Chapter 32
The weather was warming up, now it was May. Sasha swapped the spring blooms in the hanging baskets for sweet-scented geraniums, trailing with cerise, scarlet and purple petals. The bright colours did a little to cheer her up. She was feeling low since her argument with Klara.
Klara had stopped coming for matcha on her breaks and Sasha missed her. She wished she hadn’t lost her temper. She’d said some unforgivable things and didn’t blame Klara for staying away. She must be visiting Coffee Bean instead. She probably saw Ben there too. Eleanor would be pleased.
Sasha felt a pang in her heart every time she thought of Ben or Klara. She wasn’t sure which one she missed the most. She still thought of Ben’s touch. His lips. Klara was an old friend; she hated it when they argued.
Luckily, she still had enough regulars. Mollie was in her usual corner just about every day. And Mr Davis and Gloria came in for their usual tea and cake after walking Puddles.
‘Ah, Sasha, my dear – how are you doing? Chloé has gone round to Ben’s. She’s interviewing him about his pottery. For her – er – her posts?’
‘Such a clever young woman, dear Chloé,’ added Gloria. ‘She has an idea to film a short series about the people of Bramleigh Green, as advertising for the festival.’
‘Lovely. That’s great for Ben.’ Sasha was getting used to the pang of jealousy when she thought of them together. It had been her idea to encourage Chloé to contact Ben about his ceramics.
She’d never identified the man she’d seen in her vision of Chloé dancing at her wedding.
But Chloé hadn’t needed much encouragement to flirt with Ben.
At the following committee meeting, Sasha had pushed her to sit next to him, so she could avoid speaking to him herself.
Instead, she’d watched as Chloé murmured and flirted, touching his arm every now and then.
She was such a bubbly, tactile person. It was unbearable.
Why had she suggested to Chloé that she might like to film Ben in his studio?
She really was a masochist. But if she couldn’t be with Ben, at least he could have a fun flirtation with Chloé.
Sasha might not have said that Ben was in Chloé’s wedding day vision, but she hadn’t said it wasn’t him either.
And Chloé had made it obvious that she was enjoying spending time with him.
‘Did you know Ben has a ceramics studio in his garden?’ said Mr Davis. ‘A pottery wheel and kiln too?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen it. It’s pretty amazing.’
Sasha tried not to think about the afternoon she’d visited Ben’s workshop. They’d shared so much that day. He’d been honest and vulnerable. And when she’d told him what happened to her, she had felt he really understood what she’d been through.
Then there were their jokes about hobbits and his hairy feet.
And the way he’d handled the broken pieces of the bowl, so carefully, with his strong fingers.
The same fingers that had held her wrist so steadily.
The sunshine of early spring had caught the glint of his eyes, gold as the glaze decorating the fractures in the kintsugi bowl.
She tried not to think of his fingers in her hair, sifting the slippery strands. How she’d wanted to throw herself in his arms. How she’d instead heeded her Por Por’s warnings and forced them apart.
‘Chloé says the ceramics he makes are gorgeous,’ said Mr Davis, all the while studying Sasha closely. ‘She’s going to take some videos to bring Ben’s craft stall to everyone’s attention.’
‘I can’t believe the festival is so soon!’ Sasha said brightly, avoiding Mr Davis’s incisive look.
The festival would be the last weekend for the café. The end of April had come and gone. Eleanor had written to formally advise her that the lease would expire at the end of May and she would have to vacate the premises, the flat included. So that was that. The end of her dream.
Gloria was still chatting about Ben’s ceramics. ‘Such a lovely idea to have a pottery workshop. I do love hand-thrown ceramics with their gorgeous glazes.’
‘We had no idea how creative he is. He’s rather a dark horse,’ Mr Davis added.
‘Such a lovely-looking young man,’ said Gloria, catching Sasha’s eye. ‘Ah – I might be ancient and he’s much too young for me, but I can look.’
‘Surprised you have eyes for anyone apart from a very dapper gentleman in here,’ said Sasha, putting an arm round Mr Davis’s shoulders.
Gloria chuckled and squeezed Mr Davis’s arm. ‘Actually, Ben has been very kind to us – and especially to Puddles. He always has a kind word for my baby. Even though he is allergic to dogs.’
‘We haven’t seen him in the café recently,’ said Mr Davis. ‘His table has been empty too long.’
‘We’ve been very busy lately, thanks to Chloé’s posts. I’m sure he’s occupied with his ceramics.’ Sasha turned away to hide the rush of tears, clearing some empty cups and plates from a nearby table.
But later, when she brought over their order, Mr Davis squeezed her arm. ‘Forgive me if I’m intruding. But I must ask – has something happened between yourself and Ben?’
Sasha blinked hard a few times. ‘Excuse me . . . something’s bringing up my allergies.’
‘Are you sure you haven’t fallen out with him?’ he carried on.
‘What? No! Maybe he’s gone off tea – he’s entitled to go to Coffee Bean as well. Maybe the stock markets are keeping him busy in front of the computer.’
‘Robert – do leave her alone,’ whispered Gloria, drawing him away. ‘Could you get me a treat for Puddles, my dear?’
Sasha nodded, relieved to retreat behind the counter and find the dog bowl and a couple of doggie treats. She grabbed a tissue to wipe her eyes. ‘High pollen count!’ she commented to anyone who might be listening.
She gave Puddles a carob treat and then cleared another table, bringing the tray of dirty crockery to the sink. It was a delicate glazed set and she was glad of the excuse to wash them by hand. She ran hot water into the sink, squeezing in washing-up liquid.
She pictured Ben in his ceramics shed with Chloé.
The sunshine beaming through the window and lighting up the gold flecks in his brown eyes.
Chloé’s curls would bounce on her shoulders as she enthused about the stunning bowls and cups he’d crafted.
Would he have completed the whole set by now?
She remembered the luminous blue-green glaze.
The gold of the decorative resin in the fractures.
Chloé would dart around, asking interesting questions about his inspiration. Of course she would have a go at the potter’s wheel. She threw herself into everything with enthusiasm.
She was nothing like Sasha, who was always terrified of her own emotions. She’d been running scared in that shed. She’d run away as soon as Ben had touched her that day. If Ben held Chloé’s hand, stroked her face, she was sure Chloé wouldn’t push him away. Not like Sasha.
Sasha imagined Chloé picking up a lump of wet clay and placing it on the pottery wheel.
Ben would be too polite to deny her. In fact, he’d be thrilled that she was so interested.
His eyes would light up with gold glints.
He’d help her mould the lump of clay. He’d show her how to press the pedal with her foot to start it turning.
Would he stand behind her, guiding her movements? Would he place his strong hands over her slim ones? Caress her soft, brown skin as he helped her mould and shape the wet clay? Would she lean back onto his chest, enjoying his arms around her? Would she turn to taste his kisses?
‘Sasha! Sasha – mind the water!’ Annie called out.
Sasha gasped, registering her feet were getting wet. Hot, sudsy water was overflowing from the sink and drenching her clogs. She quickly turned off the tap and dunked her hand in the boiling water to drag out the plug and drain the sink.
‘Ow!’ She’d scalded her hand.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Sorry – just – so much going on. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going!’ She ran her hand under the cold tap.
For fuck’s sake. She was a right mess.
First the fight with Klara. Now hearing about Ben and Chloé had made her almost flood the kitchen.
She had to sort herself out.
She had to stop these intrusive thoughts about Ben. Once and for all.