Page 12 of A Recipe for Romance in Brambleton

Lauren shook her head. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

‘So, what is it, then?’

Not a confider, generally, Lauren hesitated. She even felt disloyal at the thought of telling Sam what was bothering her, but they’d known each other a while, and she needed to talk to someone.

‘It’s Mum,’ she said. Then, at Sam’s look of concern, quickly added, ‘No, don’t worry, she’s fine. More than fine. It’s just…’ She looked away from Sam, and, for want of something to do, fiddled with the metal spiral of her order pad.

‘Go on,’ Sam said gently. ‘I’m all ears, and the soul of discretion.’

As Lauren haltingly told him, Sam nodded along, until the whole story was out.

‘I don’t know why I’m so worried,’ Lauren admitted. ‘It’s been ages since she had a relapse. I suppose, I don’t know, I feel a bit as though… she’s leaving me behind. Does that make sense?’

Picking up his latte, Sam took a long sip before he spoke. ‘It makes perfect sense, darling. It’s been you and your mum for as long as you can remember, right? I mean, when was the last time you had a holiday on your own?’

‘Um… I can’t remember.’ Lauren could feel the blush on her cheeks before it came. But they’d never had much money for solo trips, and the trips they had been on had been brief and largely UK-based. She wasn’t even sure if she still had an in-date passport.

‘Seriously?’ Sam nearly dropped his mug. ‘Well, if the two of us are still single this time next year, we’re booking a last-minute deal to somewhere sunny and getting the first plane out of Bristol!’

Lauren laughed. ‘It’s a deal.’

‘All joking aside, though, you’ve got to let Myriam do this. You said yourself that this Gary guy is a decent fella and he’ll look after her. Why are you so het up about it?’ Sam’s expression of concern made Lauren stop and think before she answered.

‘I suppose,’ she said softly, ‘I’m worried she doesn’t need me any more.’

‘Oh, darling.’ Sam reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. ‘You’ll always have each other. Try to think of it not that she doesn’t need you, but that, perhaps, after all these years of caring for her, being there when she needed you most, she’s got a chance to be more independent… and so have you.’

‘You always make a lot of sense.’

‘Tell that to my dad,’ Sam said, a trace of bitterness in his tone. ‘He still can’t work out what he’s more ashamed of: the fact I’m gay, or that I make my living writing romance novels!’

‘Well, he needs his head examined,’ Lauren said firmly. ‘You’re brilliant.’

‘Thanks. Now how about another latte by way of a therapy fee? And if you really want me to, I’ll have a go at that sweet potato marshmallow thing you’re trying to sell.’

‘It’s a deal,’ Lauren said. Sam was always a tonic and nearly always spoke good sense. Feeling a whole lot better about the situation, she hurried off to refill his mug.

12

Mindful of Sam’s good counsel and not wanting to rock the boat further with Myriam, who could be mercurial when challenged, especially about her health, Lauren was determined to approach the subject of her mother’s working holiday as positively as she could. That evening, having closed the café and performed the routine checks on the stock, she put one of her staple bakes, a Victoria sponge, into the oven, set the timer and then went to find her mum.

Myriam was still at work in her studio, and as Lauren mounted the stairs, she could hear quiet humming. That was a good sign and meant that work must be going well.

‘Hiya,’ she said brightly as she emerged into the attic. ‘How’s it all going?’

Myriam glanced behind her and gave Lauren a smile. ‘Well. Really well. In fact, I’m determined to finish this one before dinner. It’s a commission for the pub.’

‘Ooh, let’s see,’ Lauren approached her mother’s easel and squinted at the canvas, trying to take it in. A panorama measuring eighteen by thirty-six inches, it was a few seconds before she realised what she was looking at. The background was a combination of dark blue, with black and grey shades interspersed, and there were white and yellowish pinpricks dotted all over it across the canvas. ‘That’s a constellation map, isn’t it?’

Myriam nodded. ‘Paddy emailed me a couple of weeks ago, wondering if I could do a map of the night sky on the day he and Jen took over the pub. I told him I wasn’t sure how successful it would be, but it was a good challenge. I think it’s turned out all right, don’t you?’

‘I think it’s more than all right.’ Lauren gave her mum a careful kiss on the cheek – Myriam was splattered in paint and she didn’t want to spread it down to the rest of the house. ‘It looks beautiful.’

‘Well, you have to say that.’ But the smile on her face told Lauren her mother was pleased.

‘Where did you find the reference photo?’

‘I asked Lorelai Ashcombe if she had any leads – she asked her granddaughter-in-law, Charlotte, who did a search of the archives at the University of North West Wessex and bingo. The original black and white photos from the mid 1990s were a bit blurry, but Paddy was happy for me to create something a little more colourful, and, well, fanciful.’