Free The Sweetest Thing by Cathy Woodman

quite sure of that.

Chapter Four
     

Jam Tarts
     
    Today is the day I wave goodbye to my parents. I feel utterly bereft.
    When they leave, Mum has tears in her eyes, and my heart clenches with a grief I didn’t expect. At least though she has come round to my crazy plans at last, and I feel fully supported. She had a good go at changing my mind before I committed to the move, giving me a thorough reality check. She told me to pull my socks up and stop thinking up mad schemes to distract myself from the divorce. She told me to stop wallowing and get on with my life. She also thought I was insane to think I could make a living out of baking cakes.
    ‘Jennie, it’ll never work.’ That’s what she said. And I said, ‘What about Mr Kipling then?’ and she burst into tears, and I realised that this wasn’t about me. It was about her, how she was scared of losing regular contact with her grandchildren and missing out on them growing up.
    ‘Malcolm,’ she says, ‘when you’re packing the car, fetch those other things in.’
    Dad heads outside. I reckon he’s itching to get back to the golf club.
    He returns with three carrier bags and places them on Guy’s oak table which has come up well with a bit of work. Adam did it – for a small fee.
    ‘They’re for you, Jennie,’ Mum says, ‘our moving-in gift.’
    I look inside the bags. They’re full of baking tins and colourful silicone spatulas and spoons.
    ‘Oh, thank you.’ I’m overwhelmed. ‘You shouldn’t have …’
    ‘We see it as a modest investment in your future,’ says Dad. ‘Of course, we could do more if you were prepared to accept it.’
    We’ve had this discussion before and I refused. My parents mean well, but I am not a charity.
    ‘If I ever need investment,’ I say, ‘I’ll enter the den with the Dragons.’
    ‘It’s all suitable for use in the Aga,’ Mum says, ‘and most of it’s dishwasher-safe.’
    ‘I haven’t got a dishwasher though,’ I say, smiling.
    ‘You have three,’ says Dad. ‘You make sure those children help you out.’ He checks his watch. ‘We’d better make a move.’
    ‘I’ll see you soon, Mum,’ I say, my voice wavering as the impact of what I’ve done hits me like a train. I’m going to miss her popping in for a quick coffee and cake. I’m going to miss her offers of babysitting and Sunday lunches with Mum, Dad and my sister.
    ‘You take care, love.’ She gives me a tearful smile. ‘Make sure you get out and about.’
    I know what she’s getting at. Get out and meet people.
    ‘It’s going to be quiet for you, you being a city girl,born and bred, but at least we know you’ve got someone to turn to in an emergency. Guy seems like a good neighbour to have. Capable.’
    I dismiss any talk of turning to him. It would have to be the direst of emergencies for me to call on him.
    ‘And, just remember, me and your dad are at the end of the phone, and if you should decide that you’ve made a terrible mistake moving here, you can come home. You’ll always be welcome there, whatever happens.’
    ‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say, choking up with emotion.
    ‘We’ll be back to visit. Soon.’
    Before they leave, they call the children to say goodbye. I stand on the front lawn, watching the children run up the drive behind my parents’ car, laughing and waving, through a veil of tears. I turn and look back at the house and I think, Oh, no, what have I done? Have I just made the second biggest mistake of my life, buying this house out in the sticks with its temperamental Aga and varied wildlife?
    Talking of wildlife, when I planned to get closer to nature, I didn’t mean this close, I muse, as I watch the inexorable march of a column of ants through my kitchen and under the larder door, when I go back inside.
    ‘Mum, I’m bored,’ Adam says, within half an hour of my parents leaving.
    ‘You’re always bored.’
    ‘Yes, but I’ve never been as bored as I am now.’
    ‘Why don’t you find something to