warning, tears streamed down my cheeks and I bobbed under the water to rinse away the proof of my hurt. On resurfacing I focused and passed a football to a child who had misaimed.
April still didn’t know. I’d persuaded Zak to hold off telling her – and to convince Chanelle not to break the news to Skye. Nor did I tell anyone else. That would make it feel real. For the first few days I’d managed to get through in a bubble of hope that Zak would change his mind, if only for April’s sake. But by Wednesday that bubble burst as he made it clear his future wasn’t with me. Yet he seemed to nurture this desperate, fantastical idea that somehow April and I could stay on at The Willows. Perhaps that eased a guilty conscience.
‘Are you crazy? I may not be a financial whiz, but even I can see we need to sell this place and fast. Not that I could ever live here again,’ I’d snapped. ‘It represents everything you hold in disdain: a happy, stable family life.’
I shook myself and wished I could stop dissecting every conversation of the last week.
With a brighter than bright smile I waved to April. We left the pool. Headed home. No, wait, not home. I couldn’t use that word any more.
I dropped April off for the traditional roast and because Zak had agreed to help her with maths homework. Then I drove into Laventon. It was April’s health-mad teacher’s birthday tomorrow and apparently The Coffee Club’s pecan brownies were her one and only vice, so April wanted to take some in. Buying gifts had been a given in my luxurious past. Perhaps now I’d have to turn into one of those mums who … I don’t know … thriftily handcrafted gifts out of food packaging or old clothes. My stomach twisted. Would I be up to the challenge?
I parked up my Mini in the village’s council car park and checked my reflection in the rear-view mirror. My hair hung in wild chlorine curls and the sunlight caught my foundation-free freckles. Would anyone else notice my swollen eyelids? After a deep breath, I got out of the car and grabbed my mock snakeskin handbag that looked out of place with my faded jeans. Not faded through wear, of course. It was a designer fashion thing. I’d never so much as darned a sock or resewn a button, in the last ten years. Nor struggled to get stains out of clothes. Anything less than perfect had just gone straight in the bin.
Wishing I’d worn a cool skirt instead, I headed down the cobbled street and veered to the right to avoid an over-friendly terrier that belonged to the tailor who altered Zak’s Italian suits. I pushed open the glass door of The Coffee Club and saw Noah behind the counter, in front of a wall filled with jars and jars of beans of all different varieties. The pale turquoise walls emanated a sense of calm, punctuated with minimalist paintings of cups with saucers. Modern white tables complemented a big silver coffee machine behind the shiny glass counter. Yet a homely feel came from random shelves filled with novels for customers to borrow, plus cheerful vases of flowers.
I fiddled with my watchstrap as I headed over. It had been challenging chatting with people all week and pretending everything was fine. Noah looked up. He gave one of his cheerful smiles and yawned. My eyes scanned his torso and the bare forearms made visible by rolled up shirtsleeves. He wasn’t as tall as Zak, but he was more muscly.
I approached and focused on the smooth skin and smattering of blonde hairs. Arms strong enough to build an ark? I had seen him go into the local church last Monday evening, when I’d been out for a mind-clearing walk. Perhaps his biblical name wasn’t random but chosen especially by religious parents.
I breathed in the aroma of caffeine. It felt comforting. I forced a cheery hello, despite thinking I didn’t belong on any ark as I was no longer part of a pair. Again Noah yawned.
‘Busy morning?’ I said and cleared my throat.
Noah ran a hand through his fudge-coloured, choppy hair. ‘You can say that again. The weekend morning crowd have ordered countless toasted teacakes and big lattes. We really need to get in some help. I’m catching up with some cleaning now it’s the post-lunch lull.’ He jerked his head towards the window. ‘Lovely again today. Looks like early summer is here.’ He paused. ‘They suit you.’
‘Huh?’ I said distractedly and turned back around.
‘Those curls. Very Madame Bovary.’
I eyed him curiously. A literary reference? Zak always said my curls were very ‘Carrie’ out of Sex and the City – a programme he’d been force-fed by a previous girlfriend.
‘Hmm,’ I replied. ‘Now that’s quite a tale about marriage.’
‘Noah’s right. They look great,’ cut in a female voice, somewhat deeper than mine. Elle appeared. She was a tall woman with a handsome face and strong features. She had a thin, black ponytail and wore a denim skirt with a baggy white blouse. I’d always thought that her feminine, fashionable name didn’t quite match her unfussy appearance. I’d asked her once if her family came from France but Noah had interrupted by teasing Elle about the idea that she came from swanky Paris.
In fact, I knew practically zero about either Elle or Noah. Nothing unusual in that, but this was Laventon, where every villager knew that Postie was currently seeking a divorce and dipping his toe into online dating, and that Mrs Carlton from the corner shop was about to adopt a rescue cat and had finally been given effective medicine for her arthritis.
‘I’d kill for a few waves but my hair is naturally straighter than the crease in Martini’s slacks,’ said Elle.
Jane Martin, known to all as Martini after her favourite drink, cleaned the cottage attached to the coffee shop, where Noah and Elle lived. I knew her a little from the Elite Eleganz’s charity events I ran locally. Pets. Grandchildren. Knitting. That was her life. I have to admit, like the rest of the village, I’d tried to work out Noah and Elle’s relationship. At the last charity auction, I’d asked Martini if they were an item and she’d pleaded ignorance.
‘Noah, there’s a sandwich waiting for you out the back,’ said Elle. ‘It’s all I could manage to put together. But Martini popped in with a casserole for tonight.’
‘Give that woman a medal. She’s a godsend.’ He smiled at me. ‘Elle bakes the tastiest muffins, but when it comes to cooking savoury meals her best shot is a Pot Noodle.’
Playfully she punched his arm. My eyes tingled. Dot did the cooking in our house. Perhaps if I’d been a better cook or housekeeper, then Zak wouldn’t have …
I sighed, tired of the negative narrative that had occupied my head since I’d found out about my husband’s affair.
‘Ow!’ he said and mock-glared ‘You don’t know your own strength!’
‘What about your culinary skills?’ I said, in as steady a voice as I could muster. Seeing their friendly banter reminded me of the way Zak and I used to be.
‘Even worse.’ Noah pulled a face. ‘Elle and I take it in turns to cook. I like to think I can rustle up a mean toasted panini but there’s a reason I set up a coffee shop and not a restaurant.’
They grinned at each other. ‘I’ll grab my sandwich later. First I want to do a quick stock-take. We had a run on caramel syrup this morning. And those small biscotti are proving a hit on Sundays with the diet-conscious customers saving themselves for their lunch.’ His shoulders bobbed up and down. ‘Are you stopping, Jenny?’
‘What? Oh … um, I just came in to pick up some of your pecan brownies. It’s April’s teacher’s birthday tomorrow. Apparently they are her favourite.’
