The Widows’ Club. Amanda Brooke

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       3

      Once the last of the lunchtime customers had been served, Tara shut up the shop. She closed early on Wednesday afternoons and would normally use the time to make up cake orders, but she had other plans today and had already sent her deputy manager, Michelle, home early. Molly, Tara’s ten-year-old daughter, was still in school, and Iain was home in Widnes, decluttering the house while eight-year-old Lily was out of the way. Tara would need to have a pre-move clear-out too, but with the limited space available in the flat upstairs, she had learnt a long time ago to be ruthless with keepsakes. Even so, it would be a wrench for both families to step away from the past, and as Tara enjoyed a rare moment of calm, she stopped to appreciate where she was and how far she had come.

      Tee’s Cakes had the feel of a Parisian patisserie, with a high counter running along one side of the shop to display intricately crafted cakes and tarts, and a line of padded booths on the opposite side for customers to sip their coffee and whisper secrets. Additional seating could be set up outside, weather-permitting, and the kitchen in the back was state-of-the-art to meet the demands of daily visitors and a thriving online business. Mike wouldn’t recognise the place.

      He had originally opened the shop as a traditional café serving English breakfasts and sandwiches to both the locals and returning visitors who had stumbled upon the village and discovered its secrets. Hale was an often overlooked settlement on the edges of the Mersey, and boasted two pubs, a church, and a post office. It had a rich history that stretched back to Roman times, with several points of interest including a nature reserve at Pickering’s Pasture and a lighthouse at Hale Head, and no visit was complete without a trip to St Mary’s church and the grave of John Middleton, better known as the Childe of Hale. The history of the village’s four-hundred-year-old resident, who had reportedly measured nine feet four inches tall, was well known. Sadly, few would stop to remember Michael Thomas Price, who had been dead just eight years.

      Tara had known Mike as a friend, a boss, and briefly as a flatmate before they realised there was a spark between them that couldn’t be contained. Tara had grown up in Hale and, after coming top of her class at catering college, she had turned up at Mike’s café one day looking for a job. Her plan was to save enough money to move to Paris where she intended to perfect her craft, but it wasn’t long before Tara had created a successful sideline for Mike by selling her cakes. They worked side by side and with the days so long, it made sense for her to crash out in his spare bedroom above the café. She never did make it to Paris.

      Looking around at the transformation, she hoped Mike would approve of how she had used the money he had left her. Of one thing she was certain, he would approve of Iain. In those last days before cancer stole her husband from her, Mike had made it very clear that he wanted Tara to find someone else. If anything, he would ask why it had taken her so long.

      Drawn to the window, Tara looked out across the small car park that served Ivy Farm Court; a parade of shops of which Tee’s Cakes was one of eight units. She could see the entrance to Hale Primary School on the opposite side of the road where Lily would join Molly once the house move was complete. The main road continued up towards the park and the Childe of Hale pub where it hit a sharp bend at the war memorial, which formed its own little island between the lanes.

      In the aftermath of Mike’s death, Tara had often pictured the regiments of war widows standing before the sandstone cross to remember the husbands who hadn’t made it home. She had imagined them drawing comfort from each other and, longing for something similar, she had created the Widows’ Club with Justine’s help. It was her way to reach out to others, and she had taken far more from it than she could ever hope to give. She was yet to decide if she had given enough.

      As Tara stared off into space, her mind unable to form a clear vision of the future, she didn’t register the flash of Faith’s white Range Rover until her friend pulled up directly in front of the shop. Tara unlocked the door and beckoned her inside.

      Faith had dropped into Tara’s life three years earlier when she had visited the shop to pick up a large order of French pastries. This was in the days before Iain had used his Internet wizardry to establish Tara’s online business, and when Faith had explained that the cakes were a thank-you gesture to colleagues who had supported her after the loss of her husband the year before, Tara had hooked Faith in. She was good at that.

      ‘You look nice,’ Faith said with more generosity than was entirely deserving of Tara’s current ensemble.

      Having a job that required crawling out of bed at an ungodly hour, Tara had grabbed random items of clothing from her wardrobe in near darkness and only as the sun rose did she notice that the mustard yellow swing skirt clashed brazenly with the pink checks of her vintage blouse. Her customers were used to her eccentricities, but she wished she had tried harder today as Faith slipped off her bright yellow rain jacket.

      ‘And you look stunning,’ she said as she admired Faith’s dove grey cashmere jumper paired with black cigarette pants. At forty-six, Faith maintained a seemingly effortless beauty. With penetrating grey eyes and a flawless complexion, her make-up was understated and she had caught up her tousled blonde hair into a messy ponytail that left stray curls to frame her face perfectly. This was Faith’s idea of casual. ‘Make yourself comfortable and I’ll sort the coffee. Do you fancy a slice of cake?’

      ‘Why else would I be here?’

      Five minutes later, Tara set down two cups of coffee, one opera cake, and three plates and forks.

      ‘Please don’t say Justine’s joining us!’

      ‘I wouldn’t do that to you,’ Tara said, only to feel a pang of guilt. Justine had been there for Tara long before Faith dazzled her way into her life. ‘I wouldn’t do it to Justine either.’

      Faith pulled a face: the clash of personalities was felt on both sides. ‘So how was the meeting the other week? Did I miss anything? Was there lots of blubbing?’

      ‘It was a good session and I think our new members СКАЧАТЬ