‘It’s actually terrifying,’ admitted Clemmie, trying not to think about how many eyes would be on her. It wasn’t just the judges she had to impress, now the whole island would be watching. And given it was being televised, who knew how many more eyes would be on her? The whole world, potentially.
‘Just try and relax as much as you can for the rest of the day. I’ve got to get back to the twins, but we’ll be out to wave you on tothe yacht. You’ve got this!’ Dilly stood up and hugged her friend, followed by Amelia. As soon as they left all Clemmie could think about was how nervous she actually was.
After the lunch rush, Clemmie took a long soak in the bath to try and calm her nerves, before slipping out of the café in the late afternoon. The sun was high in the sky as she walked the narrow path leading to the cliff top. The grassy knoll overlooked the rolling sea, with its endless expanse of shimmering blue stretching out towards the horizon, and the spot held a quiet reverence for Clemmie, as it was where her great-great-grandparents’ ashes had been scattered, along with her great-grandparents and her own mother, their love and life forever entwined with Puffin Island. She had never known who her father was, her birth the lasting result of a brief holiday romance. There was nothing missing from her life though, no void she felt the need to fill, but from time to time, when a story about long-lost families reunited appeared on TV or in a newspaper, she would give the situation a fleeting thought before moving on.
As she reached the top of the cliff the wind tugged gently at her hair. She sank to the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees as she watched the waves breaking against the rocks below her.
Taking a deep breath, she began to speak, her voice low but steady. ‘Well, everyone,’ she said, smiling softly, ‘it’s a big day for the café. For me. I’m baking the torte tonight, Great-great-granny Beatrice,yourtorte. Can you believe it? And in The Royal Baking Competition! The café still serves the torte using the recipe you wrote all those years ago, and it’s still a favouritewith everyone. If I win, I get to attend the royal garden party at the palace… and hopefully meet the Queen. I know you would be so excited if you were here.’
Her fingers absently traced the grass beneath her as she continued. ‘And you’ll never guess what happened this week. Oliver, he’s a food journalist and presenter, his granny has friends in royal circles, and he got special permission to take me on an after-hours tour of the Royal Yacht. The actual Royal Yacht! Then he treated me to dinner, champagne, the works. It was like stepping into a different world, like a dream.’ She chuckled, shaking her head. ‘You’d all have loved it.’
Clemmie leaned back, her gaze lifting to the sky. ‘But you know what really has me curious?’ she continued, her voice softening. ‘That number. Why is “1705” stitched on the apron, and written at the bottom of the torte recipe? What does it mean? Is it a secret code? A special date? Something I’m supposed to figure out?’
As if in answer, a flicker of movement caught her eye. She turned her head towards a nearby rock and gasped softly. Perched on the weathered stone was a puffin, its distinctive black-and-white feathers and bright orange beak vivid against the dull grey of the rock. It stood there, watching her with an air of curious intent.
Clemmie laughed lightly, wiping a hand across her face to clear away an emotional tear that had escaped. ‘Well, hello there,’ she said, her voice tinged with amusement. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve come to steal another cake? I know you puffins all look alike, but I swear you’re the same cheeky one who nose-dived into my Victoria sponge.’
The bird tilted its head as if considering her words, and Clemmie found a warmth spreading through her chest. ‘Maybe you’re here to give me a sign,’ she mused aloud. ‘Are you? Is 1705 some kind of puffin wisdom I’m supposed to understand?’
For a moment, she sat in silence, staring at the little bird as it fluffed its feathers. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and Clemmie felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. It was as if the island itself was reassuring her in its own quiet way.
She said softly, ‘I hope you’re all proud of me. Of the café. Of the life I’ve tried to build here.’
‘Who are you talking to?’
The deep, familiar voice startled her, and she turned quickly to see Oliver standing a few paces behind her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. He was smiling as his eyes met hers.
‘I, uh…’ Clemmie hesitated, glancing back at the puffin, but the bird was gone. She laughed, a little self-consciously. ‘Just my family; their ashes are scattered here. And maybe a puffin. You know, the usual.’
Oliver smiled, stepping closer and lowering himself to the grass beside her. ‘Talking to puffins now, are we? I knew there was something strange about this place.’
Clemmie smiled, her heart skipping a beat as he settled in next to her. ‘I like to come here when I need to think. Or when I want to feel close to my family.’
He nodded, his gaze sweeping over the view before them. ‘It’s a beautiful spot. Peaceful.’
They sat in silence, the sounds of the sea and the distant cries of gulls filling the air. Clemmie stole a glance at Oliver, her heart stirring with a mix of emotions.
‘How are you feeling about the competition?’ he asked after a moment.
‘Excited, nervous, scared… you name it. My emotions are all over the place. One minute I’m convinced I’ll nail it, and the next, I’m pretty sure I’ll set the royal ovens on fire.’
Oliver chuckled. ‘Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve come to wish you good luck. Once we’re in there, I have to be impartial, but,just for the record, I think you’re in with a pretty good chance and I’ve got everything crossed for you.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘That means a lot.’
‘Also– and this is off the record of course– given that I’m meant to be accompanying the winner to the royal garden party, I really need you to win. It can be our last adventure together. Can you imagine the two of us running riot in the palace?’
Clemmie burst out laughing. ‘The Queen would have us locked up within five minutes. She’d be shouting, “Off with their heads!” while we’re raiding the palace kitchen.’
Oliver joined her laughter, casually leaning back on his hands. ‘Honestly, I can picture it. You’d be sneaking eclairs out under your apron, and I’d be caught red-handed trying to smuggle out one of those corgi biscuits they make.’
‘It’s a good thing you’re heading to America. The Queen probably already has us on some kind of watch list.’
‘Probably,’ he agreed, grinning. ‘But seriously, it has been really good to see you again and I’ll miss this. I’ll miss… you.’
The light-heartedness of the moment shifted and Clemmie swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘Right person, wrong time… again.’ She couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she focused on the puffin that had reappeared, its beady eyes fixed on them.
‘You know,’ she said, changing the subject, her voice trembling just slightly, ‘I think that puffin might be the same one that nose-dived into my Victoria sponge. Or maybe they’re all just identical mischievous little thieves.’
