Page 17 of The Second Chance Supper Club

The next morning, thankfully, started more relaxed, with coffee and croissants and lighter chat, after a bit of a lie-in – and a couple of much needed paracetamols. Cath really wasn’t used to drinking that much nowadays.

But then things began to shift …

‘Oh, damn, I forgot to pack any antihistamine,’ Helen announced, gesturing towards the window, the countryside around them. ‘My eyes are all itchy, and I bet it’s all that grass out there.’

Cath had noticed her friend’s red eyes this morning, but had put it down to excessive alcohol, which after finding the empty wine bottles on the side this morning, could well be partly the cause.

‘Oh, I really need some tablets. There’s a shop in the village, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, worth a try.’

They popped on trainers, Helen’s a spanking new white pair, and had a little wander to the village stores, in the fresh – or perhaps not quite so fresh – pig-muck-tainted air.

The country walk Cath had imagined they might take this morning might not now go down too well.

What with hay fever, white shoes, and muck-spreading smells aplenty, Cath tried to think of a Plan B.

The tinkle of the store bell, and the smiling faces of Andreas and Dan behind the counter greeted them.

‘Good morning, ladies.’

‘Hi, guys, this is my friend from Leeds, Helen.’

‘Hello, lovely. A friend of Cath’s is a friend of ours,’ said Andreas with a grin.

‘Welcome to our little shop, Helen. And how can we help you?’ followed up Dan.

Helen briefly scanned the shelves, without success. ‘Okay, so my eyes are starting to pour here, and I’m beginning to feel nasal. Where are your antihistamine tablets?’

‘Sorry, my lovely, that’s something we don’t stock. Tried them in the past and they didn’t really sell, so we had to withdraw them,’ Dan explained.

Helen’s eyebrows shot up angrily. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. I thought that’d be a standard.’ Her tone was sharp. Cath felt a bit embarrassed.

‘You’ll be sure to find some over in Kirkton. There’s a pharmacy there.’ Andreas was trying to be helpful.

‘Humph. And how far is that?’

‘Oh, not far. Five miles.’

‘Five miles?’ Helen didn’t disguise her huff. ‘Cath, you’ll have to take me … I can’t cope with this all day. What with my hay fever kicking off and the stench from the fields. It really is the back of beyond here.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘I’m sorry. We’re just a small concern, our stock is limited,’ Dan tried to explain further.

Helen’s response was to ‘tut’ heavily.

How rude. Cath, Andreas and Dan shared a look, with Cath mouthing a ‘sorry’ behind her old friend’s head.

Feeling rather awkward, and trying her best to divert Helen’s grumpy attention on to something more positive, Cath moved towards the cake display – looking for a little pick-me-up treat to go with their morning coffee.

After Helen’s ill-mannered outburst, she also wanted to give the lads some custom.

‘Cake?’ Cath said in a forced cheery tone. ‘These lads do the best bakes in the area by far. The moistest of sponges, Greek-style baklava, you name it.’

‘Hmm, well. Won’t do my thighs any good … but yes, why not,’ Helen conceded. ‘I am on holiday after all.’

Her attention was then duly diverted by the gorgeous-looking cakes (Helen had always been a big fan of an afternoon tea, Cath remembered), she and Cath each choosing a slice.

As Dan carefully wrapped them, Cath enquired how the lads were getting on, and they chatted briefly about village life.

Helen remained quiet, which was unusual.

Cath hoped she’d bloody well cheer up soon; they had the whole day and night to fill before her return journey tomorrow.

The cakes – a slice of Dan’s white chocolate with raspberry, and one of St Clements – went down well with their coffee back at the cottage kitchen, and the mood between the ladies lifted a bit.

Cath suggested a tour of the countryside in the Mini, with a pitstop at the pharmacy at Kirkton, before heading up into the hills for some scenic views.

She thought they might then cut back in a big loop via the coast.

Helen seemed to have calmed down a bit after the Kirkton stop. She sat in the passenger seat, her antihistamines now taken and a bottle of water to hand, and the conversation rolled on easily, thank heavens, much like the rolling hills around them.

They were up a narrow lane when a guy on a quad motioned them to wait, as he backed out from a muddy field entrance.

‘Hold on there, lass.’

He made a few hearty whistles, and then ‘baah-ing’ noises could be heard which got louder, as a herd of sheep scurried and trampled their way out of the gate and up the lane ahead of them.

Tens, then, it must have been hundreds, scattering giddily, some backtracking until the quad revved at them to turn them around.

So many sheep with their biggish lambs, pooing merrily as they went.

More and more … Cath was actually entranced.

It was no problem really, even though they must have waited well over five minutes already. The farmer had a job to do after all.

‘For Christ’s sake, when are the bloody things going to stop?’ Helen was pulling a face. ‘Ah, look, they’re shitting everywhere … your car’s going to be in a right state. Shall we just turn around? There can’t be a lot up this way, anyhow? Haven’t seen a shop or a tea room in ages.’

There was in fact the most beautiful view at the top of this valley, where you could stop and see the tops of the bracken-covered Cheviot Hills one way, and turn to look over the undulating countryside towards the inkiness of the North Sea the other, but Cath didn’t feel like explaining that.

Helen just wouldn’t get it, she could tell.

So that was it, they made a U-turn and headed back.

Returning to Tilldale, Cath hoped her plan of Sunday lunch out might prove more successful.

On walking into The Star Inn in the village, Helen couldn’t help herself, noting rather loudly that the décor was ‘a bit dated’.

Yes, the bar was made of dark wood in a traditional style.

And when the middle-aged sandy-bearded landlord, dressed in his well-worn country tweeds, came across to serve them with a ‘Good aft’noon, ladies’ and introducing himself as Bill, she saw Helen smother a chuckle at his thick Northumbrian accent.

Then she muttered, not in the least subtly, ‘Blimey, he looks like something out of Last of the Summer Wine .’

Bloody hell, Cath wanted to be accepted as part of this village, not be seen to be sniggering at the locals.

The tension she had been feeling went up a notch.

It was like everything Helen said or did was intended to put a nail into her new life, every comment feeling like a little dig at her.

She was trying to stay patient, but she wasn’t quite sure what was going on.

After all, the two of them used to get on okay back in Roundhay.

It was like her old life was clashing with the new.

They chose a table in the bay window, and ordered the Sunday roast and a couple of glasses of Merlot.

‘Well, that was an eventful morning …’ Cath was thinking of the sheep and the stressful village shop visit, saying the words rather tongue in cheek.

‘Well, nothing much has happened really, has it? We trooped off into the middle of nowhere and got stuck behind a herd of sheep.’

‘Well, if you look at it that way …’ Cath suddenly felt extremely tired.

How many more hours of this were left? She took a sneaky glance at her watch: 1:15 p.m. Still another evening at home to fill – too many hours by far.

She sipped her wine and gazed out of the window at the cottages opposite, unable to feign interest in conversation any longer.

The food came fifteen minutes later, and was delicious. A tasty roast beef dinner that hit the spot, with crispy Yorkshire puddings and veggies aplenty, served by a friendly waitress.

‘So, this must be the only place you’ve got to eat out then? It’s all right, I suppose. Food’s okay, but the décor, well, it’s so back in time. I feel like I’ve re-entered my childhood in the Yorkshire Dales.’ Helen was harking back to that again.

‘It’s a traditional country pub, Helen, there’s no need for it to look like a city bistro.

The staff are great, and the food’s more than okay, it’s bloody lovely,’ Cath pointed out, before tucking into a crispy roast potato dripping in gorgeous gravy.

She found herself sticking up for her little village and its pub.

The pair then ate in silence for a while, the air crackling with tension between them.

Later, back at the cottage, things came to a head.

‘Well, you are a bit reclusive, here. The village is so remote.’ Helen was off again.

‘That’s exactly what I wanted, Helen. It’s how I like it. It’s beautiful here … and it’s quiet.’ She needed that quiet life, that time away from stress and work and feckless husbands.

‘Oh, I’m sure the novelty will wear off soon enough …’ ‘ Why ? Why should it? I chose this, I wanted a change.

I was sick of life down in Leeds. There’s not only one way to live, Helen.’

Helen looked a bit shocked. ‘Well, I’ll be telling the gang all about my stay. I’m meeting up with the girls on Tuesday, actually. Coffee at Hugo’s in town.’

Oh yes, the latest ‘ladies who lunch’ venue. Cath had heard about it; it was just about to open when she’d left. That get-together must have been planned in advance, Cath mused grouchily, Helen’s opportunity to give a full report on Cath and her new surroundings.

‘Oh yes, go ahead. Feel free to run me and my little rural life down,’ Cath hissed.

‘What? Of course, I won’t be …’

‘Well, that’s all you’ve been bloody well doing since you got here.’

‘I haven’t.’ She sounded so indignant, which was laughable.

‘You bloody well have … first the country smells, then the lads not having antihistamine, as though that was the crime of the century. The farmers around here aren’t allowed to move their sheep according to you …

and the country pub is too old-fashioned.

Well, that’s exactly what it’s meant to be. ’ Cath was sick of her going on.

Helen just glared at her.

Cath bit back once more. ‘Well, I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting to stay here again then. And you know what, that’s fine by me.’

This sent Helen into even more of a tizz, announcing, ‘Well, I may as well go home now, if you feel like that!’

Cath took stock, having said her bit, and merely looked at her friend calmly, ‘You can’t.’

‘What do you mean? Are you going to hold me here against my will?’ Cath couldn’t help but chuckle at Helen’s indignation.

‘What?’

‘Helen, you’ve already had two glasses of Merlot and a Prosecco …’

‘Oh.’ She let the facts sink in – driving right now was not an option. ‘S-sugar.’

There was an awkward silence for a few heavy moments.

‘Come on, I’ll make us a coffee.’ Cath felt calmer.

She’d said her piece, sticking up for her village and new, if still slightly tentative, friends, but she wasn’t going to stew on it.

And, she had a feeling there was more to this than Helen was letting on.

She gave her friend a bit of space to visit the upstairs bathroom while preparing a cafetière of coffee.

Helen came down looking a little chastened.

‘I-I’m sorry … for flying off the handle with you. You’re just trying your best to settle in here, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ Cath responded. ‘Look, Helen, is everything okay with you? It’s just ever since you got here, you just seem so … prickly.’

‘I’m fine …’

The two women looked at each other.

‘Ah, well, I don’t know. It just feels all wrong.

You being here. Our group’s all in pieces, back home …

and everything’s the same old … but then it’s not, not anymore.

You’ve gone … and the kids are grown up and gone …

’ Helen looked deflated. ‘Empty nest syndrome hitting you, too?’ Cath asked empathetically.

‘God, yes. Nothing’s the same anymore, is it? And then there’s the getting old … the wrinkles. And I can’t even laugh without peeing a bit these days.’

They both started chuckling then.

‘Don’t bloody start me off.’

But that just made them laugh louder.

‘I actually don’t think I could cope with country life, though.’ She paused, as if thinking. ‘But you know what, good on you for giving it a try. For going out there, after everything you’ve had to contend with, and shaking things up.’

‘Thanks.’

At last, they’d been able to be honest. She hadn’t wanted Helen to leave here in a huff. The change had hit her old friendship group too. It was inevitable really. The bomb had ricocheted far further than Cath had first imagined.

Since leaving Roundhay, and in those few weeks of moving on and beginning to find her feet in a quieter rural world, distance and time had made her see her old friends and relationships differently too.

She’d heard enough about Trevor and his antics last night, plus the social gatherings in suburbia, to make her head spin.

Helen would be setting off in the morning.

And yes, whilst she’d keep in touch with the old gang, she found she didn’t need that social group in the same way anymore.

It belonged to a different life, a different Cath.

Her old life, or more so, some of the people in it, didn’t seem to fit all that well with this new one. But it didn’t mean she had to cut them off totally, either. In time she might reconnect. But for now, there was no rush for that.

And she realised that that was okay. Changes were afoot, and she was open to that. No point wallowing in the past. Something old, something new …