Page 4 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

‘I know the one.’ Liz nodded, although not being much of a coffee drinker herself, she’d never been in. Jen had been a coffee fiend, as was Clare, so she always kept the good stuff in. Had a proper machine and everything.

‘I’ll go and get that wine,’ said Noah.

As Liz watched him walk away, her thoughts wandered back to Viv. Holidaymakers and people with second homes liked to be cooked for and Viv had put a lot of work their way.

After Jen died, Liz hadn’t been in a fit state to cater for herself, let alone anyone else, and she’d let Viv down repeatedly. She’d felt guilty, but incapable of doing anything about it. Eighteen months on, Liz was still barely working, and certainly not enough to cover the business’s bills. The only catering jobs she would even consider were small ones for people she knew, in kitchens she’d cooked in before. Viv had been disappointed by Liz’s reluctance to come back to work and a bit bewildered too. No doubt she would take Liz’s lunch out as a sign that things were getting back to normal. As if that was ever going to happen.

A dart of sadness pierced Liz’s heart.

Liz and Jen, Jen and Liz. Inseparable since the age of eighteen. They’d been known as The Gourmet Girls at university because of their infamous supper clubs, to which every student in their circle wanted to be invited. When they’d reunited a decade and a half ago to set up in business together in Salcombe, the name had morphed into The Seaside Gourmet Girls.

It had been the best decision Liz had ever made. Dinner parties, anniversary celebrations, even elaborate beach picnics – Jen’s joie de vivre and ‘nothing is too much trouble’ attitude coupled with Liz’s knack of conjuring up the perfect menu for any occasion had been a winning combination. The Seaside Gourmet Girls had become the ‘go-to’ catering company in the area. Few friendships would have endured a lifetime of so many ups and downs, but theirs had. With Jen gone, Liz’s world would never be the same again.

Deep down, Liz knew that life was a gift which could be taken away at any moment and it was high time she started living again – she owed that to Jen. Knowing it was one thing, doing it was another entirely. For a start, The Seaside Gourmet Girl didn’t have quite the same ring to it. And she was sixty-bloody-two, for heaven’s sake; it had been fun to call themselves girls when there were two of them. Girl – singular – was just … odd.

Her mouth felt dry; she was ready for a drink to settle her nerves, help her relax. Where was that wine? And where was Mike, come to that? Not that she’d expected him to be on time. He’d always been one to underestimate how long things took, like driving from his house in Exeter to Salcombe on a Friday in tourist season. But at least he’d remembered it was Jen’s birthday and, for that alone, he would be forgiven.

By the time Mike arrived, Liz was on her second glass and feeling pleasantly buzzy. Her arms were tingling from being in the sun and she hoped her face hadn’t gone too red.

She heard him talking to the staff in a loud, confident tone and turned to watch him run up the steps to join her. She wasn’t the only one; women shot him sneaky glances when their husbands weren’t looking and she noticed more than one man sit up straighter, pulling in his stomach as Mike passed by. Tall, silver-haired and impeccably dressed in a crisp navy shirt and chinos and a cross-body bag, very trendy. He’d got broader over the years, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been out for an early-morning run before breakfast. He’d always had more energy than anyone else she knew. Mike Marriott, object of a hundred and one crushes and as handsome now as he’d been at university when she and Jen had first met him.

Liz quickly dabbed her upper lip with her napkin to remove any perspiration.

‘Not bad.’ She looked from Mike to her watch. ‘Only ten minutes late.’

‘Sorry, sorry, parking was a bloody nightmare.’ He took off his bag and set it down on the table before kissing her cheek. ‘Have you got an elderflower pressé or something?’ This comment directed to Noah, who’d followed Mike to the table.

‘You’ll have a glass of wine, surely?’ Liz tapped the side of the ice bucket.

Mike shook his head. ‘Better not. Got a packed day, need to keep a clear head.’

Liz swallowed her disappointment; it would have been nice to have a drinking partner for once, she would have felt less … conspicuous.

‘Coming up,’ Noah said. ‘I’ll give you a few minutes to look at the menu.’

‘No need.’ Mike took a seat. ‘I already know what I want. Liz, how about you?’

‘It’s got to be the fish and chips.’ She’d been too caught up in her memories to look at the menu. But the Kings Arms did the best fish and chips; she couldn’t go wrong with that.

‘Sea bass fillets with salad, for me, please,’ said Mike. ‘Dressing served on the side.’

Liz cringed inwardly. Salad and a soft drink. Now she looked like a boozer and a greedy pig.

‘Actually,’ she blurted out, ‘that sounds delicious. I’ll have the same. Thanks.’

When Noah left, Mike reached for her hand across the table and gave it a squeeze.

‘You look well, Liz, really great.’

‘No I don’t, I feel a hundred years old. But thanks for being kind.’ Liz felt herself redden under his scrutiny and picked up her glass to hide behind. ‘You, on the other hand, really do look great.’

‘You’ve got to watch what you eat at our age.’ Mike patted his lean stomach. ‘I’m all low carbs and no eating after six if I can. I feel great for it.’

‘You’ve changed.’ Liz shook her head fondly. ‘I remember you at uni ordering takeaway pizza at night and polishing off the leftovers for breakfast.’

He held her gaze. ‘Of course I’ve changed. Life moves on, our goals shift, and the people we love come and go.’

Liz didn’t feel as if she’d changed. She still loved the ones she’d always loved. Her eyes tingled, a warning sign that tears weren’t far away.