Page 3 of The Second Chance Supper Club

She was tucked up in bed. All was dark. The room a little too dark for her liking, to be honest.

Screeek! That piercing screech was way too close.

What the hell was that?

Was it a dream? Was she still awake? Cath blinked and stared. There was a glimpse of silver shadow through the gap in the curtains. Yes, it was definitely nighttime. Her heart was pounding so hard, she could hear the blood thrumming in her ears. Awake then …

Was it a fox? An owl, maybe? But weren’t they meant to go twit-twoo?

She rattled her brain for things that made noises in the night.

Things other than horror movie stuff. Could someone be lurking outside?

Dare she find out what, or who, it was? Lying there, with her imagination on full pelt, she was never going to get back to sleep now.

Stepping gingerly out of bed, she walked over the woollen rug onto cool wooden floorboards, and peered through the tiny gap in the curtains.

Looking out into the grey-white light of the street lamp, she saw a patch of silvered tarmac highlighted, along with a shadowy tree, its arms all skeletal. The darkened blocks of the cottages opposite … no lights on over there. All was still, or so it seemed.

Screeek . She jumped back. Oh, shit. There it was again, even closer.

She peeked again. No stealthy-limbed furry fox, no flap of wings, not a sign.

She hadn’t heard any of these blood-curdling noises in her city suburbs.

Maybe the odd echo of a siren, blue flashing lights.

There was no sensible Trev here either, to reassure her with a: ‘Don’t be so bloody silly, woman, get back to bed. ’

And no one to snuggle back up to after her 3 a.m. meanderings (oh yes, they’d kicked in good and proper during perimenopause a few years ago, and were still going strong now).

Back then, in her spacious suburban semi, she’d slip downstairs for a cup of camomile tea, making a dump-list to get her to-dos off her midnight mind.

Then back to a cosy bed, with a warm and steady – if a little grumpy at being disturbed, yet again – husband waiting.

In the half-light, not yet knowing the number of stairs, she reached the lower hallway with a jarring thump.

She turned the downstairs lights on and headed for the kitchen, intending to make herself a herbal tea, and sit for a while.

There was something slightly desolate about being on your own in the middle of the night.

The house was chilly too. The novelty of this newfound freedom was already beginning to wear off.

Kettle on, the scent of camomile and honey, and then its warming fragrant taste.

No more shrieks or calls outside in the dark, phew.

Just a head full of thoughts. Of life and loss, and everything in between.

Of Adam – where in fact was he, right now?

Cambodia, that was it … Ooh, wasn’t that the place where they’d found all those dreadful skulls?

Another brick to add to the wall of anxiety she seemed to be building for herself.

Oh , they might actually be in the right time zone for a chat.

She spotted her phone, charging on the kitchen side.

He might be mid-breakfast, looking out on some idyllic sandy beach or about to trek to some ancient monument …

or in bed with some lithe young thing, or – oh, God, no – high on drugs.

Who bloody well knew? She stalled at picking up the phone, imagining him wondering why on earth his mother was ringing him in the middle of the night, UK time.

Perhaps she’d just send a text. Yes, a short, ‘ Hey, how are you getting on? ’ (Code read: Are you still alive?) ‘ Bet it’s amazing there.

Miss you. Love Mum x ’ from the cheery, happy person she so wanted him to remember.

Not this stressed-out, recently dumped singleton.

She posted that brief message, adding, ‘ Have fun, but STAY SAFE. xx ’ She couldn’t help herself.

And then, with a yawn, it was time to go back to bed, to the double where she still slept on her side (always the right). She was trying hard to embrace this new route her life was taking, but under a duvet for two, she couldn’t help but feel alone.

Nursing a coffee at 8:30 a.m., Cath decided to sort out her kitchen space despite feeling jaded after her restless night. Keeping busy seemed to be the way forward. And the kitchen had always been so important to Cath.

She’d put everything swiftly into the cupboards when she’d first got there, without really planning how it might work best. She chose to tackle the spice rack first. With so much to unpack on her arrival, she’d merely popped the small cardboard box, filled with those little glass jars of fragrance and aromatic wonder, straight onto a kitchen unit shelf.

Now was the time to order it properly … herbs, spices, seasonings, oh yes, and colour co-ordinating the lids.

That felt satisfying. Instilling order in the kitchen cupboards, at least.

Handling the spices and herbs made her think of all those meals she’d prepared over the years: the family roasts, the dinner parties, after-work suppers, the pizza in a rush, the birthday celebrations for Adam, homemade sausage rolls, the pineapple-and-cheese hedgehog, crisps and sandwiches, cupcakes galore, and of course, the huge event of the annual Christmas dinner.

She paused, standing with a jar of dried sage in her hand.

Her well-used recipe books sat there on her ‘new’ kitchen shelf but …

Oh. From now on who was there to cook for, other than herself?

She found herself feeling all wrong once again, with an ache of loneliness in her gut.

Everything seemed so downright hard just now.

Even the simplest of everyday things. Keep going , a little voice inside pushed her on.

She remembered the inspiration to paint the walls yellow, which she’d had the day before.

The white walls through the house were easy to live with, but on closer inspection the kitchen walls had faded and been marked, especially around the hob area.

Okay, so she’d go and find the hardware store in nearby Kirkton, get some bright yellow paint, and put her mark on the place.

The kitchen – and bloody hell, yes, her whole damned life – was in need of some va-va-voom.

After a slice of toast and a self-talking to, she was ready to hop in the car and get that paint.

As she popped her jacket on, Cath heard the ringtone of her mobile phone.

Oh, might it be Adam having seen her text, looking to catch up at last?

Pulling out her mobile from her pocket, she saw Caller ID Helen S .

Ah, her friend from back home. Home? The word jarred in her mind. Wasn’t that meant to be here now?

‘Helen … hi.’

‘Hey, how’s it going?’ Her pal’s voice was as chirpy as ever. ‘And when can I come up and see this cute cottage of yours?’ Helen was one of those upbeat, super-chatty types, always full of energy. This morning, it served to make Cath feel even more deflated.

‘Good … yeah, all’s fine here. Just finding my feet really.’ Cath tried her best to sound positive. ‘And, of course, you can come up soon … but, uhm, maybe I need some time to get sorted out here a bit first,’ she stalled. ‘It’s only been a few days since I moved in, after all.’

It was all too soon. Cath certainly didn’t feel up to visitors as yet, and though the two women were close, having been neighbours and friends in the same couples’ social group for years, that just made her feel all the more vulnerable.

Helen’s life was carrying on in safe semi-detached suburbia, just as Cath’s should have been.

Everything still felt emotionally raw here in her new surroundings, and Cath was worried that Helen might tune in to her unease.

Cath still very much needed some time for herself – time to get to grips with this new phase she found herself in.

‘Okay, it’s just I’m dying to come up and see it all, and you, of course, lovely.’

‘I know and thanks – soon, okay? Well then, how are you all doing?’ Cath deftly switched the conversation.

‘Great. Oh, I had a gorgeous afternoon tea at The Ivy in town with Tracy and Gina yesterday. They send their love, by the way. The boys were off playing golf. My Geoff was full of himself having hammered … Trevor.’ (There was a second’s delay, and Cath was sure she’d been about to say ‘ your Trevor’.) ‘Mind you, bless him, I have to tell you, he’s a bit off the boil right now, Trev, that is.

It seems to be going pear-shaped with that Steph woman from work, already.

Of course, we all knew that wouldn’t last.’ Her voice was see-sawing on.

Cath felt a tight knot form in her gut. Steph was the fling.

The straw that broke the camel’s back, and put the noose around their marriage.

Cath really didn’t want to hear all the ‘ins and outs’ of her almost ex-husband’s life, especially now that she was one of the ‘outs’. Her silence spoke a thousand words.

‘Oh, sorry, Cath … I’m being thoughtless.’

It was only natural that Helen would tell her things – things she might think Cath would want to know.

They had been friends as couples after all, but whilst Cath and Trevor’s partnership had sunk, good old Helen and Geoff were still floating along in the stream of married life, the same as ever.

She could picture it all; there’d be drinks at the local pub, a cosy dinner for two or maybe four, shopping trips together to Waitrose …

‘Cath? You still there, lovely?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Her voice sounded absent, however.

Helen evidently realised she’d better change tack. ‘So, how’s Adam doing? Whereabouts is he now on his travels?’

‘He’s great. Enjoying his adventures … in Cambodia, the last I heard. Touring some long-lost temples.’ The last she’d heard being well over a week ago now, but hey-ho.

‘Ah, that sounds interesting. Jonathon’s just lined up a job with Pearson’s. You’ll know them, one of the top accountants in Manchester.’

‘Hey, well done, Jonathon.’ Cath tried to sound chirpy. ‘That’s great news. Bet you’re all delighted.’ She couldn’t help feel the stab of parental comparison.

Cath was sure that Adam was nowhere near sorting a job in the real world, post-university and his Zoology degree.

It would no doubt all fall into place at some point in the (fairly distant) future, once he’d finished exploring and chilling out on the Asian continent.

The fact that his parents were at the very same time throwing their marriage to the wolves probably hadn’t helped his feeling in a state of flux, Cath mused.

‘ Why throw your life away stuck in some boring job ?’ had been Adam’s motto for quite some time now. Like teaching, was surely the subtext.

Indeed. Why throw your life away stuck in some boring marriage , had seemed to be Trevor’s choix de vie recently.

Whatever had happened to commitment, hard work, trust and compromise? Or was she the only daft fool in that house, who’d been living by those steady rules these past years?

‘Cath?’

‘Yep, still here.’

Cath then heard the distant ding-dong of a doorbell down the line.

‘Oh, well, that’s Janice here for coffee. It’s the Macmillan fundraising event coming up soon, so we’re having a planning session. Scones, afternoon tea, or do we do cakes and coffee? To Tombola or not? We’ll miss you there, darling.’

Yes, Cath would have been there doing her bit, enjoying the chit-chat and the cake, glad to be helping a good cause. ‘I’ll be sure to give a donation online. And I’ll miss you lot, too. Enjoy.’ ‘You could always pop back down for the event? Stay at ours,’ Helen ventured.

Three doors down from all that might once have been? ‘Ah, maybe … but you know, I just need to settle in up here first. It feels a bit too soon …’

‘Of course, I understand.’ Her friend’s voice softened. ‘Well, look, I really do have to go. We’ll catch up again soon. And do let me know when I can visit? I’m ready for a night away and a good old gossip over a glass or two of fizz. Give me a call, soon … we’ll sort out a date.’

As much as she appreciated Helen’s friendship, a meet-up was exactly what Cath was desperate to avoid just now.

Cath was sure she’d been, and still was, the target of local gossip, albeit in, hopefully, a non-nasty way – more of a ‘There but for the grace of God go I’.

Her and Trevor’s downfall had been feeding them all sorts of juicy lines and scenarios to fill the social chatter for some time now.

Cath ended the call feeling ruffled. Here she was in her new nest, and though she was trying to take some brave new steps towards flying, well, perhaps flapping her wings at this stage, she felt like her feathers were still being slowly plucked one by one.