Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Even though Tom said he would take care of everything, Clara searched for the wicker Fortnum and Mason picnic basket that she had been saving for this very sort of occasion.
After finding it in the larder and brushing off the dust, she lined the basket with a blue-and-white checked cloth and popped a couple of bits in there.
Nothing too fancy, she decided, just a bottle of water and two slices of her homemade Victoria sponge.
Despite having been up all night making sure it rose to perfection, and smothering it in Janet’s homemade strawberry jam followed by a dollop of cream spread across the base, Clara planned on passing it off as nothing and dismissing it as something she had leftover in her fridge.
She smiled with contentment as she placed the leather strap through the buckle and secured the basket.
Then, after pulling her long locks into a messy bun, she admired herself in the mirror as she looked at her modest long black shorts with her bright blue polo shirt.
She just wished her bosom wasn’t forcing the top button to its limit.
She played with the buttons, unbuttoning it for comfort, but then feeling too self-conscious to leave it open, and quickly buttoned it up again.
She threw some sunscreen in her bag and made her way to Port Meadow.
* * *
Tom grinned like a Cheshire cat as Clara pulled up in the car she occasionally used.
It made him giggle as she reversed three times to get into the big space, while Clara cringed at her sudden inability to drive.
Why on earth could she suddenly no longer park her beloved Mini Cooper? She wished she’d brought the bicycle.
‘Does Tom have to watch me park?’ Clara complained to herself.
Eventually, safely in her space, she grabbed her picnic basket and made her way towards Tom who was waiting with a big picnic hamper and an even larger tartan blanket.
‘Wow, how much food can you fit in there? We’re definitely not going to go hungry, Tom.’
‘I didn’t know what you’d like, so I brought a bit of everything. Picky bits, mostly.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’
From the short time she had known him, Clara had already noticed how he was always the consummate gentleman who seemed to get things right. Her initial impression was how he was practically perfect and it was the first time she had ever met anyone like him.
As Tom leaned in to kiss Clara’s cheek politely, he noticed her picnic basket.
‘Oh, you brought some stuff too. You didn’t have to bring anything. It’s my treat today. I hope you haven’t gone to any trouble.’
‘No, not at all. Just some treats.’ She’d considered leaving her basket at home, but she had to turn up with something. She hated going anywhere empty-handed – even an invite for a picnic.
Tom promised that he knew of somewhere to sit and led Clara there, passing the bridge where wild swimmers were jumping off to cool in the river.
Clara was sorry she didn’t bring her bathers with her; she was already hot and they hadn’t reached their picnic spot.
Two little girls in pigtails played hopscotch to the side of them, and memories of those summers with Eleanora doing the same thing came flooding back.
She thought how she must introduce Eleanora to Tom if things continued well.
They passed a protective mother duck leading her brood of ducklings along the river, while ponies happily grazed on the bank beside. Clara loved this part of Oxford where people and nature came together in harmony.
After a ten-minute walk, Tom slowed down and pointed to a patch of grass that was shaded by a huge oak tree.
‘Would this be okay for you?’
Clara loved the way he considered what she wanted and how he didn’t simply plonk himself down without any regard for her.
‘It’s absolutely perfect,’ she said, admiring the pretty canal boat that was moored in front of them.
Although the area was busy at this time of year, Tom knew he would find somewhere quiet so that they could talk, and that’s exactly what he had been looking for. He laid out the picnic blanket for them and started emptying his basket.
Tom wasn’t wrong about his homemade scotch eggs.
They looked divine and Clara couldn’t wait to try one.
Tom really had thought of everything with the salmon and cucumber sandwiches, pork pies, mini quiches, sausages and cold meat selection.
He had even prepared his own lemonade. A man who made fresh lemonade was just too good to be true, thought Clara.
She doubted Eleanora had ever met anyone of this calibre on those dodgy dating sites she frequented.
‘Oh my. You have gone above and beyond. This is just the most wonderful picnic ever. All my favourite things. How on earth did you guess?’
‘It’s just the food I like. We seem similar so . . . Lucky guess.’ Tom smiled. He had carefully planned the afternoon to perfection. After all, he had to do something to make up for what he was concealing.
Clara emptied her hamper onto the picnic blanket, thinking that he might be impressed with the Victoria sponge.
Tom loved nothing more than a slab of homemade Victoria sponge and he smiled at Clara as he thought how compatible they were.
He even thought that this might be the right time to drop in some hints about his past. It was a bit earlier on than he had planned, but when he spoke to his friend and mentor Pat last night, he insisted that he should come clean from the outset. He repeated his words in his head.
‘Maybe you should tell her straight away. She might understand more than you think. You need to practise that self-forgiveness I’ve told you about.
It’s time to build relationships and forget about your past. You can’t keep torturing yourself for the things you’ve done.
Life’s too short for regrets; what’s done is done. ’
He had almost been in tears when he had spoken to Pat. He wondered how he could have messed up his life so spectacularly. He deserved everything he got. His karma was to live with all that he had done.
After all, it was so heinous that he felt he should never be forgiven until the day he died.
No matter how hard he tried to put things right he had done irreparable damage to everyone around him.
Even his own flesh and blood. His long-suffering wife Diana had every right to walk out on him and into the arms of another, more deserving man.
Tom thought of the flashbacks that taunted him.
Sometimes it felt as though he was watching someone else’s life.
Surely, he wouldn’t have done such terrible things.
Getting close to Clara was still a risk. She was a fantastic lady who deserved someone worthy of her. Perhaps he should explain. He took a deep breath. It was now or never.
‘Is that a rabbit?’ asked Clara as she spotted a fluffy creature hopping in the distance.
‘What? Um, where?’
‘Just there.’
‘I think that might be a hare.’
‘Ah yes, they’re faster, aren’t they,’ she said as the hare quickly went out of sight.
‘How delightful though. Isn’t this lovely?
A glorious picnic on a glorious day, with a glorious gentleman.
I must say my thanks to God. I think we need our soundtrack again.
This really is a perfect day. Every time I see you, it’s as though the sun shines down on us,’ said Clara picking up a pork pie.
Tom studied Clara’s innocent face. The sun was reflecting down on the freckles across her button nose and her cheeks were rosy from all the laughter.
How could he possibly change the mood? He decided that maybe now wasn’t the right time to tell Clara anything, despite what Pat had suggested.
For once, he was going to enjoy the moment instead of thinking about what he should be doing.
After all, it was only their second date and it was far too lovely to spoil.
So, instead, he picked up the slab of Victoria sponge and devoured it, complimenting Clara on her excellent baking skills after she finally admitted to being up late baking it.
Now that the first-date nerves were over with, Clara was enjoying Tom’s company even more – despite the fact that he wouldn’t talk about his life before arriving in Oxford.
There would be no mystery about any of us if we told each other everything, thought Clara.
Although she hoped he would let her in on one thing that was puzzling her.
‘So, are you going to give me the recipe for your scotch eggs? I’m sure I could raise a lot of money with a bake sale selling these,’ said Clara.
‘Ah, I can’t take all the credit for it. It’s a secret family recipe. If I told you, I’d have to kill you. But I can let you in on one little secret. It’s the smoked haddock that’s been substituted for sausage meat that gives it the flavour.’
‘Well, who’d have thought. Just delicious. Although I am super full. I don’t think I could eat another thing, ever, ever again.’
‘That’s a shame as I was going to ask you if you fancied lunch sometime, but if you’re never going to eat, ever, ever again, then . . .’
‘Oh, in that case, let me think. Okay, maybe one day I’ll eat again.’
Clara and Tom laughed. It felt like they were the only two people in existence, and even the barge in the distance seemed to drift away as they sat together, seemingly without a care in the world.
The chemistry between them was undeniable and as Clara leaned back, letting out an infectious roar of laughter, Tom couldn’t help himself.
He placed his hand gently on her face, moving her fringe out of the way, and kissed her softly on her forehead.
Tom’s light touch felt like silk as he tenderly ran a finger along her cheek. Clara felt as though she could burst with happiness as they snuggled up closer on the picnic blanket and chatted about everything from Eighties pop groups to their favourite musicals.
‘Has to be Evita,’ said Tom.
‘Oh, yes, that’s a good one. Although I saw Miss Saigon many moons ago. That was excellent. Oh, and Phantom . . .’
‘Ooh, and have you seen Jason Donovan in The Rocky Horror Show? The music is amazing.’
‘Oh no, now I’ve got “Time Warp” stuck in my head.’
Tom held his hand out to Clara and pulled her up from their picnic blanket.
‘Fancy a dance?’
Clara never imagined she would find herself jumping about a meadow with Tom singing ‘Time Warp’, but as they jumped to the left and the right, they were giddy with laughter.
Tom was so amusing to be around that before they knew it, the sun was going down and they realised how late it was.
‘How on earth can it be evening already?’ said Clara.
‘Time flies when you’re having fun and I certainly have had lots of fun. I love spending time with you, Clara Bennett.’
‘Me too, Tom Hartley.’
Reluctantly heading off before it got too dark, they walked back to their cars.
Tom carried the picnic basket in one hand and took Clara’s hand with the other, although only after he had politely asked her if she minded.
Clara wanted to almost skip along as she held Tom’s hand tight.
However, she reminded herself that she was an un-fit 58-year-old, who had just danced in a field.
Skipping along the bridge too was probably not the best idea if she wanted to be able to walk in the morning.