident? Was it the thought of having to deal with all this stuff on her own from now on? Or was there something about Mr Grumpy? Weirdly, she was left with this vague feeling that there was something familiar about the guy. Some deja vu experience, perhaps? But she hadn’t had any near misses in any other car parks in the past that she remembered. Cath then rallied herself, she’d better whizz round the shop, pick up what she needed, and get back to the refuge of her cottage. The last thing she wanted was to bump into Mr Grumpy again in a supermarket aisle. Keeping her head down, and with slightly rosy cheeks from all the car park fuss, she accomplished her mission before swiftly leaving the store and exiting the town.

She landed in a heap in her egg-yellow kitchen with a bag of groceries, and a banging head. So much for this new relaxed country life. She’d thought everything was going to be so much simpler, that life would be calmer. What had she been thinking coming all the way up here on her own? Nothing was familiar. There wasn’t even anyone to go and have a coffee with, and shrug it off with a laugh.

Chapter 6

After the car park drama, the next couple of days passed uneventfully, thank goodness. Still, the cottage seemed almost too quiet. Life had moved from the top gear of the family/work/ suburban-social-life motorway to a slow uphill crawl – even if it was the most scenic of hills that she found herself on. It was as if her emotions, after the rollercoaster of hurt and destruction she’d been on, still needed to slow down to match her new life … her new place in the world.

She was beginning to warm to the yolk-yellow walls of the kitchen. After re-positioning her recipe books on the shelves, alongside a pretty floral mug and a scented candle, and popping some pink tulips into a colourful spotted Emma Bridgewater jug, which she placed on the window sill, it finally came together, looking more country kitchen chic.

Cath found herself craving another piece of Andreas’s baklava, hmm or perhaps that honey cake. Yes, something sweet, sticky and satisfying to follow her planned supper of cheese omelette and new potatoes. (Her cooking inspirations were still rather on hold.) Okay, so she might end up putting on a few extra pounds if she wasn’t careful, but she’d lost weight these past months with the stress of everything. And, she reasoned, she was now walking far more than she used to, making the most of the glorious late spring countryside around her. With any luck, she hoped, one might just cancel the other out.

She’d better get her skates on as it was past 4:30 p.m., and she had a feeling the shop closed at 5 p.m. She was out of the cottage door within minutes, soon arriving at the store where Dan greeted her with a cheery, ‘Afternoon, Cath. How are you?’

How lovely that he’d remembered her name. She was about to ask after Andreas’s mother, when the doorbell jangled, and in dashed a spritely young woman with a mass of wavy dark-blonde hair, dressed in black jogging bottoms and an orange polo shirt with a logo that read ‘The Canny Cleaning Company’.

‘Hiya, lads,’ the woman called out. She briskly ferreted in the freezer section, pulling out chicken nuggets, French fries and then grabbed a tin of baked beans from the shelf. ‘Ah, this’ll have to do,’ she muttered, in part to herself. ‘I’ve got a twenty-minute turnaround before football training – the kids not me,’ she added for the benefit of Cath, as she suddenly spotted another person in the shop. ‘I’m all out of ideas, and time …’