25th April
It was late when I left the cottage tonight. I intentionally waited until dusk before setting off, and didnt rush the drive the way I often do. Instead, I took the long way round, sticking to the ring road that winds lazily through the Berkshire countryside. If I hadnt needed to be in the office tomorrow, I might have stayed at the cottage overnight.
Why was I taking my time? Deep down, I simply didnt want to go home. To be precise, I couldnt face seeing David. For a while now, my inner voice has been telling me that sharing a roof with my husband is a temporary arrangement. Our marriage has grown frosty and tense, dissolving into arguments over the smallest things.
My hands gripped the steering wheel while my thoughts circled endlessly around our odd, broken relationship.
The ring road crosses a tiny village not far from Reading. As I slowed for the thirty limit, the headlights caught a peculiar sight: an elderly woman stood beside a bus shelter, cradling something wrapped in a tea towel to her chest, holding it gently as if it were a swaddled child. The hopefulness in her eyes as she watched approaching cars made me stop without hesitating.
I pulled over, got out, and hurried towards her. Up close, I noticed her tartan shopping trolley at her feet.
Are you all right? I asked, worried. Do you need help? Is that a baby?
A baby? She looked momentarily flustered, then gave me a sheepish smile. No, love, it isnt a baby. Its just some bread, fresh from the oven.
Bread? I was taken aback. Youre selling bread here?
Thats right I bake it myself and sell a few loaves when my pensions not enough. Only when Im really short. Is that not allowed? Some people do buy it. They always say my bread brings happiness into their homes.
How so? I pressed, a little curious despite myself.
Im not quite sure, she sighed. Theres a gentleman who always buys from me, says my bread brings good fortune. Perhaps hell come by tonight. Would you like a loaf? Still warm.
I hesitated, but she seemed to need the money. Yes, Ill have a loaf. How much is it?
Pound a loaf, she said, carefully watching my reaction. Is that too much?
How many have you got?
Ten. Havent sold any yet tonight, just arrived. How many would you like?
All of them, I said, reaching for my purse in the car.
She shook her head, almost alarmed. No, I couldnt possibly let you take them all.
Why not? I stopped, puzzled.
Youre only buying them to help, arent you? Suppose someone else really needs one, and I have nothing left, if that gentleman comes by?
Her innocence floored me a bit. All right, I conceded. How many will you sell me?
Five, she replied, not sounding too sure of herself.
Are you certain? I tried again.
No, really, five is enough. The breads meant to be eaten, not pitied. Its freshly baked.
So I smiled, fetched my money and a spare shopping bag, placed five still-warm, comforting loaves inside, and went back to the car.
As soon as I started driving, the car filled with the divine scent of fresh bread. The hunger hit me almost instantly, overwhelming and sudden. I tore a chunk from one loaf, slipped it into my mouth, and honestly, I dont think Ive ever tasted anything so perfect.
Right then, my mobile started buzzing.
Davids name flashed on the screen, and I grimaced as I answered.
Val, can you pop into a shop and get some bread for the house? he said, annoyed as always.
What? Bread? I glanced at the loaves on the seat beside me. Why are you asking me now?
Because were completely out! Andbrilliant timingyour friends have just dropped round!
What friends? I was mystified. Its nearly midnight.
Go and ask them yourself. Just pick up the bread. Theyre camped out in the kitchen, drinking tea and waiting for you.
Well, thats a turn-up, I muttered, and sped up a little.
I got home about half an hour later, carrying the fragrant bread aroma into the flat.
Val, you smell amazing! shrieked Sarah, my old university friend, rushing to hug me as soon as I came through the door. The other two, Anna and Grace, followed close behind.
David, drawn by the smell, brazenly rummaged through my bag for a loaf, snapping off half a crust, pressing it to his nose, then gaping at me.
Where did you find bread like this?
Where I got it, theres none left, I replied with a little shrug.
He retreated to his room with his prize, leaving me in the kitchen with my friends. We sat up until midnight, sharing wine and tearing off chunks of that miraculous bread, airing grievances about our husbands. We even sniffled a bit, admitting that none of our marriages felt the way we dreamed they would.
Before the girls left, I insisted each take a loaf for home.
Once the door closed behind them, I slipped past Davids room, where he was already snoring away, and curled up for the night on the sofa in the living room.
Thats when morning brought its strangeness.
Id barely opened my eyes before David sat down beside me and announced, in a tone somewhere between irony and awe: Val, I think I overdid it with your bread last night, because Ive had a revelation. Weve been fools.
Sorry? I blinked at him, still groggy.
Both of us. Absolute fools. Weve got to fix this. Im taking you out tonightback to that restaurant where I first proposed.
Why?
Because I want us back. I think we could love each other again. Ill see you there at six. He hurried off to work, leaving me oddly buoyant, as if the morning itself were brighter. The light outside had the softness of spring, not a typical autumn day in England. I found myself actually looking forward to dinner with my husband.
Just then, Sarah rang, almost out of breath with excitement. Val, you wont believe itbut me and Rob made up last night! Honest, we were on the verge of splitting up, and suddenly, after sharing your bread, we talked until three andwell, thank you, Val!
Butwhat did I do? I stammered, bewildered.
By lunchtime, Anna and Grace both called to say everything at home had taken a surprising turn for the better. They even scolded themselves for complaining about their husbands the night before.
After these calls, I wandered into the kitchen and broke off another piece from the last remaining loaf. As I tasted it, I realisedthis was no ordinary bread; there was a lingering, delicate trace within it. It tasted like love itself. Love for everyone, and perhaps, a little, for myself.
