Page 10 of A Recipe for Romance in Brambleton

Lauren’s heart started to speed up. ‘Gary’s going with you? But hasn’t he got a gallery to run?’

‘He’s going to take a fortnight off.’ Myriam began to toy with the salt cellar on the kitchen table, and when she looked back up at Lauren, there was an expression of yearning in her eyes. ‘We’ve been talking a lot recently – you know, through FaceTime, and on the phone. I’m beginning to realise that I probably should have paid more attention to his signals all those years ago. He’s lonely, you see. He never married, poured all his love and attention into the gallery. When he sold one of my old pieces, it made him want to look me up for more than just old times’ sake.’ Her eyes started to shine. ‘I know it’s daft, but I feel as though you and I missed out on so much after my accident. You spent so many years close to home, looking after me, when you should have been spreading your wings. I ended up settling into this cosy life of ours, narrowing my own horizons, too. I think it’s about time we were both more adventurous, don’t you?’

‘Are you saying you don’t like what we’ve got?’ Lauren’s own eyes stung at her interpretation of what her mother was saying. ‘Am I – is the café – not enough for you?’

Myriam smiled sadly. ‘Of course it is, my darling. And you are so much better, so much more, than I ever could have dreamed you would be. But I can’t spend the rest of my life being afraid of striking out, of trying new things. We haven’t had a holiday, either of us, for years. Now I’m being given an opportunity to go somewhere new, and get paid for it, with someone who’ll ensure I’m safe and looked after. Can you see why I want to do it?’

‘And Gary’s fully aware of your condition?’ Lauren was trying to focus on the facts as much as she could.

‘Lauren, he was one of the people who gave me the confidence, after it had happened, to try to paint again. He knows exactly what I’m dealing with. And…’ Myriam squeezed Lauren’s hand ‘…he wants to help. He wants to be a part of my life.’

‘Well then,’ Lauren injected a note of brightness that she still didn’t feel into her voice. ‘It seems as though you’ve got it all sorted out. No need to talk about it with little old me any more, is there?’ Knowing she was being childish but finding it difficult to rail back from the roiling hurt she felt at her mother presenting this new situation as a fait accompli made her rise from the table. ‘I’d better go over the fridge stock in the café. I forgot to do it before I closed up last night. And then I think I’ll go for a walk.’

‘Lauren…’ Myriam stood up from the table, too, and for the first time, Lauren noticed how much straighter she was standing. She had a glow about her, too. She looked healthy, and happy.

‘I’ll see you later.’ Relenting a little, Lauren leaned over and hugged her mother. ‘I’m pleased for you, Mum. Really. I’m just, you know, worried, too.’

‘I know. And I can understand that. But you have to let me make my own decisions sometimes.’

Lauren nodded. Quickly, she reached for her coat and hurried out of the back door of the maisonette. She’d fibbed about the food in the café’s fridge: the only thing that was going out of date had been the double cream, but her mother didn’t need to know that. She needed to get out and blow away the cobwebs and the unwelcome worries that the conversation with her mother had provoked. Shrugging into her coat and wrapping her long green scarf around her neck, she briskly set out for the lake.

10

The low winter sun was forcing its way through the cloud when Lauren reached the footpath that led around the perimeter of Willowmere Lake. It was a route she knew well, but in the bleakness of a winter’s afternoon, it held far fewer charms than during the hazy days of summer. The beech and sycamore trees that picked out the diameter of the lake like second markers on a clock face were bare, the last of their leaves lying in rust-coloured piles. The grass that bordered the footpath, slow growing in winter, looked grey and tired, and the lake itself wasn’t much brighter. When the sky was clear and the sun set in winter the views could be spectacular, turning the lake a warm orange and red before it faded, but today, shrouded in low cloud and a rolling mist, the landscape was dull and unwelcoming.

Lauren didn’t mind; it felt like a reflection of her own mood. She’d walked off her initial shock, and was now mulling over the conversation with Myriam, trying to make sense of it all. She couldn’t blame her mother for wanting to branch out: they’d both got very comfortable in their way of life over the years. It had been just the two of them for as long as Lauren could remember. She’d had the odd boyfriend, but nothing had ever felt permanent. Still, she was happy with her cosy little rut.

Little rut? Was that what she thought of her life? Feeling guilty about thinking that way about her beloved café and the mother she adored, Lauren gave her head a shake. Just because Myriam wanted to go on a working holiday without her, it didn’t mean she was being abandoned. Lauren upped her pace as she reached the first quarter marker of the path. If she was going to get all the way around the lake before it rained, she’d better get a move on.

Myriam had battled long and hard to get to a point where she could begin to regain some independence. Lauren remembered the long hours of physiotherapy, which turned into weeks, months and years of rehabilitation. With a stab of pain, she recalled witnessing her mother’s frustration at being unable to perform the simplest tasks with hands that just wouldn’t do what she wanted them to do. Myriam had always tried to put a brave face on it, especially when Lauren had been younger, but Lauren had often caught her mother brushing away angry tears at being unable to tie shoelaces, sign her name without her handwriting becoming shaky, and completely unable to recapture her previous blazing ability to paint.

Over the years, and with plenty of exhausting commitment, Myriam had regained most of her former skills and painting, especially, had become a passion once again as well as her therapy. Lauren was proud of her mother for taking the leap and keeping in touch with the gallery and her delight when Gary had accepted a couple of her more recent works to show alongside her earlier projects. Naïvely, and perhaps unfairly to Myriam, Lauren had just assumed that Gary was being charitable – taking her mother’s work for old times’ sake. As she walked, she felt an unpleasant glow of shame playing about her cheeks at the realisation that she may well have been selling her mother short. If Gary had organised this commission on the river cruise for Myriam, that showed he still had faith in her talent and ability as an artist. Perhaps it was time for Lauren to do the same.

She was over halfway round the lake by the time she came to these conclusions. Up ahead of her, she could see a tall figure wrapped in an overcoat, and even further ahead, the fuzzy silhouettes of two children. As she drew closer, she could hear the two kids calling back, ‘Daddy!’ She gave a smile. It was lovely to see the youngsters energised by the nature around them. She’d been the same as a kid, growing up at the foot of the north-east Manchester moors. She and her mother had spent many happy hours traversing the foothills of Saddleworth Moor. The bleakness of the landscape had inspired some of her mother’s early work and had become somewhere the two of them could switch off from stress and just appreciate the countryside. When they’d moved down to Somerset, Myriam had looked for somewhere that felt aligned to the northern moors they both loved so much and although the Mendips and the Quantocks, both within striking distance of Lower Brambleton, had a softer, more undulating presence, both of them had grown to love the green rolling hills of the Somerset landscape.

As Lauren closed the gap between herself and the three people ahead of her, she recognised the voice of the man who was calling to the two children: Marc Hathaway. Realising she was gaining ground on them, she shook away the last of her gloomy thoughts and smiled.

‘Hello,’ she said brightly when she was about ten feet away from them so that her presence wouldn’t make any of them jump. ‘Lovely day for a walk.’ She raised a hand as if she was checking for rain.

Marc glanced over his shoulder blankly but then smiled in recognition. Lauren noticed what a lovely smile he had, and how the prominent crows’ feet around his eyes grew deeper but softened his expression. The chilly winter air had brought colour to his cheeks and in the rays of sun struggling through the dense cloud, the grey streaks in his hair caught the light.

‘Well, I need to do something to make sure that these two sleep well tonight!’ Marc replied. ‘I made the mistake of trying to replicate that wonderful hot chocolate that we had at your café, but I think I went slightly overboard on the sugar and marshmallows and they’ve been bouncing off the walls ever since.’

Lauren giggled. ‘If you like, I can write down the recipe for you and that way you can judge how much sugar is too much with a little more accuracy.’

To her surprise, Marc joined in her laughter. ‘I think that would definitely be a safer option than the concoction that I fed them.’

Right on cue, both boys bounded up. ‘Look at what I found!’ One of them, Lauren wasn’t quite sure which, proudly presented Marc with an enormous pine cone.

‘He didn’t find it, I did!’ the other boy protested but was quietened with a silencing glare from his brother.

Marc glanced at Lauren and gave her a conspiratorial grin. ‘Well, whoever found it, you both did a great job bringing it to us.’ He accepted the pine cone and turned it over in his hands. ‘This is in really good condition. Perhaps we could put it by the fire and dry it out.’

‘And if you’ve got any glitter or paint at home, you could always decorate it and put it on your Christmas tree,’ Lauren added. ‘I made a lot of those when I was younger. I think I’ve still got some tucked away somewhere.’

‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ Marc gave the pine cone back to the boy who had handed it to him. ‘I’ll get on Amazon Prime later and see if I can order some art supplies.’

One of the boys beamed. The other looked a little crestfallen. Marc seemed immediately to pick up on this. ‘Don’t worry, Luca, I’m sure there’s plenty more where this came from. Shall we see if we can have a look before we go home?’