A Season for Second Chances(29)

“Gemma!” said Maeve. “Calm down.” She said this as though addressing a dog. Podrick looked up from his place by the heater, one ear cocked, before nestling his head back down on his paws. “Her husband’s been back at sea for nearly two months now,” Maeve addressed Annie. “She doesn’t get out much.”

“It’s true,” said Gemma. “I don’t. When Esme started school in September, I didn’t know whether I was crying with relief or sadness! Sometimes I think I made a terrible mistake giving up work to be at home with the kids.”

“How old are they?” Annie asked.

“Lennox is seven, and Esme is four and a half.”

“Tough ages,” Annie sympathized. “Too big to be babies and too small to be in any way independent.”

“I catch sight of my work suits in the back of the wardrobe sometimes and I can’t believe it was me who used to wear them. I hardly remember who that woman was. It was my decision to stay at home, but I look at women who kept their careers when they had children and I feel like I’ve let the side down.”

“I often thought I’d made a terrible mistake by not giving up work to be at home with the kids,” said Annie. “I’d see women like you and think I’d denied my boys something precious.”

“It’s the guilt,” said Gemma. “Guilty if you do and guilty if you don’t. I worked in pharmaceuticals, so it was a lot of traveling. And what with Brian being away for months at a time . . .”

“And were you both men we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” said Maeve. “You want to judge yourselves? Judge yourselves by how a man would feel in the same situation. I guarantee you’ll have an easier time of it. Now, back to the matter in hand.”

“I say we choose a book now,” said Gemma. “And then, Annie, you can ask your friend tomorrow, and we’ll meet here next Wednesday, that’s the first of October at, say, seven thirty to discuss?”

“Provided Mari agrees,” said Annie.

“Oh, she’ll agree,” said Gemma. “Oh, it’s so exciting!”

“Gemma, don’t squeak so,” said Maeve. “It’s like being friends with a guinea pig.”

“Aren’t book clubs usually monthly?” Annie asked.

“Well, usually, yes,” said Gemma. “But I really can’t wait to get started. And if we meet, say, every couple of weeks, just think how many books we’ll get through . . .”

“Like I said,” butted in Maeve. “She doesn’t get out much.”

“I’ll bring wine,” said Gemma, ignoring Maeve.

“Of course you will,” said Maeve. “I’ll bring the car.”

“And I’ll make some nibbles,” said Annie. She was finding Gemma’s enthusiasm infectious.

“What’s going to be our first book?” asked Maeve.

“Ooh, I’ve got one!” said Gemma, her hand in the air.

Annie and Maeve looked at her expectantly.

“The Woman in White,” she said. “By Wilkie Collins. I watched it on TV and I’ve been meaning to read it ever since.”

Annie shrugged. “Works for me,” she said. “I’ll pick up a copy from the library tomorrow.”

“I’ll download it,” said Maeve. “Listen to it while I’m walking the dogs.”

“That’s cheating!” said Gemma.

“Poppycock!” said Maeve. “It doesn’t matter which way the words go in, so long as they go in.”

Gemma and Maeve left, having devoured the packet of Hobnobs between them. Gemma had the school pickup and Maeve—a retired sheep farmer, as it turned out—had to go and help her daughters, who now ran the farm between them, to fix a fence that had blown down in last night’s wind.

Annie texted Mari about the book club and received a swift response in the positive. Then, since she had nothing more pressing to attend to, she set about cleaning the tearoom.





Chapter 23



Beyond the counter, set into a wall of shelves, was a door that led to a galley area and the kiosk—also shuttered and dark—which housed the coffee machine, a small portable hob on a butcher’s block, an old butler sink, a reasonably new dishwasher, and a tabletop oven. The coffee machine was as good as Mari had promised and, whether out of chef’s habit or sheer inspiration, Annie found herself daydreaming about the possibilities presented by the kiosk and tiny tearoom as she worked.

Sooner or later she’d have to sell her half of the business. And then what? She didn’t know if she wanted to run her own restaurant again. But equally, she’d been her own boss for too long to work for someone else.

These were the thoughts that followed her around as she cleaned and dusted down someone else’s history. Had it been hard for Mari to give up the tearoom? Or had it been a relief? Annie stood back, resting her hands on top of the mop. The spider hammocks were gone, and the peach complexions of pre-war children advertising Pears soap and Cadbury’s chocolate were warmer now that they weren’t smiling through a film of grime. The incessant buzz and harsh light of the fluorescent tube in the ceiling rather spoiled the effect of what would otherwise be a lovely place to enjoy a cup of coffee, and Annie decided she would invest in some candles to light the room for the book club.