The Little Village Bakery: A feel good romantic comedy with plenty of cake (Honeybourne Book 1) (8 page)

The boy stopped grinning and tried to look repentant as Spencer continued.

‘So, we’ll continue up to the path around the stones. When we get there,
don’t
go beyond the barrier keeping them safe!’

He began to walk again and the group trekked after him. Jasmine kept a close eye out for stragglers as they followed, while Millie was mesmerised by the circle that grew closer with every step. She’d always felt a deep connection to the spiritual side of life, and it was a part of her that defied explanation, though it was there all the same. Whenever she was faced with a sight like this, it overwhelmed her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a tug on her sleeve. She looked down to see that Rebecca was gazing up at her. ‘Can I walk with you, Miss?’

Millie was a little taken aback by the request. She glanced up at Jasmine, who simply smiled. ‘Of course, but you don’t have to call me Miss.’

‘But we’re at school. We have to call all the grown-ups Miss or Sir.’

‘Well…’ Millie leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘When nobody’s listening just call me Millie and it will be our little secret.’

Rebecca giggled. Rachel, who was a few steps in front, whipped her head around. As soon as she noticed her sister slip an arm through Millie’s, she shot back to join them, linking her own through Millie’s other one.

‘It looks like you have a fan club,’ Jasmine observed. ‘Don’t worry – when you’re a mother you quickly come to accept that just about everyone is more interesting than you.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ said Millie, laughing self-consciously.

‘We still love you, Mum…’ Rebecca said awkwardly. ‘We just thought we’d walk with Miss – Millie – today. She doesn’t have any children to keep her company usually.’

Millie had never considered herself the maternal type, but she couldn’t deny the warm feeling it gave her to have a child on either side showing her such pure and honest affection, untainted by desires or ulterior motives. If only the rest of her relationships could be this simple and rewarding.

M
illie sat nursing
a warm cup of chocolate. Things had progressed significantly in the bakery in a little under a week; she now had a rudimentary electricity supply from a generator to tide her over until the rewiring was done, along with a water supply. Her paltry savings had taken a bashing, she reflected ruefully, but at least she could now boil the kettle. A little more furniture had also been unpacked and, compared to the first few nights, her home felt like a five-star hotel. She was in the cosy back room behind the ovens and shop floor, which she had turned into makeshift living space. She didn’t imagine it would be very practical once the bakery was functional, and she would probably have to rethink the living quarters, but for now it felt cosy and just, well, right.

The day trip with the school to Stonehenge had been more enjoyable than she had imagined. She had never considered herself to have a natural affinity with children, and spending the day with a group of them had been a scary prospect. But she had found them all fascinating and delightful; their curiosity and wonder at everything they were shown was infectious. And it helped that Spencer was so brilliant with them. He was patient and gentle, but never a pushover, and Millie mused that if she’d had teachers like him at school, she might have achieved much more, academically, than she had done – maybe even gone on to higher education.

After they had returned from school and Jasmine had dropped off her brood with Rich, she and Spencer had taken Millie to the Dog and Hare for a well-earned drink and a pub tea, where they had discussed how the plans to get the bakery fixed up were progressing. Since their Sunday lunch, Jasmine had been full of ideas – pages and pages of them that she had showed Millie at every opportunity. Some were genius, some a logistical nightmare, and some downright silly, but they had thoroughly discussed every one in earnest tones no matter how improbable they seemed at first. The ritual was binding their friendship a little tighter each time. Millie was beginning to feel that she had found her rock, someone she could rely on in life. After all, it wasn’t like she had a man to take that title, and the way she had messed up in the past, it wasn’t likely she was going to get one any time soon.

There was a tap at the front door. It wasn’t particularly late, but the sun was sinking and being alone in her ramshackle home made her feel more edgy than usual, acutely aware of just how easy the place would be to break into and how little she could do to defend it or herself.

Before she’d even managed to leave her chair, there was a second, more insistent knock. Millie pushed herself up, now wondering whether there was some sort of emergency. But then Ruth Evans’s faint voice calling through the letterbox made Millie break into a wry smile.

‘It’s only me, dear. Just came to see if you needed anything.’

Ruth already knew that Millie now had electricity and water, but still insisted on calling round to see whether she could make her more tea, or offer warm water for a wash, or some other kindness. Millie politely declined and tactfully pointed out each time that she could now do those things for herself, but she understood that Ruth was only making excuses to seek company.

‘Give me a second, Ruth,’ Millie called as she snatched the front door keys from a hook on the wall.

The door opened with a creak.

‘I’m alright, Ruth, thank you.’

‘Oh…’ Ruth looked up at her expectantly.

Millie sighed. ‘But would you like to come in?’

‘Oh, well, I could just stay for ten minutes or so.’ Ruth tottered over the threshold as Millie stepped back to let her in.

‘Come through to the back room,’ Millie offered, leading the way. ‘It’s much cosier in there now I have armchairs.’

‘Oh, you do have it nice now,’ Ruth agreed as she ran an approving gaze over the place. Millie had lit candles so that despite the fading, dusty décor the room looked warm and inviting. Two plump armchairs dominated the space, arty knick-knacks lined the ancient stone mantelshelf over an unlit open fire and a jug of fresh wildflowers gave the room a subtle scent. It was easy to imagine that this was how the room must have looked all those hundreds of years ago when the bakery had first been built.

Ruth eased herself into one of the armchairs, a slight frown crossing her expression as she did so.

‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’ Millie asked. ‘Return the favour for all the ones you’ve made me?’

‘That would be lovely,’ Ruth said. ‘Milk, one sugar please.’

‘It’s been another beautiful day.’ Millie went over to the kettle sitting on an upturned crate in the corner of the room and flicked it on. ‘I’ve been up to Stonehenge today with the school trip.’

‘I wondered where you were. I called this afternoon… Just to see if you needed anything, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Millie smiled as she sat on the remaining armchair. ‘It’s very nice of you to keep checking.’

‘Just doing my neighbourly duty.’

‘And how are you?’ Millie bit her lip. The question was out before she had thought it through. It was a socially conditioned thing.

Ruth pulled a suitably martyred expression. ‘I wish I could say that I’m well, but really I’m not.’

‘Oh…’

Ruth massaged her knuckles in a slow movement. ‘I think we’ve a storm heading in.’

Millie nodded uncertainly, wondering what this sudden observation on the weather had to do with Ruth’s health. ‘I suppose we’ve had such a long, hot spell, it must be due to break soon.’

‘Very soon, if my joints are anything to go by.’

‘Your arthritis?’ Millie said, understanding illuminating her features. ‘It’s giving you trouble today?’

Ruth nodded. ‘When I was young my grandmother was plagued with it. I used to think she was exaggerating when she complained. If you’ve never suffered, you can’t imagine how miserable it makes you – the constant pain, gnawing away at you, no rest, no comfort…’

Millie stared at her. Her neighbour had always seemed so bullish, so full of spark. Now that Millie looked closely, Ruth seemed very old and fragile. Millie found herself seized with a sudden melancholy.

‘Ruth,’ she said, ‘have you ever been married?’

For a moment, Ruth seemed surprised at the question. But then a quiet look of pleasure crossed her expression.

‘There was a man once,’ she said. ‘We were engaged.’

‘But you never married him?’

‘He joined the navy. Promised to come back and marry me when he was earning a decent wage.’

‘What happened?’

‘He drowned. Out at sea.’

Millie clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh God!’

Ruth smiled sadly. ‘It was a long time ago now.’

‘And you never found anyone else?’

‘No one who compared to my Alf.’

‘So you’ve always lived alone… Nobody to take care of you?’

‘Oh… I don’t need taking care of, I’m perfectly capable.’

‘Don’t you get lonely?’

‘With this whole village to talk to?’ Ruth forced a laugh, but Millie wasn’t fooled by her bravado. ‘How could I be lonely in Honeybourne?’

Millie fell to brooding. Perhaps she and Ruth were more alike than she realised. Perhaps, if Millie didn’t pull herself out of this destructive spiral of guilt and regret and get on with her life, she would become like Ruth – a sad, lonely old lady dependent on the fleeting kindness of strangers. It was an odd and slightly terrifying epiphany.

The kettle clicked off. Millie shook herself, hastily rubbing at her eyes as she got up. ‘I’ll just get you that cup of tea.’

The room fell silent as Millie busied herself, an unspoken tension suddenly in the air. Something had happened in that room and their relationship had changed.

Millie brought a steaming mug over and handed it carefully to Ruth.

‘Thank you.’ Ruth gave a brief smile as she took it from her. ‘If you have a quick look in my bag,’ she said, nodding to a huge shopper at her feet, ‘you’ll find a hip flask. I think I could do with a tot of something tonight.’

Millie nodded and rifled around in the bag until she found the small steel bottle. Unscrewing the lid, she sniffed the contents. ‘Whisky?’

Ruth held out her mug with a wink. ‘Just the thing to chase away the blues.’

Millie poured a slug into the old lady’s tea.

‘Have some yourself,’ Ruth added.

‘I don’t think—’

‘Nonsense,’ Ruth insisted. ‘A little bit of whisky never hurt anyone. Thins your blood, don’t you know.’

Millie hesitated, and then smiled. ‘I could have a drop in my hot chocolate.’

‘Best in a lovely cup of tea,’ Ruth replied, smacking her lips as she took a sip of her own.

‘I’d better make another one then,’ Millie laughed.

For the next hour, Millie listened attentively while Ruth told her stories about her life with Alf, the village and the people who had come and gone, and about why she had chosen to remain alone when Alf had not returned from his doomed voyage. And for the first time since she had arrived in Honeybourne, Millie didn’t want to run away from Ruth’s chattering. Once or twice, Ruth had alluded to Millie’s own past, in her unsubtle way trying to prise facts from her, but Millie tactfully steered the conversation back to Ruth’s life – something Ruth was only too glad to discuss and Millie only too glad to listen to.

Millie shivered slightly as a natural pause found its way into the conversation. ‘It’s getting a bit chilly,’ she commented, her gaze travelling to the darkness beyond the windows.

‘Probably time I was letting you go to bed,’ Ruth smiled.

‘I am a bit tired.’ Millie peered at Ruth more closely. ‘You look tired too.’

‘I doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight.’

‘Why? Usually whisky knocks me spark out.’

‘Not with these old joints. It’ll take more than a nip of whisky.’

‘Don’t you have painkillers?’

Ruth blew out an impatient breath. ‘Don’t touch the sides. Load of rubbish if you ask me.’

‘Does it happen a lot?’

‘Most nights. I suppose I’m lucky that I can take naps during the day.’

Millie wondered when, exactly, Ruth took naps. As far as she could see, the woman was always around and about in the village, chattering away to anyone who would listen. She let the comment pass, though. Instead, she was gripped by the urge to help, despite it bringing to Ruth’s notice skills that might attract unwarranted attention.

‘I might be able to make you a herbal draught,’ Millie blurted out. ‘It would ease you a little so that you could sleep.’

Ruth looked doubtful. ‘New Age nonsense? Sounds like something Jasmine Green would try to palm off on me.’

‘Not New Age. Very Old Age actually,’ Millie smiled. ‘As remedies go, this one’s as old as the Earth itself. But I’m fairly confident it will help you. And if it doesn’t, there’s nothing in it that will do any harm.’

‘It does sound tempting.’

‘Of course it does. Why don’t you sit tight? I’ll be ten minutes; I just need to find some bits and pieces to make it.’

Without waiting for Ruth’s reply, Millie raced through to the main shop. She knew where all her books were, as she had sat and read them only a few nights earlier. But there were other things to find too. Rifling through a couple of boxes, she found one that contained candles – blue and green for healing. She pulled a handful out and laid them on the counter as she continued her search. Now she needed a medium, some sort of tonic to channel her healing into. Flicking through the nearest book for inspiration, she found the perfect thing – a remedy to induce peaceful sleep. Running a finger down the list, she rooted in another box for the right herbs. A pan was lit on a little gas stove and Millie set some water to boil, tipping the carefully measured mix of herbs into it.

As the solution cooled, she lit the candles and breathed in deeply, focusing her power. She had felt a little tipsy with the whisky, but her mind was now sharp with a sense of purpose – she only hoped that it was sharp enough to fully visualise the power she would need to make her healing draught work. She had spent too long feeling like a useless failure, and it was time she did something positive, even if that thing was a small gesture to help a suffering neighbour. Once she felt she was ready, she poured the mixture into a tiny bottle, whispering to it as she did. Then she stoppered it with a satisfied smile and took it through to where Ruth waited with uncharacteristic quiet and patience.

‘What’s this?’ Ruth took the bottle and unscrewed it, sniffing.

‘Careful not to spill it,’ Millie said. ‘It’s just something to help you sleep a bit easier.’

‘Smells like lemon balm.’

‘There is some of that… amongst other things.’

‘You’re not after my money?’ Ruth laughed. ‘Because I haven’t changed my will to include you just yet.’

Millie gave her an indulgent smile. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t need to call Miss Marple in the morning.’

Ruth grasped Millie’s hand and looked her squarely in the eye. ‘Thank you.’

When Millie looked at the expression on Ruth’s face, she knew that the old lady was thanking her for much more than a bottle of sleeping draught. Millie wasn’t sure if her potion would work but she sincerely hoped that it would give Ruth some comfort. If anyone deserved some peace, poor old Ruth Evans did.

R
uth’s prediction
had been right and Millie was woken at dawn by a rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the whole frame of the precarious building she now called home. Millie got up, hoping that her concoction the night before had given Ruth a little respite from her constant pain. And if that was all Millie was doing, then surely things couldn’t get out of hand, could they? She had come to Honeybourne intending to keep a safe emotional distance, and already she knew she was getting too close to everyone. But the village was such that it was hard not to fall in love with the residents, and she wanted to help if she could.

One mistake… It had been a huge mistake with terrible consequences, but it was only one. She had come to Honeybourne to put the past firmly behind her, and that meant putting that mistake behind her too. If she couldn’t get over it and go back to the things that made life worth living, like good friends and a sense of belonging, then she would never truly be able to move on from that one lapse in judgement that continued to haunt her.