Page 6 of The Second Chance Supper Club

And then a photo pinged in of him in a jungle, his head sticking out of some hole in the ground – he’d been at the tunnels used by the Viet Kong back in the Vietnam War. Incredible place.

His beard had grown longer and was looking a touch curly.

He looked like a man, not so much her little boy.

But the cheeky sparkle in his green eyes was still there.

He looked happy. Cath sighed and gave a relieved smile.

He’d be back in the UK in a couple of months.

Plenty of time to look for jobs and find his sensible feet.

She was glad he was out in the world having adventures and enjoying his travels.

There was time enough for being sensible.

She’d been that for the past thirty years, and look where that had got her.

Looks amazing, Adam. Enjoy every experience. x Cath responded.

Then the tease of the three dots as he typed, before: Hope you’re settling in well at the new cottage. Love you. x

How was she settling in? She still wasn’t sure of anything, really.

Perhaps she should send him a photo of the river, one she’d taken on her walk that morning.

The English countryside in all its fresh springtime glory, silvery light reflecting off the water, and a dapple of cloud in a pale-blue sky.

It had looked so scenic. And with that realisation came a moment of gratitude.

However hard this big change was, her new home was in a most beautiful place.

She sent the photo and finished with a: Love you too. Take care xx , and a sigh.

Back to the not so mellow-yellow painting.

Sore back, achy arms from stretching her brush and roller here, there and everywhere.

Four hours after starting and it was done.

Standing back and looking in from the hallway, she still wasn’t sure about the bloody colour.

And dammit, it appeared slightly streaky in places, but hey, she’d given it her best shot.

She’d let it dry before fretting too much.

After having demolished Andreas’s gorgeous baklava, and deciding to keep the quiche for supper, she felt ready to crack on with a few admin chores she’d been putting off; she needed to notify the world of her new address for one.

She also had a couple of maths tutoring sessions booked for this evening.

She’d set up a professional website, and had plenty of contacts in Leeds.

There were always GCSE and A Level students from her old school looking for extra tuition.

She needed to build up the number of sessions she did, however, perhaps taking on some university students too, as her savings were getting heavily dipped into just now.

She was hopeful that word of mouth would work in her favour.

Thankfully, it was something she could easily do from home in her cottage, and if it grew as she hoped it might, then it’d keep some much-needed money coming into the coffers.

With Trevor’s financial support in their ‘early retirement plans’ down the pan with their marriage, it was all over to her now.

As the light faded, her mood began to change.

The evenings seemed awfully long when you lived alone.

She sat at the table for two, in her yolk-yellow kitchen, aching all over, with her slice of very nice village-shop quiche.

It was let down, however, by its accompaniment of sorry-looking side salad, consisting of a few limp lettuce leaves and some wrinkly cucumber she’d brought with her on her arrival day and had been lurking in the bottom of the fridge.

Though the village store was great for treats and the essentials, she really did need to do a supermarket stock-up.

Blimey, it wasn’t only the cupboard shelves that needed taking stock of, she realised, it was her whole life. She felt rootless, shifting uneasily into this new phase, uncertain of herself. Her confidence had taken a real bashing. It wasn’t at all like her to feel like this, and it wasn’t pleasant.

Casting her eye over this new kitchen space, she spotted her much-loved cookbooks perched on the rustic wooden shelf.

She used to love cooking, experimenting with new recipes, trying out foreign flavours.

Trevor would tuck in to a newly created dish, or old family favourite, with an appreciative ‘Really good, love.’ Adam would dive into some spicy Thai curry, it hardly touching the sides.

It was honestly like watching a spaniel eat, and she wondered at times how he actually tasted anything.

Then he’d look up from his empty plate with his trademark cheeky grin, saying, ‘Epic, Mum.’ Perhaps, she’d planted the seed for his travelling with her foreign dishes; she liked to think there might have been a little inspiration there.

Funny how back then she’d longed for this kind of freedom.

In their family home, stood in the midst of Adam’s debrisstrewn bedroom, with dirty coffee mugs, cheesy aromas of stray socks and teenage testosterone, and a never-ending pile of laundry, she yearned just to have a few minutes’ peace in the melee of motherhood.

She’d known Adam would one day spread his wings, but she never imagined steady Trevor would be up and away at the same time, too.

Sometimes you had to be careful what you wished for …

Well, then, if there was no one to look after her, she’d look after herself.

In fact, she’d go right up and run a bath in that gorgeous Victorian-style white tub, and fill it with decadent bubbles.

She’d use one of her Jo Malone oils, and perhaps pour herself a glass of chilled white wine.

Rest her tired limbs and troubled mind for a while.

She’d finished her tuition for the evening. Why not?! It was all down to her now.

Yes, you could go on thinking the cup was half-empty, feeling a bit sorry for yourself, or you could damn well start filling that cup up.

Onwards and upwards, Cath Taylor. Today, a small glass of Chablis, tomorrow perhaps champagne and cocktails.

But … what she really wanted was someone to share those celebratory drinks with.

Still, she quashed that thought, and managed to feel a little lift in her spirits. It was time to go and try out her new bath. The bubbles awaited.