Stirred with Love (2 page)

‘Here.’ Ben handed her a ham sandwich. ‘I’ve made enough for two.’

‘Why can’t I just stay at home all day and party all night?’ Chloe questioned as he sat down next to her, pushing her feet out of the way before he squashed them. ‘I don’t want to work.’

Ben turned to face her, eyebrows raised questioningly. ‘What, you mean stay at home all by yourself? You’d go mad with no one to talk to, Miss Chatterbox.’

Chloe grinned. Never one to create an awkward silence, her character trait got her into many a scrape. The teachers at sixth form were always asking her to be quiet.

‘I’ll have to do something, I suppose, or I’ll die of boredom,’ she said. ‘After uni, I could get a part time job. Maybe even travel.’

‘Dad won’t like that.’ Ben shook his head. ‘Remember how hard I had to work on him so that he’d let me go to Spain? He wants to see what he gets for his money when you pass your finals.’

‘But you took a year out!’

‘Yes, but men are entitled to go off for their last taste of freedom because they have at least forty years of solid slog ahead of them. Women only have to work a few years before they start a family.’

‘That’s so sexist!’ Chloe retorted. ‘And I might not want to have any children. Therefore I’m entitled to take a year out because I’ll have nearly fifty years of solid slog ahead of me. Women have to work longer before they retire now, you know.’

‘You’ll never win that argument.’ Ben shielded his eyes as the sun moved around the room. ‘Dad won’t let you take a year out because he knows you’ll never go back. He’s fought to keep you there for the past two years.’

‘Fought is a very good choice of word.’ Chloe nodded, recalling the times when their father had arrived home from work early to find her lounging on the settee when she should have been attending a class – a bit like today really. ‘What
are
you looking for?’ she added as Ben reached for the next file and frantically flicked through the papers in it.

Suddenly, he raised a bundle in the air. ‘This policy document,’ he told her, sighing with relief. ‘I should have taken it with me this morning.’ He gulped down the remains of his coffee and stood up. Before heading out of the room, he threw a newspaper into her lap.

‘Maybe – because I know you won’t be bothering with school today – you should check the situations vacant column. There’s bound to be a job cleaning toilets. Just your level.’

CHAPTER TWO

Kate’s fifteen minute drive from work was a nightmare that evening after a two car shunt blocked her usual way home. Finally, after calling at the supermarket and battling her way around the busy aisles, she was home.

‘Hey, Rosie!’ Kate plonked her shopping bags onto the kitchen worktop so that she could greet the mound of excitement at her feet. She bent to ruffle the greying beard under the Jack Russell’s chin. ‘Come on then, girl. Let’s grab your lead and have a quick stroll around the block. I’m dying for a coffee.’

After Rosie was walked and fed, Kate dropped down onto the leather two-seater and flicked her feet up to the side. When she and Nick had moved into their house six years ago, the kitchen had been the size of a small box room but knocking through into the equally small dining room had cleverly combined the two into a huge airy space. Fitted out with beech shaker units and cream worktops, they were planning to fit French doors on the outer wall next year to bring in even more light.

The phone rang as she was reaching for her first sip of coffee. It was Nick.

‘Hi, you’ve only just caught me,’ she told him. ‘I had a detour home and then I had to queue for ages in the supermarket. What do you fancy for supper? I have steak or chicken in –’

‘I’m sorry, Kate. I have to work late.’

‘Oh, Nick! You promised to be early tonight!’

‘I know, but I might be about to clinch a deal on the Matthews’ cottage and you know how much commission I’d make. I’ll make it up to you at the weekend.’

‘I won’t be here,’ Kate reminded him. ‘It’s Stacey’s hen party.’ Stacey was an old school friend of Kate’s. She’d decided to make a weekend of the usual hen night and Kate had been looking forward to it for a while now.

‘Look,’ Nick broke into her thoughts. “Can we discuss this later? I’ll have to go to football training straight from here. I’ll be home around ten. Bye.’

Getting to her feet with a huge sigh, Kate pulled out a box from the freezer, ripped open the packaging and began to pierce the plastic covering with more force than was really necessary.

How could he do this to her again, she seethed, after all he’d promised? Nick had always kept himself fit by playing football but recently he’d taken to watching football at the pub, staying on afterwards for Sunday lunch and then going out to analyse their game as well as training for the next one during the week. And
he
had the audacity to moan at her when
she
wanted to go out on the odd occasion?

She tossed the ready-meal into the microwave, slammed shut the door and punched in the allotted time. Pouring herself a large glass of wine, she switched on the evening news and slouched down into the settee again.

Dinner for one it was then.

Later that same evening, Chloe was in her bedroom trying desperately to get into gear for today’s bout of revision.

Just for one moment she imagined that she didn’t have A’ level exams to sit in three weeks. Last September, as the new term of her second year in the sixth form was about to start, she’d sent out five applications for university places. She’d been interviewed for all of them and accepted by four, if her grades were good enough.

She stretched her arms above her head while her eyes vaguely wandered over the garden, the view far more appealing than the textbooks spread out in front of her. On the desk, her mobile phone beeped and, unable to resist the lure of a message, she picked it up. But it was only from Christian, her man of three dates.

Well, hardly a man at all, Chloe sighed, that was the problem. Although they were the same age, Christian seemed so juvenile and immature. Chloe wanted a man with a car who could take her out to places, not a student with a Saturday job in the Virgin shop. Her friend, Manda, always went on about her lack of interest in boys her own age. But then again, Manda hadn’t had to grow up as quickly as Chloe.

Chloe was seven when her mum, Christine, had been killed. The family were on their way home from a wedding when a newly qualified driver had flown around a blind bend, hurtling towards them at sixty miles an hour. On the wrong side of the road, he’d hit the passenger side with a tremendous thud.

Because she’d been strapped up in the back of the car with Ben, the two of them had both escaped injury. Their father, Graham, pulled his neck, his lower back muscles were strained and his left arm was broken. Christine was trapped unconscious in the car. Chloe could still clearly remember sitting in the back of the ambulance whilst the firemen worked to free her. She’d played nurses happily throughout the noise of the machinery, a friendly ambulance man showing her how to fix a sling to her dad’s arm. Ben, at twelve, too big to sit on his dad’s lap, sat on it anyway.

Eventually the paramedics had insisted that the three of them should go on ahead to the hospital so that they could get checked out. It had taken another hour until they’d finally freed Christine from the indistinguishable mound of metal. Unfortunately, she’d taken the brunt of the impact and, although the medical staff that treated her refused to give up for what seemed like ages, she was pronounced dead at the hospital. The young slip of a boy who crashed into them had been driving his father’s new car. He received a six months suspended jail sentence and a small fine. They received a life sentence of grief and unfulfilled opportunities.

All things considered, Graham had brought them up well. Chloe really admired him for what he’d done. It must have been hard for him to put his children first when he was suffering so much pain. She knew it was his manners and calm attitude that had made her into the strong redhead she was today. Her hair, with its natural spirally curls, was forever being swept up from her face in a gesture so much like her mother, her dad often looked away in a daze. Her eyes were the same shade of green, her stature tall and thin. Often, Graham took to pulling her near in a way she knew he felt close to her mum. Yet, although he was the best dad possible, Chloe still wished she had a mum to share her dreams with. Even after all these years she regularly woke up, the images of that night still vivid.

The mobile phone beeped again as another message arrived. Not bothering to open it, Chloe pushed the phone across the desk and reached for her books again. Four more weeks and it would all be over. At least then she would be able to relax and take it easy for a while.

Reluctantly, she turned the pages again but her mind kept wandering back to the advertisement she’d read earlier. Someone was after waitresses to work in nearby Somerley. Chloe fancied doing something different over the summer. She stared through the window again while her mind worked its way through the finer details. She imagined the café in Somerley to be a favourite meeting place – and a place where she could make some money of her own. It might not be too boring, just enough to keep her interest until the university term started. And she was sure she could sell the idea of a summer job to her dad, Mr Workaholic.

But, hang on a minute, Chloe thought. Let’s not get
too
carried away. How many times had she heard her friends complain about the menial work they did for a pittance of a wage? So was a job waiting on tables really what she wanted to do, even if it wasn’t going to be forever?

Chloe checked her watch. Seven thirty. It wouldn’t do any harm to ring for some information. Never one to let the grass grow under her feet, she reached for her mobile with eagerness this time.

Lily Mortimer checked over her list and made a few changes before swapping the notepad in her hand for a mug of hot chocolate. Only then did she contemplate what she was about to do. Making decisions again was one thing, but re-opening the café?

She moved her tiny frame to get comfortable on the chair, becoming more sensitive to the gloominess around her. The room she sat in needed much more than a lick of paint to brighten it up. Once it had been bursting with life. Twelve tables, full of chattering customers all enjoying her homemade cakes and Bernard’s thickly sliced toast. Even without closing her eyes, Lily could see him dashing around, clearing the debris and complaining about the weather, making customers smile with anecdotes of his time working on the railways.

It had been tough for her to see how illness during the last few years of his life had dragged him down. Only three months had passed since his death in February and Lily could still feel his presence. When she woke up, the first thing she thought of was Bernard. During the day she could sense him watching over her. When she went to bed, she rubbed her hand across his pillow. She knew he was there, watching her every move as she closed her eyes, having endured another long day without him.

Would he be proud of what she was about to do? Or annoyed with her for meddling? Lily knew what a huge risk it was. What would happen if her plan failed? What if she couldn’t make things work on her own without Bernard beside her? So many places sold food in the town now. Even the newsagent around the corner made sandwiches. Maybe that had been the reason why Lil’s Pantry had dwindled over the past few years?

No, Lily told herself as she took a sip of her drink. The business had dwindled because Bernard had been dying. It had been left to die with him. But new blood would change that.

She knew it seemed a strange plan, but what did the future hold for her? Time spent alone was the last thing she needed. Re-opening would be her way of dealing with Bernard’s death. Instead of sitting around feeling sorry for herself, she would do something.

She popped out two aspirins from their silver packaging, hoping to alleviate her aches and pains. Then she picked up the notepad again and, before she could change her mind, added another item to her list.

CHAPTER THREE

Nick hadn’t arrived home that night until quarter to eleven. By that time, Kate’s frustration had turned to blind rage and an accusation of him not wanting to come home for some reason was all it had taken for them to end the day sleeping back to back.

Things seemed no better the following morning. In the icy atmosphere of their bedroom, Kate whistled when she heard Rosie pattering about downstairs.

Nick frowned as the dog dashed past his feet. ‘Don’t let her jump on to the bed. She’s just been out in the garden.’

Kate waited until she heard Nick going down the stairs and patted the duvet defiantly. Rosie jumped up without a moment’s hesitation.

‘Good morning, my lovely.’ Kate ruffled the dog’s fur under her chin. At least Rosie was always pleased to see her.

Eight years ago, Rosie had been abandoned in one of the properties owned by Kate’s employers. The tenants had made a run for it without leaving a forwarding address. Rosie and her three brothers had been left behind too. When the housing officer had brought them to the office to await the arrival of the dog warden, Rosie had won Kate over as soon as she’d picked her up.

Rosie licked Kate’s hand a couple of times before promptly curling up in a ball to doze off again.

Kate gently tugged at her collar. ‘Not this morning, I’m afraid. Places to go and people to see.’

Dressed and showered thirty minutes later, Kate drew back the curtains and noticed that Nick’s car still stood in the driveway. Her shoulders dropped. Great, that’s all she needed this morning, his miserable face putting her off her cereal. Carefully, she arranged the heavy muslin into two perfect arches and then made her way downstairs to face him.

Nick was sitting at the table when she walked into the kitchen. He met her eye for a moment before he turned away and continued with his drink.

Well, sod you, thought Kate. She flicked on the kettle, grabbed a mug from the rack and raised the volume on the radio.