Chapter 29
I left the shed chuckling but, by the time I reached the back door to the kitchen, I was anxious again.
I’d realised while talking to Dad that most of the pressure on me to stay with Richard was pressure I’d put on myself.
My parents loved me and would support me no matter what I decided to do.
In theory. In practice, all I could think of as I approached the house was that Mum was going to be so disappointed.
I opened the door and stepped into the steamy, chicken-scented kitchen. Mum was at a chopping board, peeling the film off a frozen apple crumble. Double dessert, she was really trying to make up for those missing tiny sausages.
Should I tell her now that I was thinking about breaking up with Richard again?
I decided that would be a bad idea. She could easily make me doubt myself again.
I needed to make my mind up first. It wasn’t like she’d do it on purpose but, just because she was so sure, that made me feel uncertain.
It had always been that way. When I was eight and had no clue how to roller-skate, she’d talked me into going to a roller-disco birthday party.
I’d been going back and forth on the invite for weeks, but Mum was so sure I’d enjoy it that I ended up going.
Less than an hour in and I’d fallen over and cut my head open.
The worst part was I hadn’t even been having fun before then.
It was like Mum thought, if she could just push me enough, reality would warp and her assurances would become truth.
If she just kept saying ‘You’ll have a great time!
’ or ‘He’s so charming!’, that would make it so.
I never felt sure about anything really – my GCSE choices, boyfriends, hair styles, whether I was a dolphin girl or a horse girl.
I was always struggling with decisions and working out who I was, except when it came to the shop and crochet.
I’d been very clear on that goal and had kept it as a dream for years before going for it as soon as I had the money.
I wanted to follow that feeling more. Even if things were difficult at the shop right now.
‘Are you off, love?’ Mum asked, fluffing the boulders of crumble with a fork. ‘There’s plenty if you want to stay for dinner.’
‘Sorry, can’t. Maybe next week?’ I said.
‘Okay. Anyway, I expect Richard’s taking you out somewhere nice to celebrate all the good news – you two getting back together and starting a business. Seems like he’s really turned over a new leaf.’
‘Mmm,’ I hummed, thinking that really Richard had dropped his ‘new man’ act fairly quickly.
The last time he’d cooked had been that lasagne several days ago, when I’d had my fight with Emma.
Since then, he hadn’t so much as made me a cup of tea.
I wondered what Mum would say if I told her that, if maybe she’d agree with Dad then that I should do what made me happy instead of clinging to what wasn’t working.
I wanted to believe it but, as much as I knew she wanted what was best for me, I wasn’t sure if she was ready to let go of Richard and what he represented yet. I knew what that was like.
Feeling distinctly guilty about all my half-truths, I gave Mum a hug, refused her parting gift of two ‘mostly good’ courgettes and a cauliflower, and made it out to my car. It was only a temporary deception, I told myself. Next time I saw her, I’d be certain in my choice and able to defend it.
I checked my phone. When I saw the text notification from Richard, my heart sank. Internally, I immediately felt a powerful urge to scream ‘go away!’ at my poor innocent phone. That was probably a sign that I should break up with him. A big one.
I tapped the notification anyway.
Hey Tabs, sorry for late notice but going to a bit of a thing at the golf club. Back late. Save me some dinner, yeah?
‘Well, isn’t that just perfect?’ I muttered to myself, gripping my phone so hard that the plastic case creaked.
I decided not to respond to the message, mostly because, if I started to, I might accidentally type something like ‘Hope you drown in a water hazard’. Which felt unnecessarily mean, even if he had cheated on me.
Instead I checked the time and wondered if around four in the afternoon on a Sunday was an acceptable time to drop by someone’s boat to check in.
I decided, on reflection, that I couldn’t wait until my lunch break tomorrow to see if Cooper really was back and if he was still angry with me.
Besides, I had the Stitch and Witch to prepare for then.
It felt rude to arrive empty-handed so, as I drove through town, I stopped at the petrol station to get a gift.
It was the only place still open at that time on a Sunday – that’s small towns for you.
I paid an extortionate price for a carrot cake and a tin of fancy dog food, then went and parked up by the towpath.
Sitting in my car, I took a deep breath and told myself the worst thing that could happen was that Cooper would tell me to get lost.
As I was walking up the towpath, a thin rain started to fall.
I pulled my cut-off denim jacket around me and wished I’d worn something waterproof.
Or that had a hood. I had a blanket-style scarf around my neck and, after a few minutes, when the rain worsened, I took it off and wrapped it over my head to keep the worst of it off.
A haze rose off the canal as the rain hit it and the ducks were diving and splashing in the unexpected shower. A few frogs, disguised as mottled autumn leaves, hopped across the path and I skirted the squashy yellow slugs that were crawling out over the slick tarmac path.
The boat was back, now moored a little further from the viaduct, under some dripping willows.
It looked reassuringly the same as it had last time I’d seen it – peeling paint, rust-spotted gilt lettering and the same planters, though these were now empty of dead weeds.
Smoke was drifting from the chimney, adding the aroma of wood smoke to that of rain-soaked greenery and damp leaves.
And I felt sure. So I followed that feeling.
I hurried the last few metres, glad I was wearing more sensible biker boots today.
Reaching the boat, I stepped over onto it and rapped on the door.
From inside I heard the skittering of nails on wood and a low woof as Charlie came to the door.
He started to whine and paw at the door itself and I drummed my fingers on the wood.
‘It’s okay, Charlie, it’s only me.’
He woofed again – happily this time – and rushed off.
I waited for Cooper to come to the door.
Waited and waited, with rain trickling down my back and my feet growing cold in my boots.
I knocked again but this time Charlie didn’t come running.
Almost as if he’d been shut somewhere, like the kitchen.
Cooper was on board – he wasn’t stupid or thoughtless, he wouldn’t leave the fire going with the dog inside while he went out.
He’d taken the dog with him to Asda on a dressing-gown cord, for God’s sake.
No, he was in there and he was avoiding me.
Well, there was my answer then. He didn’t want to see me.
My feelings had led me astray again, just as they had with the struggling shop.
Obviously, I couldn’t trust my own judgement.
Feeling stupid and na?ve all over again, I left the cake and dog food by the door, then stepped off the boat and back onto the footpath.
I stood there a moment, looking at The Lady Di, at the smoke from the chimney and the sliver of light coming through the curtains in the living area.
At the far end I thought I saw the kitchen blinds twitch, but I could have been imagining it.
The rain began to peter out as I walked back to the car, dejected. I got back into the driver’s seat in my damp clothes and took the scarf from my head. Well, that was that then. I knew where I stood now with Cooper. Which was nowhere near him.
But where did that leave me with Richard?
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to end one relationship without another in the offing.
But I was questioning my judgement now. My certainty was leading me astray, so how could I trust myself to make a good decision about Richard?
What if I ended up alone and miserable and cursing myself for dumping him?
Knowing he wasn’t going to be at home anyway, I was reluctant to head back to the flat to sit in silence and worry about what I was going to say to him.
I couldn’t go back to Emma’s or to Mum and Dad.
Cooper didn’t want to see me and it was Sunday, so even the café in town was closed.
I sighed and looked up at the tiny crochet plant dangling from my mirror.
I knew where I wanted to go.
Aunt Lou’s cottage was on the outskirts of Leaford, near a piece of woodland where we’d once picked blackberries and nettles to make dyes and blackberry tarts.
It was down a winding lane and, as I drove down it, I didn’t meet anyone coming the other way.
It was very quiet down there, and the driveway outside the cottage was empty.
So much the better. I didn’t want to run into the new tenants and have to explain myself.
The cottage was rendered white and had a gabled roof of red clay tiles.
The front still had Aunt Lou’s roses climbing up it, the sweetest pink and yellow marbled flowers I’d ever smelled.
Of course, right now there were no flowers, but I could almost smell them in the damp air anyway.
The memories were so strong I felt tears prickling in my eyes.