I might be on shaky ground, but I’m still wide-eyed at his nerve. ‘Excuse me? I just saved those Airbnb guests from your dog and cat falling off the balcony and sailing past their windows to their deaths. That would get way more one stars than murmurs on the landing.’ If I was warm before I’m blazing now.
He’s standing his ground, still hanging onto Diesel. ‘You’ve got some reading to catch up on. The Residents’ Code has clear guidelines on late entertaining.’ He couldn’t sound any more up himself.
I’m open mouthed that he’s twisting this. ‘I’m a resident too. What about menothaving neighbours’ livestock stampeding through my living room?’
Sophie’s breezing over, and her ‘don’t eff with mummy face’ just got fiercer. ‘Let’s pick this discussion up again tomorrow.’ It’s an order not a suggestion and her finger is wagging inches from Charlie’s chest. ‘IfYOUgo homeIMMEDIATELY, along with your dog, we’ll bring you some sorbet. How does that sound?’
I can’t help shrieking. ‘Don’t offer him pudding,we’rein the right here.’
Nell’s shoving me in the ribs and making cutthroat signs. ‘Excellent idea, do we have a deal?’
‘Fine.’ Charlie’s mumbling as he turns and pushes Diesel out onto the balcony then staggers after him.
Plum disappears with a handful of crockery she’s picked up from the floor, and comes back with a serving bowl piled with scoops of sorbet. ‘Who’s taking this?’
There’s a rush of outstretched hands, all eager to deliver Charlie’s sorbet, but before she’s knocked over she spins round and whips the bowl out of reach. ‘You can’t all go.’
‘Who got the lowest score in the quiz?’ I ask, already knowing it wasn’t Ms Midriff.
But there’s a flash of disgustingly flat stomach, and she’s already snatched the bowl away from Plum. ‘That was me. I didn’t answer any.’
Sophie’s mouth hangs open as the girl dips out onto the balcony. ‘Oh my God, did you see that? She grabbed,andshe lied. If this was Milla’s party, she’d be on the naughty chair.’
Nell’s laughing. ‘Single Street’s not for softies. If you see something you like, you’ve got to grab it before someone else does. Like Dakota did.’
Sophie wrinkles her nose. ‘That’s herrealname?’ As she and I exchange glances we’re equally disbelieving.
Nell laughs. ‘I haven’t checked her birth certificate.’
Sophie’s right back at her. ‘I thought not. It’s not just a fake name, shehasto be under age too.’
Nell shakes her head. ‘No, she talks about her thirtieth. I’m guessing that’s what gym time can do for you.’ She winks at Sophie. ‘Or maybe she uses your rejuvenating cleanser?’
I pull a face at Plum. ‘If Charlie’s getting the friendly one, I might end up with a “Cupid” award after all.’ Anyone else but her, I wouldn’t have minded. Although I’m so annoyed with him, I’d happily have delivered the sorbet myself and tipped it over his head.
All round it’s a shitty end to a disastrous evening. Like the cherry on the calamity cake. And with sorbet up the walls and every guest either falling over or squished, this must be the crappiest singles’ night ever. I’m bracing myself to receive Nell’s Golden Toilet award. Let’s face it, she has to have one.
11
At the Surf Shack
Out of the blue
Tuesday afternoon
‘Isn’t it great to have the Surf Shack as your corner café?’ Sophie says as I come out into the late afternoon sunshine the next day carrying a huge tray.
The Surf Shack is St Aidan’s most ramshackle building, made from a thousand bits of wood randomly hammered together. It also serves the fattest, most delicious sandwiches on the sea front, as well as the best coffee, which is probably why it’s popular with surfies as well as being our own go-to place for breakfast, lunch or tea. Today it’s perfect to pop into on our after school potter with the kids along the water’s edge. I’ve been inside to order while Sophie settled the children, and as I make my way across the wide wooden deck the bunting above is flapping against a deep blue sky.
I laugh. ‘Having The Surf Shack two minutes along the sandy path from Seaspray Cottage isn’t the best news for my waistline.’ If my finances weren’t on lockdown, I’d be here for every meal. Then probably grow out of all my clothes.
Even though it’s perched on what has to be the prettiest sand dune in Cornwall, and at high tide the breakers come rushing up the beach and splash onto the deck, I can’t help thinking it’s not my corner café in Paris. But if I’m missing my tiny table on the pavement with the metal chairs so close to the traffic that sometimes the waiter can’t hear to take my order, I’m not about to mention it.
‘Milla, we’ve got wraps here if you want a break from dancing.’ As Sophie calls to her across the decking, Milla takes out an ear bud, tosses back her curtain of blonde hair, and nods. Then goes back to tapping out her steps beyond the tables.
I shout to the littlies. ‘There’s tomato, lettuce and cheese, or hummus, carrot and coriander, Brin’s made them specially for you.’ As I put the board of wraps down on the slatted table Tilly and Marco come running, take one in each hand, then go back to their pile of shells and stones and seaweed. Hopefully this way they’ll miss that Brin’s made me and their mum a hot chocolate with squirty cream and mini doughnuts on the top. Although Sophie insisted on having hers with oat milk to make it healthy. We’ve also got clandestine muffins underneath our serviettes. Blueberry for our five-a-day, and gluten-free to avoid bloating. Obviously, I’d have preferred double chocolate, but with the kids here we have to set some kind of good example.
Sophie eases Maisie into a high chair, puts her bib on with one hand and empties cucumber and cheese cubes onto the tray with the other, then glances at Milla. ‘This deck is too much like a stage for her to waste time eating.’ Sophie’s obviously forgotten. At Milla’s age, she’d insist on coming down to the beach every day in summer so she could dance on the jetty. Only back then she had her songs on a Fisher Price kiddie cassette player, and the fishermen who passed used to sing along to Madonna while Sophie did her ‘Like a Prayer’ dance in her swimsuit with a sequined skirt held up by knotted elastic.
