Page 3 of The Seaside Supper Club

‘Hi, sorry I’m a little late, Cath. Hey, guys, hope you’re all fine.’

‘Hi.’ ‘Hey, Will.’ ‘Good to see you, mate.’ Greetings rang out around the kitchen.

Will paused to catch his breath, as though he’d been rushing, then moved towards Cath at the hob, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

‘Woohoo!’ Nikki called out, still delighted with the outcome of the group’s matchmaking.

‘Ah, you’re so cute, you two,’ added Lily, grinning away.

Cath half turned, wooden spoon in hand, finding herself blushing, though more than happy to be wrapped in his brief hug. His aftershave smelt gorgeously woody and citrus fresh. She loved the smell, the feel of him near to her, even in a kitchen filled with friends, she relished those few simple moments of togetherness. ‘Hi.’

She still couldn’t believe her luck. Finding Will again after all these years, and then, rather unbelievably, moving on to form a relationship together.

‘Sorry,’ he began to explain, ‘Sophie was on the phone. A bit upset about something that’s happened at uni. Nothing major, she just needed a sympathetic ear. I didn’t want to cut her off too soon, though.’

‘Ah, it’s no problem.’ Cath knew how important his girls were to him. Sophie, aged twenty-one, was studying law at York University. His elder daughter, Maddie, was an oncology nurse, working and living down in Newcastle. He was a good dad. Cath knew how hard he’d been trying with his two daughters, the three of them navigating their way through a minefield of grief, since losing their mother to pancreatic cancer almost three years ago. ‘I hope she’s okay?’ Cath asked caringly.

‘She will be, I’m sure. And oh, something’s looking good.’ He moved the conversation on.

Cath had to smile, as he was no longer looking at her but gazing down at the huge dish filled with crispy chicken, potatoes, carrots and herby-gravy sauce, now out on the stove top.

‘Chicken à la Cath.’ Years back, she’d kind of made this recipe up, from a mix of roast chicken dinner ingredients, and a splash of wine, all in one dish. As a busy working mum and teacher, it had seemed easier than the faff of cooking all the roast dinner components separately.

‘Looks delicious … I can’t wait.’ He looked rather sexy, excited by her cooking and giving her a cheeky grin.

‘Sounds delightful,’ said Andreas.

‘My tummy’s rumbling already at the scrummy aromas,’ added Nikki.

‘Glass of fizz, mate?’ offered Dan.

‘Yes, please. And can I help with anything?’ Will asked, looking to Cath.

‘Ahm, yes, can you uncork the bottle of white wine that’s chilling in the fridge, please,’ she responded. ‘Then we can take it up with us, as we’ll soon be heading up to the summerhouse.’

‘Perfect.’

And she hoped it all would be. She loved cooking and hosting, but there was always an edge of anxiety just before serving, that the meal would work out well, and the guests would enjoy it.

*

Cath had spent a happy hour this afternoon getting the garden shed back in order, after having shut it down for the winter months. She’d swept it out, dusted high and low – how did those tiny leaves, grains of soil and bits of garden debris find their way in? – and cleaned the glass of the windows and doors. It was all ready for her garden supper with crockery, cutlery, wine glasses and more.

With bowls of nibbles to hand, and each guest now carrying a fresh glass of wine, the fizz savoured and gone, she led them up the garden path (literally!) and the half-dozen stone steps to the pretty sage-colour culinary retreat. The wood-framed glass-panelled doors were left welcomingly open, the sanded-down table all set and mix-and-match chairs – some painted in a dove grey, others a natural faded pine – at the ready. It all looked very much the part for this evening’s supper.

‘Welcome back!’ Cath stood proudly at the entrance. This little garden shed meant so much to them all.

Nikki was first through the open doors. ‘Wow, this looks gorgeous, Cath. Oh, I’ve missed it.’ She beamed.

‘This is soo lush.’ Lily stepped in behind her. ‘One of my fave places.’

Cath had placed sprigs of delicately scented freesias and primroses from her garden into two posy vases, which sat alongside some green-glass tea-light holders on the table, which she now lit, watching them glow and flicker. The wooden shelves had their vintage terracotta pots (basically Reggie’s old ones) filled with fragrant herbs back in place; they’d been nestled on Cath’s kitchen windowsill through the chilly winter months.

And the views from the shed, at this top level of the garden, out and across the rolling green countryside and to the moorland hills beyond, were gorgeous. Dusk would soon be settling, and it was wonderful from up here to watch the colours of the day fade through to cooler blues, then into peach and mauve hues, finally changing to the dark indigo of night-time.

‘Right, well, no need to stand on ceremony, folks. Take a seat. Nibbles, anyone?’ Cath passed around some crispy cheese snacks, purchased earlier from the lads’ shop: delicious bite-sized biscuits made with strong cheese from the dairy at the nearby market town of Kirkton.

‘Cheers, lovely.’ Dan raised his glass.