Page 16 of The Second Chance Supper Club

However hard she tried, Cath couldn’t stop her old life catching up with her.

Inevitably, the weekend of Helen’s visit rolled around.

At least the impending arrival had given Cath a new focus, filling her time with getting the house and the spare bedroom ready for its first staying visitor.

She’d have much preferred to have had Adam back, or her sister Susie staying, who’d be far easier company, but as the Saturday morning approached, she found herself looking forward to seeing her old friend once more. There was a lot of catching up to do.

Helen landed in her sporty BMW, having decided to drive.

She arrived with a flurry of air kisses, a waft of heady floral perfume, and a clatter of high heels.

Perched on the threshold, she gave her friend a thorough lookover that resulted in a slight frown – oops, Cath remembered that she still hadn’t got to a hairdresser as yet.

‘Hello, there. Well, you’ve certainly settled into the country look well. ’

Cath’s smile turned into a part-grimace at the backhanded compliment. ‘Well, come on in. Welcome to my new home.’

After touring the cottage, which didn’t exactly take long – Helen declaring it was ‘sweet and compact’– she handed over a thoughtful gift of a cream pottery jug which was actually very pretty and would suit the kitchen.

Cath then helped her in with her luggage, and got her settled in the ‘quaint’ spare room.

She let her friend know that they’d be sharing bathroom facilities; no en suites here.

She saw Helen’s eyebrows twitch at that.

After a lunch of poached salmon, watercress and new potatoes, served with a glass of chilled white wine, the two friends were now sat in the garden, enjoying some afternoon sunshine and a cup of Earl Grey, catching up on old times.

The initial conversation and trip down memory lane weren’t anywhere near as bad as Cath had feared.

It touched briefly on some Trevor moments, but mostly those that involved the whole gang.

There were eight of them in their regular posse; being four couples who’d got on particularly well.

They’d had some fun times over the years; dinner parties, New Year’s Eve nights, and when the children were younger, fireworks parties with soup and hot dogs in one of their back gardens, with the torch-and-taper-bearing dads ready to light the rockets somewhere down the far end of the lawn.

So far, they’d managed to steer clear of any in-depth information on Trevor, and that was fine by Cath, who was enjoying catching up on their grown-up children’s latest activities, at uni, home and worldwide.

Those same little kids who’d dashed around the gardens with their sparklers. Where had all the years gone … ?

The low hum of a tractor working in some nearby fields filled the air, but it wasn’t too distracting; Cath was becoming used to the sounds of the countryside already.

There was birdsong and the buzz of bees, too.

Her garden was looking rather lovely now, with its bluebells fading and various shrubs and roses coming into bloom.

The borders were full of surprises this first spring and summer of living here – thanks to Reggie and his keen gardening over the years.

She had no idea what was going to pop up next.

However, a new, and not so fresh, surprise was about to hit them.

It was when the ladies decided the yardarm had stretched enough to pour a second glass of wine, that the offensive smell hit their nostrils.

‘Bloody hell, what on earth is that stench?’ Helen screwed up her face.

The hum of the tractor was closer, and so was the aroma.

Pig muck ! It had to be.

‘Oh God, that is bad!’ Cath felt slightly nauseous. ‘I think the farmer is fertilising.’

Strong and pungent ‘aroma de pig poo’ hit them, and it was going nowhere fast. Ideal as a fertiliser, no doubt, but not great to sip a glass of white wine alongside.

‘Sorry, Cath, but that is foul. I don’t think I can stand it. Can we go inside?’ Helen was up on her feet and heading for the back door as fast as she could, muttering, ‘We certainly don’t get any of this in Roundhay!’

Cath had a rather stronger constitution, but still, she had to agree that the smell wasn’t pleasant.

A day or two at the most and she knew it would pass, but for now, no more sitting in the garden, and no supper soiree for the two of them in the summerhouse either.

She had considered that as a nice way to spend the evening.

But having Helen here, and witnessing her already prickly approach to country life, Cath now felt glad that her converted shed would remain private, and remain as her little haven – her supper club secret.

Later, after quaffing far too much wine, the lid began to blow off Helen’s filter, and tales of Trevor became the focus of the conversation. So here it was, the moment Cath had feared: a tiddly Helen with unrequested stories of Trevor’s recent romantic antics now coming thick and fast.

She started on the new girlfriend Steph, Cath’s replacement: ‘Oh yes, we’ve met her a few times for the odd meal out …

oh, and drinks at ours one night. Fairly attractive, just a bit younger than us, blonde, tall, an accountant.

’ Well, that figured, it was obviously someone he worked with.

Someone who hadn’t ‘wasted’ their maths degree on teaching – as Trevor had so often liked to remind Cath after her more stressful days in the classroom.

Then, the tales moved on to the recent waning of the romance, and then (another glass of pinot down) the lovers’ tiff.

‘Lovers’ , oh good lord – just picturing Trevor, with his midriff overhang, flouncing about with his bit of stuff, made her feel downright queasy.

Helen continued, oblivious, telling Cath that the couple had had ‘words’ apparently.

Trev had confessed when he was round at their place last week, that the new woman had said he was a bit …

(‘boring’ , ‘ of a fuckwit’ – Cath wanted to interject) …

‘ clingy’ at times. ‘So, it’s not looking quite so rosy, right now.

In fact, I think he might be regretting his rash move.

’ Was that meant to cheer her up? Get her rushing back into her errant husband’s arms?

Cath found herself increasingly irritable.

‘Well then, let him stew in his own mess. He certainly let me know I was surplus to requirements at the time, didn’t he?

’ she said sourly. ‘So, there’s no point him running back with his tail between his legs, now it’s all going tits up with the new floozie.

’ Cath also had had rather too much of the vino by now.

Emotions were running high, and the conversation was running away with them.

‘Please, Helen, for god’s sake stop going on, will you?

I really don’t want to hear any more about bloody Trevor.

’ Helen was sensitive enough to look chastened. ‘Sorry, Cath.

I wasn’t thinking. I imagined you’d want to know the latest … but I can see I was wrong.’

‘Ah, it’s not you I’m annoyed with.’ Cath’s tone softened. ‘It’s him . And the car crash he’s made of our marriage. I thought we were good, solid. That we’d see in our old age together. But hey-ho, that wasn’t to be, was it?’

‘Yeah, I thought you were good together too,’ Helen agreed. ‘Kind of steady. Reliable. It’s shaken us all up seeing what’s happened. The group really doesn’t feel the same.’

‘Yes, I’m sure …’ There was a pause and then Cath confessed, ‘It still hurts you know. Far too much at times.’

‘Of course it will. It’s such early days. And I’m sorry again, for raking everything up …’ Her friend pulled an exaggeratedly forlorn face.

‘Ah, it’s okay. It’s Trev I need to punch, not you.’ Cath gave a wry smile. She didn’t need to be falling out with her old mates.

‘Still friends?’

Cath nodded, quietly confirming, ‘Yeah, still friends.’ ‘Thanks,’ Helen sighed. ‘And blimey, you really don’t know what’s around the corner in life, do you?’

‘Nope.’

‘Probably as well.’

‘Probably.’

And they gave their wine glasses a dull clunk.

The past felt stirred and shaken.