by Erin Green
She finishes on a high, giving herself a nod of approval.
‘So?’
She retrieves her cup and takes a sip. On close scrutiny, I see a flicker of excitement in her expression.
‘Tell me more,’ I urge.
‘I’ve got a plan to make my list come true,’ she says, tapping her nose. ‘Thing is, I didn’t bargain on it starting tonight.’
‘No time like the present, though, is there?’
‘Nope. Do you mind if I make a quick call . . . in private?’
She’s gone in an instant, her tea cooling on the abandoned tray. I’m no genius, but I’m guessing her call must be to either Emma or Ziggy.
Emma
My mobile rings at 10.50. I’ve been asleep for at least an hour, but I snatch it up as if my life depends upon it.
‘Hello,’ I say groggily.
‘Emma, it’s me . . . Benni.’
‘Are you OK, sweet?’ I’m out from under the duvet in a second, standing in the middle of the room ready for action.
‘I’m sorry it’s late, but I’ve had an idea. Correct me if I’m wrong, but legally you own part of the parlour business . . . it was a formal arrangement, wasn’t it?’ she asks.
‘Yes, but it can’t possibly remain as such given the circumstances, can it?’
‘Mmm, well, I’ve been thinking . . .’
I climb back into bed, all ears as Benni outlines her plan of action.
‘So you see,’ she finishes, ‘I could make it work and later expand into internet sales too.’
I’m impressed. I like her thinking. I know she’ll give it her all; she’s one of life’s workers. I’ve invested my nest egg in a difficult situation, but Benni could easily take my place in a physical sense behind the counter.
A career change for her, peace of mind for me. Not a bad day’s work.
Ruth
‘Well?’ I demand, not giving Benni a chance to settle back into the armchair.
‘I phoned Emma and I’ve put an idea to her.’
‘And?’ I can hear the urgency in my tone.
‘I’ve asked her if she’d consider putting me forward as her assistant working at the ice cream parlour.’
‘That’s a great idea, Benni. Obviously she’ll need time to think it through properly.’
‘She’s fine with my suggestion, totally on board. Ruth, you know the chocolate truffles I made the other night?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Well, in addition to the assistant’s role, I asked if she’d consider me trialling a range of truffles to complement her ice cream flavours. That way we could branch out and increase sales via the internet. She believes our difficulty will be in getting Martin to agree to our terms. Though given his recent behaviour, she’s already arranged an appointment with her solicitor, so she’ll include our new plan in her proposal.’
Benni’s smile reflects the renewed energy charging through her body. It’s been a long day, but I don’t want to sleep. It seems an age since I’ve been this excited by anything, and it’s not even happening to me.
She’s on the cusp of a new life, and Emma has the power to make her dream come true.
Chapter Sixteen
Saturday 8 September
Emma
I grab for a fresh pineapple just as my mobile rings.
I bet this is Benni, telling me about a final detail she’s forgotten, or checking that she has free rein on her working hours as outlined in our proposal to Martin.
But instead, I see an unknown number illuminated across my screen.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, could I speak to Ms Emma Grund, please?’
‘Speaking.’
‘Ah, right. This is Jerry Bolstridge from the Royal House Hotel. We recently received your details and wondered if you were interested in our advertised chef’s position?’
‘Yes, that’s right, I did contact you about a week ago.’ I feel awful saying it, but I have to be honest. ‘However, there have been a few developments since then and I won’t be seeking a position after all.’
‘No worries, Ms Grund. Thank you for your time.’ He ends the call without any further discussion.
My heart is all of a flutter.
Have I just rejected what would once have been my dream job?
Instantly I address my inner doubts. I have a valid reason for saying no, and that’s the fact that I have an order book filled with requests for artisan ice cream and a renewed energy for food and quirky flavours.
I pick up the pineapple and head straight for the curry powder. I suspect this combination may be a little too daring, but either way, it’s worth a try.
Ruth
‘What time is it?’ Mum asks, her head of fine silver hair lolling against the armchair’s upholstery.
I stare at the clock for the umpteenth time today.
‘Half past six.’
Her wrinkled features relax and I know my words have eased her thoughts, whatever those might be.
I select a flat-pack box from the pile and fold and tuck the flaps to create another packing case to fill. I’ve found it’s easier making them up while she’s awake, then I can fill them while she’s sleeping. Emptying the rooms isn’t as difficult as I imagined, as evidenced by the stash of filled boxes piled at the far end of the lounge.
Jack is still surprised by my plans to downsize and move to Brixham, but he’s coming around to the idea. In a few more weeks he’ll be busy making plans of his own, though not with Megan.
I didn’t get the apartment I viewed, which is a pity as the harbour view was spectacular. But I’ve put an offer in on a similar-sized apartment in the next block: same view but a slightly different perspective, which seems to be my thing.
How did an afternoon of being nosy suddenly become a feasible plan? I suppose it all began with a tiny advert detailing a holiday let in Brixham, offering solo holidaymakers a comfy home from home with new friends guaranteed.
From that one decision to enquire about a fortnight’s stay, so much has changed. I’m not sorry to contemplate life after NatWest. There are more pressing issues to focus upon. Mum’s restful stay at Acorn Ridge, despite the early drama, proves how much care and attention she requires. She’s returning there temporarily while I move our packing boxes to Brixham and settle in, and I’ve found a couple of care homes in Devon that look suitable for the long term. I’ll take my time making my final decision; another visit to each before I choose.
A lump rises in my throat. I feel guilty for separating our little family, but life goes on, doesn’t it? I have to make the right decision for us both. This way, Mum will have the care she needs and we can enjoy a new routine, returning to a normal mother-and-daughter relationship for this next stage of our lives.
I avert my sombre mood by reaching for another flattened cardboard box, and begin securing the bottom with brown parcel tape.
I’m looking forward to a little freedom to pursue my painting. I haven’t been in touch with Dean; I wanted the dust to settle first. I meant it when I said I’d accepted his apology; deep down I think he meant well.
I glance at the far end of the room, beside the wall of packing boxes, to where my easel displays my current project. The outline sketch is complete and I’ve made a start on the lilac paintwork, though I’m not sure I’ve captured the vigour or abundance of the pale roses tumbling above the bay window. It’ll take several more hours to finish, but I must do it justice. I’m surprised I allowed my first completed painting to be put up for sale; maybe I was simply too eager to prove to Dean that I’d completed a piece. This new watercolour is mine; it will hang in my new apartment overlooking the harbour, a reminder of happy days spent amongst new friends at Rose Cottage.
‘What time is it?’ my mother asks, her chin drooping on to her chest.
�
�Eight o’clock, Mum,’ I say, without looking at the clock, while in my head I hear the bells of All Saints’ Church chime ‘Abide With Me’.
Benjamina
Tonight ends the longest week of my life. I’ve kept myself busy, completing three shifts at the vinegar factory and chatting to Ziggy each night until he had to go to work on the trawler.
As I walk down the shale slope at twilight, I can see a lively group of young men splashing about in the water a short distance from the shoreline. I instantly spot Ziggy’s head and bare shoulders bobbing about in the centre of the group. His curly hair is pushed back from his face, and his mouth is wide as he shouts and jokes with the other guys. I stop and watch the pack dynamic, hoping that when he sees me, his playful behaviour will cease. I need to witness the before and after to confirm in my heart that I’ve done the right thing.
I believe I have. In fact, I know I have, but to have my feelings reinforced by his response will feel like the icing on the cake. My cake. Our cake.
The group play like young seal pups, ducking, diving, splashing and yelping.
Do men ever grow up, or do they always remain as little boys when in a group?
I continue to walk, knowing that there’s a chance he’ll spot me. I don’t want to speak to anyone. I simply want to do as I’ve planned. A plan that has evolved in stages: on my long train journey, checking in at the Queen’s Arms, and during what seems like the longest wait for a sultry sunset to arrive.
I’m eternally grateful to Emma for fighting my corner and insisting that Martin honours their business agreement or she’d see him in court. I have to admit that I’m dreading meeting his wife. If she holds a grudge, then I’m in for it.
My ballet pumps crunch on the shale as I stride towards the huddle of girls silhouetted by the makeshift fire. I can just about make out Marla as she chats with the crowd. I appreciate her kind words of encouragement once she’d confirmed Ziggy would be here tonight, but I don’t want anyone to notice me, make a fuss of my arrival or call out to Ziggy. I want them to continue chatting, singing and laughing until it’s too late to shout a greeting.
I drop my canvas bag on the shale, flick off my ballet pumps and hastily unbutton my cotton dress. My gaze remains fixed upon Ziggy, my fingers nimbly working each button free. I slide the fabric from my shoulders, then undo my bra, allowing it to fall from my body. A gentle breeze greets my bare skin, which instantly prickles with goose bumps. My every move is electrified. I feel alive. Liberated. Free.
I begin to walk towards the water, the pebbles biting my heels. Straight-backed, my right arm lifted, cradling and covering my breasts, my gaze direct and my head held high, as proud as a peacock. Within a few steps the cold water is lapping my ankles, intensifying the goose bumps along my spine. I’m virtually naked, but I don’t care who sees me. Surely they’ve seen flesh before, and if not, well here’s a fine example.
That’s when he spots me, and stops mid splash.
Gone is my shyness, my nerves and my inhibitions.
His face turns towards mine. The lack of light prevents me from getting a clear view of his eyes, but I can imagine he’s puzzled, seeking details, defining my shape against the backdrop of flickering firelight. Questioning his instinct.
He slowly wades towards me; his shoulders and waist emerge from the water and he stands stock still and staring as I move forward.
The cold water laps about my knees . . . my thighs . . . my hips, and with each step his silent stance is calling to me, while the others continue to splash and play behind him, providing the comparison I was hoping for.
At last, as I draw close, I see his reaction. Confidence washes the doubt away, and his shoulders square instinctively.
‘Ziggy,’ I whisper.
‘Benjamina?’
My free hand reaches to interlink with Ziggy’s. His fingers grip mine like a frightened child clutching his beloved teddy bear.
The water finally swirls around my midriff and I slowly drop my right arm as Ziggy draws me nearer, my skin pressed against his bare chest.
‘You’ve come back . . .’ He doesn’t finish his sentence. His lips lower towards mine and we stand wrapped in each other’s arms amidst the tomfoolery of his mates.
We embrace for an age before ducking down beneath the rippling water to move aside from their noisy games.
‘I thought you’d gone for good,’ he explains, his face close to mine as he inhales the scent of my wet skin.
‘There’s so much I wanted to say, but it didn’t seem right over the phone. I knew where you’d be, and I thought, why not give you a surprise?’
‘And boy, what a surprise, in all your glory.’ He laughs, gently stroking my collarbone and throat. ‘And you don’t seem to care.’
‘Honestly, I don’t. The only one who watched me was you.’
‘And I’m allowed to watch,’ he murmurs, nuzzling into my neck.
I tilt my head back, lifting my gaze to the darkening night sky, a million tiny stars scattered above.
‘Benni . . . let me kiss you as I want to,’ he murmurs.
I lift my chin, close my eyes and let him.
Epilogue
Saturday 8 December
Benjamina
‘Come in, come in, don’t stand on ceremony, Emma,’ I say as I wrap my arms about my friend and now employer, welcoming her to Ruth’s new abode.
‘Look at you,’ says Emma, stepping back from our embrace to view my figure. ‘You look fabulous!’
I blush. I’m still not used to the compliments. Fashionable clothing, a few hairstyle tricks and some make-up have transformed my appearance.
‘I’ve lost nearly two stone, which is a fair amount in three months, but I’m eating healthily and I’m still mucking out the horses, which counts as strenuous exercise.’
‘The results speak for themselves, lovey. You look great. I assume you’re managing to resist the chocolates?’
‘Only just.’ I grab her hand and drag her through to the kitchen, where Ruth is busy preparing party nibbles. ‘Look who’s arrived.’
Ruth throws down her oven mitts and holds out her arms.
‘Is everything prepared, or do I need to roll my sleeves up?’ asks Emma, returning the warm welcome.
‘Not at all. You’re to sit back and relax for the entire weekend,’ scowls Ruth, diverting her to the nearest chair.
‘How’s your mum settling in at the care home?’ asks Emma, making herself comfy.
‘Fabulously well. She seems at peace, not as mithered as she once was.’
‘And our fabulous chocolatier here can hardly keep up with the demand, can you?’ says Emma, drawing me into the conversation.
‘Between the ice cream parlour and the internet sales, I’m being run ragged,’ I agree. ‘But I’m loving it. I can’t say that all your flavours are best-sellers in the chocolate range, but the dark chocolate slab with goji berries and coconut doesn’t even make it to the storeroom. Straight into packing boxes and posted off to happy customers.’
‘And to think that that first week you only had chocolate truffles in cellophane bags for sale,’ says Emma, beaming with pride.
‘Everything OK with the house?’ asks Ruth. ‘Nothing that you want me to arrange or fix?’
‘Ruth, stop worrying, the house is fine. I’m relieved that you agreed to me renting it from you. It’s saved us both a load of hassle and unnecessary bills. It’s made things easier for me and Rob too. It wouldn’t have been right to remain under the same roof once the divorce proceedings began.’
‘Good, I’m glad to hear it . . . And your artisan ice cream doing OK?’
‘Couldn’t be better. I’ve got orders coming out of my ears,’ says Emma, waving her hands about wildly.
‘Benni, can you grab the bubbles from the fridge?’ Ruth says.
‘It’s only
just gone midday,’ I point out, conscious that we have the whole weekend ahead of us.
‘If there’s two hands on the clock, you can get away with having bubbles!’ jokes Ruth, collecting glasses from the cupboard. ‘Isn’t that right, Emma . . . life’s too short!’
Emma blushes.
‘Touched a nerve, have we?’
‘You’re right, Ruth. The years fly by, and if you live by all the rules and regulations that other people force on you . . . well, you never have your fun, do you?’
‘Don’t you?’ I ask cheekily, peeling the gold foil from the cork.
‘Spit it out, woman . . . you can’t leave us hanging,’ urges Ruth, lining up the glasses. ‘Come on, you’re blushing for England.’
Ruth is right. Emma has turned the brightest shade of red imaginable.
‘Stop it, you two,’ she scolds.
I quickly pour the chilled bubbles, eager to hear her news.
‘Believe me when I say I wasn’t interested . . . right?’
‘Right?’ we chorus, glancing at each other.
‘And I know that others will be judgemental about the situation, but—’
Suddenly her phone begins to buzz from her pocket. She fumbles, answering as quickly as humanly possible.
‘Hi. Yes, I’m here . . . Literally five minutes ago. Yes, I will . . . Honestly, there’s no problem . . .’ She glances from me to Ruth and back again. ‘Not an issue . . . we’ll see you in ten. Bye.’ She ends the call, puts her mobile away and picks up her glass as if we weren’t present.
‘And who was that?’ asks Ruth, a coy smile on her lips.
‘Look, you’ll both be fine about it, I know. As you said, life’s too short, so I’ve invited someone over to join us for dinner.’
‘Martin?’ asks Ruth, her eyebrows lifting.
Emma shakes her head slowly, her smile beaming.