‘Perhaps some of us have bigger fish to fry,’ said Fran, moving away from Sarah and turning back to the cake she’d been icing.
‘Fran,’ said Hattie. Fran looked up and shook her head to stop further comment.
Great, thought Sarah,so now they’re keeping secrets from me too.
‘Sarah, regardless of the rights or wrongs of the situation, the way you behaved in the café is unacceptable. Consider this an official warning. I think it would be best if you take the rest of the day off to calm down.’
Calm down? Hattie was telling her to calm down? Sarah pulled off her apron and stomped out of the café. Why hadn’t Fran stood up for her? She’d been behaving strangely all week. There had been none of the usual chatter. She’d been withdrawn, quiet, distracted. In all the weeks Sarah had worked at the café, she had never seen Fran make a mistake until this week. One day she put salt instead of sugar into a cake mix, another day she forgot to add the butter. Only yesterday morning, Sarah had walked in to find chicken soup left out of the fridge all night and needing to be thrown away.
Something was going on, but Sarah had no idea what. Weren’t friends supposed to confide in one another? Hattie knew something. Perhaps she knew about Felix’s mystery woman, too? Was there was a web of lies and secrets being shared between everyone but Sarah?
Sarah walked back to her tipi but found she couldn’t settle. Instead, she packed a bag with her phone, purse and water bottle and pulled on her walking boots. Rather than comforting, the forest felt oppressive. She needed to get away for a few hours.
Sarah was two miles along the road to Bodmin when her phone rang. She climbed onto the grass verge and pulled the phone from her pocket.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘I’m calling to say we’re in Bodmin.’
‘What? I thought you weren’t arriving till Monday?’
‘Change of plan. Marjorie saw a great deal on a coach holiday heading down this way, so we snapped up the offer. We’ve come for a long weekend rather than a week, and are staying at a hotel in Bodmin.’
‘You’re staying at the jail hotel?’
‘Good Lord, no. Do you think we’re made of money? No, we’re staying at the one in town, I can’t remember the name. It’s not what you’d call five-star, but it’s clean and comfortable, so will do for a few nights.’
Sarah should have known her mother would do her own thing. Determined not to impose Cynthia on Kate and Bob, Sarah had spent hours scouring the internet for suitable accommodation, sending an extensive selection of B&Bs, apartments, and cottages to her mother. The only place she hadn’t sent was the one her mother and aunt had chosen.What a waste of time, thought Sarah, taking a deep breath as her mother chattered on.
‘Are you free this evening? We’re going to brave one of the local pubs for tea.’
‘I’m coming into Bodmin this afternoon. I should be there by six.’Better to get it over with.
‘Perfect,’ said Cynthia. ‘I’ll text you the name of the place and we’ll see you there.’
By the time Sarah made it to the town centre, her legs were leaden. Sweat glistened on her skin and looking down at her walking clothes, she realised how poorly dressed she was for an evening out. She checked her phone for the name of the pub and found it with ten minutes to spare.
As she walked in to the recently refurbished building, Sarah relaxed. A fire blazed in the hearth despite the warm evening outside. The walls were navy, the woodwork white, lush plants sat in corners and fresh flowers took centre stage on tables. She found herself a table by a window and waited for her mother to arrive.
The pub doors flung open and Cynthia and Marjorie arrived in a haze of lurid colours and overpowering perfume.
‘Sarah!’ yelled Marjorie, flinging herself at her niece and covering her cheek in fuchsia lipstick.
‘Hi, Auntie. How are you?’
‘Never mind her. Come here, pequeno,’ said Cynthia, kissing Sarah on both cheeks to show her newfound European-ness.Has she forgotten she voted for Brexit, Sarah wondered?
‘Nice to see you Mum, you look… um… very tanned.’
Cynthia did a twirl, purple silk flying around her. She didn’t look tanned; she looked orange, and Sarah wondered how much of her tan was natural.
‘The Spanish life suits me, doesn’t it?’ said Cynthia, posing like she was on a magazine shoot. To Sarah, it looked like her mother had gained at least two stones in the time she’d been away, but kept her thoughts to herself.
‘Aren’t you going to order some drinks?’ Marjorie asked Sarah. ‘I’m gasping over here.’
And I’m on minimum wage. ‘Of course. What would you like?’
‘Let’s go wild and get a bottle of champagne. It’s years since the three of us have been together, we should celebrate.’
