‘I actually have something of yours, from school,’ he said, not looking her in the eye.
‘What?’ Rachel felt nervous at what was to come.
‘My mum bought it from the art exhibition they had; you put in a drawing of a wedding cake. She loved it, said it was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. We didn’t have much art at home but she loved that. Got a frame from Chippenham and had it on the wall of her bedroom. She said she could always see something new in it every time she looked at it.’
Rachel gasped at the memory of the drawing. She had not thought about it since she left school. There were a few pieces bought by parents but Mother told her no one wanted her piece, and she had already left by the time the exhibition was on. She never knew what happened to it, but she remembered drawing it now.
A painstaking drawing of a six-tiered wedding cake, each tier the theme of a love story. The couple meeting in a park with their dogs.
Their first date at a movie, a dinner and a dance, then the proposal and finally topped with the wedding.
She had hand-drawn it in ink and then filled it with watercolours. To know Joe still had it on his family home wall was astonishing.
‘That’s amazing your mum loved it so much,’ she said, feeling shy.
‘We all love it, me and Alice, my sister.’
‘I remember Alice,’ said Rachel. ‘How is she?’
‘Looking for a part-time job over the holidays, so if you need any help, she’s great with change and friendly with customers.’
‘That would be perfect. Can she come by tomorrow?’ asked Rachel.
Imagining her mother having a pink fit at Rachel hiring someone made her smile. The phone rang just then. Rachel picked it up and cheerily answered.
‘Merryknowe Bakery and Tearooms, can I help you?’
‘Is this Rachel Brown?’ asked the person on the other end of phone. She could hear the sound of a tannoy announcing a Code Blue in Ward 3 South, and cold water ran through her veins.
Rachel knew who it was as soon as they asked.
‘No, she’s busy in the bakery – I work with her. Can I take a message?’
‘Can you tell her that her mother is hoping she will come and see her soon and that she needs a few things from home?’
‘I will,’ lied Rachel and she hung up the phone.
Joe looked at her, his brow furrowed. ‘Who were they after? I thought you were the only one here?’
Rachel paused. ‘Someone for Mum, and I didn’t want to have to explain.’
Joe nodded, seemingly in understanding.
‘See you tomorrow when I drop Alice off?’
She nodded, waved goodbye to him and pushed her mother from her mind.
It had been over a week since the accident and Rachel had never felt happier. The bakery had new cakes every day, and people in the village even asked her what she had planned for the day, so they could get in quick for the jam-filled sponges and hummingbird cakes.
Joe had brought her rabbit and chicken and beef, which she had turned into wonderful pies. She had paid him on time, which he was very grateful for as apparently her mother had always quibbled over the bills and then paid late.
But Rachel would never pay late. She would never do anything her mother had done. It was now her life purpose to not be anything like her mother.
Instead she wanted to be like Clara. Clara with her chic haircut and easy laughter. Maybe she would get her hair cut today. She had the money and she could borrow Mother’s car. She hadn’t driven it often but she knew how and thought she would probably be more confident without Mother criticising her constantly from the passenger seat.
Rachel looked up the name of a hairdresser in the next village. She didn’t want to go to one she knew Mother had visited. Instead she chose one with a European-sounding name that she knew would be too expensive for Mother to attend, and besides, she didn’t like anything that she couldn’t pronounce, which is why she refused to allow Rachel to make any French pastries.
But today Rachel had made millefeuille with raspberries and a dusting of chocolate and they had sold faster than any of the other items on the shelf, and she had put up the price.
Tomorrow she was planning on making nonnettes, a French gingerbread, to go with the coffee she had ordered, and she would make it a spiced combination for the coming of autumn in a few weeks.
Rachel finished the afternoon and considered her transport options again. She had a driving licence but Mother rarely let her drive, insisting she was too stupid to understand the road rules. But it was too far to ride her bicycle, and besides, what was the point of having a driving licence and car and not using them?
Rachel made her decision and carefully drove the car out of the garage, checking both ways before she turned onto the road. She had the day’s takings in her purse and she was ready for a new-look Rachel.
Driving carefully and exactly on the speed limit to Chippenham, she even managed to parallel park outside the salon, something Mother told her she wouldn’t be able to do successfully. But she had done it easily for her driving test; she just couldn’t seem to do it when she was in the car with her. Mother made her nervous whenever she tried anything, from driving to baking new cake recipes, to wearing brightly coloured jumpers.
Rachel stood outside and looked at the salon, all white and crisp with elegant writing on the window reading Belle de Coiffeur.
She was ready for the new Rachel and she took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the shop.
The salon was warm and busy with a girl
