Chapter 6 #2
‘Where’s home?’
‘The bungalow behind that building over there. You can just see the edge of the roof. Granny and Grandpa built it to move into when they retired, but then Grandpa got ill and died and we’re still there and she’s still here.’
She placed the jug back in the fridge and took both glasses over to the sink.
Jules stood up.
‘Won’t that house be empty, too?’
Tasha nodded.
‘Yes, but I’ll be all right now.’ She cast a sidelong glance at Jules. ‘I get a bit anxious sometimes.’
‘Were you anxious about me picking you up from The Pottery?’
Tasha nodded.
‘Although I thought you’d be all right if you were a friend of Carrie’s.’
Jules bit her bottom lip.
‘I’ll let you into a secret. I was nervous about it, too. I’m not very good at talking to new people at the moment.’
‘You could always have written me a note,’ Tasha quipped.
Jules smiled.
‘I could have done, but then you’d have thought I was really weird.’
‘I wouldn’t now though.’
‘I’ll remember that when I don’t feel up to talking.’
‘That’s what I like about throwing a pot. You don’t have to talk. You just concentrate on breathing and the rhythm of the wheel and the feel of the clay. It’s magical. You should try it, you know.’
She placed the washed glasses on the draining board and ushered Jules out of the door.
‘Thanks for the chat,’ she said.
‘Thanks for the drink and the tissues,’ Jules said, still clutching a clump in her hand.
‘We criers need Kleenex,’ Tasha said with a smile. ‘See you around, Jules.’
‘Maybe – or if you don’t see me, you might hear me blubbing.’
‘Gotta get those tears out,’ Tasha joked, leaning forward to give Jules a quick, shy hug and then almost running away, but turning to wave at the corner of the old cowshed before disappearing out of sight.
Jules kicked at a loose stone and strolled back up the driveway towards Hideaway Cottage, remembering how difficult it was to be fourteen. Peoples’ lives were so complicated. You could never really know what was going on even if you knew that person well, let alone if you’d only just met them.
‘What’s this?’ Carrie asked, plucking something from the back pocket of Jules’s jeans. ‘Are you thinking about doing a course at The Pottery?’
‘What? No! Certainly not!’
Jules stared at the leaflet Carrie was studying intently.
‘I’ve got no idea how that got in there. I’m sure I left it in the front of the Land Rover.’
‘Didn’t you pick it up then?’
‘He gave it to me. The chap who runs the place.’
‘Lance. He’s a sweetie, isn’t he?’
‘A bit pushy.’
‘He worked really hard to get the business back on an even keel after his wife died. He had to close it for a few months and then Covid struck and now people are being really careful how they spend their money. He’s not exactly had an easy time.’
Jules took her tea out into the garden and sat on the bench at the back of the house. She gazed across the lawn towards the sea, a silver ribbon in the distance. Sunshine, tea, friendship. It was amazing how such things could make life seem a tiny bit more bearable.
‘The pottery seemed to be doing well enough today,’ she said as Carrie sat beside her. ‘Must have been twenty kids on that course.’
‘That’s good. How was Tasha?’
‘She warmed up.’
‘She can be introverted. It’s good that she’s got Erin. She makes sure Tasha doesn’t wallow too much.’
‘Is there just the one child?’
‘No, there’s Fitz. He’s a bit younger and a bit of a handful, I gather.
I’ve only met him a couple of times. Sarah, Lance’s wife, was pregnant with Fitz when she discovered she’d got cancer.
She delayed treatment until after he was born.
They thought it had been successful, but less than a year later it came back. ’
‘That’s tough. How old was she?’
‘Not sure. Not that much older than us, I think. They’re not from the island either so they haven’t got the usual support network, although everyone here tries to help out when and where they can, as you may have gathered.’
‘It’s a proper little utopia,’ Jules said.
‘Don’t knock it.’
Carrie’s tone was definitely defensive.
‘I’m not. It just seems a bit too good to be true. Not everyone can be lovely. There must be simmering jealousies and resentments beneath the surface.’
Carrie was quiet for a moment.
‘Of course there are. And sadnesses, too. But if you have a strong community where the whole is treasured and seen as not just a benefit to the individual, but an enrichment for everyone who wants to be part of it, you try hard to overcome those.’
‘Doesn’t it get a bit claustrophobic?’ Jules asked. ‘Doesn’t it just add extra responsibility to lives that are already busy, maybe even stretched to their limits?’
‘It depends how you approach it. You can give as much or as little as you like. No one is going to challenge you. Some people like to be involved and others don’t.
But that doesn’t mean that the ones who don’t won’t be welcomed with open arms if at some time they need the support of a wider network. ’
Jules screwed up her face.
‘I’m not sure that it’s workable long term. Someone or something is bound to throw a spanner in the works.’
Carrie got up and gathered the plates.
‘You have to be here to experience it, the benefits, the sense of acceptance.’ She shot Jules a knowing glance. ‘You have to give it time.’
Jules turned and looked out of the window as Carrie walked through to the kitchen. Had she really been that obvious? Could Carrie sense that she wasn’t planning on staying that long?
She popped her head around the doorframe.
‘Why don’t you book in for a session at The Pottery? It might be good for you.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘I’ll come with you. I’ve never worked with clay. It looks like fun.’
Jules leant back and closed her eyes. She didn’t like the way this conversation was going.
Maybe if she pretended to be asleep Carrie would let it drop.
Quietly Carrie got up and went inside. Surreptitiously, Jules opened one eye.
Crisis averted. For the next few days, at least, she could go back to concentrating on being a hermit.