Page 16 of A Touch of Magic at the Comfort Food Café
She thinks it over for a few seconds, then asks: ‘Is this why you didn’t look too happy about giving your phone number out earlier?’
‘You noticed that, did you? Well, yes, it is. When I took my phone in to the place Cheryl had recommended, they found he’d installed some basic spyware on it, so he could always know what I was doing, who I was talking to. A few weird things had happened with it, so luckily I only ever spoke to Cheryl on the landline or in person– unheard of these days, right? Butit freaked me out. I was a cautious person before, but now… I don’t think I’ll ever believe anybody ever again. Nobody is who they seem.’
Cherie pulls another tissue out of the box, and gently dabs under my eyes. Then she places her palms on either side of my face, and gazes at me.
‘That, my love, is complete crap,’ she says seriously. ‘Many of us are exactly what we seem. Others take a while to figure out. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, and of course you’re scarred by it. But that man is the exception, not the rule. Don’t give up on the whole world because of him– don’t give him that power. Nobody is perfect, for sure, but you have to be willing to see the good in people. To take a leap of faith every now and then.’
‘If I took a leap of faith, I’d land in a cow pat.’
‘Well, that’s a very real possibility in this neck of the woods, my sweet, I won’t lie. But give us all a chance. You never know. You might just surprise yourself.’
I nod as though I’m agreeing, but inside I’m really not. I absolutely hate surprises.
Chapter Seven
For the next few days, I keep myself to myself. I genuinely do have a lot of work to catch up on, and I’m starting to realise that living out of cardboard boxes is not a sustainable long-term lifestyle choice. I force myself to unpack the last of them, and that allows me to take stock of what I’m missing. Mainly, I think, I’d like to get a few more bits and bobs– some pictures for the walls maybe, or some house plants. I might even decorate, get some colour into the place. I feel like I could love this little house, so I might as well put some effort in.
My suspicions that I’d accidentally left my yoga mat in London turn out to be right. It’s not been a huge issue, because I’ve been so busy since I got here that I’ve barely had time to even say the words downward dog never mind get into one. I order a new mat anyway. It’s good for me, and I enjoy it. At some point my brain will feel like it’s going to implode, and I’ll need to start fixing it by twisting my body into weird positions. I’m not sure of the science behind it all, but it definitely works for me. Plus, I’m almost fifty– anything that stops my joints seizing up has got to be a win.
I clear the little patio garden of the leaves that are now starting to fall, and I add ‘bird feeder’ to my mental list of things I should get. I have no idea where to find all of these random items, but I remember Laura saying that Max renovates houses and is a whizz at interior design. Apparently, she’s done all of Cherie’s holiday cottages out at the Rockery. I’m sure she’ll have some suggestions– maybe a local antique shop, or a market. Before I left her flat a few nights ago, Cherie wrote down everybody’s names, phone numbers and addresses on a sheet of paper for me. It was delightfully old-school and analogue, and I have the list pinned up on the cork board in the kitchen.
Today, I decide, I will venture out. I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours doing edits on my latest book, which is always an intense time. I really do need to get into the real world again now, or I know from experience that I will be tempted to never leave the house again. I could get my groceries delivered and exercise in my courtyard, and shun all of humanity for the rest of my life. I’d be found here in a hundred years, covered in cobwebs, my dead, bony fingers still resting on my keyboard. The End.
I shudder at the image, because there is a grain of truth in it– I could easily turn into a hermit. It’s yet another reason why I didn’t buy a bigger property, somewhere more secluded. If I start going down that path I might never stop. My work and my personality are isolating enough without encouraging it.
I pick up the landline, a garish shade of red, and dial Max’s number. She answers straight away, and sounds a bit breathless. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask. ‘And, uh, this is Sarah by the way. Sarah who you met at the café. I hope you don’t mind me calling.’
I suddenly feel like an idiot. Why am I bothering this person I hardly know when I could just use the internet to find things out? Isn’t that what a modern woman does these days? Or is part of me secretly yearning to reach out a little, to see what happensif I take maybe not a leap of faith, but a baby step of faith? I saw what these women share, the easy way they communicate and support each other. The way they’re all so different, but when they’re together, all seem the same. I saw it, and perhaps here, in my fresh start place, I would like to see how that feels. I have never been blessed with a wide social circle, and the woman I’ve been closest to has been my sister– and it’s fair to say our relationship isn’t always silky smooth.
‘Sarah! So nice to hear from you! And yes, I’m fine. I was just, um…’
She pauses, and I blush. I’m glad she can’t see me. I have the awful feeling that I maybe just interrupted her having sex.
‘Well, I know it’s hard to visualise,’ she continues, ‘but I’ve just been chased around a field by a pair of naughty donkeys! I thought they’d look cute with witch’s hats on, you know, with holes cut out for their ears? They disagreed. Violently.’
‘Oh! Right. Well, that’s good. I thought maybe you were… uh…’
‘Mid-bonk? Sadly not, Gabriel’s away looking at a house we’re thinking of buying in Somerset. First Dorset, now Somerset– next it’ll be Paris and Milan! How can I help you anyway?’
‘Well, I’ve finally finished unpacking, and I’ve decided I’m probably going to decorate, and maybe buy some… well, I suppose the polite term would be bric-a-brac.’
‘Oh, goodie!’ she exclaims, and I picture her clapping her hands. ‘Nothing says “home” quite like a bunch of carefully curated tat! You’ve come to the right woman. In fact, I was thinking of heading out to an antiques fair down the coast today, if you want to join me? I could pick you up in an hour or so?’
I remember that Max and Gabriel live in an old farmhouse outside town, and wonder out loud if I could cycle there. It’s agorgeous clear day and I’ve been cooped up inside for way too long. I haven’t used my bike once since I arrived.
‘Er, you could if you wanted to,’ Max replies, sounding frankly appalled at the idea. ‘But it is a few miles, and it is a bit windy, and it is a bit hilly… Are you sure?’
I tell her I am, and jot down her directions. They’re very ‘countryside’– turn left at the cattle grid, take a left at the water trough, straight across at the scarecrow, that kind of thing, but it seems straightforward enough. I’m on my way within thirty minutes, after a quick wash and brush up, feeling exhilarated as I fly down the country lanes. The October air is cool against my cheeks, but the physical effort soon warms me up, and I’m decidedly pink by the time I finally arrive at the house. Which, by the way, and sorry to be childish, is called Pumpwell Farm.
I can’t quite keep the smirk off my face as I see the sign, and Max rolls her eyes in understanding. ‘I know,’ she says. ‘I was the same. Right. Do you want to meet the donkeys? My dog, Gary, is away with Gabriel, or you’d be able to meet him too.’
I love the way she talks about the animals as though they are people who I absolutely need to be introduced to. I say yes to the donkeys, who I’m told are called Belle and Beast. Belle is horrendously ugly and screeches at me, waving her huge yellowing teeth in my face.
‘Ah, she likes you!’ Max says, and I have to give her a sideways look to check she’s not joking. ‘No, seriously– she hasn’t tried to bite you, that means she likes you. She’s mellowed out a lot since we adopted Beast. She was a temperamental old moo when she was living alone. Anyway. Are you ready for an adventure in the heady world of antiques?’
‘An adventure? Will it be like an episode of Lovejoy? Will there be a roguishly handsome art dealer charming us over a pint of scrumpy?’
‘Well, that’s not happened to me so far, but who knows? I can see why you do the job you do, with an imagination like that. Every day must be a bit of an adventure in your head!’
