‘I understand things haven’t worked out with Josh, but we can only work with what we can change. We can’t control everything in life and so, in the meantime, I want you to enjoy what you have with Clara. She sounds lovely for you. Why don’t you try to see yourself through her eyes. What does she see in you? She obviously enjoys spending time with you.’
‘She seems to, although I have no idea what she sees in me. Funny, isn’t it? I mean, I’m a great catch. Recovering alcoholic, with a dodgy past. Yeah, I’d definitely fall in love with me.’
As Tom made a joke of it, Pat smiled politely, recognising that humour was a coping mechanism for him.
‘I’m glad she found you and from what you say, she loves being with you. You’re a good man, Tom. It’s time to let the past go now. This is a new chapter in your life.’
‘I’m trying. I’m trying,’ said Tom.
* * *
While Tom grappled with his terrible past, Clara began her preparation for her forthcoming strawberry tea. Since she relished being organised, she made lists and checked that the crockery was all shipshape. Even though she knew she had placed them back in the cupboards safely, she still wanted to ensure everything was present and correct. Then she searched in the pantry for the pretty lace tablecloths she normally laid out on the extra tables she borrowed from Charlie. She smiled to herself as she looked out of the kitchen window and mentally prepared where each table would be placed. She thought how she may have to move some of the croquet wickets this year to make room for the extra two tables she was going to need. She was proud of how much the event had grown over the years and just wished she had a bigger garden to cater for everyone. The past two years had seen waiting lists for tickets to her coveted event.
Clara had always looked forward to her annual summer tea but, this year, she knew it was going to be more special than ever as she entertained with Tom beside her. As she thought of him, she sent him a message thanking him for the evening they had spent together. He read the message right away, but then went offline. She figured he was busy although felt a slight twinge of nerves in her tummy and wondered if he’d enjoyed the evening as much as she had. She hoped he had liked waking up beside her, albeit on the sofa, as much as she did. Even though she knew she shouldn’t let Tom dictate her mood, she felt on edge until finally he responded an hour later.
It was gorgeous, wasn’t it. Thanks for one of the best nights of my life xx.
Relieved, Clara wrote back immediately.
I’m making my special recipe – salmon and broccoli quiche – later. Do you fancy sharing it with me? It’s far too big for one. x
Yes, sounds great xx.
Behaving like a dutiful host, Clara busied herself around the kitchen and then popped out to the garden to snip a handful of her damask roses to fill the glass vase on the dining table. She wanted everything just perfect for tonight and looked forward to how nice it would be for them both to snuggle up on the sofa again. Clara had enjoyed being out and about with Tom, but making him a meal at home was going to be more intimate and that was just how she wanted things.
As the smell of Clara’s freshly baked quiche filled the rectory, she placed a salad she had prepped earlier on the side of the plate and was quite pleased with the first meal she had made for Tom. Didn’t they say the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach? If that was the case then Clara knew she was on to a winner.
She was on cloud nine but, when Tom arrived, he seemed odd. Although he had brought Clara the prettiest bouquet of hand-tied lilies, something was a bit off with him.
The worry of her knowing the truth about Tom was getting too much. How long could he go on before he broke the news to her? Would it be easier to walk away than tell her what terrible things he had done? It was certainly feeling that way. Sitting opposite her at the dining table felt claustrophobic suddenly. It reminded him of the days when Diana would make him a meal on a Saturday night and how terribly he behaved afterwards. He couldn’t even count the number of times he had polished off a bottle of red wine and was no longer hungry by the time she had proudly served him a dinner that had been slow-cooking on her day off. On Tom’s birthday, she had selected the best steaks from the local butcher, sizzled them in the griddle to his liking (rare), only to find Tom slumped at the table as she put the dinner plates down. It was this particular memory that played on his mind as he sat in front of Clara. It felt like déjà vu. He had let Diana down and he worried he would do the same to Clara.
Clara sensed something was bothering Tom as he drifted off again. She was telling him how she had blanched the broccoli when his eyes glazed over. Since Tom was a keen cook himself, she thought it was a perfectly interesting conversation, but she had a feeling that it wasn’t the topic that was the problem. She was determined to break down those walls he sometimes put up, one way or another. Why was it that he would allow her to get so close and then it was as though he pulled back?
After returning to the present, Tom tried his best to appear jolly, but his head wasn’t in the right place, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t think of his usual dad jokes, not even any sort of banal conversation, and he was worried what Clara must be thinking. He excused himself to go to the bathroom, and sat in there for a few moments to gather his thoughts. With his head in his hands, he got angry with himself. Why could he not enjoy this lovely evening? He could see how much effort Clara had put into it, so why was he sat there detached from it all? He hated the thoughts that went through his head and wondered why he couldn’t be like a normal person. How he envied the men he saw walking with their families, and men who could have proper relationships with people. He envied any man who had his life together, as he struggled his way through every single day.
Tom sat in the bathroom with his thoughts for company, as Clara plated up a tart she had made from the rhubarb she grew in the garden. Tom had mentioned previously how he liked a rhubarb tart and Clara was only too pleased to surprise him.
‘How thoughtful you are,’ said Tom when he sat back down at the dinner table and saw his dessert. ‘You are so very lovely.’
Clara was tickled pink with his reaction, blind to the fact that this kind gesture had made Tom feel even worse. It only confirmed to him what a wonderful human Clara was and that, as he had suspected all along, she was definitely far too good for him.
She hoped that Tom would stay late to watch TV with her, maybe even stay over again. However, by 9p.m. he said that he didn’t feel well and he was going to have to head back home.
‘Oh goodness, not my quiche I hope.’
‘No, I assure you it was wonderful. But that does remind me of a joke.’ Tom thought to himself that he must at least try to be jovial as he made his excuses to leave.
‘Oh dear, not one of your jokes.’
‘Now you’re definitely having it. So, did you know that I went to a German food festival and almost died from food poisoning? It was the wurst.’
‘Oh, Tom. I know what you’re having for Christmas. A new joke book.’
Christmas, thought Tom. That was a long way away. He’d talked about the future before but that was the part of him that had hope. It was what he was expected to think about. People were supposed to apply for promotions, save money for a rainy day and book holidays a year in advance. Societal expectations deemed that people should be excited about what lay ahead for them. But, truthfully, how many people only scraped by day by day, let alone planned ahead? Tom didn’t want to plan anything when he didn’t know where he would end up by evening time, let alone next year. Sometimes it felt as though each day bore a new challenge. Would he make it to the end of the day without falling off the wagon? It was never guaranteed, especially now that his demons were starting to make an appearance and he could feel himself unravel. Until he was away from Clara though, he would have to keep up that brave face.
‘Oof, I’m insulted. I thought my jokes were the best,’ mocked Tom.
‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far.’
