The Widows’ Club

Everyone was up on their feet, but rather than heading for the exit, they gravitated towards April and Nick.

‘If you’re in need of a stiff drink,’ Steve said to April, ‘a few of us are going over to The Childe of Hale for a quick one.’

‘I’d better not, I’m driving,’ she replied as Jodie approached and wrapped her in a bear hug.

‘It will get better, although I can’t promise the tears will dry up anytime soon,’ she said.

‘I can vouch for that on Jodie’s behalf,’ added Steve.

Jodie poked him in the ribs. ‘For that you can buy the first round.’

As the group thinned out, Nick approached April and he too gave her a hug. ‘We can do this,’ he whispered.

Nick was slow to pull away and for a split second April had an irrational fear that he was going to cup her cheek in one of his broad hands as Jason had once done. She turned her head quickly.

‘You both did really well and I hope you’ll be back next month,’ said Justine, laying a hand on each of their arms to give a gentle squeeze. ‘And it would be lovely to see you at the Christmas party too. I know it’s only September, but it’s a dinner-dance and these things need to be booked early.’

‘Sure, how much is it?’ asked Nick, slipping a hand into his jacket pocket.

‘We’re asking for a £40 contribution and the rest will be made up from our end-of-year surplus,’ Justine said. Glancing at April, she added, ‘We’re very careful about how we manage member subscriptions and we don’t like to build up too much in reserves. Can we tempt you too?’

‘I’m not sure. I haven’t been planning that far ahead,’ April stuttered. She had so far declined any and all plans for Christmas and New Year. Knowing how she might feel three months from now was an impossible task.

‘There’s no rush,’ Tara said, coming to her rescue. ‘If you want to decide nearer the time, I’m sure we can sneak you in.’

Justine’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t overrule Tara. She took the money Nick handed over and said, ‘Come with me and I’ll sort out a receipt.’

‘No, it’s fine. I trust you.’

‘Honestly, I insist,’ Justine replied, taking his arm and pulling him away.

Nick looked back over his shoulder at April. ‘See you next time.’

Tara waited until the smile April had returned to Nick began to fade. ‘You don’t have to wait until next month if you need to talk sooner. Ring me anytime. That’s an order.’

The invitation was almost too much, and April came close to blurting out all those thoughts and feelings she hadn’t managed to share with the group. She needed someone like Tara in her life.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but you might regret the offer. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m pretty messed up.’

Tara smiled. ‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ she said in a hushed voice, ‘we all are.’

3 (#ulink_26ac2e02-c079-58e3-b8ed-eb2c8009523c)

Once the last of the lunchtime customers had been served, Tara shut up the shop. She closed early on Wednesday afternoons and would normally use the time to make up cake orders, but she had other plans today and had already sent her deputy manager, Michelle, home early. Molly, Tara’s ten-year-old daughter, was still in school, and Iain was home in Widnes, decluttering the house while eight-year-old Lily was out of the way. Tara would need to have a pre-move clear-out too, but with the limited space available in the flat upstairs, she had learnt a long time ago to be ruthless with keepsakes. Even so, it would be a wrench for both families to step away from the past, and as Tara enjoyed a rare moment of calm, she stopped to appreciate where she was and how far she had come.

Tee’s Cakes had the feel of a Parisian patisserie, with a high counter running along one side of the shop to display intricately crafted cakes and tarts, and a line of padded booths on the opposite side for customers to sip their coffee and whisper secrets. Additional seating could be set up outside, weather-permitting, and the kitchen in the back was state-of-the-art to meet the demands of daily visitors and a thriving online business. Mike wouldn’t recognise the place.

He had originally opened the shop as a traditional café serving English breakfasts and sandwiches to both the locals and returning visitors who had stumbled upon the village and discovered its secrets. Hale was an often overlooked settlement on the edges of the Mersey, and boasted two pubs, a church, and a post office. It had a rich history that stretched back to Roman times, with several points of interest including a nature reserve at Pickering’s Pasture and a lighthouse at Hale Head, and no visit was complete without a trip to St Mary’s church and the grave of John Middleton, better known as the Childe of Hale. The history of the village’s four-hundred-year-old resident, who had reportedly measured nine feet four inches tall, was well known. Sadly, few would stop to remember Michael Thomas Price, who had been dead just eight years.

Tara had known Mike as a friend, a boss, and briefly as a flatmate before they realised there was a spark between them that couldn’t be contained. Tara had grown up in Hale and, after coming top of her class at catering college, she had turned up at Mike’s café one day looking for a job. Her plan was to save enough money to move to Paris where she intended to perfect her craft, but it wasn’t long before Tara had created a successful sideline for Mike by selling her cakes. They worked side by side and with the days so long, it made sense for her to crash out in his spare bedroom above the café. She never did make it to Paris.

Looking around at the transformation, she hoped Mike would approve of how she had used the money he had left her. Of one thing she was certain, he would approve of Iain. In those last days before cancer stole her husband from her, Mike had made it very clear that he wanted Tara to find someone else. If anything, he would ask why it had taken her so long.

Drawn to the window, Tara looked out across the small car park that served Ivy Farm Court; a parade of shops of which Tee’s Cakes was one of eight units. She could see the entrance to Hale Primary School on the opposite side of the road where Lily would join Molly once the house move was complete. The main road continued up towards the park and the Childe of Hale pub where it hit a sharp bend at the war memorial, which formed its own little island between the lanes.

In the aftermath of Mike’s death, Tara had often pictured the regiments of war widows standing before the sandstone cross to remember the husbands who hadn’t made it home. She had imagined them drawing comfort from each other and, longing for something similar, she had created the Widows’ Club with Justine’s help. It was her way to reach out to others, and she had taken far more from it than she could ever hope to give. She was yet to decide if she had given enough.

As Tara stared off into space, her mind unable to form a clear vision of the future, she didn’t register the flash of Faith’s white Range Rover until her friend pulled up directly in front of the shop. Tara unlocked the door and beckoned her inside.

Faith had dropped into Tara’s life three years earlier when she had visited the shop to pick up a large order of French pastries. This was in the days before Iain had used his Internet wizardry to establish Tara’s online business, and when Faith had explained that the cakes were a thank-you gesture to colleagues who had supported her after the loss of her husband the year before, Tara had hooked Faith in. She was good at that.

‘You look nice,’ Faith said with more generosity than was entirely deserving of Tara’s current ensemble.

Having a job that required crawling out of bed at an ungodly hour, Tara had grabbed random items of clothing from her wardrobe in near darkness and only as the sun rose did she notice that the mustard yellow swing skirt clashed brazenly with the pink checks of her vintage blouse. Her customers were used to her eccentricities, but she wished she had tried harder today as Faith slipped off her bright yellow rain jacket.

‘And you look stunning,’ she said as she admired Faith’s dove grey cashmere jumper paired with black cigarette pants. At forty-six, Faith maintained a seemingly effortless beauty. With penetrating grey eyes and a flawless complexion, her make-up was understated and she had caught up her tousled blonde hair into a messy ponytail that left stray curls to frame her face perfectly. This was Faith’s idea of casual. ‘Make yourself comfortable and I’ll sort the coffee. Do you fancy a slice of cake?’

‘Why else would I be here?’

Five minutes later, Tara set down two cups of coffee, one opera cake, and three plates and forks.

‘Please don’t say Justine’s joining us!’

‘I wouldn’t do that to you,’ Tara said, only to feel a pang of guilt. Justine had been there for Tara long before Faith dazzled her way into her life. ‘I wouldn’t do it to Justine either.’

Faith pulled a face: the clash of personalities was felt on both sides. ‘So how was the meeting the other week? Did I miss anything? Was there lots of blubbing?’

‘It was a good session and I think our new members are going to fit in well. You should have been there,’ Tara said pointedly as she served up a slice of cake for each of them.

‘It was probably safer that I wasn’t. We’ll be running out of space if you recruit any more.’

‘The numbers are fine.’ Tara played with the cake on her plate, carefully separating the intricate layers of coffee-soaked almond sponge, ganache and buttercream. She didn’t look up when she added, ‘Iain wasn’t there either.’

Faith cocked her head. ‘And was that a problem?’

‘It did raise a question in the group about whether he was thinking of leaving. We have talked about it, and, while Iain’s not going to make a firm decision just yet, he’s doesn’t need the group like he did before. He wants to focus fully on the future.’

‘Easier said than done.’

‘I’m not suggesting we airbrush out the past,’ Tara said, suddenly aware of the strong aroma of coffee that was a stark contrast to the smell of sizzling bacon she associated with Mike’s café. She had held on to the life insurance money for almost three years before plucking up the courage to have the place remodelled. The café’s reincarnation had a distinct French vibe, but Tara had ensured there was a place for treasured mementoes too, including Mike’s chef’s cap pressed flat inside a frame on the wall behind the counter. ‘But Iain and I have each other now, and if there are any issues to face, we should deal with them as a couple.’

Faith’s cup was halfway to her lips. ‘You make it sound like you want to leave too.’

Tara didn’t answer immediately. ‘Funnily enough, that was something else the group picked up on.’

‘Anyone in particular?’ Faith asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘I bet Justine would love it if you left. I keep telling you, she doesn’t like being overshadowed. She must be champing at the bit to run the group on her own.’

Tara refused to entertain the idea that there were cracks developing in her friendship with Justine. It was true that, occasionally, it felt like there was an element of competition when it came to opening and closing the meetings, but Justine admitted herself that Tara was more natural when it came to leading the discussion. ‘She was as concerned as the rest of the group that I might consider leaving,’ Tara insisted. ‘And if I did go, I’d make sure there was someone else to pick up the slack.’