Chapter 10 #2
Later that day, Rita stood in the farmhouse kitchen, sunlight streaming through the windows and dust motes dancing like tiny fairies.
Henry was curled up on his bed in front of the Aga, snoring softly.
Bless him, the old Labrador was definitely slowing down even further.
His legs had steadied after his operation, but now he only managed one proper walk a day, and even that seemed like a marathon.
Rita crouched to scratch behind his ears.
One thing at a time, Rita. One thing at a time.
After she left the Cosy Café she had called the doctor’s surgery, but it was a week until she could be seen. Seven whole days. A lifetime. And she couldn’t wait, not a single second longer.
So she’d driven to the big Tesco, barely conscious of the journey, bought a test with shaking hands, and come home with that small rectangular box burning a hole in her handbag.
She’d got back five minutes ago and immediately gone to the bathroom and unpacked the test, peeing on the stick, following the instructions like a sacred ritual.
Now it sat on the edge of the kitchen counter like a tiny, silent judge, holding all her hope and fear in its plain white plastic casing.
Her heart thudded louder than the ticking clock.
Rita stared at it, willing it to reveal its secrets.
Her fingers itched to pick it up, to look, to know.
But no. Not yet. She wanted to leave it as long as possible so she’d know it had worked.
Her mind raced. What if it was positive?
What if it was negative? How would she feel?
And what about Jago if she was pregnant?
He’d admitted to her months before how much he’d wanted children when he was younger, before darling Elodie had mucked that dream up for him, that was.
Yet here she was, heart hammering, staring at a little white stick that could change everything for the both of them.
She was a bundle of nerves, pacing slightly, sipping a cup of tea that had long since gone cold, and imagining all the possible conversations she’d have to have.
She was just about to glance for the fifteenth time when the front door creaked open. Hilda stepped in, dressed all in black, her eagle eyes immediately scanning the kitchen and landing on Rita’s twitchy face.
‘Oh, hello, Rita.’ Hilda plonked herself down. ‘How are you? How are the new woo-woo recruits?’
Rita panicked. She threw the tea towel she’d been holding toward the sink, and the test tumbled straight in alongside a plastic container of defrosting vegetable casserole, landing face down with a wet little plop.
‘I’m… fine,’ she stammered. ‘Just tidying up, about to do a food order online… busy! Busy, you know!’ Her voice sounded strangled.
Hilda raised an eyebrow. ‘Rita, are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes, yes. You know how it is when a retreat is underway. I enjoy it, but…’
Hilda’s eyes softened slightly. ‘I’m off to a funeral, then off on holiday. Can you keep an eye on the annexe, please? With Teo already down with Jude, it’s so inconvenient. I’ve got a couple of Lovehoney deliveries coming and don’t want them left outside.’
Rita blinked as she pictured the vibrators and lacy underwear Lovehoney might be delivering.
Her mother-in-law’s casual tone made it feel like she’d just asked about the milk.
‘Yes… yes, of course,’ Rita said, forcing calm, even as her brain did somersaults of disbelief and a flicker of hope she’d still have the same vim and vigour in her eighties.
‘What time’s the funeral?’ Rita hoped it was within the next thirty seconds.
‘You sound like my mother used to.’ Hilda smirked. ‘I’ve barely arrived and here’s your hat, here’s your coat, what’s your hurry? But I get it. You’ve got work to do.’
Hilda paused, the tiniest twinkle appearing in her age-faded eyes.
‘Just in case you want to know where Eric and I will be… South America. A light little holiday. You know, hiking Machu Picchu in matching neon outfits, tangoing until we can’t feel our feet in Buenos Aires, ziplining through the rainforest while screaming like lunatics, attempting to cook feijoada in Rio without setting the kitchen on fire… the usual.’
Rita laughed, but her gaze kept flicking to the sink. She wanted to snatch the test up, right now and discover her fate.
Hilda tilted her head, that knowing look creeping back into her eyes. Rita breathed deeply. She knows something’s up. She always knows.
‘I’ll message you when I get there.’ Hilda turned to leave, then paused. ‘Sennen tells me there’s going to be a wedding here in June too. Madness, I say. Can’t you just concentrate on one thing at a time, not fifty?’
‘It’s hardly fifty, Hilda,’ Rita said, trying not to sound too defensive.
Hilda gave her a knowing look, the sort that warmed you and unnerved you all at once. ‘I get it, I’d have done anything for my boy Archie too.’ She paused, wistful for a second. ‘I still ache when I think about that fateful day he was taken from us.’
Rita’s throat tightened. ‘I hardly ever ask how you are. I’m sorry for that.’
Hilda waved her off. ‘Don’t. And you don’t have to. But are you sure you’re OK? You’re not looking so good… like the bags under your eyes could do with a holiday of their own!’
‘Yes, yes,’ Rita said quickly, forcing a smile. ‘Honestly… it’s you who says keeping busy is good for the mind, body and soul.’
Hilda’s eyes twinkled for the briefest moment. ‘Well, make sure it’s not all work and no play. I always say to my Eric… it’s never too late for a surprise or two, however old you are.’
And just like that, she was gone, the door clanging shut behind her.
Rita’s forehead wrinkled. Surely she couldn’t tell, too? And when had the old girl’s toyboy been escalated to ‘my Eric’? she wondered. Then, glancing down at the kitchen counter, at the wet little test lurking in the sink, she swallowed hard and reached for it.