Page 17 of A Winter Wish

I smile. ‘I have indeed. We met when my enterprising six-year-old little brother and his friend decided to set up shop by the roadside, selling my cakes to passers-by.’

Bertha laughs. ‘Oh, Sylvia told me about that. She was completely charmed by the whole thing. Nice to meet you, Clara.’

‘You, too.’

‘Bertha works at the Brambleberry Manor Café,’ explains Jaz.

‘Oh. Right. I love that place. My... boyfriend is renovating a barn over there?’

Bertha nods. ‘It looks gorgeous from the outside. We were speculating only yesterday what sort of business would end up renting it.’

Jaz looks at me and smiles. ‘A dance studio?’

I laugh. ‘In my dreams, maybe.’ I remember revealing to Jaz after one of her Zumba classes with Elsie that I’d love to run a dance studio to help people– children and adults alike– with their self-confidence. I’d been really shy and awkward as a child, and dance classes had helped to bring me out of my shell. I found dancing helped me to express myself and get rid of a lot of the negative emotions I was feeling after my mum died. That’s why I knew that Rory’s sister, Elsie, would probably benefit, and it had worked out well for her, too.

I look back to those Zumba days with an aching fondness. Rory had just come back into my life and we were revamping Gran’s garden for her coming out of hospital. During those long, hot summer days, pulling weeds and trimming hedges, we talked about the things that meant the most to us, and a bond grew between us that felt so precious to me. Finally, it felt like I might have a chance with Rory.

But then, of course, he got together with Lois and that was that.

‘Clara is Paula’s granddaughter,’ says Jaz.

‘Oh.’ Bertha’s eyes widen. ‘How’s Paula doing? She hasn’t been to a Women’s Institute meeting for a while. Has she got a date for her op yet?’

I nod. ‘December.’

I must look anxious because Bertha squeezes my arm and says, ‘It’s a miracle what they can do these days. Tell her we’re expecting her to be back at the WI meetings early in the New Year.’

‘I definitely will,’ I tell her with a smile.

‘Someone said the other week that your gran has a sister in America? I never realised. I don’t suppose they see each other very often.’

Bemused, I laugh, remembering Sylvia saying the same thing. ‘I’m... really not sure how that rumour started circulating. Gran doesn’t have brothers or sisters. She was an only child.’

‘Really?’ Bertha shakes her head, bemused. ‘Someone’s got their wires crossed, then.’ She grins. ‘That makes us sound as if all we do is gossip at the meetings, but we don’t. At least, not all the time,’ she adds, with a wink.

‘We believe you,’ laughs Jaz. ‘Anyway, much as I’m enjoying the chat, I suppose I’d better get this one home for her lunch.’ She leans forward and plants a kiss on her daughter’s soft blonde curls.

I say goodbye and head home. And all the way, I’m thinking how strange that two people should mention the same thing that obviously isn’t true at all.

Gran’s an only child. I know that for certain. Someone, somewhere along the line, has managed to get the wrong end of the stick entirely...

CHAPTER EIGHT

It’s a week since the night of Lois’s accident, and a gloom has settled over our house. It’s also half-term, so school is closed for a week.

Lois is now permanently on the sofa with her foot up, shouting at TV reality shows and phoning me on her mobile– when I’m just next door in the kitchen– with sneaky hints like, ‘Clara? Next time you’re making yourself a coffee, can you make me one as well?’

Some of the time, I give in and wait on her, and then of course she starts pushing her luck and giving me the ‘poor me’ glances, saying she’d absolutely kill for some cheese on toast...

When I reminded her the other day that just because she’s hurt her foot, it doesn’t mean she can’t make it to the kitchen, she looked horrified at my lack of compassion and even managed to squeeze out a tear or two, saying how wouldIlike it if I had to hop everywhere and couldn’t go out for dinner? When I said of course she could go out with Rory, she looked at me as if I were mad for suggesting it, pointed at the shoe and snapped, ‘Yeah, because this ugly boot thing would tonereally perfectlywith one of my little dresses!’

I shrugged. ‘You could carry it off.’

‘Clara, I feel about as sexy as Shrek’s ugly sister on a bad hair day. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I can’t actually washmy hair properly? Have you ever tried having a shower sitting on a stupid chair, with your foot wrapped in plastic sheeting? Honestly, I feel like a great-granny. Next step, stair lift.’

‘Yes, but it’s not for very long.’

She snorted. ‘No. Justsix weeks.’

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