‘Hello,’ Fleur said smoothly. ‘What can I do for you?’
His eyes went to Cathy, who was now behind Fleur, desperately wishing she could look like she didn’t care that he was there but knowing that her face said anything but. She began to tidy away the ribbons, even though they hadn’t finished using them. Anything to save having to talk to him.
Jonas scanned the pre-made bouquets and picked one carelessly from its display pot. He handed it to Fleur.
‘I’ll take these.’
While Fleur wrapped them for him, he spoke again, and this time Cathy couldn’t ignore it.
‘I was sorry to hear about your mum,’ he said.
She looked up.
‘I should have said that when I was last here,’ he added.
‘I think you did,’ Cathy replied, trying but failing to smile.
‘I should have said it like I meant it. Afterwards I realised that I’d been insensitive. I was too busy thinking about getting home for my anniversary dinner but that was selfish – it wouldn’t have hurt to take thirty more seconds to say that I was really sorry, and that I know how hard it must have been on you.’
For a second she was back in the hallway of her home, her mum struggling for breath at the bottom of their stairs and nursing a twisted ankle, Cathy dressed to the nines and sobbing into the phone as she apologised to a clearly fuming Jonas that she was going to have to stand him up on what should have been their engagement celebration. Afterwards he’d said he was sorry for being angry and that he understood why she’d had to put her mum first, and he’d told her he was sorry for overreacting, and she’d wanted to believe him but she couldn’t – not quite. It had been the beginning of the end for them and they’d never really come back from that moment.
Cathy shook her head now to clear the unwanted memory. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does.’
‘Well… thank you then.’
‘You look well,’ he said. ‘Really well.’
That was a lie, but she didn’t say so. She looked about as well as she had the first time he’d said it – which was dressed in her scruffy work clothes with a snot-green tabard and a greasy fringe completing the look.
‘You’re obviously doing OK,’ he continued.
Another lie, or was he just blind?
‘You too,’ she said. ‘Nice coat.’
Was it just her or were they going round in circles? Hadn’t they had a very similar conversation to this the last time he’d come to the stall? What did he really want? And why did Cathy have to feel as if there was any agenda at all? Why did she have to be so full of suspicion? She shook the thought. He was here as an old friend, and why would there be anything else in it? And while she appreciated the gesture, she wished he wouldn’t bother. She’d been fine without him for five years, and even if she hadn’t been, this was hardly going to help – even he must be able to see that.
‘Five pounds please,’ Fleur cut in, shoving the bouquet at Jonas with rather more force, Cathy thought, than she usually would.
‘Oh, right…’
He fumbled in his pocket for a moment before pulling out his wallet and handing the note over. Fleur took it and he took the flowers.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ she said. And added in a pointed tone: ‘Is there anything else we can do for you, sir? Or will that be all?’
‘Oh, yes… I guess… that’s all.’
‘Goodbye then, sir,’ Fleur said, still in that very deliberate tone that told him it was time to leave rather than asking him to. ‘Thank you for your custom.’
She might have added please call again, but Cathy knew that even her boss wasn’t so desperate for business that she’d put Cathy through that.
Jonas looked up at Cathy, and there was something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen for a long time. It was that look he’d sometimes get when he knew something was a lost cause but he wasn’t quite ready to let go of it, even though he knew he should. He’d worn it the night they’d split up. She’d probably worn it too, but still they’d split up. It had been inevitable, an outcome as irresistible as the earth turning, and neither of them would have been able to stop it no matter how much they might have wanted to.
‘It was good to see you again,’ he said.
Cathy nodded mutely. What could she say that wouldn’t be a lie? It wasn’t good to see him; it was a hard, exquisite sort of pain. She didn’t want to see him at all, and yet when he was there in front of her she couldn’t stop looking. He’d changed in the past five years, but he was still the man she’d once loved.
She kept her eyes fixed on his back as he walked away and out of the market, and only once he was gone did she allow herself a heaving breath of relief. Had she been anywhere else instead of with Fleur, she might even have allowed herself a few tears, but now wasn’t the time and this was definitely not the place.
‘Well,’ her boss said, turning to Cathy. ‘That was a bit funny, wasn’t it?’
‘Was it?’ Cathy said, trying to sound careless.
‘Why do you think he would come here again?’
‘He wanted flowers, I suppose.’
‘Hmm. And there are no other florists around here he could get them from?’
‘I suppose we have nice bunches… affordable, you know.’
‘Yes, because he really looked as if he was poverty-stricken so I guess price would be an issue for a man like that…’
Fleur held Cathy in a measured gaze, and Cathy eventually quailed under it. She shrugged.
‘I don’t know why he came here but I wish he wouldn’t.’
‘I wonder what his wife would say if she knew.’
Cathy stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, come on! You’d have to be blind not to see the man still cares for you.’
Cathy shook her head. ‘He might care for me but not in the way you think. I care for him too but only as someone I was once engaged to.’
Fleur went back to her bouquets, but the loaded silence of her non-reply was almost as unbearable as any reply might have been. What did she think of what she’d seen? What did she make of all this?
‘None of it matters now anyway,’ Cathy said at last, the silence forcing her to fill it with something that might make it weigh less heavily.
‘I’d say it does to you.’
‘Even if it did it wouldn’t change the fact that he’s married and we’ve both moved on. It’s just sentimentality, that’s all. For him too – that’s why he came back today.’
‘You just keep telling yourself that,’ Fleur said with a small smile.
Cathy tried to ignore it. Instead, she collected their mugs and headed for the kitchens so that she wouldn’t have to say anything at all, because, for the first time since Cathy had started working with her, she felt like telling her lovely boss to shut up and mind her own business.
Ten
Her hands were knotted together as she sat on a high stool at the worktop and waited, while her knees jigged a staccato rhythm as she tried to calm her nerves. She really wished she could sit still because it was kind of exhausting. Iris placed a mug of tea down in front of her.
‘I’m really looking forward to it,’ she said.
Cathy wished she could say the same. For a few days she’d been excited for her first class, but as it had drawn closer she’d started to wish she’d said no to the idea. The nerves had begun to build a few days before, and by this morning she was about ready to throw up what little breakfast she’d managed to force down. It would be fine once they got started – she knew that – and it wasn’t like anyone was expecting anything spectacular. She hadn’t pretended to be a qualified teacher, or that anyone would be a professional-standard baker by the time they’d finished, but the idea of standing in front of a bunch of people giving advice and tuition, like she knew more than them, still made her feel like a fraud. It was too late to run away now – the first participants would be arriving at an
y moment – but Lord, did Cathy want to.
She’d got there an hour early to find only Iris around to let her in and had taken her time to set up, hoping that feeling utterly prepared would help to calm her nerves, but she’d finished all that with time to spare and, in the end, the sitting around waiting with nothing to take her mind off it had only made things worse.
At least the kitchen at St Cuthbert’s church hall was big and surprisingly modern and well equipped. It was bright and clean, the walls painted a simple cream and the sunlight from the windows filtered by neutral-coloured vertical blinds, and fitted to a standard that any restaurant would be proud of. There were stainless-steel worktops and sinks, one of those stretchy shower nozzle things to rinse dishes (Cathy had never known what they were called) and a bank of four ovens, as well as numerous hobs and cupboards crammed with utensils, crockery, pots and pans. It was almost like whoever had stocked it had been waiting for something like Cathy’s class. Iris had told her that they had quite a lot of equipment, but Cathy had been a little sceptical about it until she’d seen the impressive inventory for herself. She supposed they must do a lot of catering for various events, but she hadn’t really considered it before. Iris had shown Cathy around first thing and, though ordinarily the chance to use a space like this would have been heaven for Cathy, today it was wasted on her because she just couldn’t think about that.
‘Do you have everything you need?’ Iris asked.
‘I think so.’
Cathy gave the worktop a vague sweep. She could well have needed lots of things, but she couldn’t make her brain work right now to figure out what might be missing. However, she’d made meticulous plans during the days leading up to this one so she had to assume that she probably had everything covered. Even if she hadn’t, whatever was missing would be a thing so minor they could probably manage without it. She just wished that everyone would get here so they could make a start and then, perhaps, her nerves might calm a little. It wasn’t like she was waiting to be shot at dawn and she knew it was irrational to be so stressed about something so insignificant, but still, the worst thing about all of this was the waiting.
‘Oh, look,’ Iris said, her gaze going to the door. ‘Here’s Dora. Why she’s come I don’t know – it’s hardly aimed at her.’
Cathy couldn’t think why it wouldn’t be aimed at Dora – if she wanted to learn how to bake or get better at it or simply socialise, then why wouldn’t she come? That had been the main idea behind setting these classes up after all. She suspected that it had more to do with Iris being annoyed that Dora was going to be here, baiting her all morning, which, if Cathy had been in a less stressed mood, would have been quite funny. They were such an odd pair – half the time best friends and half the time mortal enemies – but Cathy liked them both.
‘Hello, Dora.’ Cathy slid off her stool and went to take some of Dora’s bags while she got her coat off and hung it up.
‘I’ve come because it was my idea,’ Dora said pointedly as she glared at Iris, who – to her credit – blushed; she’d clearly thought her cousin hadn’t heard her comment and was mortified to discover she had.
‘It wasn’t your idea; it was mine,’ Iris said sulkily, not to be beaten anyway.
‘You wouldn’t know a good idea if it bit you on the nose,’ Dora said. She looked at Cathy. ‘Wasn’t it my idea?’
Cathy glanced from one to the other. ‘Um…’
If only someone else would arrive to take the heat off her.
Perhaps someone up there was listening, because just as she was thinking this, Myrtle arrived, dragging a wheeled shopping basket behind her. Cathy almost launched herself at the newcomer.
‘Myrtle! I’m so glad you could come!’
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,’ Myrtle replied, taking off her gloves and reaching into her shopper. She pulled out a plastic tub and took the lid off before placing it on the worktop. Cathy peered inside, expecting it to be the first of the ingredients they’d need for the Madeira loaf she was planning to get them all to bake, but to her surprise it was full of mints.
‘Oh, you’ve brought mint imperials!’ Dora exclaimed, marching over and popping one into her mouth. ‘Are they in stock again at the pound store?’
‘I bought twelve bags,’ Myrtle said, ‘just in case they run out again.’
Cathy suspected they’d be running out very quickly if everyone was buying twelve bags at a time just in case, but she thought better of saying so.
Myrtle shook the tub at her. ‘Would you like one?’
‘Maybe later,’ Cathy replied with a faintly bemused smile. ‘Thank you.’
Myrtle gave a solemn nod as she took one for herself and then placed the tub back on the worktop. ‘I’ll just leave them out here so people can help themselves.’
‘Have you got all your ingredients, Myrtle?’ Iris asked with a slight tinge of impatience in her tone. ‘Because we don’t have any to spare if you don’t have what you need, you know.’
‘Actually, I do,’ Cathy put in, and Iris shot her such a withering look that she wished she hadn’t.
‘People,’ Iris replied, with great emphasis on the word, as if people were somehow the great unwashed, ‘need to come prepared otherwise we’ll spend half the lesson sorting them out with things they haven’t brought. Isn’t having all your ingredients ready the first rule of cookery?’
‘Well, yes,’ Cathy replied, wondering when Iris had morphed into a mini dictator. If it had happened this morning she’d somehow missed it. Was this what a bit of responsibility did to her? ‘But this is such an informal morning that it doesn’t really matter. For the first lesson, at least, I thought I’d bring a bit spare because people might not realise they have to bring their own.’
‘There were specific instructions on the posters,’ Iris said. ‘And we gave out ingredient lists in advance to everyone who signed up.’
‘What if someone just decides to come along today who hasn’t signed up?’ Dora asked. ‘They won’t have seen the ingredient list?’
Iris pursed her lips, but much as she might have wanted to give an answer she didn’t have one.
‘Exactly,’ Myrtle said. ‘So Cathy is right to have extra with her.’
‘They’ll have to pay for it if they have it from us,’ Iris said, for want of something to say that didn’t admit Dora was right.
‘I’m sure we can sort something out,’ Cathy said.
The rest of her reply was cut short by two more arrivals – two young women in their twenties. She hadn’t seen them at St Cuthbert’s before. Iris raced over to greet them, and if there had been two of her they would have formed a distinct pincer movement to make sure the newcomers didn’t escape, because for a moment, as they looked around at the mostly octogenarian occupants of the room, they looked as if they might try to.
‘Welcome!’ Iris said. ‘Have you come for the class?’
‘Yes,’ one of them said uncertainly. ‘Is this the right place? The cookery class?’
‘It is.’ Cathy went over with a warm smile. ‘I’m Cathy and I’ll be on hand to help you out while you bake. I’m terrible with names and I might struggle today, so I’ll apologise in advance, but tell me yours anyway.’
‘I’m Lindsey,’ one of the young women said. She pointed to her friend. ‘And this is Beth.’
‘Brilliant!’ Cathy said. ‘You’re a few minutes early but that’s good – plenty of time to get settled before we begin. How about you find yourself a space at the worktop and get your stuff out? As soon as we’ve got everyone here I’ll introduce myself properly and we’ll make a start.’
The women went off to a corner of the kitchen, talking to each other in hushed tones as they did.
A few minutes later more people arrived. And Cathy greeted them as she’d greeted everyone else. She was beginning to feel pleased at the turnout. It wasn’t huge but, if she’d been honest, she’d been a little terrified that nobody would bother to come at all. Briefly, sh
e raised her eyes to the ceiling and wondered what her mum would say if she could see her now. Would she be proud? Cathy hadn’t actually done anything yet, but even getting this far felt like an achievement. If she’d been told six months before that she’d be organising and delivering something like this, she wouldn’t have believed it.
As Cathy was explaining one or two things about what to expect from the class to the newcomers, Erica arrived. She had a young girl with her. Erica didn’t have children of her own, but this girl couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen and she looked remarkably like Erica, with the same mid-brown shade of hair, the same hazel eyes and the same button nose. But whereas Erica’s expression was open and friendly, the girl’s couldn’t have been further from that. She looked thoroughly bored already, giving the kitchen and its occupants a sneering once-over. Erica looked her way and, seeing it, turned the smile she’d worn for Cathy into a warning glare.
‘Don’t!’ Cathy heard her say.
The girl’s lip curled a little more. ‘I don’t know what you’re expecting me to do.’
‘Whatever it is,’ Erica replied, ‘I know it won’t be good.’
Cathy made her way over. ‘I’m so glad you could come,’ she said. She had a smile for Erica, and a rather more reserved one for Erica’s young companion, who clearly didn’t want to be there. Cathy wondered what the deal was, but she guessed that explanations might have to wait.
‘Of course we were going to come!’ Erica said. ‘We wouldn’t miss your first class!’
‘I would,’ the girl muttered, and Cathy saw Erica give her another warning glare.
‘I think it’s more of a club than a class, really,’ Cathy said. ‘I’m hardly a proper teacher.’
‘Well,’ Erica said, ‘you’ll know more than both of us. This is my niece, Tansy,’ she added, angling her head at the girl who’d come with her.
‘Hello, Tansy,’ Cathy said. ‘That’s a lovely name.’
Tansy broke into a fake smile that was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
‘Well,’ Cathy continued uncertainly. ‘It’s nice to see you here. Have you done much baking?’
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