Page 9 of The Second Chance Supper Club

Oh, bloody hell.

Why was she in such a spin? Was it because it mattered so much that this new life worked out? Did she still need to prove to herself that leaping off into rural Northumberland was in fact right for her? Think positive, she reminded herself, as she got ready to head upstairs for bed, checking the doors were locked and switching off lights as she went.

She mounted the narrow stairs, one step at a time, which suddenly seemed very apt.

One step at a time to build her new life. And well, at least her social life was looking up.

‘We’re on!’ exclaimed the lads, as Cath walked into the shop mid-morning the next day, ready to claim her freshly made baklava for coffee time. ‘Nikki’s up for it. She was delighted to be invited. Thought it was a brilliant idea.’

‘Ah, that’s great news.’

‘And oh … yes,’ Andreas added, ‘I hope you don’t mind or think us presumptuous, but there’s a gentleman in the village … Nice chap, Will.’ The lads gave each other a knowing look at this point. ‘He was widowed a year or so ago, only in his mid-fifties. They were a lovely couple … and well, he’s finding life on his own a bit difficult, not that he’d admit it. So, we thought he’d be an ideal candidate for a supper-style gathering, and we’ve asked him along too. Hope that’s okay?’ Uh-oh, there was a definite whiff of matchmaking going on here. Cath felt slightly uneasy, but they were both smiling at her. There was absolutely no way she was interested in going anywhere near the dating game after her recently burnt-out relationship. But hey, as long as she made that quite clear to them all from the start, things should be fine. After all, the more the merrier, and this other lonely soul in the village might feel just the same, and be happy with some good food and company. She could settle for that – in a group scenario. ‘We’ve also mooted a date of sixteenth of May, a Thursday, if that’s okay? Gives you a couple of weeks’ notice, that way,’ added Andreas. ‘And sevenish you’d said, yeah?’

‘Great!’ It was all coming together, and fast. A whizz of panic zipped through her gut. But, despite her misgivings – and her very small dining area back at the cottage – she was determined to be upbeat and give this her best shot. ‘That’s wonderful, lads. Thanks for organising.’

The cookbooks were open in front of her. Hmm, a pinch of Mary Berry, a tablespoon of Hairy Bikers, and a dusting of Nigella Lawson. The weather was getting warmer, an Italian or Mediterranean-style supper theme with a hint of summer to come could work well. But, she mused, she’d definitely avoid going Greek. Her culinary offerings might well fall short on that front.

In the shop earlier, whilst collecting her baklava, she’d discovered more about Andreas’s culinary background. Learning that the Greek-style baklava is generally walnut and honey based, such as in his mama’s recipe, with the Turks using alternative ingredients such as pistachio and rosewater for their baklava.

Cath was sat at her pine kitchen table, which was squeezed into the far end of the galley, flicking through the foodie pages, with some tea to hand in her favourite white-and-blue polka dot mug. This really was such a small space to fit five people. And she certainly didn’t want to end up nestled too close to widower Will, giving out the wrong signals.

Her lounge was pretty much filled with a two-seater sofa and armchair, no room for a table in there. Outside? She could certainly shift the dining table out to her flagstone patio, and pretty it up with a jug of flowers and a candle or two. But oh, if the weather happened to be dull or wet – this was the far North of England, after all – then, they’d have had it. What exactly had she let herself in for?

She gazed out of the window hoping for some inspiration. Could she fix up some kind of canopy from the back door to give a little shelter? But what if it was windy? Maybe they wouldn’t mind the small galley space and a bit of knee jostling after all, if the food was amazing. She’d have to really up her game with the cooking.

A sip of tea or two later, and the same space that had saved the day for her storage boxes when she’d first arrived, looked back at her from the top of the garden. The garden shed. Hmm, it had two glass doors that could open wide. A roof – shelter indeed – and it was a bigger space for sure than her mini dining area in the house? Could this be the answer?

Then she took in its shabby paint-peeling exterior, and remembered the spiderwebs, the indoor ivy trail. But, a voice in her mind struck up, all it needed was a little love and a bit of a facelift. A tweak or two of renovation. It would be so nice to have it as a feature in her garden, not an eyesore. She thought of all those outdoor sheds turned into home bars and family-and-friends dining spaces through the Covid pandemic. She had two weeks. It could definitely work.

She’d need to get her woodwork skills back into force. She had studied wood and metal work at school, back in the day, plus her dad had been a great home DIYer too – they’d often worked on little projects together. With a few repairs to the wood, a new pane of glass to replace the cracked one, and a fresh lick of paint, it might turn into the perfect spring-summer dining area. A garden retreat. The idea had wings. She felt a frisson of excitement. Hmm, she’d put her sensible head to work though, (the maths teacher in her wasn’t going anywhere fast) and think on it properly through the day and overnight.

A ‘Supper Club Summerhouse’ came to mind. She had visions of a pastel-painted exterior, and inside … a characterful wooden table, a mish-mash of vintage chairs, the finishing touches of a couple of bud-vases with flowers cut from the garden borders, and oh yes, some twinkly tealights.

Could she make that a reality? To be honest, she had nothing better to do just now. With tutoring booked in on just a few days per week at present (she was still trying to build her online profile), she had time on her hands. And, after the supper event was finished, it might well end up being a lovely place to sit in herself, out of the breeze on a sunny day with a cuppa, or a glass of wine and a good book. And hey-ho, if it didn’t quite work out in time for the sixteenth … well, they were back to a knee-jostling supper stuck at the end of the kitchen. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

With a newfound spring in her step, Cath unloaded her DIY goodies. Shed challenge accepted, she’d hit the road and been back to visit the hardware stores in Kirkton. Having examined the state of the shed roof, she’d assessed that two new roof plies and some waterproof sheeting were needed to make that watertight and sound again, plus eek, a whole heap of other materials. The savings were up for another battering by the looks of it.

Two tins of exterior paint in ‘soft sage’, a clean white silk emulsion for the interior, some plywood strips for essential repairs, roof felt in black, various paintbrushes, a saw and wooden-stand, sander, nails, screws, a jazzy new toolbox and more came out of the back of the Mini. It was like Pandora’s box. Unfortunately, she hadn’t thought of raiding the toolbox back at Limestone Lane – well, not for more than a couple of screwdrivers and a hammer for putting up her pictures with – which might have saved her several pennies.

Of course, she couldn’t afford to go too crazy spending all her hard-earned savings. Her work pension wouldn’t kick in for a few years yet, the plan had been for Trevor to support them both in the meanwhile. The sale of her half of the marital house had helped her to purchase Cheviot Cottage, but she now had a small mortgage and the household bills to cover. She needed to get busy building her private tuition, which did pay pretty well. In fact, she might pop up a poster in the village shop. She’d spotted a noticeboard there, and was sure the lads would help her with that. She wasn’t struggling as such, but it was down to her to future-proof her finances.

She’d figured the DIY box and new tools would actually save on repair bills in the longer term. The thought of the renovated garden shed also gave her something to dream about, to look forward to. There really hadn’t been much of that in her life lately, so she was determined to grasp this new opportunity. Armed and ready with those practical supplies, she headed through to the back garden to prepare for Stage Two. She needed to get inside that shed, and give it a damn good clear-out and clean. Putting her arachnophobia to one side, and kitted out with rubber gloves and a broom, as well as a large bucket of hot soapy water, with a deep breath and a head full of determination, she dived in. Cobwebs came down, yuck, dust flew, the internal ivy was trimmed and pulled back away from the roof. The packing boxes came out – she might have to find a new home for them in the spare bedroom for now – and the terracotta pots, no doubt left by elderly Reggie, were taken down to the kitchen for a good wash. They could be repurposed and replanted, perhaps with something cheery like a miniature rose or some herbs, ready to be placed back in the shed on a little sage-painted shelf that she could see in her mind’s-eye. Then, the scrubbing began in earnest.

Twenty minutes in, and her mobile phone buzzed in her pocket. She frisked it out, with rubber gloves on and bubbles aplenty, only just catching the call.

Her sibling’s cheery voice: ‘Hey, hi, sis, how are you? And how’s life up north?’ Susie added, in some kind of odd Yorkshire/Geordie twang.

Cath had to smile. ‘Hi, Suz. Great to hear from you. And yeah … I’m doing well, thanks.’ It was wishful thinking, but she was trying to smooth over the cracks.

They’d been messaging each other most days, but it was lovely to have a chance to chat.

‘You sure?’ Susie knew what a rough time her younger sister had been having lately, and clearly wasn’t prepared to be fobbed off.

‘O-kay, so it has felt a bit strange, moving up … being on my own …’ She’d had a removals company do the transfer. It hadn’t taken long. Her worldly goods and life, loaded on and off a small transit van. She paused, then continued, ‘But hey, I’m now a week in, the village is lovely … and I’m already starting to get to know a few people.’ Cath was determined to sound upbeat.

‘Well, that’s good. Early days yet, I suppose. It’s bound to feel a bit odd. And is there anything you need? Or you’d like? I still haven’t gotten around to sending you a new home gift.’ ‘Aw, thanks, that’s kind. And yeah, I’ll have a think.’ Something for the ‘Supper Club’ shed came to mind, but she needed to be sure that project was going to actually work out, before she said anything more. It might all come tumbling down yet, literally. And what about her new life here, could that yet come tumbling down too? Had she really done the right thing?

‘Well, just let me know. And hey, how are you … really?