It had been a long time since she’d felt that way about anyone, the interest along with the hope. A long time since she’d even considered putting herself out there, risking her pride along with her comfort to meet and reach another person.
She would be forty next birthday, after all, and she was rather set in her ways. Relationships at her age were a whole other kettle of fish than when you were in your twenties or even thirties, when you hadn’t become settled in your life, the crow’s feet making their faint prints on your skin, as well as the scars into your soul. When you’d fought for happiness and found it, and inviting someone new in meant risking overturning everything.
Of course, she was getting way ahead of herself now. She barely knew Simon, and his invitation for her to come to this concert might have been no more than the actions of a keen musician, a kindly neighbour, or both. She would be foolish to read anything more into it, and yet…
And yet, she felt something more, and that was enough to make her want to act. Take a risk, even if it was just asking Simon out for a drink. Olivia imagined telling her friends what she’d got up to at their next wine evening and she smiled at the thought.
When the evening had ended, the musicians all took a quick bow before filing out, leaving Olivia to mill around in the back of the church with the other concert-goers, sipping a plastic cup of mulled wine and nibbling a mince pie that definitely was not as good as hers.
She saw a few people she knew, and chatted to Gwyneth Larsen, the dear old lady who bought a box of macaroons from her several times a week. A school mum who had come in several times for coffee wished her a happy Christmas, and Edith Payne, a friend of her mother’s who had afternoon tea twice a week like clockwork, buttonholed her by the drinks table.
“How is Tina, Olivia?” she asked with beady-eyed concern. “I keep meaning to visit her in Witney but they’ve stopped the bus service there and I don’t drive…”
“I’ll take you,” Olivia offered. “I visit her every Sunday.”
“Oh, that would be lovely, dear. I do miss her.”
“I’m sure she’d love to see you.” Perhaps visiting with an old friend would cheer her mum up. Even though Olivia had decided she was overreacting about her mum’s state, she was still worried. Tina definitely hadn’t seemed like herself that afternoon.
“And how are you getting on?” Edith asked, giving Olivia’s elbow a sympathetic squeeze. “Managing that shop all on your own?”
“It’s fine,” Olivia answered, as she always did. “I like it.”
“But you really ought to get some help,” Edith insisted. “You must be there all hours…”
“Yes, but I really do enjoy it.” Olivia had toyed with the idea of part-time help, but she couldn’t really afford it, and what else would she do with her time?
“Still, you could get out more. Join a club in the village…” Edith looked at her hopefully. “We’re always looking for bridge players on a Wednesday afternoon.”
Olivia laughed and shook her head. “I’m not a patch on my mum, I’m afraid.”
Yet as Edith bustled away to chat to someone else she’d seen, leaving Olivia alone, she wondered at her own reluctance to hire help. She could afford it if she really wanted to…and an afternoon off would surely be welcome?
She’d been living in Wychwood-on-Lea for coming on two years and she hadn’t joined any village clubs or societies, hadn’t made any friends besides those at Willoughby Close, and she didn’t, Olivia realised with a pang, really feel as if she belonged in the village, outside of her shop and the people she chatted to on occasion. It was a rather depressing thought, and one that hadn’t actually occurred to her before. She had friends and she was busy; it had felt like enough, until suddenly it didn’t, and she didn’t even know why.
“Olivia.”
Simon’s voice, full of warmth, had her turning, a smile blooming shyly across her face. Never mind that she still didn’t know that many people in the village, here was a man she wanted to know. And judging by the happy look on Simon’s face, he wanted to get to know her, as well.
“Hello—”
“I’m so glad you decided to come. Can I fetch you a drink?” He glanced at her plastic cup. “Another?”
“Oh, well, all right, then,” Olivia practically stammered. She felt like a schoolgirl under Simon’s warm, appreciative gaze. “You were wonderful, by the way. I love the sound of the cello.”
“Thank you.” He looked so pleased she couldn’t keep from smiling, her heart buoyed by happiness through this little exchange. “I’ll be back in a tick,” he added, taking her empty cup. “Don’t move.”
“I won’t,” Olivia promised, and she didn’t, smiling foolishly as Simon made his way to the drinks table and the vat of mulled wine. He’d just filled two glasses when a woman in a swing coat, her wild dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, strode purposefully through the crowd and then right to Simon.
Olivia watched, her smile starting to fade, as she tapped Simon on the shoulder, and then he turned, hurriedly putting down the drinks as the woman enveloped him in a tight embrace.
It wasn’t the usual side-arm hug of congratulations, but an emotional, intimate expression of affection that went on for several prolonged seconds. Olivia could see Simon’s face as he wrapped his arms around the woman, his eyes closed tightly, a look of naked emotion contorting his features. Watching them, she almost felt like a voyeur from across the crowded narthex.
Finally they separated, but even then the woman gripped Simon
