‘Wow, how much food can you fit in there? We’re definitely not going to go hungry, Tom.’
‘I didn’t know what you’d like, so I brought a bit of everything. Picky bits, mostly.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’
From the short time she had known him, Clara had already noticed how he was always the consummate gentleman who seemed to get things right. Her initial impression was how he was practically perfect and it was the first time she had ever met anyone like him.
As Tom leaned in to kiss Clara’s cheek politely, he noticed her picnic basket.
‘Oh, you brought some stuff too. You didn’t have to bring anything. It’s my treat today. I hope you haven’t gone to any trouble.’
‘No, not at all. Just some treats.’ She’d considered leaving her basket at home, but she had to turn up with something. She hated going anywhere empty-handed – even an invite for a picnic.
Tom promised that he knew of somewhere to sit and led Clara there, passing the bridge where wild swimmers were jumping off to cool in the river. Clara was sorry she didn’t bring her bathers with her; she was already hot and they hadn’t reached their picnic spot. Two little girls in pigtails played hopscotch to the side of them, and memories of those summers with Eleanora doing the same thing came flooding back. She thought how she must introduce Eleanora to Tom if things continued well.
They passed a protective mother duck leading her brood of ducklings along the river, while ponies happily grazed on the bank beside. Clara loved this part of Oxford where people and nature came together in harmony.
After a ten-minute walk, Tom slowed down and pointed to a patch of grass that was shaded by a huge oak tree.
‘Would this be okay for you?’
Clara loved the way he considered what she wanted and how he didn’t simply plonk himself down without any regard for her.
‘It’s absolutely perfect,’ she said, admiring the pretty canal boat that was moored in front of them.
Although the area was busy at this time of year, Tom knew he would find somewhere quiet so that they could talk, and that’s exactly what he had been looking for. He laid out the picnic blanket for them and started emptying his basket.
Tom wasn’t wrong about his homemade scotch eggs. They looked divine and Clara couldn’t wait to try one. Tom really had thought of everything with the salmon and cucumber sandwiches, pork pies, mini quiches, sausages and cold meat selection. He had even prepared his own lemonade. A man who made fresh lemonade was just too good to be true, thought Clara. She doubted Eleanora had ever met anyone of this calibre on those dodgy dating sites she frequented.
‘Oh my. You have gone above and beyond. This is just the most wonderful picnic ever. All my favourite things. How on earth did you guess?’
‘It’s just the food I like. We seem similar so... Lucky guess.’ Tom smiled. He had carefully planned the afternoon to perfection. After all, he had to do something to make up for what he was concealing.
Clara emptied her hamper onto the picnic blanket, thinking that he might be impressed with the Victoria sponge.
Tom loved nothing more than a slab of homemade Victoria sponge and he smiled at Clara as he thought how compatible they were.
He even thought that this might be the right time to drop in some hints about his past. It was a bit earlier on than he had planned, but when he spoke to his friend and mentor Pat last night, he insisted that he should come clean from the outset. He repeated his words in his head.
‘Maybe you should tell her straight away. She might understand more than you think. You need to practise that self-forgiveness I’ve told you about. It’s time to build relationships and forget about your past. You can’t keep torturing yourself for the things you’ve done. Life’s too short for regrets; what’s done is done.’
He had almost been in tears when he had spoken to Pat. He wondered how he could have messed up his life so spectacularly. He deserved everything he got. His karma was to live with all that he had done.
After all, it was so heinous that he felt he should never be forgiven until the day he died. No matter how hard he tried to put things right he had done irreparable damage to everyone around him. Even his own flesh and blood. His long-suffering wife Diana had every right to walk out on him and into the arms of another, more deserving man. Tom thought of the flashbacks that taunted him. Sometimes it felt as though he was watching someone else’s life. Surely, he wouldn’t have done such terrible things.
Getting close to Clara was still a risk. She was a fantastic lady who deserved someone worthy of her. Perhaps he should explain. He took a deep breath. It was now or never.
‘Is that a rabbit?’ asked Clara as she spotted a fluffy creature hopping in the distance.
‘What? Um, where?’
‘Just there.’
‘I think that might be a hare.’
‘Ah yes, they’re faster, aren’t they,’ she said as the hare quickly went out of sight. ‘How delightful though. Isn’t this lovely? A glorious picnic on a glorious day, with a glorious gentleman. I must say my thanks to God. I think we need our soundtrack again. This really is a perfect day. Every time I see you, it’s as though the sun shines down on us,’ said Clara picking up a pork pie.
Tom studied Clara’s innocent face. The sun was reflecting down on the freckles across her button nose and her cheeks were rosy from all the laughter. How could he possibly change the mood? He decided that maybe now wasn’t the right time to tell Clara anything, despite what Pat had suggested. For once, he was going to enjoy the moment instead of thinking about what he should be doing. After all, it was only their second date and it was far too lovely to spoil. So, instead, he picked up the slab of Victoria sponge and devoured it, complimenting Clara on her excellent baking skills after she finally admitted to being up late baking it.
