‘We’re a friendly bunch, I promise. Although I will get a ribbing for being late as usual and I deserve it considering I live the closest.’
‘You live in Willowdale?’
‘I live there!’ She pointed to the second bungalow. ‘Two doors down and I’m still late!’
‘You’re not going to believe this, but my husband and I nearly bought that exact house.’
‘Really? What stopped you?’
‘He was a joiner and needed the garage to be a workshop but a single one wasn’t big enough.’
‘I’m glad for me that you didn’t buy it as I love it here, but I hope you found somewhere suitable.’
‘We did in Pippinthwaite, but if ever you want to sell…’ It just slipped out as a joke but the words rang true in my head. I’d trade my home on Mallard Close for Paulette’s house on Daffodil Mews in a heartbeat, even if there was no community. I liked Pippinthwaite but there was something about Willowdale that had always drawn me. Cliff and I had often walked alongside Derwent Water but I hadn’t done that since he died. I’d stopped doing so many of the things we used to do.
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Paulette said, smiling widely. ‘Come on in.’
There were about a dozen people inside the hall, setting up their crafts on folding tables which had been laid out in a U-shape. A few more emerged from another door at the back of the hall, drinks in their hands.
‘You can sit next to me,’ Paulette said, striding towards a couple of empty tables. ‘Pop your stuff down here and let’s get you a cuppa and introduce you to a few people, starting with Veronica.’
Paulette steered me towards the kitchen, telling me that Veronica had established Cake & Craft Club ten years ago. The aim had been to bring likeminded individuals together and, as the members had different areas of expertise, they’d all learned from each other. They also intermittently scheduled in sessions from non-member experts who taught the group new skills.
Paulette paused by the door. ‘Veronica’s extremely stylish, very proper and a bit posh,’ she said, her voice low, ‘and she’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.’
There were three women in the kitchen and, given Paulette’s brief description, I picked out Veronica immediately. She looked expensively attired in a cream satin blouse, dark tailored trousers over heeled boots, diamond stud earrings and a small gold and diamond cross on a delicate chain. Her salt and pepper hair – cut into her neck and shaped over her ears with volume layers on the top – was styled to perfection, as though she’d just stepped out of a salon, and her make-up was immaculate. I speculated she was a similar age as me and felt extremely self-conscious about my own contrasting dishevelled appearance – long greying hair way overdue a cut and colour, no make-up and wearing a homemade forest-green tunic top over black leggings and trainers.
As we walked towards Veronica, the little spark of confidence instilled by Paulette’s warm welcome ran for the nearest exit. Why hadn’t I made more of an effort with my appearance? But I knew the answer to that. Because I’d given up. On me, on life, on everything. That had to change.
‘We have a newbie,’ Paulette said to Veronica. ‘This is Yvonne.’
‘Yvonne! Welcome to our little club. So lovely to have you here.’ As Paulette had said, Veronica was well-spoken and, in her warm smile and the sparkle of her grey eyes, I could see the kindness she’d mentioned. As Veronica shook my hand with enthusiasm my confidence returned, apologising for its hasty retreat. These people were friendly and, if nothing else, we had crafting in common. This was going to be all right.
‘Are you an experienced crafter, a dabbler or completely new to it?’ Veronica asked.
‘I sew a lot. My mum taught me when I was little. I make most of my own clothes.’ I automatically tugged at my tunic.
‘You made this?’ Veronica asked. ‘Oh, I love it! I tried to make a pair of trousers once. Absolute disaster. One leg was longer and thinner than the other and, to this day, I have no idea how I managed it. Is dressmaking your speciality?’
‘My big passion’s making patchwork quilts.’
‘How wonderful! I’ve only ever dabbled with quilting and have always meant to do more. I look forward to getting some inspiration from your work. Great to have you here, Yvonne.’
A younger woman whose name went straight in and out of my head took my drink order – a strong tea with a splash of milk and no sugar – and, moments later, handed me a cup and saucer.
Paulette must have spotted my expression of surprise. ‘Veronica likes to do things properly,’ she said in a hushed voice as we left the kitchen. ‘But, never fear, you can come back for as many top-ups as you want. Do you like cake?’
‘Love it!’
‘Then come with me before it’s all gone.’
There was another table set up away from the crafts which held a chocolate cake, a carrot cake, a small stack of side plates, some forks and floral paper serviettes. Paulette explained that there was a rota for two members a week to bring in cakes and, while homemade was encouraged, everyone understood when a shop-bought one appeared due to lack of time or ability.
‘I love baking,’ I told Paulette. ‘I used to make a cake every week for my husband and me but, since losing him, I haven’t baked much.’
‘I’m so sorry. How long ago was that?’
‘Coming up five years in January.’
