CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I got to the market a little later than usual.
But by eleven, I was all set up and doing a roaring trade.
Chatting with customers was helping to keep the tiredness at bay, although I knew it would probably hit me later and I’d wilt like the coriander I was attempting to grow on a windowsill at home (but either watering it too little or too much!)
During a pause in serving, I took a breath and glanced around, my spirits restored by the sunny day and the welcome, cooling breeze that was making the market stalls’ colourful bunting dance and flutter.
I smiled to myself. At this rate, I’d be all sold out by three and would have plenty of time to drive home and have a well-earned cuppa before collecting Amelie from nursery around five. (She stayed a little later on market day Wednesdays and she seemed to love it.)
I was checking in the cool boxes, counting cartons a while later, when a familiar voice said, ‘Any of that amazing chicken dhansak this week?’
I looked up and Katja’s new boyfriend Caleb was smiling at me.
‘Glad you enjoyed it!’
‘I did. It was quite spicy but I’m getting more adventurous with my food these days. Thanks to your amazing ways with curry.’
I chuckled. ‘That’s good. And yes, I have some chicken dhansak left.’
‘Great. Two, please. Katja’s coming over tonight.’
‘Did I hear you say the dhansak was quite spicy ?’ scoffed his workmate Ivan, who’d been examining my chalk board showing the dishes available that week.
He shook his head at me. ‘Bless the lad, he was obviously brought up on a diet of milky puddings and all things bland because a dhansak is not spicy !’
I laughed. ‘Well, it is. There’s lots of spices in my dhansak. But maybe they’re just a little too mild for you, Ivan?’
Caleb grinned. ‘I think what Rosie’s saying is that my palette is superior to yours.’
‘Er, I don’t think so, boss.’ Ivan patted him rather condescendingly on the shoulder. ‘I’m the curry expert around here.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘It’s true. Give me a takeaway vindaloo, a few beers and the footie on telly and I’ll show you a perfect Friday night.’ He pointed at the beef madras on the chalk board. ‘Be a real man. Try the madras instead.’
Caleb snorted. ‘The thing is, I appreciate subtlety in a curry. I want to taste all the aromatic ingredients. I don’t just want to be whacked over the head with it and have my tastebuds burned off!’
Chuckling at their banter, I nodded in agreement. ‘Everyone’s tolerance of spice is different. Two cartons of the chicken dhansak?’
‘Perfect.’
‘So... when do you finish here, Rosie?’ Ivan asked me with a wolfish smile. ‘Can I tempt you out for a drink with me after all your hard labours?’
‘Er, not tonight, Ivan. I’m... er..
. plucking my eyebrows?’ I grinned up at him, sticking to our usual amusing exchange.
It was something we always did now for a joke.
Ivan would ask me out for a drink and I’d always come up with an excuse why I couldn’t.
(I’d groomed the dog so many times, I was surprised it had any fur left. And I didn’t even have a dog!)
He shrugged amiably as he always did. ‘Always worth a try. Maybe one Wednesday you’ll actually say yes.’
Caleb grinned. ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath. Rosie has what’s called taste .’
‘Ooh, ouch!’ Ivan pretended to be offended. Then he grinned. ‘Never mind. I’ve got women clamouring to go out with me so my time’s limited anyway.’
‘Ain’t that the truth, Ivan,’ laughed Katja, appearing beside Caleb. ‘Don’t listen to a word he says, Rosie. The man’s a menace. It’s a different girl every night.’
‘Well, not quite every night,’ said Ivan modestly. ‘I need my solo Friday curry evening to recover. Speaking of which, can I have two cartons of your beef madras, please?’
‘Certainly.’
I was still grinning as I placed the cartons in the plastic bag Ivan handed me.
I loved our silly weekly exchanges. Ivan reminded me of someone, although I could never put my finger on who it was. He was obviously damaged goods after splitting with his wife a few months ago, and it seemed he was now on a knee-jerk mission to have as much fun as possible.
I hoped that one day, he’d find someone he liked enough to settle down with...
On the drive home from the market, I found myself thinking about Ivan.
I liked him a lot. He was laid-back, funny and very easy on the eye with his almost black curly hair and eyes the colour of dark chocolate.
He reminded me of Danny, I realised suddenly. That’s who it was!
It wasn’t so much what he looked like. They were both tall with dark eyes and dark hair, although Danny’s hair wasn’t curly. It was sleek and it tended to flop over his forehead, so that he was forever pushing it back. Mark and I had always said Danny reminded us of a young Hugh Jackman.
It was more Ivan’s personality that brought Danny to mind – the similar sunny nature and the wicked sense of humour. And the fact that they both seemed completely at ease in their own skin, which I’d realised was quite rare.
There was one big difference between the two, though.
I would never be able to trust Ivan with my heart – at least not right now, when he was clearly playing the field!
But Danny... well, he was one of the good ones. I’d always known I could trust him and it wasn’t just because he was Mark’s best mate and was therefore extra-nice to me. Danny was like that with everyone. And everyone loved him.
To be fair to Ivan, I didn’t know him at all, really. The banter we exchanged was the extent of our knowledge of one another. Ivan probably had many other good qualities I hadn’t discovered as yet.
But I knew Danny so well, from all those years of friendship and laughter at uni.
He’d been on my mind quite a lot lately. But that was only because after Clare had appeared in the café, so many memories had kept on flooding back... memories of the ‘Famous Five’ all together, having fun.
Looking back, life had seemed so sunny and carefree then – but maybe they were just rose-tinted memories? It was natural to remember the good bits most of all and forget the bad things.
But we were a tight-knit group of friends.
No doubt about that. Back then, I would never have believed that one day, we’d be flung far and wide in our grief over the loss of Mark.
.. that the close friendships I’d taken for granted could slip away, almost without me noticing it was happening. ..
At the nursery, Amelie came running out with her little friend, Dora, and I stood chatting for a while with Dora’s mum, Angela.
I really liked Angela. She was on her own with Dora, having been through an amicable divorce, and we always seemed to have plenty to talk about.
‘Look at those two!’ She grinned over at the two girls, giggling and whispering in a world of their own.
I nodded. ‘They look like they’re plotting something dastardly.’
‘Would Amelie like a sleep-over at our house tonight? I could take her to nursery with Dora in the morning?’
‘Oh.’ I looked at Angela in surprise. ‘Yes. I’m sure she’d love that. And Dora could come over to ours in a few days to give you some time to yourself?’
She nodded. ‘Perfect! We single mothers should stick together.’
Amelie, of course, was delighted with the plan.
It felt rather weird, the thought of spending an evening on my own, without Amelie’s bed-time routine to think about.
But with the sort of frantic day I was having, it was probably working out for the best. Amelie would be having a great time at Dora’s house so I wouldn’t have to worry about her, and I could finally relax and get to bed early.
I drove home and collected a bag of night things for Amelie and when I dropped it off at Angela’s house, I could hear the girls laughing and chatting upstairs.
But as I drove back home again, there was a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.
Had the intruder done their worst?
Or weren’t they finished with me yet?