Wordlessly – perhaps not wanting to interrupt what was clearly an exchange loaded with subtext, with history, with things unsaid that both were thinking about – Fleur handed Jonas his change. He dropped it into his jacket pocket and then took the flowers from her.
‘So you work here now?’ he asked, letting his gaze flit over the stall before it settled on Cathy again.
‘Yes. For a couple of months now.’
‘And Miriam…?’
Cathy’s smile faded.
‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry,’ he said.
‘Yes; Mum died about three months ago. But she’s at peace at last and she went way longer than any of her doctors thought she would.’
‘And you’re OK?’
‘I have to be.’
‘You have people around you, don’t you?’ Jonas asked, firing an uncertain glance at Fleur as he did, perhaps wondering if he was giving away things he oughtn’t. ‘People to lean on? Family? Friends?’
‘You know my family,’ Cathy said, pushing that awkward, stiff smile back across her face again. ‘About as useful as a chocolate teapot, and since Mum died most of them are afraid to get too close in case I actually dare ask them to do things for me. But I’m not alone so you don’t need to worry about me.’
‘I wasn’t, I just…’
His sentence tailed off. He’d given up the right to worry about Cathy five years ago. It had taken time, but there were no hard feelings now. There couldn’t be; the love they’d once shared was like a police cold case – it had happened, with drama and fireworks and when it had ended it had torn both lives apart, but it was so long in the past now that everyone had moved on and stopped railing at the injustice of it. Now there were only memories of those fireworks, growing hazier and more distant with every year that passed, until one day they’d barely remember what it had felt like at all. In the end it had been nobody’s fault – not really – it had just been the only solution to a situation that was always going to cause pain for someone, no matter how it ended.
‘They’re lovely,’ Cathy said, nodding at the roses in his arms. They were for his wife – that much was obvious – a wife who clearly meant a great deal to him. She didn’t want to acknowledge it but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Oh, yes…’ Jonas looked down at the flowers, and Cathy could have sworn he was blushing. He used to blush a lot, when he felt he’d been caught out doing something he wasn’t meant to be doing or telling a little white lie. It was one of the things she’d adored about him.
‘Special occasion?’ Cathy asked, pursuing the line of conversation in a supreme act of self-harm. Why was she putting herself through this?
He looked up at her. ‘Our wedding anniversary actually.’
‘Ah. Well, happy anniversary.’
‘Thanks.’
He paused, holding her in a warm gaze that felt all at once so heart-achingly familiar that felt like she might stop breathing. She could so easily fall into the bottomless depths of those eyes and never resurface and she fought the sensation now, even as they tugged her under. Why did he have to do that? Why was he here now, after all this time? Was this fate? Or was this fate’s idea of a joke? They’d managed perfectly well to stay out of each other’s way for five years – although him being in Scotland for most of them had certainly helped with that.
She hadn’t even heard he’d come back, but then, who was she going to hear that from? Mutual friends had drifted away when they’d split, and it would have been Jonas they’d kept in touch with anyway, not Cathy, who’d barely left her mother’s side and certainly had no time to socialise. She hadn’t really cared for social media – part of her just too afraid to see what wonderful lives everyone else was having for the resentment that might stoke up in her, resentment that her beautiful mother didn’t deserve. Cathy had simply let the world move on without her, putting all her energy into making her mum’s last years as good and happy as they could be. She’d known that there would be an end to this part of her own life sooner or later and when it came she could face it better knowing that she’d done all she could. For her, the light would return and the world would open up again, but her mum could never have that, and that thought alone had driven Cathy to put her own needs aside.
‘I suppose…’ Jonas cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away. ‘I should be… you know… getting along. It’s good to see you looking so well, by the way.’
Cathy paused. She almost looked down to give herself a once-over but managed to stop herself. She was fairly certain, however, that she didn’t look well. Unless that was code for: you’ve got fat. She’d left the house this morning in old jeans and a chunky-knit jumper, knowing it would be cold in the market stall and that her clothes would probably get messed up, and she knew that this jumper, teamed with her lurid-green work tabard, was hardly her most flattering outfit. But she also realised that Jonas was just trying to find something nice to say.
‘You too,’ she finally replied, only she meant it. He looked so well, so handsome and relaxed, it was like an extra kick to the gut, just to make certain she stayed down.
‘Maybe I’ll see you around… now that I know where you are.’
He’d always known where she was – he knew where she lived after all – but he’d never sought her out. He’d never come to see how she was coping, to say he was missing her, to say that his life had become poorer without her in it. She’d told him not to when they’d split up, of course, and then once he’d got married later on he wouldn’t have been able to. But in the beginning he could have and he hadn’t. Maybe he’d thought she’d really meant it, but since when did empty words said in the heat of the moment ever mean anything? More likely than not, now that he knew where she worked, he’d do his utmost never to set foot in the market again. And he had a wife to think about, so she supposed in a strange sort of way it made him a good man, the better person of the two of them, because Cathy wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stay away from him had the tables been turned.
‘Bye,’ Cathy said.
Jonas nodded briefly to Fleur, who’d been doing her best to look as if she wasn’t listening, but the fact that she’d rearranged the same pot of daffodils four times now – the one that just happened to be in earshot – said otherwise. Then he acknowledged Cathy again with a brief, sad smile before he turned and walked away.
Cathy hardly realised how long her sigh was until she felt her lungs empty of air.
‘Well, that was a bit intense,’ Fleur said, her eyes following Jonas until he’d left the building. ‘I take it you two were once an item.’
Cathy nodded silently, hardly trusting her voice not to crack. She turned her attention to tidying up some oddments of string that were littering the counter. Fleur would want more of an explanation than that, but she couldn’t give it to her – not yet. She’d never told Fleur about Jonas during the months she’d worked for her, though she’d mentioned in passing that she’d once been engaged. She’d never really felt that she had to fill in the details – he was so far in her past that she really hadn’t imagined she’d be seeing him again. However, it looked as if that was about to change and she was going to have to fill her boss in soon enough.
Seeing Jonas again when she’d least expected it had been a shock. But it had been more than that. It had opened up an old wound that Cathy had thought neatly healed. She’d been so preoccupied with her mum and then trying to rebuild her life in the wake of her mother’s passing that she hadn’t even noticed it was still there – or maybe she’d tried so hard to push it from her thoughts that she’d been just a little too successful. But the slightest pressure had torn it open again. It had brought memories – good and bad – flooding back, and with that torrent had come the bitter flotsam and jetsam, resentment towards her situation and her decisions, and the unfair hand life had dealt her that had meant Jonas and Cathy could never be, no matter how much they’d loved each other.
In the end, Jonas hadn’t had enough
patience and Cathy hadn’t had enough strength, and they’d both let it go. Their parting had been amicable, full of explanations and understanding – perhaps too much understanding – and the most painful thing Cathy had ever done. But he was married now too, and Cathy had to ask herself, knowing this, would it have worked between them even without the pressures that looking after Cathy’s mum had put on their relationship? Would it make her feel better to believe that they’d always been fated to split up and that he’d never been her destiny anyway?
She’d never know the answer to that and perhaps it was just as well. It was hard enough living with the regrets she already had without adding to the pile. Life had happened, Jonas had moved on and until this moment so had Cathy.
‘Want to tell me about it?’ Fleur asked.
Cathy leaned against the counter and sighed. Right now she could do with a customer to distract them but the market was quiet and the only stalls with customers were the butcher and the one that sold odds and ends for knitting and sewing.
‘There’s nothing to tell really.’
‘Didn’t look that way to me.’
‘Remember I told you I was once engaged…?’
‘Oh, I guessed that was him already by the look on your face when you saw him. So he’s back in Linnetford? Is that going to cause a problem for you?’
‘Of course not – why would it? He’s married now. Even if I wanted to get together with him – which I don’t – it wouldn’t be possible.’
‘Doesn’t stop you from wanting it and doesn’t stop it from hurting. Who broke off with who?’
‘I did. Sort of. But he hardly put up a fight so I think he’d probably wanted it too.’
‘So if it was mutual why do you both seem so hung up on each other?’
‘Did it seem that way?’
‘Certainly did to me.’
‘I suppose… well, I’d never really wanted it to end that way.’
‘But you did it anyway?’
‘I had to. We’d been having arguments and they’d been getting worse and more frequent, and then one day we had this great big one about my mum and he said some things, and I got upset and called it a day.’
‘What did he say?’
Cathy paused. It was a hard memory.
‘He thought she made more of her illness because she wanted all my attention and that she hated him for taking me away from her. He thought sometimes she put on episodes so that I would have to cancel meeting him because she was scared she’d lose me. I’ll admit that it did seem that way sometimes and that she definitely got worse after we got engaged. We were supposed to have a party – nothing fancy, just a meal with friends to celebrate. Mum passed out and fell down the last few stairs just as I was getting my coat to go out and I couldn’t leave her then, could I? Jonas was furious when I called him to cancel and I guess he felt humiliated in front of our friends. I suppose I can understand that.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘We tried to carry on and I tried to make it up to him, but I guess it was something we just couldn’t come back from. Every time Mum was ill he’d say I’d never be able to have a proper married life with him because she’d always need me. I hated hearing that. I could understand why he felt that way but this was my mum he was being so horrible about…’
Cathy blinked back tears and sniffed hard. ‘I couldn’t keep listening to that no matter how much I loved him and how much I wanted to get married. He never even put up a fight when I told him it was over – never got in touch, never tried to win me back. It made me feel that he’d wanted to leave me but just hadn’t known how to do it. I suppose he must have been relieved that I’d done it so he didn’t have to. Then I heard he’d started dating someone else and then the next thing they were getting married and moving away. I was OK with it.’
‘Were you?’
‘What else could I be? Splitting up was what we’d both wanted.’
‘Did you know the woman he married?’
Cathy shook her head.
‘Well at least he didn’t go off with one of your friends…’
‘He would never have done that.’
‘Because his morals were far too good?’ Fleur raised an eyebrow.
‘He would never have hurt me like that.’
‘Do you really think hurting you or not would have come into it?’
‘Yes. He’s not a bad person; he’s just human.’
‘You’re too understanding.’
‘Maybe.’ Cathy gave a wry smile. ‘I don’t see the point in raking up all that again now and I don’t see the point in blaming anyone – what’s done is done.’
She said this with conviction – enough conviction to seemingly persuade Fleur, who simply nodded sagely – but she wished she could truly feel it. Because, for the first time since her mum had left her, Cathy felt not only grief, but overwhelming resentment.
It wasn’t even about Jonas – not really. Seeing him today had triggered something in her, but it wasn’t a longing for him. She didn’t love him now – how could she after five years apart from him – but he represented all the things she’d given up or lost over the last few years, all the ways in which she’d been left behind, and seeing it so clearly for the first time stung.
She’d never admitted it until now, but she suddenly realised she wasn’t faring as well as she’d imagined. She’d been strong and sure and getting on with her life, but it had all been a lie, a lie she’d told herself as well as the rest of the world. This was about more than Jonas – it had to be. If only she could figure out what it all meant and what she had to do to make it better.
Seven
Tuesday was a day off work. Usually Cathy would get up anyway, get dressed, potter around the house or go out – whatever she decided on she’d make sure she kept busy. But this morning there didn’t seem any point. She’d toyed with the idea of going to the forest where her mum’s ashes were scattered and walking amongst the pines, but beyond her window the rain was coming down like arrows from the leaden sky; on a day like this she’d be caked in mud before she’d walked half a mile. It was cold too, and Cathy had turned the thermostat up twice by 10 a.m. in a bid to stave off the chill that had seeped through the house. The exercise book where she’d been cataloguing her recipes was sitting on the kitchen table as she made her second mug of tea but she didn’t feel much like resuming that task either. In fact, after it kept catching her eye, she took it to the sitting room with an inpatient sigh and shoved it into a drawer so she couldn’t see it.
When she went back into the kitchen, she could see her phone light up from where it was plugged in to charge on a corner of the worktop.
She went over to look and saw that it was from Erica, the woman she’d met at the coffee morning at St Cuthbert’s.
Hi Cathy. Hope you’re ok. Just checking if you still want to get that coffee? I’m free on Thursday, just wondering if you are x
Cathy stared at the text for a moment. She’d clean forgotten that she’d given Erica her number and agreed to meet up with her. It seemed rude to say no to their meet-up and even ruder to ignore the message, but she really didn’t feel like doing anything else. So because she didn’t know what to do about it, she simply put the phone down and went back to sit at the table with her cup of tea, staring out of the window at the rain.
Ten minutes later, with her tea cold and barely touched, she looked at her phone again and let out a sigh. It was such a lovely message and she didn’t doubt its sincerity, which made her feel like a miserable cow. She couldn’t help it, but maybe she didn’t have to hide away feeling like this. Maybe she ought to do something to snap out of it, however hard it might be to muster up any enthusiasm for an event that might have her snapping her out of it. In fact, she needed to force herself to do something because, even in her current mood, she recognised that to do nothing might start her on the slippery slope to a place she really wouldn’t be able to get back from.
So she messaged Erica
to find out what time she wanted to meet. A few more texts went back and forth and, when they’d finally agreed a time and place to meet, that was that and the date was set.
They’d agreed on a place called Ingrid’s, an indie coffee shop nestled in a little cobbled, fairy-lit alleyway just off the high street. It was one of those rare gems that you wouldn’t know about unless you went looking and you just knew would be worth the effort once you stepped inside. Erica didn’t like chains, she’d said, and would rather support independent businesses, and Cathy hadn’t tried Ingrid’s before and so didn’t mind either way.
It was every bit as cute and quaint on the inside as the outside had tantalisingly promised, and Cathy could see why Erica was such a fan. The floors were richly varnished wood, every wall adorned in a rambling mural of a cherry orchard in full blossom, branches snaking from the floor right up to and out across the ceiling, so vivid and lifelike you could almost hear them creaking and rustling in a spring breeze.
Cathy’s first thought, once she’d finished staring in wonderment, was that it must have taken someone hours and hours – maybe even weeks or months – to paint. She later discovered that Ingrid herself (the eponymous owner) had done it. Ingrid had studied fine art at university in Oslo some years before but, finding the profession too unpredictable an income source, had decided to go into the catering business instead. It had turned out to be almost as unpredictable in the end, only a slightly more predicable kind of unpredictable and in a less glamorous way.
Cathy told her how beautiful she thought it was, and though it was clear that Ingrid heard that a lot, the compliment still made her glow with pride. Cathy had always wished she’d been more arty but, sadly, it was just another thing that she was really bad at. Her mum had always said that Cathy expressed her creativity through her baking but, although Cathy could accept that she had a certain talent with mirror glaze and sugar roses, it was hardly the same.
Cathy's Christmas Kitchen: A heart-warming feel-good romantic comedy Page 5