Page 11 of The Second Chance Supper Club

Lying in a hot bubbly bath, Cath soaked her sore limbs.

After speaking with her sister, she’d gone back to working on the shed, and time had run away from her.

She now felt physically as well as mentally shattered, after all that sawing, sanding, scrubbing and hammering.

The roof was fixed, the waterproofing shed-felt was on, and the inside was clean.

She’d made a good start, but she was aching from head to toe.

Despite all that, she felt brighter than she had done for weeks, no, months.

It was like a little light had been switched back on inside.

She felt purposeful, even a spark of hope.

Mediterranean-style food was definitely calling her.

Italian, a summery pasta dish, something with prawns?

Or perhaps a Spanish-style supper … a large pan of paella, or an all-in-one chicken and chorizo bake?

Whatever it was, it needed to be fairly easy to cook, ideally prepared mostly in advance, taste delicious and look good.

Oh, jeez, she was feeling a bit panicky already.

Trying to calm herself, she closed her eyes and tried to picture the scene, with her shed all finished and a balmy evening.

A starter platter of charcuterie meats, local cheeses and olives came to mind, with a glass of chilled rosé wine.

Yep, that might work well. She had a couple of olive-wood boards that would look great for that.

Oh, yes, she’d bloody well made sure those had been packed, as well as all her best kitchen equipment, crockery, serving dishes and all the herbs and spices.

If Trev had hardly bothered to cook for them in the past thirty years, he darned well wasn’t going to get half the contents of the kitchen – he probably wouldn’t have known what was in there, anyhow!

The only things she’d left him were a kettle and toaster (choosing to buy herself a nice new cream-coloured set that she knew would look good in her cottage kitchen), a basic set of crockery and cutlery, and a few essential pans (the ones that used to stick and annoy her).

It had felt like a small but meaningful victory in the scheme of things.

Okay, when she got out, she’d go and jot down her menu ideas so they didn’t float away by morning, but for now she was going to enjoy her soak, with those fragrant bubbles popping around her, and a vanilla-scented candle glowing on the side.

She closed her eyes, and breathed in slowly.

Making the most of these small and simple pleasures …

in a world that she knew could be so big and complicated.

Cath had never expected to be starting from scratch again at fifty-two years of age, arriving in a village where she knew no one.

She was desperate to find her feet in this new community and make herself some friends.

But as the days counted down, she felt anxious about the impending supper event.

And yes, whilst the lads in the shop had seemed really chatty, she’d only seen Nikki for what, all of five minutes, and then there was the merry – hopefully – widower ; she had to admit she really didn’t know any of them that well.

What if they didn’t get on together? Or if the gathering felt a bit forced?

Roundhay-based dinner parties of latter years had been with well-established friends, people she’d known for years.

She was so about to step out of her comfort zone.

With a mere twenty-four hours to go, she was finally getting a grip on the shed renovations, with one last coat of exterior paint needed, before she could move the dining furniture up from the house.

Then tomorrow, she could focus on the cooking and the finer details.

There she was, paintbrush in hand, four steps up the ladder, when the looming black clouds – clouds she hadn’t spotted massing behind her, being so stuck on her task – decided to give it their all.

Not a simple shower, oh no, but a biblical downpour which drenched her in seconds, spoiling the batch of paint she’d just poured out into the painting tray.

She scrambled down, ducked inside the shed, shutting the glass doors (that she’d now fixed) behind her, and stood there watching rivulets running down the panes …

Then, soul-destroyingly, a stream began to form, soon pouring down her garden steps – and, oh bugger it, right into her still open back door.

And with it, seemingly, all her hopes and dreams …

Dammit, the shed would never be ready in time now, and her kitchen – the back-up plan dining zone – looked as though it was filling with bloody water. Why hadn’t she thought to close the back door? But it had been such a lovely morning just an hour or so before.

Shitty McShitface . Out she flew, securing the shed doors behind her, bolting down the aforementioned stream of now-slippery steps, and more or less tumbling through the kitchen door, slamming it behind her.

Wet through to her T-shirt, jeans and knickers, she stood in a dripping daze.

Luckily the kitchen area had wooden floorboards rather than carpet, but already it was soaking.

Mission mop and bucket next, then. After finishing the clear-up exercise, she went for a much needed pee, catching sight of her frazzled-wet banshee state in the bathroom mirror: hair a bedraggled tangle, mascara running into panda eyes.

What the hell had happened to her? It wasn’t just the rain, she thought drearily, she’d not bothered going to the hairdresser for months now.

And, that flash of mascara and lip balm was about all the make-up she managed these days.

OMG, she really had let her self-care slip dramatically.

Her hair, face and clothes no doubt echoed her recent mood – utterly devastated.

When had all that begun to drift? When had she in fact stopped looking after herself?

Oh, probably when Trevor stopped caring what she looked like, far preferring his little fling, who, no doubt, was perfectly coiffed, groomed and made up to the nines.

(Cath actually had no idea what she looked like.

She had never, and would never, want to set eyes on the woman.) But as she registered the sodden mess in the mirror, a big note-to-self flagged up in her mind, to find a local hairdresser, and soon.

It was perhaps not possible in time for tomorrow’s supper club, and she had so much else to do anyhow, but yes, some hair TLC was absolutely in order.

Feeling pretty miserable at this point, Cath was in need of a pick-me-up.

She made a cup of strong coffee, took a long, warming sip, and sat for a while, looking out at the now drying garden.

It looked fresher and greener than before with a raindrop-glistening glaze.

A blackbird dipped its head, enjoying a drink out of an old saucer that had been left in one of the borders – ah, so that’s what it was for.

It then warbled a happy springtime tune.

She thought she may as well get a step ahead for her big day tomorrow and organise some of the utensils she’d need for her cooking.

Wondering where she’d put away her big pasta pan, she crouched down and delved into the lower kitchen cupboards.

It wasn’t that long ago she’d unpacked, surely it had to be in there somewhere.

Ferreting about in the back of the cupboard, behind her everyday pots and pans, she felt something else there.

She leaned in a little further, and pulled out an old-fashioned ceramic mixing bowl.

It was white-and-blue-striped and in good condition, other than a tiny chip in the top.

There was a wooden spoon left in it too.

They looked all ready to mix up a cake. It reminded her of the bowl on the cover of the old Be-Ro recipe book her mother used to have.

It must have belonged to the old man whose house it had been.

Reggie, that was it. Or perhaps it had been his late wife’s and this was her much-used and loved bowl, which he’d kept as a special memory?

Well, he wouldn’t be needing this now. She decided to wash it up and keep it.

It felt like it belonged with the house.

After locating her pasta pan on the bottom shelf of the other low-down cupboard, plus a square baking tin for a bread recipe she wanted to try, she made an easy supper for herself of cheese on toast; she’d save her culinary efforts for tomorrow.

She then sat and read her latest crime novel for a while in the sitting room.

It wasn’t long before she felt ready to go to bed.

It had been a busy day after all. But just then, a call came in from her sister.

‘Hi, lovely.’

‘Hey, Suz.’

‘Just seeing how you are?’

‘Oh.’ They’d only spoken yesterday, but perhaps Susie had picked up on the nuance of her tone, and sussed that she was feeling a bit down. Cath’s sigh slipped out slowly. ‘Yeah, you’re on to me. Feeling a bit fed up.’

‘What’s up, chicken?’ Her sister reverted to her childhood term of endearment, spoken as Mum and Dad would have said it, filled with warmth and love.

Cath was ‘chicken’, and Susie ‘petal’. Come to think of it, hers wasn’t particularly flattering, was it?

But that realisation only made her lips crease into a small smile.

‘Ah, it’s nothing much really,’ she started.

‘Been a long day, and well, I’ve had this plan of doing up the garden shed …

and I’ve set myself a big task,’ she confided.

‘And it’s rained like billy-o today. The back steps turned into a bloody fountain, and it’s gone and flooded my kitchen.

And now it’s too wet to finish painting the damned shed …

and well, the dinner party’s tomorrow.’ It all came out in a blurt.

‘ What? You’re having a dinner party? I mean, oh shit, about the flood and stuff …

but wow, that’s great, who’s coming?’ Of course, she hadn’t told her sister about any of this as yet.

‘Ah, just a few from the village. The guys from the shop, a woman with a youngish family who runs a cleaning company …’ She stalled at mentioning the widower, no need to give her sister that snippet of information to feed on just yet.

‘And I don’t really know them very well, so I just wanted it to all go off well.

You know, make a good start. And now this … ’

She puffed out a heavy sigh.

‘Well, that’s great that you’re making friends already. After all, you’ve only been there a couple of weeks, Cath. And I’m sure you can dry out the kitchen in time …’

And there it was, suddenly back in perspective. Yes, the bigger picture was that she had new friends coming around. Susie was always great at pointing out the positives, whilst not making you feel bad for getting in a flap.

‘Oh, and I also happen to look like someone whose been pulled through a hedge backwards,’ Cath added, letting it all spill out.

‘Oo-kay …’

‘Need a haircut … badly.’

‘Well, I did wonder …’ She could hear a hint of laughter in her sister’s tone, not at her but with her. ‘That last selfie you sent, you did look a bit … rustic, sort of windswept.’

Well, that brought her right back down to earth. ‘Hah, the country life, hey. Rustic, you cheeky madam.’

‘Just telling it as it is. You’ve evidently noticed yourself now, anyhow. It’s about time you embraced being fabulous in your fifties, Cath, not frumpy.’

‘Gee, thanks. Now I’m feeling soo much better about this dinner party. I’ve failed at fixing the shed up, and I look like a frump too,’ she said huffily.

‘Soz, I was only trying to cheer you up, chicken.’

Cath took a breath; Susie wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t seen for herself.

‘I know, it’s just, catching sight of the bird’s-nest hair was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

This whole new life. Have I gone and bitten off more than I can chew, Suz?

New house, new area, new friends – well, hopefully, if tomorrow goes okay …

’ She tried to put her emotions into words.

‘When it all went tits-up, should I at least have stayed where I knew people, where I had some roots? This is a whole new chapter, Susie … but I’m worried I’m not up to it.

Not that I’ve got a lot of choice now.’ Cath gave a heavy sigh.

‘Hey, you’ve been brave and bold. Listened to your heart, going to a place you love, and good for you.

Yes, it’s a new chapter, a new beginning, and you know what, it sometimes takes lots of pages to get into a new book, doesn’t it.

Even when the book’s a brilliant one. One page at a time, one day at a time, and then suddenly it all begins to make sense … ’

‘When did you become so wise?’ Cath jibed, whilst appreciating her sister’s words.

‘It comes with age.’

‘Hah, well you are older than me.’

And, of course, Susie knew all about new beginnings and getting on with life, with one failed marriage behind her, being left at only twenty-nine with two young children to bring up single-handedly, and what a brilliant job she’d done of that.

That was all before meeting Mark, who’d then taken on Beth and Hannah as if they were his own.

‘Aw, thanks Suz … I’m feeling a bit better already.’

‘You’re welcome. And hey, call anytime, that’s what I’m here for.’

Her sister’s words stayed with her well into the night, settling in her mind like drifting blossom.

Cath lay awake in bed in the early hours, looking forward to, yet inevitably still anxious about, tomorrow’s supper hosting.

She was indeed only in the first pages of a whole new story.

She had to be patient and give it more time.