Summer at Rachel's Pudding Pantry

by Caroline Roberts

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Everything okay?’ Ben asked as she walked back into the kitchen.

  ‘Yeah, fine.’ The lie burning on her lips. Things hadn’t been fine at home for a while now. ‘It was just Rachel,’ she explained.

  ‘Ah, right.’ His look was distant. Eve felt so sad. They were so out of tune nowadays it was hard to tell what he might be thinking any more.

  Eve’s heart was hammering as she tried to find a parking space. This time of day, there should be a space to pull into by the village green. Bamburgh Castle dominated the skyline at the lower end of the street, perched on ancient rocks between the cricket pitch and a dramatic sweep of blond-sand beach that was buffeted by the North Sea. The small high street was lined with cottages, a few small shops, a tearoom and an ice-cream parlour. And here at the top end of the village was Aiden’s gallery, nestled beside a seafood restaurant.

  A car pulled out just ahead and Eve reversed into the space. So, she had made it and in good time; glancing at her dashboard clock she saw she had five minutes to spare. Checking her look in the rear-view mirror, she gave herself a nervous smile as she took a slow breath. She then smoothed on some pale-peach lipstick, and gave her long dark curly hair a flick through with her fingertips. Well, this was it. Time to go and see Aiden.

  Outside the gallery, she stopped to look at a picture of the beach at Warkton. The sea in the painting was turbulent, and echoed the rolling wave of emotion that was building inside her. Why was she so damned nervous? Take a breath. Focus. Just good friends. That was all they were. She reached out; the door gave a little old-fashioned bell ring as it opened.

  She was evidently the first to arrive. A tray of empty champagne flutes stood ready, and some crisps and nibbles were set out, untouched, on a coffee table in the centre of the room.

  ‘Hi.’ Aiden came out from a doorway at the rear of the gallery, looking very dashing in beige chinos and a crisp white linen shirt.

  ‘Hey.’ She felt suddenly shy. She pointedly looked up and around the walls, trying to avoid his gaze. ‘Can I take a look about?’

  ‘Of course. It’s not a huge collection, by any means. As you can see, the gallery is basically two rooms of the cottage opened up. Have you been in before?’

  ‘No, no I haven’t, sorry.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t been here that long really.’

  ‘Life’s just busy …’ Eve trailed apologetically.

  There was an amazingly powerful seascape hanging on the wall opposite her. The waves crashing over each other, in arcs and rolls of pinks and greys and whites, even notes of yellow, not a shade of blue in sight, and yet it looked just right. Whoever said the sea was blue anyhow? The painting captured the power of the surf, its energy. She could almost hear it crash and roll in with a boom.

  She was brought back to the present with the explosive pop of a cork.

  ‘May as well celebrate my first night.’ Aiden appeared with a bottle of Moët & Chandon to hand and a broad grin. He passed her a glass of champagne.

  ‘Oh, I’ll just have a half. I’ve got the car,’ she explained.

  He kept the full glass for himself and poured another smaller one.

  ‘Cheers.’ They clinked flutes.

  ‘Cheers, and I hope it goes so well for you, Aiden. You are such an amazing artist.’ She scanned the artwork once more. ‘And I love the old stone walls behind the paintings; they add character, timelessness. A cottage that’s been here for centuries. Like your paintings are timeless – the sea, the tides, the ebb and flow.’ It was hard to describe it all in words, how his paintings made her feel, but she was giving it her best creative shot. She took a large sip of fizz. It bubbled and melted fragrantly on her tongue.

  ‘Thank you.’ He gave a warm smile.

  ‘Your other guests?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, they’ll be here soon enough.’

  It seemed a little strange that no one else had arrived as yet. He had definitely said six thirty to her. Perhaps they were all being fashionably late; maybe that was the arty way to do things, she mused.

  Her eye was then drawn to a trio of paintings. She shifted a few steps across the room to take a better look. She recognised the setting; it was Low Newton, a beach not far away, southwards along the coast. Together, the paintings worked as a panorama, and yet singly they were stunningly beautiful too. It was a night scene, almost haunting, mesmerising, with the waves catching silver trails of moonlight as they rolled to the shore, the moon itself half hidden by clouds and that iridescent glow that the artist had captured so well, the ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle brooding on the darkened cliffs.

  ‘You look beautiful when you’re concentrating like that.’ Aiden was suddenly behind her. His breath warm near her shoulder.

  ‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what else to say.

  Oh my, oh my. Just friends. Just friends. But no one had called her beautiful in a long, long time. He sounded so earnest too.

  She then felt Aiden’s arms pass around her waist and clasp together somewhere near her bellybutton, drawing her close. She held her breath. It felt almost surreal … yet very real. Then she turned, ever so slowly, aware of him close. So close, in fact, that she could feel the firm contours of his body beneath his shirt. Aware that she was finally feeling what it was like to be in his arms.

  Their faces were just inches apart, eyes fixed; his, a liquid blue with flecks of grey. And then his lips met hers, as his hands drew her in tighter still. His lips were warm, moist, moving with a pressure that was new and fast, and exciting, yes, but—

  ‘Stop … I can’t do this. I didn’t come here for this.’

  The burn of his lips was still imprinted upon hers, her face reddening with shame. She had a husband, a child. What the hell was she thinking? ‘I have to go …’ She gathered her handbag. Stumbled, as she dashed for the door. ‘Good luck with the exhibition. With everything …’

  And she left the gallery in a fog of reluctant desire and confusion. Yet, what she had done was all too clear in her mind. What had she even been thinking, agreeing to go there, when there was that obvious frisson between them? She shouldn’t be here kissing some other guy; she should be at home trying to put things right between her and Ben. Yes, she knew that this had been building; she would be lying to herself if she pretended that she hadn’t liked – even craved – the attention from Aiden. But the kiss had brought the reality crashing in with cold, hard clarity.

  She crossed the street and slumped down in the driver’s seat of her car, gazing ahead blankly whilst she gathered herself. She had done it, she had just kissed another man, and yes, it had felt exciting, and sort of passionate … but it was so, so wrong.

  And … she couldn’t ever now change what she’d done. She suddenly felt quite sick.

  And, oh hell, imagine if someone had seen? Thank God – in some senses – she and Aiden had been alone, that it was just her at the exhibition. She glanced across the street to the gallery. Thankfully, the village looked pretty quiet this evening. A couple, most likely tourists, were wandering about further down the street; someone was going into the Castle pub, and there was a bloke heading for the beach with a spaniel. No one was staring at her. Life appeared to be carrying on as normal, although Eve’s felt as if it had flipped on its head.

  Brenda from the Kirkton Deli had closed up a little early and, deciding to make the most of this lovely balmy evening, had taken her seven-year-old grandson, Luke, down to the coast for a walk on the sands and a short game of beach cricket. She had fielded and he’d batted. After ten minutes of dashing about like that, she was blooming shattered and had worked up a very unladylike sweat; he was getting to be a good strong shot now that he was growing up.

  ‘Right, that’s it. You’ve worn your grandma out, pet. Let’s go and see if the ice-cream shop is still open. I think it opens later through the summer.’

  They were in luck. Luke chose a choc-dipped cone with a scoop of raspberry ripple, and Brenda went for a vanilla wi
th chocolate sauce. Delicious. They meandered slowly back to their car which was parked further up the little main street, near to the village green. They were in no rush as they were licking and munching their ice creams as they went.

  ‘Good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Lush,’ answered Luke. ‘Thanks, Grandma. And thanks for trying to play cricket with me.’

  She had to laugh at the ‘trying’.

  Oh, look, there was a new exhibition in the Coastal Gallery. A painting in the window caught her eye … and then something else too. Unusually, but rather sweetly, a couple were having a smooch inside the gallery. Aw, how romantic.

  Brenda paused. There was something very familiar about the girl’s gorgeously wavy dark hair … Oh gosh, it hit Brenda like a steam train. It was Eve. Married-to-Ben Eve. Brenda did a double take, pausing outside on the pavement for a second. Surely, it was just someone who looked like Eve. But the young woman from their village was quite distinctive and Brenda could have sworn on it. She looked closer. The girl pulled away … oh yes, it had to be Eve. And the man who she was with was certainly not her husband. Oh … Brenda didn’t know quite what to think, and moved on swiftly. Her grandson was oblivious to the scenario inside the window, munching away on the chocolatey biscuit of his cone.

  ‘Let’s head back then, Luke.’ Brenda tried her best not to sound flustered. ‘Your mum’ll be expecting you for your tea.’

  32

  Earlier that afternoon, Rachel had been up in the attic, raking through a box of old photographs. She wanted to take some special memories and mementoes along with her to Tom’s farmhouse. A couple of extra photos of Dad and Mum would be a lovely boost for her and Maisy to have around them there.

  There was one photo in particular that she was searching for. It captured her as a kid, sitting on her dad’s shoulders with the fields and farmyard behind them. She used to love it when Dad used to sweep her up high in the air and then prop her there, hands to hands, as she leaned against the back of his head, jiggling about the farmyard or taking a trek to check on the sheep or cattle together. She’d felt on top of the world then, invincible. She would have been about six in that photo: Maisy’s age.

  She sifted through the images: pics of their caravan holidays in Yorkshire, one of Granny Ruth and Grandad Ken looking oh-so-young, Mum all dressed smartly for her silver wedding anniversary celebrations, and then oh … one of Mum and Dad together, sitting on a hay bale in sunnier times. Right, that one was definitely going with her. She picked up a few of her as a baby – hah, what on earth was she wearing? It looked like some kind of Victorian smocked milkmaid outfit. Oh, and then there was the golden ticket, the photo of her riding high on her dad’s strong shoulders, looking out across Primrose Farm.

  She held the picture in front of her, and her eyes misted. She held it further away, not wanting her impending tears to spoil the image. ‘Oh, Dad.’ She’d go and buy a new frame in the village to keep it safe and special, and pop it somewhere where she’d see it every day at Tom’s.

  She was just packing away the other photos when there was a call from the bottom of the attic ladder.

  ‘You okay up there? Ready for a cuppa, love?’ shouted Jill.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘Did you find what you wanted?’

  ‘Yes, and more. I’ll bring the photos down with me. Some lovely memories there.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice, I love a trip down memory lane.’

  Rachel had yet to break the news to her mum that she and Maisy would be moving in with Tom, away from Primrose. Deep down she knew her mum would respect any decision that she made, but it still wasn’t something she was desperate to discuss, though she knew she’d have to. She braced herself and hugged the precious photos to her chest, before making her way back down the ladder.

  Ten minutes later, with the nostalgic photos spread out before them on the kitchen table, and a mug of coffee and squares of flapjack to hand, Rachel took a slow breath.

  ‘Mum, there’s something I need to tell you.’

  ‘Yes, pet?’ Jill looked up, her eyes filled with warmth.

  Rachel took a second; she hoped her mum wouldn’t be too disappointed.

  ‘Tom and I have decided … well, me and Maisy are going to move in and live there after the wedding … with Tom.’ There, she’d ripped off the Band-Aid.

  Jill nodded, looking down at her hands. ‘Yes, of course that makes sense, love. Whatever you decide. And you’ll be over here every day just the same, I know that.’ If she was feeling disappointed, she was doing her best to hide it, bless her.

  ‘We’ll only be around the corner,’ Rachel said, her voice quaking. She hated to think of her mum feeling lonely.

  Jill reached out and took her daughter’s hand. ‘I know. I know.’

  ‘We’ll not be able to keep Maisy away either,’ Rachel managed a smile. ‘And I have to come back for my Sunday roast and your sticky toffee pudding. Or … maybe I can cook you and granny a roast dinner over there and have you all round – that’d be good too.’

  ‘Yes, and Maisy can have sleepovers here whenever she wants to. We’ll all be seeing plenty of each other, there’s no doubt of that,’ Jill said with a sniff.

  ‘Absolutely. And hey Mum, maybe this will give you and Daniel a chance to have a bit more time together, more space.’ She paused with a gulp. ‘He’s not so bad, you know. He really cares about you; he might just be a keeper.’

  Jill squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘Thank you, love, that means a lot.’

  They smiled at each other, both floating on memories of the past, and looking forward to the future.

  Phew, Rachel was relieved to have that off her chest. And her mum was right, she’d be back here all the time. It was her home; it was too special to leave behind for good.

  Breaking the news to Maisy later that afternoon, however, didn’t go quite as smoothly.

  Walking up the farm track together after the school minibus drop-off, Rachel started to explain. ‘Maisy, you know when Mummy and Tom get married …’

  ‘Yes,’ she said excitedly, ‘that’s when I get to wear my pretty dress.’

  ‘Yep, so, well after that …’ Rachel wondered quite how to put this. ‘Well, married people, like Eve and Ben, they live together in the same house.’

  Maisy nodded, seeming to take it in. So far so good.

  ‘Well, we’re going to live with Tom, in his house. So, after the wedding day, we’ll be staying there. You’ll have your own bedroom there and everything.’

  Maisy slowed her steps, ‘But what about my room here … and what about Grandma? Is she coming too?’ Maisy was trying hard to process all this.

  ‘No, petal. Grandma will stay here at Primrose Farm.’

  Maisy’s lip began to quiver. ‘But I want to stay here with Grandma.’ She stood rooted on the spot, her arms flapping wildly.

  The sheep the other side of the fence bobbed their heads up at the noise, and a pair of sparrows darted out of the hedgerow.

  ‘Oh sweetie, you can still come and see Grandma every day. But you have to live with me and Tom. How can I look after you otherwise? Read you your bedtime story, tuck you in? And, you can choose a new duvet set for your new bedroom – we can have a look online tonight if you like … and Tom’s going to paint the walls whatever colour you want.’

  Maisy stayed silent.

  ‘It’ll be good there,’ Rachel coaxed, ‘I promise.’

  They took a few steps forward, and then Maisy stopped again, her arms folded. ‘Don’t want to go,’ was her parting shot.

  Rachel knew not to push the conversation any further right now. Sometimes you needed a little time to get your head around things. Change was hard enough to deal with at twenty-six, never mind six.

  33

  EVE

  Eve tried to clear her head on the journey home from the exhibition. The feeling of guilt prickled over her skin like a rash. She also felt as if she’d been slightly duped. Had Aiden
asked her to go early, before the main event, so they would have some time alone? Or, was she just trying to distract from her own guilt with excuses? She had known full well what she was doing, after all. She had allowed him to hold her … enjoyed that moment in his arms … the kiss.

  But this was serious, she wasn’t free to do any of that. This could really hurt her family. Could destroy her relationship with Ben. She felt sickened by her actions.

  No one could ever know. She’d go home … act as normally as she could. And try so hard to put things right with Ben. Confessing would be no good, would it? If he knew the truth, he might not be able to forgive or forget. She had to think of Amelia in all of this too. Why, oh why had she put them all in jeopardy? If she could turn back the clock … could have made some excuse to Aiden and just stayed at home. But what was done, was done. And, maybe in time, when things had moved on, it wouldn’t have the power to hurt them anymore.

  It was just a stupid crush. She saw it for what it was now … laid bare in a barrel of guilt. Just a silly crush. And Aiden, yes, he was attractive and creative, but he really didn’t seem the type to want to be tied down with a woman with a six-year-old in tow. He was a free spirit, an artist. She’d let herself get drawn in, be flattered. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Life wasn’t all glamour and passion. Love wasn’t all kisses and romance. You had to work at relationships, and yes, you could get stuck in a rut, but did she still love Ben? Yes, a voice in her heart spoke out. Even with his Game of Thrones addiction, three sugars in his coffee, and dirty socks strewn across the bedroom floor. Hah, and no wonder they were bloody stuck in a rut. She couldn’t think of when they’d had any real alone time since they’d had Amelia. And yes she’d tried, and failed, to rekindle things the other night. But they’d just have to try harder – she’d have to show Ben that they were worth fighting for.

  The drive passed in a tumble of thoughts, and promises to herself that she’d do better from now on. She passed the entrance to Rachel’s farm – whoa, what would her friend think if she knew? – and carried on up the lane to arrive outside their cottage, where Ben would most likely be sitting in the lounge watching TV, totally oblivious to her misdemeanours.