Chapter 3
Chapter Three
On Monday morning, as the students read over the questions on their exam papers, Clara sat at home with questions of her own.
Had Tom Hartley really asked her out or had it been a figment of her imagination?
What if she turned up and he wasn’t there?
She needed to call her best friend, Eleanora, to calm her nerves.
‘What if I dreamed it, Nora?’
‘Don’t be silly. You definitely told me he’d asked you out after Evensong. Now stop doubting yourself,’ said Eleanora sternly.
Having been best friends with Clara since their schooldays, she knew only too well how she was the champion of second-guessing herself. Eleanora could almost give her a trophy for it.
Momentarily, Clara put her phone to one side to close the leaded glass window of the rectory and then picked it back up, lowering her voice.
‘What am I doing? I can’t believe I’m in my late fifties and going on a date. Am I having some kind of midlife crisis?’
‘You’re not having a crisis of any sort. It’s only because you haven’t met the right man up until now. Tom sounds absolutely lovely. I mean, a chorister! It doesn’t get better than that for you. This is literally a match made in heaven.’
‘He’s only in an over-sixties choir. It’s not like he’s a professional.
’ Clara laughed at the impression Eleanora had already made of Tom.
‘Oh, Nora! I have to be honest; I’m actually terrified.
Why would he be interested in me? What if he’s after something?
You hear about all sorts of terrible things nowadays. ’
Clara looked around her living room. Her home came with the job so she supposed he couldn’t be after any kind of property investment.
‘I very much doubt that he’s after anything other than your lovely self. Now, come on. I wish you saw yourself like everyone else does around you.’
Clara shuffled uncomfortably in her navy corduroy love seat. Feeling cocooned and safe, she half wished she could stay where she was.
‘We’ll see. I suppose I’d better get ready; I don’t want to be late. Although, what if he meant Oxford time and not GMT? Then he might be five minutes later. He might not come at all . . .’
‘Come on now, Clara. Stop panicking. He said 1 p.m.; I’m sure he’ll be there then. Calm down and go and enjoy yourself. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘Oh, I don’t know . . . I could fall flat on my face as I approach him and everyone will laugh and point at me.’
‘Or you could have a fabulous time! Stop overthinking. You have such an imagination.’ Eleanora knew her friend well enough to understand that she was utterly petrified at the thought of this date and no matter how much she tried to reassure her, Clara had managed to wind herself up spectacularly.
‘Oh well, I suppose the least I can do is put a brush through my hair,’ said Clara, letting out one of her roaring laughs.
The truth was that she had already bathed in a bath full of lavender bubbles, shaved her legs and plucked a few hairs that seemed to have spurted from nowhere, but there were some things that were too personal to share, even though the best friends shared most things with each other.
‘Now, you must make sure you enjoy every moment with Tom. I can’t wait to hear how it goes. I’ll be keeping my fingers and toes crossed for you.’
‘Oh, it’s only a coffee. It’s fine.’ Clara said this more to convince herself rather than for Eleanora’s sake.
Less than an hour later, Clara found herself walking towards the café that Tom had eventually decided on.
As she walked alongside the river in the sunshine, she wondered what they would talk about.
She prepared a few topics in her head and told herself that a date wasn’t that much different to a sermon.
After all, she needed to keep her audience captivated and not have any embarrassing moments like the time she found her cassock and surplice tucked into her knickers in front of a packed-out funeral.
However, the problem with being a popular local reverend was that, much like being a celebrity, Clara rarely went unnoticed. As she was about to reach the River Café, Clara couldn’t believe her luck, or rather lack of it.
‘Julie Simpson, that’s all I need,’ she muttered to herself under her breath.
‘Good afternoon, Clara. Day off today?’
‘I don’t have to go in until later and I wanted to make the most of this glorious sunshine.’ Clara smiled, hoping that her meddling neighbour didn’t ask any further questions.
‘A bit too warm for me, if I’m honest. I’ll need to buy a fan if this weather continues,’ grumbled Julie.
‘Indeed, I heard Argos had already sold out.’
Julie tutted. ‘I may have to search around the shops for one later. Time for a coffee first though. I was just looking at this place. Looks nice, I’m parched. New, is it?’
She cringed as she watched Julie eye up the chalkboard advertising afternoon teas. Despite the nerves, Clara’s mouth was already watering at the thought of one.
‘I haven’t heard anything good about it yet. You know what it’s like when a new place opens. Probably still finding their feet I’d imagine.’ Clara felt awful for trying to put her off but she couldn’t let the local busybody see her having coffee with the part-time chorister! Heaven forbid.
‘Well, I’m not wasting good money on something if they haven’t got their act together yet. Maybe I’ll leave it for now.’
Breathing a sigh of relief as Julie finally headed off, Clara saw Tom waiting inside.
She was so grateful that she hadn’t imagined his invitation and that he hadn’t let her down after all.
It wouldn’t have been the first time that had happened to her.
It might have been fifteen years ago but she still remembered the disappointment, and the embarrassment of explaining to the waiter that she wouldn’t be needing the fancy bistro menu after all.
She tried to remind herself that Tom was nothing like the no-show guy from the Christian dating site. <
So, with Tom happily waiting for her, she quickly checked her reflection in the window.
After brushing her fingers through her hair one final time, Clara braced herself.
She was greeted with the smell of fresh coffee as the little bell on the door chimed, and Tom – who was patiently stood by the cake counter – looked over at her.
She cursed her unsteady feet as they clomped along the reclaimed pine floor as she walked towards him.
She felt as though every step was echoing around the whole of Oxford.
‘You came,’ he said with a big grin.
‘Of course. I wouldn’t let you down.’
Clara wondered why Tom would even consider that she might not turn up and questioned whether he was perhaps feeling as nervous as she was.
She had never thought that men could get nervous about dates; they always seemed so self-assured.
Conversely, Tom seemed shy now that they were both stood there, and once again neither of them knew what to do next.
Were they supposed to hug? Kiss on the cheek?
What was the etiquette? For a moment, neither spoke.
The awkward silence was only broken by a waitress asking where they wanted to sit.
‘Would you like to sit outside?’ asked Tom.
‘I think so, given this glorious weather. May as well make the most of it, Tom.’
Clara had a habit of using people’s names when she spoke to them.
She felt it made any interaction more intimate and personable.
She didn’t always remember names though and would sometimes use word association.
This was normally done quietly in the back of her mind, but she still cringed about the time she was introduced to someone called David and she said ‘David Beckham’ out loud.
Like most things, she blamed the menopause for her slip-up.
She wouldn’t forget Tom’s name in a hurry though; that she knew.
The waitress managed to find Clara and Tom a little wooden table for two with a red-and-white checked tablecloth, which had only a rope separating them from the edge of the river.
With the water lapping against the side, it was so perfect that Clara felt as though the angels were gazing down upon them.
Ordering two lattes to begin with and being tempted by the cream tea, Clara spoke ten to the dozen, not even realising that she wasn’t making much sense.
‘Then I said to the congregation that I had a fabulous sermon planned for the following week but when I went home, I realised I didn’t have a clue what I was on about.
I’d already forgotten what I had planned.
Memory of a goldfish nowadays and so that’s why I write everything down .
. . Even though I was so excited about today .
. . Well, not excited, you know, just . .
. I thought it would be nice to have some male company, but, yes, so I still wrote it all down in my planner. Wait, let me show you my planner . . .’
Finally, she took a breath when she leaned into the large handbag that she carried everywhere for all the things she needed.
She pulled out her childhood Bible and put it on the table as she hunted for her planner, even though she realised that Tom was probably not in the slightest bit interested in her furry zebra-print Filofax.
However, the thought of an awkward silence was too much to risk.
‘This looks old,’ said Tom, picking up her Bible.
‘My parents bought it for me for my first birthday. Religion is in my blood. My dad was a vicar in a parish. I’ve always had a strong relationship with God.’
Since Clara realised that all she had done was talk about herself, she stopped searching for her planner to calm down a little and let Tom take a turn.
‘How rude of me. I’ve spoken about myself for the past ten minutes. So, Tom. When did you find God? Have you always gone to church?’
He took his time to respond, knowing that he would have to answer this carefully.
‘No. I’m a later-in-life Christian.’
‘Well, you know what they say, better late than never.’