The Widows’ Club. Amanda Brooke
was a spark between them that couldn’t be contained. Tara had grown up in Hale and, after coming top of her class at catering college, she had turned up at Mike’s café one day looking for a job. Her plan was to save enough money to move to Paris where she intended to perfect her craft, but it wasn’t long before Tara had created a successful sideline for Mike by selling her cakes. They worked side by side and with the days so long, it made sense for her to crash out in his spare bedroom above the café. She never did make it to Paris.
Looking around at the transformation, she hoped Mike would approve of how she had used the money he had left her. Of one thing she was certain, he would approve of Iain. In those last days before cancer stole her husband from her, Mike had made it very clear that he wanted Tara to find someone else. If anything, he would ask why it had taken her so long.
Drawn to the window, Tara looked out across the small car park that served Ivy Farm Court; a parade of shops of which Tee’s Cakes was one of eight units. She could see the entrance to Hale Primary School on the opposite side of the road where Lily would join Molly once the house move was complete. The main road continued up towards the park and the Childe of Hale pub where it hit a sharp bend at the war memorial, which formed its own little island between the lanes.
In the aftermath of Mike’s death, Tara had often pictured the regiments of war widows standing before the sandstone cross to remember the husbands who hadn’t made it home. She had imagined them drawing comfort from each other and, longing for something similar, she had created the Widows’ Club with Justine’s help. It was her way to reach out to others, and she had taken far more from it than she could ever hope to give. She was yet to decide if she had given enough.
As Tara stared off into space, her mind unable to form a clear vision of the future, she didn’t register the flash of Faith’s white Range Rover until her friend pulled up directly in front of the shop. Tara unlocked the door and beckoned her inside.
Faith had dropped into Tara’s life three years earlier when she had visited the shop to pick up a large order of French pastries. This was in the days before Iain had used his Internet wizardry to establish Tara’s online business, and when Faith had explained that the cakes were a thank-you gesture to colleagues who had supported her after the loss of her husband the year before, Tara had hooked Faith in. She was good at that.
‘You look nice,’ Faith said with more generosity than was entirely deserving of Tara’s current ensemble.
Having a job that required crawling out of bed at an ungodly hour, Tara had grabbed random items of clothing from her wardrobe in near darkness and only as the sun rose did she notice that the mustard yellow swing skirt clashed brazenly with the pink checks of her vintage blouse. Her customers were used to her eccentricities, but she wished she had tried harder today as Faith slipped off her bright yellow rain jacket.
‘And you look stunning,’ she said as she admired Faith’s dove grey cashmere jumper paired with black cigarette pants. At forty-six, Faith maintained a seemingly effortless beauty. With penetrating grey eyes and a flawless complexion, her make-up was understated and she had caught up her tousled blonde hair into a messy ponytail that left stray curls to frame her face perfectly. This was Faith’s idea of casual. ‘Make yourself comfortable and I’ll sort the coffee. Do you fancy a slice of cake?’
‘Why else would I be here?’
Five minutes later, Tara set down two cups of coffee, one opera cake, and three plates and forks.
‘Please don’t say Justine’s joining us!’
‘I wouldn’t do that to you,’ Tara said, only to feel a pang of guilt. Justine had been there for Tara long before Faith dazzled her way into her life. ‘I wouldn’t do it to Justine either.’
Faith pulled a face: the clash of personalities was felt on both sides. ‘So how was the meeting the other week? Did I miss anything? Was there lots of blubbing?’
‘It was a good session and I think our new members are going to fit in well. You should have been there,’ Tara said pointedly as she served up a slice of cake for each of them.
‘It was probably safer that I wasn’t. We’ll be running out of space if you recruit any more.’
‘The numbers are fine.’ Tara played with the cake on her plate, carefully separating the intricate layers of coffee-soaked almond sponge, ganache and buttercream. She didn’t look up when she added, ‘Iain wasn’t there either.’
Faith cocked her head. ‘And was that a problem?’
‘It did raise a question in the group about whether he was thinking of leaving. We have talked about it, and, while Iain’s not going to make a firm decision just yet, he’s doesn’t need the group like he did before. He wants to focus fully on the future.’
‘Easier said than done.’
‘I’m not suggesting we airbrush out the past,’ Tara said, suddenly aware of the strong aroma of coffee that was a stark contrast to the smell of sizzling bacon she associated with Mike’s café. She had held on to the life insurance money for almost three years before plucking up the courage to have the place remodelled. The café’s reincarnation had a distinct French vibe, but Tara had ensured there was a place for treasured mementoes too, including Mike’s chef’s cap pressed flat inside a frame on the wall behind the counter. ‘But Iain and I have each other now, and if there are any issues to face, we should deal with them as a couple.’
Faith’s cup was halfway to her lips. ‘You make it sound like you want to leave too.’
Tara didn’t answer immediately. ‘Funnily enough, that was something else the group picked up on.’
‘Anyone in particular?’ Faith asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘I bet Justine would love it if you left. I keep telling you, she doesn’t like being overshadowed. She must be champing at the bit to run the group on her own.’
Tara refused to entertain the idea that there were cracks developing in her friendship with Justine. It was true that, occasionally, it felt like there was an element of competition when it came to opening and closing the meetings, but Justine admitted herself that Tara was more natural when it came to leading the discussion. ‘She was as concerned as the rest of the group that I might consider leaving,’ Tara insisted. ‘And if I did go, I’d make sure there was someone else to pick up the slack.’
Faith had managed to take a sip of her coffee this time, and she spluttered. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting me?’
Tara laughed. As good as Faith would be at controlling the group, they could all agree that she and Justine would not make the ideal partnership. ‘It doesn’t have to be you. Steve or Nadiya might be willing.’
‘Justine wouldn’t work with any of us. She might say the right things, but she’d push us out eventually.’ Faith leant forward when she added, ‘It’s what she’s doing now with you. You just don’t see it.’
‘I’m not leaving ye—’
‘Good,’ Faith said before Tara could add the caveat. ‘You keep chairing the meetings and Justine can carry on as the bean counter. Speaking of which …’ She took an envelope from her handbag and slid it across the table. ‘Here’s my balance for the Christmas party.’
Tara wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ll take it on the condition you tell Justine I’ve given you a receipt. She’s become obsessed with keeping the accounts squeaky clean since finding out one of our new members is an auditor. Like April could care less.’
‘I like the sound of April already.’
‘That’s good because she’s on her way over. The extra plate is for her,’ Tara said, watching for Faith’s expression. She didn’t disappoint.
‘And you call yourself a friend? Why are you doing this to me, Tara? She’s going to cry, isn’t she?’
‘Quite possibly,’ Tara said and went on to explain April’s nightmarish discovery of her husband’s body.