Blessing opened the jar of mini marshmallows on the counter and helped herself to one.
‘Yet another reason to book that holiday, then, hey? There’s, what, three thousand people living on that island? You’re sure to bump into him at some point.’
5
It was when I stopped off at the wholesalers on the way home that the idea floating around my head solidified into action. Once I’d loaded up my trolley with cheese, parsnips, flour and other necessary ingredients, a sign caught my eye beside the marrowfat peas.
The lentils were on special offer. I ate lentil soup six days a week so had no desire to eat more at home, but what about in a pasty? Was it time to see if I could bake a vegan recipe as tasty as the other varieties? I checked the price and decided it was worth a go, quickly searching online for lentil stews, curries and pies before doing another round of the warehouse, adding potentially useful items like mushrooms, sweet potato, almond milk and different spices.
‘What’s this?’ Stefan asked, having blatantly elbowed the woman supposed to be on the checkout out of the way so he could serve me. ‘Trying a new recipe?’
‘I thought I’d see if I could come up with something.’
‘Well. It’s your business now; time to put your own stamp on things, be your own woman,’ he said, nodding his head in approval. ‘Speaking of trying something new.’ He stopped toclear his throat. ‘If you’re ready for that sort of thing, the Jolly Outlaw has started a pie and peas night on Thursdays. You get a free pint of beer and a pudding. Only a tenner. We could, you know, give it a try.’
‘Oh! Um. Thank you for the invite, but I really have enough of that sort of food all week. You know, pastry, meat and peas.’
‘Ah. I hadn’t considered that angle. I thought it would be your sort of thing. Not too much your thing. Ha, ha.’
I picked up a bottle of olive oil and offered it to him, in the hope he’d hurry up and finish scanning so I could get out of there.
‘They do pizza on Fridays, or steak special on a Monday?’
‘That sounds lovely, but you know I’m usually busy prepping in the evenings.’
‘Come on, Emmie. You have to take a night off some time.’
‘You’re right.’ The need for some proper nights off was becoming a constant ache in my weary bones. ‘But, to be honest, we tried dating and it didn’t work out, so I’m going to say no.’
Stefan looked up at me, forehead furrowed. ‘I thought we didn’t work out because you were still mourning Nell.’
I opened my mouth, ready to agree politely. And then, I don’t know, maybe the dusky-rose lipstick took over for a second. Maybe it was down to this weird mood I’d been waking up in. I looked Stefan straight in the eye and told the truth.
‘I was, but I also realised that I’m not interested in us being more than friends. Sorry.’
‘Right. Okay. Good to know, I suppose.’
I then had to stand there while he painstakingly scanned the remaining mountain of food. Once I’d returned to my normal, unassertive self, I might have to find a new wholesaler.
I soon forgot the ludicrousness of being sort-of asked out twice in one day as I began work on a new recipe. By ten-thirty, I was too tired to trust myself with a sharp knife, so I grabbed a few hours of sleep and started again first thing on Tuesday morning. By the time I’d mixed, tasted, adjusted and eventually perfected a vegan pasty I was proud of, the sun was setting behind the trees beyond the kitchen window. I’d eaten enough samples to not bother stopping for meals, but I’d totally skipped on my usual day-off activities of washing clothes, cleaning and shopping for my weekday evening meals. My library books would be late for the first time ever. Gregory’s envelope remained unopened.
I cleared up and headed upstairs, but perhaps unsurprisingly found myself too wired to sleep after what had been, for me, a momentous few days. After thrashing about in bed for a while, I gave up, finding myself in Mum’s bedroom without even thinking about it.
I removed the box from the wardrobe and, after another brief inspection of the photograph, picked up the letters. Wearing make-up to work had been a tiny step of rebellion. Trying a new recipe had been more like full-on mutiny. Mum had gone, creating a gaping crater where my family history, my past, my identity should be. She’d left me totally alone and I hated it, but I didn’t have to stay that way.
I carefully untied the ribbon and opened the top envelope. Inside, I found a handwritten letter.
4 August 1985
Dear Nellie,
I just wanted to say I had a great time yesterday. Normally I hate the Sunflower Festival. I can’t stand all the mainlanders flying in with their litter and loud comments about how ‘quaint’ or ‘cute’ we are. Let alone the farm gates left open, discarded cigarette fires and the drunken louts scaring my cattle. Can you believe someone tried to ride Parsley, our bull, like a bucking bronco a couple of years ago?
Anyhow, this year, all the noise and the nuisance has been worth it, because I met you. Talking at the picnic, walking along the headland – I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. You’re the most interesting woman I’ve ever met. I hope that doesn’t scare you off, because the thought of you flying back to the mainland and never seeing you again is what scares me.
The truth is – and now I’ve started I may as well tell the whole truth – no one has ever made me feel the way I did with you. Is there any chance you felt the same? You made it clear you value independence, but for thirty years, I also believed I wasn’t made for marriage. I’m wondering if that’s because I was made for you.
Could I see you again, before you leave? Or if not, have your telephone number or address in Nottingham, so I can call or write to you there?
