So much for becoming better acquainted with him, he thought! Even though Tom was affable to all he met, he had never been an expert at small talk.
Tom tried to think of something to say but nothing came to mind. He stood and smiled, nodding his head as he tried to remember who was due to play at Wimbledon this year. Professor Binton soon bid him goodbye, leaving Tom feeling like a spare part as he hung around aimlessly waiting for Clara to finish talking to one of the students. He wondered how he could interrupt the conversation as he was concerned that his loitering was becoming suspicious. During moments like this he felt it would be easier to get close to one of the Rolling Stones at a sold-out concert than the immensely popular Clara at one of her services.
Fortunately, Janet rushed over to Clara with some homemade marmalade and the student wandered off. This gave Tom the ideal opportunity to get to Clara before anyone else beat him to it.
‘Hi, great service... as always.’ Tom cursed himself. He could have thought of something more original than that. Everyone said that to her!
‘Thanks. I’m glad you came, Tom... I wasn’t sure if...’ Clara stopped. She still felt a little guilty for pushing Tom like some kind of hardened journalist looking for a scoop.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ said Tom, with his irresistible smile. Clara wasn’t sure if it was her imagination but his slightly tanned skin seemed to stand out more under the glow of the church lighting. She also noticed how toned his biceps looked in his short sleeves. Each time she looked at him she noticed yet another attractive physical attribute. She couldn’t help but brush her hand against Tom’s arm as he smiled. She wouldn’t dare touch any of the congregation without their permission but, somehow, Tom made her want to push the boundaries. Moreover, he was different to any of the regular churchgoers. He wasn’t any ordinary member of the congregation. Tom and Clara had been on a wonderful date. They practically had history together since one date was the longest relationship she’d had in the last millennium.
‘Well, I’m glad you wouldn’t miss it. Thanks again for earlier. I really enjoyed myself...’
She wanted to say more. Clara didn’t usually beat around the bush and desperately wanted to ask him for another date but, given her track record and his hesitation to talk about things, she thought it better to pull back. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself no matter how much she would love a repeat afternoon with him.
‘You’re welcome. That’s why I was wondering... Umm, if you don’t think I’m too much of a bore and it’s a bit soon, how would you like to go out again sometime? Maybe next week?’
Clara let out a loud laugh and Tom’s tummy did a somersault. He instantly regretted asking. He quickly convinced himself that she did think he was a bore and that she hated every minute with him.
‘You are far from a bore, my dear Tom. In fact, I was hoping you’d ask me.’
‘Really? You were? That’s wonderful, terrific. I mean... Great.’
Tom couldn’t believe his luck. Two dates with this amazing woman! He could almost recreate Tom Cruise’s jump over Oprah Winfrey’s couch right now he was so ecstatic. He decided that it wouldn’t be right though to hop over the pews. He tried to calm his excitement down and steadied himself.
‘Right, then. So... Um, how do you fancy a picnic out at Port Meadow? I’ll make the sandwiches. You don’t need to do a thing.’
‘A man who can organise a picnic. Goodness, don’t tell me you can cook too?’
‘Cook? Wait till you’ve tried my homemade scotch eggs.’
‘Okay, you had me at homemade.’ Clara pretended to faint like some kind of love-struck Jane Austen character, which filled Tom with happiness.
‘I very much look forward to it, Tom.’
‘So do I.’
They had both been so engrossed in their conversation that neither of them had noticed they were the last two to leave chapel. When they finally made their way outside, Clara and Tom were still smiling at each other as they walked in tandem. They said their goodbyes and while Tom turned to walk home, Clara unchained her bicycle from the stand as the bell-ringing from Merton College sounded in the distance.
As she rode home on her ancient blue bicycle, with its trusty wicker basket on the front, pedalling her legs and then swinging them out in the air in joy, Clara felt like a love-struck teenager.
Tom was equally pleased with himself, despite being nervous about opening up the wounds of his past. He reassured himself that it would be okay and was confident that the picnic was the perfect spot for them to both learn more about each other. How much more Clara would learn about Tom was at his discretion, but, before he could even begin to wear his heart on his sleeve, he needed to have a talk with someone else. Someone who knew many of his secrets.
ChapterFive
The thought of a picnic had always delighted Clara since she was a little girl. She had fond memories of sitting by the river with her mum’s homemade fairy cakes that she was only allowed to eat once she had finished the cheese and tomato sandwiches. Whenever she thought of her mum’s picnics, she remembered the scorching hot summers of the Seventies. It was easy to look back with rose-tinted glasses when everything seemed so simple. It was a time when Clara’s days were filled by playing with Eleanora in her paddling pool and getting out a skipping rope during the long school holidays. They didn’t make summers like they used to, although perhaps there was a lot to be grateful for as nobody wanted a repeat of the summer of ’76 with its hosepipe ban and plague of ladybirds. Clara only had vague memories of that summer, but fast-forward to today and she was still just as excited about a picnic.
Even though Tom said he would take care of everything, Clara searched for the wicker Fortnum and Mason picnic basket that she had been saving for this very sort of occasion. After finding it in the larder and brushing off the dust, she lined the basket with a blue-and-white checked cloth and popped a couple of bits in there. Nothing too fancy, she decided, just a bottle of water and two slices of her homemade Victoria sponge. Despite having been up all night making sure it rose to perfection, and smothering it in Janet’s homemade strawberry jam followed by a dollop of cream spread across the base, Clara planned on passing it off as nothing and dismissing it as something she had leftover in her fridge.
She smiled with contentment as she placed the leather strap through the buckle and secured the basket. Then, after pulling her long locks into a messy bun, she admired herself in the mirror as she looked at her modest long black shorts with her bright blue polo shirt. She just wished her bosom wasn’t forcing the top button to its limit. She played with the buttons, unbuttoning it for comfort, but then feeling too self-conscious to leave it open, and quickly buttoned it up again. She threw some sunscreen in her bag and made her way to Port Meadow.
* * *
Tom grinned like a Cheshire cat as Clara pulled up in the car she occasionally used. It made him giggle as she reversed three times to get into the big space, while Clara cringed at her sudden inability to drive. Why on earth could she suddenly no longer park her beloved Mini Cooper? She wished she’d brought the bicycle.
‘Does Tom have to watch me park?’ Clara complained to herself.
Eventually, safely in her space, she grabbed her picnic basket and made her way towards Tom who was waiting with a big picnic hamper and an even larger tartan blanket.
