Page 11 of The Seaside Supper Club

Will usually made light of his cycling challenges, being as fit as a fiddle, so Cath felt a touch concerned. He did look a little pale in the face. There were plenty of bugs about, maybe he’d picked something up when they’d all gathered on Saturday. He might just need a few quieter days. Best not to push himself, however. ‘Well, make sure you take care of yourself.’ She gave a gentle warning.

‘Right, well, I’ll get away, back up the street.’

He nipped to the loo, and whilst he was in there, Cath made up a mini packed lunch for him, turning the last of the cooked chicken into a sandwich with some salad, and popping some fruit and a leftover brownie into a greaseproof bag, too. If he was feeling slightly off, at least he’d have some easy pickings for supper.

He was very grateful for them. ‘Thanks, you really do spoil me, don’t you?’

She wrapped him up in a hug before he left. ‘Let me know if you need anything. And get some rest.’ She kissed the top of his nose, before moving her lips down to meet his.

Their kiss was warm and tender, and edging towards sexy after a few sensual moments. The all-over tingles were off again. Well, if he did have a virus, she’d probably be sharing it by now, she mused. But it was worth every delicious second.

‘Catch you soon. And thanks for my goodie bag.’

‘You’re welcome. And take care. Sounds like you’ll be needing to be fit and well again soon, for your new beach hut DIY project.’

He gave a smile. ‘I will indeed.’

Chapter 4

The next day, it was a sunshine and showers kind of morning. Cath had already done a spot of weeding around the bluebells and primulas that had burst into life in the small garden area to the front of the cottage, and with no tuition booked until late afternoon, she decided to take a drive out to make her weekly visit to the care home in the nearby town of Kirkton.

Working in the garden always made her think of elderly Reggie, the cottage’s previous owner, who’d evidently toiled away, nurturing the plants and shrubs here. There was a pot of bold-pink tulips stood in welcome at the side of her front steps; the ones he’d planted just before he’d had to leave. One fall too many meant that he was no longer able to care for himself or the house and garden, which he’d loved so much.

Cath got into her racing-green Mini Countryman and set off, driving past the village stores and on through the short main street of Tilldale with its pretty stone cottages, heading out and on through winding countryside roads towards the hills. Mid-April sunshine was peeking out from behind bulbous clouds. The hawthorn hedgerows were now bursting into life, with a sprinkling of delicate white blossom. Sparrows and finches, busy darting in and out of their hedgerow nests, were adept at skilfully negotiating the sharp thorns. A huge blue tractor was trundling, ploughing the rich brown earth in a field beside the road, a flock of seagulls swirling eagerly behind it, ready to settle in its ridged-mud wake and peck up the worms.

Kirkton was a small, traditional market town, nestled in the valley at the base of the rolling, predominately moorland Cheviot Hills. It was a town very much at the heart of its rural farming community with its sheep and cattle mart, a couple of small supermarkets, butcher’s shop, cafés, hardware store, three pubs, and one remaining bank left on the high street. The care home for the elderly was set on the outskirts of the town, bordering green country fields.

Cath had first visited the home last summer, when she’d helped out Andreas by visiting his frail-in-body but sharp-minded mother, Maria, when he and Dan had needed to spend a few days away. Though going into a home could be a tricky time for the aged and their families, Cath felt this was a truly lovely place to while away your latter years. It had once been a vicarage, and had been extended. The rooms were large and airy with high ceilings. The staff were evidently kind, and there was an interesting array of characters in residence, whom she was getting to know, one by one. The day room seemed to hold a world of varying life experiences between its walls.

She’d recently volunteered as a ‘friend of the home’, and enjoyed her regular visits, aiming to get there most weeks, and taking turns to chat with the various residents. She tried her best to share her time fairly, but had to admit she always loved her chats with Reggie. Since meeting Reggie, Cath had felt like she’d become the cottage’s custodian, taking on the legacy of the little house and its pretty garden with its flower and shrub borders and small vegetable patch, all planted by Reggie many years ago. The cosy kitchen had been his late wife Elsie’s domain, she’d learned, and Cath still sensed her and Reggie’s light and warmth through the house. As soon as she’d walked in for the viewing, the cosy cottage had had a wonderful feel about the place.

After Elsie’s passing, living there on his own those later years, Reggie had done his best to keep it all going.

Now, Cath was buzzed in through the front doors of the home. A vase of cheerful yellow, pink and white chrysanthemums, set on an elegant dark-wood table, made the reception area feel welcoming. The staff knew Cath well by now, and carer Linda nodded for her to go on through to the day room.

‘Hello, everyone!’ Cath gave a warm smile and waved to the twelve or so residents who were sitting in the room. She spotted Joan, who’d lifted her bowed head to smile and wave across at her. She’d been a Land Army girl, drafted up from Newcastle-upon-Tyne to the Northumberland countryside, and her stories from her Second World War days were always fascinating, though she often struggled to remember what she’d had for breakfast. It was obvious the elderly lady was looking for a bit of company.

Cath headed over. ‘Hi, Joan, and how are you today?’

‘Oh, doing fair, pet. Nothing to grumble about. And it’s lovely to see you.’

Cath was soon settled in the empty wingback chair beside her, and hearing all about her past, shawing turnips, backbreaking work by the sound of it, and then found herself smiling along with Joan who was remembering the fun they’d had dancing at the nearby RAF base in Milfield.

After half an hour of chat, with Joan becoming tired, Cath moved on to sit next to Reggie. He was dressed smartly in grey flannel trousers and a checked shirt. He’d given a broad smile and a nod as Cath had come in, and had then continued reading the local newspaper, The Northumberland Gazette, whilst Cath was busy chatting.

‘Ah, dear Cath, wonderful to see you.’ His blue eyes twinkled as she approached.

‘You, too. And how are you today, Reggie?’

‘I’m grand. All the better for seeing you. And how’s the old girl? Not causing you any bother?’ Reggie asked.

The ‘old girl’ was in fact his cottage, as Cath had come to learn rather cryptically on one of her earlier visits.

‘Yes, all’s well at the house. She’s looking after me. And your garden is bursting into life. The pink tulips by the door are blooming, and the daffodils and bluebells have been gorgeous this spring.’

‘Well, it’s good to hear all that hard work hasn’t gone to waste.’ He gave a grin. ‘Now then, be sure not to cut the grass too soon over the daffodils. Let them die back naturally. Knot the leaves into a twist, if you like, that’ll keep them tidy.’

‘Will do.’ She gave an ‘aye aye, Captain’ style salute.