The Cotswolds Cookery Club: A Taste of Spain - Book 2. Alice Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ Chapter Three

      It was a different Trish that drove back to Cornfield. A much happier, optimistic one. All thanks to the lovely Connie, with whom she’d felt an immediate connection. Although she had no idea why. Connie seemed like a woman in control; one who knew what she wanted and wouldn’t dwell on the past, or pine for lost loves. Unlike Trish, who’d made a hobby out of dwelling and pining. That Connie had obviously liked her enough to invite her to the cookery club, however, had massively boosted her confidence, despite the fact that she’d probably only extended the invitation out of pity. Being slighter looser of tongue than she’d intended, Trish imagined she’d come across as Mrs Sad of Sadsville – moaning about Amber, then bleating about how her and Ian were no more. Honestly, she really should get over it and get a life. Including a social one. Since the split, her socialising had dropped to pitiful levels. She and Ian had never been party animals, but they had gone out a couple of times a month. With other couples – couples who obviously weren’t comfortable with her newfound single status. Evidently, they didn’t want an odd number messing up their seating plans. Either that, or her place was now occupied by Chloe’s toned buttocks.

      Thinking of Ian reminded Trish that she’d better inform him of Amber’s latest venture. The man might have impregnated a girl little more than a decade older than his daughter, but he was still Amber’s father. And as much as Trish hated him for what he’d done to their family, she forced herself to rise above it; to act like a sensible, mature woman. When all she really wanted to do was paint obscenities on his car and squeeze hair-removal cream into his shampoo bottle.

      Preferring to have the conversation without Amber earwigging, she swung the car into a layby next to a field of cows and stabbed his number into her phone. He answered on the first ring, sounding surprisingly pleased to hear from her.

      ‘Trish. Hi. How are you?’

      His amiable tone knocked Trish off-guard. The last thing she wanted was a “Fine. How are you?” conversation. Not when there lurked a high chance the reply might include phrases like “ecstatically happy”, or “thrilled to bits”, or “feeling like the luckiest man alive”. And God forbid her good manners should lead her to enquiring after Chloe’s health. As there was a danger of “blooming”, “radiant”, or “her boobs are even bigger” coming back at her in response to that – when all Trish really wanted to hear was “puking up”, “bigger than a beached whale” and “suffering with piles” – she cut out any preamble. ‘Amber wants to get a paper round,’ she announced matter-of-factly.

      Down the line rocketed a sharp intake of breath, followed by, ‘A paper round? What on earth for? She’ll have to get up at the crack of dawn.’

      ‘She’s aware of that.’

      ‘And she can’t possibly need the money. I gave her another fifty quid at the weekend. In addition to the fifty quid I gave her the weekend before.’

      Watching a black and white cow as it lumbered about the field, seemingly without a care in the world, Trish furrowed her forehead. ‘She told me you didn’t give her any money this weekend. Which is why I gave her twenty pounds on Tuesday.’

      A long sigh whooshed through the ether. Trish could imagine her still-husband raking a hand through his thick fair hair. It had been his hair that had first caught her attention when she’d toppled onto him on the train that fateful day. The way he always raked his hand through it when considering something always made her smile. Her lips threatening to do just that now, she forced the corners down and elbowed aside all hair-raking images.

      ‘She’s costing me a fortune,’ Ian grumbled.

      ‘And who’s fault’s that?’ Through her seriously straight mouth, Trish’s words sounded harsher than intended. To be fair, Ian had never griped about money.

      Another sigh ensued, before he ventured, ‘Have you, um, told her about Chloe and the baby yet?’

      Despite his sheepish tone, hearing him voice the phrase “Chloe and the baby” made Trish feel sick. Saying the woman was pregnant was one thing. Saying “Chloe and the baby” made it seem much more real; hammered home the realisation that, in a few months, there would be another little person in her husband’s life. One who would have a name. Then it would be “Chloe and the named-little-person” – Ian’s new family. One completely detached from Trish. The thought made vomit rise in her throat.

      ‘No,’ she replied, sucking in a bolstering breath. She’d been waiting for the right moment to tell Amber. She’d thought, if Ian agreed to the paper round, that she might do it over the veggie fajitas that evening, when her daughter would most likely be in a good mood. But now it struck her that she didn’t want to. That she had no desire to be the one to break her daughter’s high spirits. Or the one to suffer the fallout. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I’ve decided I’m not going to. The news should definitely come from you.’

      For several seconds a heavy silence clattered down the line.

      ‘She’s not going to like it,’ Ian eventually puffed.

      Trish bit back a snort of ironic laughter. Amber “not liking” the news of her impending half-sibling was akin to saying property prices in the Cotswolds were below the national average. ‘No. She isn’t.’

      ‘Which is why I think it would be so much better coming from you.’

      Trish shook her head. The gall of the man. ‘And why exactly do you think that, Ian?’

      ‘Well, because… because… you’re her mother.’

      This time she didn’t bother holding back her laughter. ‘I am her mother. And you’re her father. And as this development is purely father-related, I see no reason why I should tell her.’

      This time his sigh rang with impatience. ‘Right. Fine. I’ll tell her at the weekend.’

      ‘You do that. And if you bottle out and do it by text, I’ll never forgive you.’

      ‘Right.’

      ‘Oh. And one more thing. She’s gone vegetarian.’

      ‘Bloody hell. That’s all we need.’

      ‘All I need, you mean,’ retorted Trish. Before jabbing the End Call button.

      Reclining against the soft leather seat of the car, Trish watched the cow lift its tail and swiftly turned her head away. She’d had quite enough of the stuff it was about to evacuate during the conversation with Ian. She had, however, dealt with it well, she thought. She had no idea what had inspired that bout of assertiveness – very possibly the chat with the self-assured Connie – but it was the first time she’d stood up for herself since the split; the first time she hadn’t allowed Ian to treat her like a doormat just to keep Amber happy. But, based on how good it felt, she resolved there and then that it certainly wouldn’t be the last time.

      Arriving home, Trish found Amber waiting for her, throwing open the front door with great aplomb.

      ‘Well?’ she demanded, huge amber eyes sparkling. The very eyes responsible for her name. Minutes after entering the world, with Trish and Ian gazing at her in stupefied awe, she’d opened those eyes and gazed back.

      ‘They’re amber,’ Ian had gasped.

      ‘That’s СКАЧАТЬ