Page 1 of Eden's Comfort Kitchen
CHAPTER ONE
For the first time since she was fourteen, Eden Sherwood stood on the clifftops and looked out over Sea Glass Bay. Thirteen years had passed since then, thirteen years filled with growing up and making her mark in the world, becoming who she was today – whoever that was. Right now, she wasn’t sure who that was, only that she didn’t much care for her.
The weather was as kind as it had been that day – at least as she remembered it. But then, in her memory of those days, the sun was always warm and gentle, the breeze cooling and the clouds as white as white. Perhaps it hadn’t always been so, but that was the image she recalled now, of a postcard scene in vibrant, happy colours. It was uncanny how little had changed, except for the feeling of dread in her heart that she now carried wherever she went. As a child standing here, she would have been dimly aware that the glorious fortnight of family time would come to an end and she’d go home, disgruntled but already looking forward to the next one. But this time, she stood and looked out over the ocean in the knowledge that she could never go home.
The memory of this place had always been a happy one. So what was she doing here now? Why sully it? Why taint thoseperfect recollections with her current sense of desperation? What had she hoped to find here? Happiness? To be transported back to those carefree days? Standing here now, she saw how silly that notion was. She wasn’t going to find happiness here – it was too late to find happiness anywhere; things had gone too far for that. All she’d done was ruin one of the few pure memories she still had. Looking out over this perfect bay with eyes that were tired and dry and puffy from weeping wasn’t doing anything to lift her spirits. It had been foolish to hope it would, and, in the end, nobody could say she had anyone to blame for that but herself. Certainly not her family who, rightly so, would never forgive her for the trouble she’d caused.
The black sheep, the bad penny, the wayward child; she’d heard it all over the years, and she’d laughed because, yes, she was all those things, but she was also the youngest daughter, the doted-upon baby of the family, the last surprise for an older couple who had never expected her arrival but had loved her all the more for it. She’d never treated them the way they’d deserved for that love – she finally saw that with painful clarity. And now there was no way to put it right, because her mum was dead and it was all Eden’s fault.
Had it really been a month since the funeral? The images of that day were still seared onto her brain so that it felt like yesterday. Would it always be like this? People said time healed, but was that just a lie they told to make the grief more bearable?
Everyone had been in black – that was the thing that struck Eden straight away as their procession arrived at the chapel. Her mum would have hated that. Whenever Eden pictured her mum, she was in pastel florals: pinks, lilacs, baby blues and soft greens. She loved gentle colour, and she’d filled their home with it. Eden and Caitlin used to joke that their mum could never walk past a fringed lampshade in a store window without going in to buy it. She never wore black – Eden remembered that distinctly –and she wouldn’t have wanted all these people to be in black. Perhaps if her death hadn’t been so sudden, if there had been warning and time enough to prepare she’d have said so.
‘Peonies everywhere.’ Eden’s older sister, Caitlin, had looked around at the floral tributes arranged outside the chapel for their arrival. ‘That’s nice. I’m glad people thought about her favourite flowers.’
‘I don’t ever want to see another peony as long as I live,’ Eden had replied. ‘They’re horrible flowers.’
Caitlin had thrown her a sideways look – weary, beaten, almost impatient. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Don’t I?’
Of course she hadn’t. Eden only hated seeing the peonies because she was seeing the flowers her mum had so loved there, of all places. She’d never see them the same way again.
She recalled now the feel of Caitlin’s hand as she’d wrapped it around hers, and the now familiar guilt stabbed at her as she also recalled how she’d pulled so savagely away. At the time, she’d felt patronised somehow, but looking back, she realised Caitlin had needed the comfort as much as she’d sought to give it. Why had Eden really done that? Was it because of the burning shame, the sense that she deserved no comfort or understanding, only punishment and blame? Because forgiveness somehow made her guilt even worse?
As if that hadn’t been bad enough, her dad, following the coffin into the chapel, in the midst of his sorrow had sent the smallest yet sweetest, saddest, most desperate smile her way. He’d sought to somehow reassure her, to let her know it would be OK, that he didn’t blame her in the way she blamed herself.
How could he do that? How could he simply let her get away with it? How could he forgive so easily? It almost angered her. She wanted his hate, she wanted his blame because this was worse. How could he still love her after what had happened?That was the moment when the first seeds of her plan had been sown. She had to leave. She had no right to her father’s affection when she’d never done anything to earn it. Wouldn’t her family be better off without her?
Eden had looked at the coffin, dressed in yet more peonies and decided yes, they would be.
On the cliffs overlooking Sea Glass Bay, Eden lifted her phone from her pocket and checked her diary. Not that she needed to – she had the name of her accommodation burned into her brain. She’d recognised it immediately in the listings online, and she’d looked at her handover instructions with the owner more times than she could count during the previous few days, anxious to get here but dreading it too. Satisfied that the arrangements were as she remembered, she locked it again and turned away from the sea and towards the building that would be hers for the next six months.
Four Winds Cottage. As a child spending two weeks of most summers in Sea Glass Bay at a charming but regular hotel, she’d been enchanted by the sound of the name, a house she only usually saw from afar whenever she and her dad would trek up the cliffs to take advantage of a good wind to fly her kite.
But now the name sounded forlorn, like her happiness, scattered to the four winds, and it felt all too apt for her current mood. But it had been the only long-term rental on the website – the beekeeping, chicken-rearing owners of her childhood long since gone. Perhaps they’d died or moved away. Eden didn’t know, and perhaps it didn’t matter. For the next six months, this was going to be her home. After that, who knew, but perhaps that didn’t matter now either.
The sun was climbing higher as she began her walk to the cottage, standing alone on the clifftop as if it had always been apart of the landscape. After a few minutes, she was forced to take off her jacket – despite the stiff breeze coming in from the sea, the June sun was strong enough to burn through, and the extra work the uneven path was making for her was hardly helping her keep cool. The taxi that had brought her here from the train station in the neighbouring town had gone as far as it could but couldn’t make it right to the front door. There was no road to speak of, only a rough path that perhaps a car could do at a pinch – though this driver clearly had concerns for his suspension – and this made Four Winds Cottage relatively inaccessible. But that was fine with Eden. In fact, it was good. It meant no impromptu visitors.
The path hugged the clifftop for a way before branching off – one direction continuing along the cliffs, the other leading to steep steps and the beach below, and a third taking the walker close to the front gate of Four Winds Cottage. The ivory rocks of the cliff face swept down to a golden ribbon of sand and the sparkling seas below. The grass that carpeted either side of the path was new and sweet and untouched, starred with daisies, clover and buttercups. Gulls swooped overhead, and a sudden change in direction to take them out to sea made Eden look to see what might have been a trawler, going through its catch. At least, whatever the boat was doing, the gulls were keen to crowd around it.
It was then that she caught a flash on the water, something breaking the surface to whip up a spray of sparkling foam, only to disappear again. Dolphins were common in these parts – the pub in the village was even called the Darling Dolphin, as far as Eden remembered. During every childhood visit to Sea Glass Bay, she’d been desperate to catch a glimpse of one, but she never had. Eventually she’d given up the quest, content to swim and play amongst the dunes and trust that if she was meant to see a dolphin, she would, although it had always irked her. Evena few weeks ago, the activity she thought she’d seen out on the water would have stoked more than a little excitement at the thought of finally seeing one, and she wished she could feel that excitement now. But even if she could tell from this distance, even if she could be sure of what she was seeing, in her current mood, she doubted she could have got excited about it.
At the cottage, Eden stopped at the gate. The garden was wild, wind-blasted, and it was clear the proximity to the ocean had some bearing on what grew there, but it was somehow all the more charming for its unruliness. The owners had lain gravel where the lawns had once been, and hardy succulents poked out from it. There were more mature trees and shrubs that seemed well established – a honeysuckle clinging to the trellis around the front door, some gnarled trees shading the windows and a couple of unwieldy rose bushes. It all looked low maintenance – not that Eden knew a great deal about gardening. She supposed it would have to be considering how many people came and went – it was a holiday let, after all, and Eden didn’t imagine many of the visitors who had come before her stayed for as long as she planned to.
It was then the front door opened, and a lady in wellies and a sturdy wax jacket came out, smiling broadly.
‘Eden?’
‘Yes…’ Eden offered her hand, and the lady shook it. ‘Margery?’
‘That’s me. How are you? Good journey down? Remind me again where you travelled from.’
‘Essex. A bit of a trek but not too bad.’
Margery glanced at the path beyond the garden gate.
‘I didn’t come by car,’ Eden said, guessing at her thoughts. She didn’t see the point in adding that she’d sold her car, along with many other belongings, to fund this…what was it? An escape? A new start? Hiding?
