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‘Are you local?’ Clover didn’t know her, but then she didn’t know everyone in the village these days. It might not be a big village, but times had changed and people came and went, while some passed away and others came here on holiday.
‘I am. We’ve moved into a house on Sunflower Street.’
‘Ah right.’ Clover nodded. ‘You and?’
‘Allegra. My daughter. She’s six. I’ve just dropped her at school. I do have work to do but I…’ The woman suddenly placed a palm to her forehead and her eyes glistened.
‘Why don’t you come and sit down for a moment, and I’ll get you a glass of water?’ Clover said, concern filling her. The woman didn’t look well at all, and she was worried she might faint. ‘Or a cup of tea?’
‘Thanks.’ A tear rolled down the woman’s cheek.
‘What’s your name?’ Clover asked as she took the woman’s arm and led her to a chair at the back of the room where she could sit quietly away from the students currently working their clay.
‘I’m Brooke Landry.’ The woman sat down and exhaled slowly.
‘Hello Brooke, I’m Clover Radley. Now you sit there for a moment, maybe take your coat off as it’s warm in here, and I’ll make you a drink.’
‘Thank you so much.’ Brooke looked up at her with shining eyes and Clover placed a hand on her shoulder, needing to let this woman know that she was safe now and among friends. Whatever had led Brooke to The Pottery Shack today, it was clear that she needed to be there. It was clear that she needed some help.
Clover gave Brooke’s shoulder a gentle squeeze then pulled a clean tissue from her apron pocket and handed it to her before heading for the door to the kitchen. She’d make Brooke a mug of tea and get her some chocolate biscuits to raise her blood sugar because Brooke looked as though she was in need of some comfort.
Chapter 8
Brooke
Sitting in the shop, her coat folded on her lap, Brooke looked around. In front of her, a few women sat at tables, moulding clay with their hands, their faces contorted with concentration. Fascinated, she watched a woman intently as she pinched and stretched, tongue poking out in concentration. An earthy, musty and mineral scent filled the air, and Brooke thought it must be the wet clay, along with the metal tang of tools that lay spread out along a bench to her left and hung from hooks on the wall. She could also smell coffee and cake and her stomach growled, reminding her she’d skipped breakfast again.
She focused on relaxing her body in the chair, feeling it supporting her legs and back. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds in the shop: music, a bubbling kettle, and a clinking spoon. The shop was warm and while some smells were strange, she found them comforting, kind of like the smells she’d associate with school.
‘Here you go, dear.’
Brooke opened her eyes to find Clover standing next to her, holding out a tray with a mug on it and a plate of chocolate biscuits.
‘Thank you.’ Brooke took the mug, and Clover set the tray down on the nearby table.
‘Help yourself to some biscuits,’ Clover said. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
Brooke reached for a biscuit and dipped it into her tea, then licked the melted chocolate off, savouring the way it coated her tongue. She finished the biscuit quickly and reached for another, keen to make the most of her hunger while she could feel it because a lot of the time now, she didn’t have any appetite at all.
‘I can get you some more,’ Clover said a few minutes later as she pulled a chair out next to Brooke and sat down.
‘Oh!’ Brooke looked at the plate and realised she’d eaten all the biscuits. ‘No, thank you. I’m fine now but they were delicious.’
‘I’m partial to a chocolate biscuit myself.’ Clover gave a low chuckle. ‘Best type of biscuit there is if you ask me.’
‘They are yummy,’ Brooke agreed.
‘How are you feeling now?’ Clover asked, concern in her pale blue eyes.
‘I’m OK. And thank you so much for that.’ Brooke nodded. ‘I don’t know what happened.’
‘You looked like you’d seen a ghost,’ Clover said, shaking her head. ‘I was worried you were about to faint.’
‘I did feel rather lightheaded.’ Brooke rubbed at her temple, recalling how weak she’d felt, how she’d almost welcomed the thought of passing out and the oblivion it would bring. ‘I didn’t eat breakfast and then I went on a brisk walk and I think I overdid it.’
‘You’ve been busy then?’ Clover asked before taking a sip from her own steaming mug.
‘Yes. We only moved to the village last week and the house is a mess. I’ve been trying to sort things out but it’s been hard,what with doing it on my own and—’ She stopped as her vision blurred.Not now. Please don’t cry again. Not here.
