Free The Lie of Love by Belinda Martin

eyes and get ready to face
your public otherwise they’ll think you’re crying because your cakes are so
bad.’
    Darcy laughed through her tears.
‘We wouldn’t want that, would we?  Go on, I’m good now,’ she added,
rubbing a sleeve across her eyes, ‘you can open the doors.’
    Julia took up a huge bunch of
keys and made her way to a set of heavy double doors, the woodwork thick with
decades of paint.  As she unlocked and threw them open to let in a bright
wedge of sunlight but little else, Darcy frowned.
    ‘God, I hope someone actually
comes to this otherwise you may get a lot more leftovers than you bargained
for.’
    ‘They will,’ Amanda said in an
encouraging voice. ‘People like to be fashionably late. Besides, we have a
board up in town as well as posters in The Sugar Cube so with a bit of luck
some inquisitive holidaymakers will see those too and make their way up for a
nose around.’
    As if to prove the truth of her
prediction, as she spoke a group of silver haired ladies wandered into the
hall, making a beeline for the shelves of glass-jarred produce.
    ‘What did I tell you?’ Amanda
said with a satisfied smile. ‘You need to have more faith, Darcy.’
    ‘I suppose I do. But sometimes I
still can’t quite believe that people are so willing to get involved in all
this – give up their time and money to help a family they hardly know or have never
met.’
    ‘You would do it,’ Amanda said.
    Darcy nodded. ‘I’d like to think
so.’
    ‘Where’s the difference then?’
    Darcy smiled. ‘You’re right. I
just feel like I have a debt I’ll never be able to pay off.’
    ‘Just remember me in your will,’
Amanda laughed. She glanced across at the door where a woman with a toddler in
a pushchair came in, heading towards the cakes as the little boy jiggled about
in his straps, obviously desperate to flee the confines of his carriage. ‘Look
sharp, we’ve got more customers.’
    Before Darcy had another chance
to dwell on the uncertainties that seemed to plague her every waking hour these
days, two hours had flown by. The church hall had gradually filled with the
sounds of chatter as the pocket in her apron where she kept her change grew
heavier with the increasingly limited opportunities she had to deposit it into
the cash box.  It was immensely satisfying to see her cakes disappearing
fast and approving smiles from the people who ate them there and then. And just
when Darcy was beginning to relax and enjoy herself, a familiar figure ambled
into the hall.  He headed straight for the preserves stall where Julia was
busy reading out the ingredients of some chutney to a short-sighted old man.
 
    Darcy felt the breath catch in
her throat, a sudden acute consciousness of her every move, of how her hair
looked, of whether the subtle curve of what Ged affectionately called her leftover baby belly showed in the top she was
wearing, of whether her make-up had slid off in the heat as much as she feared
it had.  She knew that it was an irrational, even stupid reaction to his
appearance, but it was like someone else was driving her body whenever he was
near. She watched as Julia looked up with a broad smile for her son.
    ‘Oh good,’ Julia said, ‘you can
help out here while I get a cup of tea; I’m absolutely parched.’
    Without waiting for his reply,
Julia dashed off towards where the vicar’s wife was standing sentry next to a
huge metal tea urn and a pile of gleaming white stoneware.  Looking slightly
bemused, Harry took himself behind the table and stood next to the cashbox,
hands in his pockets as he watched the customers browsing the jars of jams and
pickles. Then he looked up and shot a blazing smile in Darcy’s direction that
made her legs suddenly weak.  She tried to smile back, but what she
returned was more like a pained grimace. Damn this boy – she didn’t want to
feel like this about him and she certainly had no right to.  She was
grateful beyond belief when someone stood