I exchange glances with Brandon as the scones are served. He looks equal parts amused and resigned.
Biting back a smile, I turn to Barbara as she sits to my left. “These smell amazing. Did you bake them?”
“I did. First thing this morning.” She indicates the bowls of strawberry jam and cream that have materialised out of nowhere, her tone brisk. “Jam first, or cream first?”
“Oh. I, err…don’t know.”
“You have to choose,” Rupert says, staring at me intently. “Jam or cream?”
“There’s no right or wrong answer,” Barbara adds, giving me a reassuring smile that makes me suspect there very muchis.
I throw Brandon a helpless look. “Does it matter?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m afraid it does.”
“Okay, well…” I shrug. “Jam first, I guess?”
“Ha! The Cornwall method. Excellent.” Rupert beams, slapping the table so hard the cutlery rattles. “Told you, Barb. What’s good enough for the queen is good enough for the rest of us!”
For a moment, Barbara’s smile slips, and it’s a little terrifying the way her eyes shoot daggers at her husband. She smooths her napkin carefully and merely says, “Well,” before proceeding to eat her scone in silence.
That silence doesn’t last long, however, and they’re soon bickering loudly about the ‘proper way’ to eat scones.
Brandon leans across the table and murmurs, “For future reference, when at all possible, it’s usually safer to side with Barbara.”
“Got it,” I say, then add with a touch of disappointment, “So, we’re not having oysters?”
“Let’s wait until Rupert and Barbara have gone. I only brought a dozen, barely enough for the two of us, really.”
It’s just as well. Beer doesn’t pair particularly well with scones. I’m not sure I’d want oysters in that mix.
“I’m hoping they won’t stay long,” he adds, though he looks doubtful.
After the first hour, I begin to share that doubt. By the second, I’m restless. The scones disappeared ages ago, and I’ve devoured all the ones on my plate, but I’m still hungry, craving real food.
“Whitstable is easily the best seaside town in England,” Rupert is saying. “A top holiday destination.”
“Top,” Barbara agrees.
He leans close and whispers to me, as if imparting a great secret. “The calm waters are perfect for children.”
“Are they?” I ask weakly.
“Oh yes. We’ve been blessed with grandchildren,” Barbara says proudly. “Teenagers now, you see. Too busy with their phones to come and see their poor old grandparents.”
“They were here last week,” Brandon says.
We exchange another smile, and it’s as if we’ve tripped a wire, because the couple’s attention instantly snaps to us.
“Now, Lily,” Rupert begins in a business-like tone, even as he not-so-subtly elbows Brandon. “You seem like a sensible, well-put-together sort of girl.”
“Woman,” Barbara interjects.
“Woman.” He nods. “And Brandon doesn’t bring guests around often, let me tell you. Hardly ever, in fact.”
“Never,” Barbara chimes.
“Never. We were beginning to think he’d turned into a hermit!”
