‘I think it would take more than a giggle to give that girl a complex. She loves her food.’
‘And that’s a bad thing?’
‘Oh no, no, no. That’s totally a good thing. I don’t think there’s anything healthy about people who pick at their food and worry more than they enjoy.’
‘Good, I was beginning to think you were some kind of food Nazi. I’m a big fan of food too. I had years of having to watch everything I ate – trust me, if we’re talking of really unhealthy eating attitudes, the culture within my industry is insane. One of the better things about coming back to Cornwall is indulging as much as I like without the fear that people are watching, judging, reporting back. Or maybe it’s that I just don’t care what they think any more. Believe me, when a Cornish girl has been forcibly denied pasties, clotted cream, and Trevathien’s gingerice cream – oh, have you tried that yet? It’s the best – then they’re not holding back once they get home!’
‘You’re going to love me then, I’ve got that ice cream in my freezer and what’s even better is that Ellie doesn’t like it so there is some left and you and I have pudding sorted.’ Alex watched her flush again; was it because he had used the wordlove? He knew she blushed a fair bit so should be more careful with what he said. Regardless of the look shared a minute ago, this had to be a child-based platonic friendship and he didn’t want to blur boundaries. He had worked so hard to create stability for Ellie, he wasn’t going to blow that all up now for a beautiful pair of eyes and an imagined sense of belonging. He supposed he was just so relaxed in her company that he wasn’t monitoring every word used as he usually did. He quickly changed the subject. ‘But tell me more, what industry stops you trying to eat? Jockey? Model?’ Her build suggested either were possible.
‘No, hardly a model, and I’d love to have been a jockey but I’m afraid not.’ Sylvie’s answer made Alex wonder, not for the first time, why so many women were so hard on themselves? However, before he could say anything she continued. ‘I was a ballet dancer, absolutely loved it. But you know how life is, things don’t always pan out as you expect. And do you know what? I’m pretty happy being back in the village with a son who has brightened my life beyond compare and surrounded by pizza mess. I’ll take the swap.’
‘Wow, it’s not easy to become a professional ballet dancer, that’s so impressive. But I know exactly what you mean, we spend our twenties pushing, pushing, pushing for professional excellence in fields that are not forgiving, or at least I did, live and die in the excitement, the buzz of the second-by-second lifestyles, only to find proper happiness in the mundane, in a sleepy village in Cornwall.’
‘True. Apart from the sleepy bit – you were at that PTA thing with me earlier, weren’t you. That’s not sleepy, that’s downright terrifying.’
‘Terrifying? You weren’t the one that Marion forced into a corner and tried to get you married to some sort of freaky clone.’
‘Hahaha! Was that what she was doing? Someone definitely mentioned the taking off of clothes, was that about you? Ha!’
‘I don’t know for sure if that was the plan, and I know that makes me sound like an ego-riddled arsehole if I say yes, but honestly, yes. At one point, she told me that Jenny, that was clone number one’s name, was not only a great homemaker but very skilled with her hands. Honestly, I didn’t know where to look and you were no help.’
He smiled as Sylvie let out the loudest laugh, then clapped her hands over her mouth.
‘No, that’s fine, you keep amusing yourself at my discomfort. And when I looked to you for support you were too busy scoffing some delicious-bloody-looking cornbread to come and save me from the clutches of those rampant mothers. I tell you, it’s frightening.’
‘You knew in advance she was frightening, in fact you warned me of it! You can’t complain now.’
‘I didn’t know I was going to be her number one target.’
‘Yeah, right. It must be tough being the prettiest boy in the village.’
‘Prettiest boy, huh?’ Alex could feel the smile take over his face, radiating out of his eyes.
‘Well, there’s the vicar, he might have the edge on you. And truth is, I have appalling judgement, so I’ll just take that back, and um… we’ll pretend I didn’t say it. Otherwise you’ll label me predatory like Marion and I promise I’m not, I’m really not into you like that… ah, I’m making this worse, aren’t I?’
‘Well, you started quite nicely, but now you’ve managed to rip my ego into shreds in two short seconds.’
‘How about we stick to pizza instead?’
‘OK, although this is quite good fun.’
‘Teasing me?’
‘I was under the impression you were teasing me, actually.’
Beep. Beep. Beep.
‘Bloody hell, that’s the timer.’
‘No way! We haven’t even started on the kitchen yet. Here, you grab the pizza and I’ll wipe down the table, that’ll do for a minute, won’t it?’
‘Yeah, although you know what, it’s a really nice evening still – why don’t you grab the pizza, I’ll fetch a blanket and we’ll have a picnic in the garden instead.’
‘You’re on!’
‘Picnic!’ Alex hollered up the stairs so loudly and with such enthusiasm that it was a miracle the pictures on the walls didn’t shake.
Chapter Eight
