Page 6 of A Perfect Devon Pub
‘I know what to do. I need to pass my Advanced Sommelier exams.’ She couldn’t think any further ahead. That qualification would set her free financially and prove her worth.
‘Fiona, my darling, life is a serious of tests God sets for us, but passing exams isn’t the key to a happy, fulfilling life. You won’t earn love through your achievements. Love is freely given.’
For once, Fiona knew that her aunt was wrong. Passing exams was crucial to a successful career – and successful careers delivered happy and fulfilling lives.
‘Ivy, I can’t face Ru ... not yet. Can I stay here with you?’ murmured Fiona, sounding like her teenage self, reluctant to catch the train back to a silent Exeter home after spending an afternoon in Brambleton.
Ivy spoke decisively. ‘OK. But you can’t run away from this, Fiona. You need to sort out the practicalities.’
Spotting her opportunity, Fiona chewed her lip. ‘I need to retake my exam. Would you lend me the money so I can book it? I promise I’ll pay you back.’ She studied her aunt’s face for clues.
Ivy tutted. ‘Why not ask your parents?’
‘No!’ That would involve admitting to them she’d failed the first time, and she wasn’t doing that.
‘I’m sure they’d help.’
Fiona was sure they wouldn’t. Neither of her parents had ever failed an exam. ‘I don’t want their help. And I don’t want them to know I’ve failed. Please don’t tell them. Please, please lend me the money.’
Ivy sighed. ‘If it’s that important to you ...’
Fiona ran her eyes around the little bedroom. Her heart felt ragged, as if someone had twisted a corkscrew into it. By rejecting Ru, she had pulled apart the fabric of her life. She loved him, lived with him, worked with him. All that was gone. Had she made the right decision? Should she call Ru and talk through what he’d done wrong? No, that would be a false reprieve. After rejecting his proposal, it wouldn’t take long for Ru to realize he’d dodged a bullet and replace her with someone more suitable. Although it was the right choice, she would have to deal withthe implications of her decision, which were settling, sharp and bitter, like over-aged wine she didn’t want to swallow.
‘Can I stay with you for a month or so?’
‘Moping here won’t help. You must be practical.’
Her aunt was right. There were practical considerations; Fiona needed to get a job so she could contribute to her living costs and eventually pay off her debts. ‘Maybe the pub could use a pair of hands for a few weeks? I need some headspace. I promise I won’t mope.’
That was an easy promise to keep – Fiona would be too busy studying to mope.
Ivy offered to cook dinner, but Fiona declined, knowing she would be unable to face food. Alone in the bedroom, she unpacked her suitcase, then repacked most of it – she had no use for a silk negligée anymore, and she wouldn’t have time to wear a bikini or holiday clothes. She kept out her toiletries, all her books, jeans and t-shirts.
That night Fiona lay awake for hours. Her mind replayed snatches of the horrendous day: Ru’s grinning face when he’d admitted what he’d done with the investors, oblivious to how she felt; Ru’s dazed expression, his slumped shoulders, then those vicious stinging words and the look in his eyes as he’d spat them. Had she made a dreadful mistake? Should she call, patch things up, promise to catch the first train to London in the morning? She loved him enough to try, but then she remembered how worried she’d been on his behalf that by failing her exam she had messed up his career, when in truth, he’d been secretly undermining hers to protect his own. They were destined to split up. She had just precipitated the demise.
Eventually, she fell into a fitful sleep, but it offered no release. She dreamed she was being chased along Brambleton Beach by her parents, her feet dragging in damp sand, each step almostoverwhelming her energy, while her eyes scoured for some unseen lost treasure.
She woke early, with a heavy ache in her chest. Today marked the start of her new life. One without Ru. The faint sounds of singing drifted through the door. Ivy was up early; Sunday was a busy day for her. Fiona shrugged on a cotton dressing gown and went downstairs.
Her aunt was in the kitchen, a morning church service flickering on the TV screen behind her.
‘Good morning, love. Toast and tea. Why don’t you sit down. I’ll make it.’
Fiona took a seat, listening to the choir singing, ‘Dear Lord and Father of mankind, forgive our foolish ways ...’Well, the hymn was appropriate, Fiona thought.
The little kitchen table was set for two. The empty place where Ru had sat yesterday morning, his long legs pressed up against hers, reminded her poignantly of her loss. The space where twenty-four hours earlier he had served a perfect souffléomelette now held a pat of butter still wearing the foil wrapping and a jar of branded marmalade. Ivy added mugs of tea and Fiona sat, trying to derive energy from the warmth of the mug. She peered at the marmalade, an image of Ru shredding Seville oranges in their London flat forming in her mind. Fiona hadn’t eaten shop-bought marmalade for three years – she’d better get used to the taste.
‘I spoke to Rose this morning.’ said Ivy.
‘Rose?’
‘Rose and George run the Smuggler’s Inn. She’s front of house, he’s the head chef. He’s not Ruben, but the food is very good. Rose would be happy to take you on as a waitress. I mentioned you’re staying at mine for a few weeks and that you’ve recently split up with your boyfriend, so if you’re a bit teary she’llunderstand.’
Relief flooded through her, and she told herself she would get through this. ‘Thanks, Ivy. Should I give her a call?’
‘No need,’ said Ivy, as she smiled and turned back to the counter. ‘Rose said for you to turn up at noon tomorrow.’
Fiona smelled toast. A rack appeared in front of her, each slice perfectly symmetrical. She added ‘getting used to supermarket bread’ to the list of adjustments she would be making.
