Charlie pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘Auctions are very unpredictable. You never know who’s going to be there, or how much they’ll bid on the day. And Joe did say he wanted to get back to his roots.’ He lets out a sigh and gives me a nudge. ‘Who knows, I might not be Sophie’s biggest rival after all. This could be all your fault for letting him into the secret about Crusty Cobs’ delicious strawberry tarts.’
‘At least Joe’s been and gone again without chasing me down.’ And I know I’m not a permanent resident and my mum’s on the other side of the world, but when it comes to the Marlows I feel very possessive about St Aidan. This should be our place, not theirs. I hate the thought of them muscling in, especially at Siren House.
When I finally pull my focus back into the kitchen again, Charlie’s already put the oven on, and he’s tipping his bags out on the table. This is what he’s like. Walking in, taking over, staring at me over his shoulder like it’s already his kitchen. ‘So it seemed like a good time to invest in colouring, piping bags and pipes, and more vanilla essence.’ For all I know, whileI’mtrying my hardestnotto imagine waking up next to him,he’sprobably fantasising about refurbing my flat and plotting where to hang his cinema screen.
‘Great. Thanks for those.’ Not that I’m going to comment, but here’s someone else who thinks in industrial sizes and quantities, judging by the gear he’s bought.
He’s stacking icing sugar, sugar, flour, butter and cupcake cases beside the array of bottles and packets. ‘I take it you’ve got eggs?’
‘Absolutely. Free-range too, best in St Aidan. Nell’s such a star bringing those. You really should get some.’ I’m not passing up the chance to sing her praises. I also haven’t forgotten Sophie and Plum are expecting me to deliver him to an event sometime soon. Considering how many puddings Nell’s taken him it’s a surprise he hasn’t perked up more at her name. And I should be feeling less glad about that than I do.
He’s giving me a sideways glance as he turns and slides the scales across to me and pulls out a recipe card. ‘Catch up, Clemmie. All my Airbnb guests have had farm eggs in their welcome packs for weeks.’ He bashes on, as if he hasn’t noticed me picking my jaw up off the floor. ‘Okay, this is a standard sponge mix, two eggs and equal weight of butter, sugar and self-raising.’
I get in before him. ‘And no need to say it, I won’t forget to sieve the flour.’ And while I’m doing the weighing seeing he’s already cottoned on to Nell’s eggs, I might as well go a bit further. ‘You do know Nell would be super sympathetic to get together with. After her break-up, she’s in the perfect position to empathise. Especially with someone who’s has their heart ripped out and trampled all over.’
It comes out in the best way I can think of putting it. But basically, despite our differences he’s been treating this place as his since the day I arrived. He saw me tip egg over my head, and cry when I found the photos of my dad in the knitting patterns. We’ve bumped elbows over chocolate, pistachio and nougat semi freddo, and talked endlessly about the consistency of crumble. If I can’t hint there could be a way back to happiness with my bestie I don’t know who can.
He unhooks the sieve from the rack and passes it over. ‘Remind me who this person with romantic issues is?’
Sometimes you can’t avoid being blunt. ‘You. Obviously.’
He frowns at me. ‘Now cream the butter and sugar and whip until it’s really white and fluffy. Then add the eggs then the flour.’ His frown deepens. ‘Me?Whyme?’
It occurs to me I might need to apologise. ‘I’m sorry, but I know about the wedding getting called off. And now I do know it’s not like I can un-know it. And it’s even worse with all this baking we’re doing together.’ I take a gasp. ‘It doesn’t get any worse than being left at the altar, but there are so many lovely women out there who’d never betray you in that way. Surely it’s worth giving yourself a second chance – with the right person.’ Hopefully he’s getting that he could trust Nell on this. And if not, that a singles’ event would be a great way forward.
‘Hang on here.’ He lets out a snort. ‘Whateveryou’re talking about, St Aidan’s cesspool central’s certainly been working overtime on this one.’
I’m shaking my head vigorously. ‘Not at all, this came from a very reliable mutual contact. Don’t worry, your secret’s totally safe with me.’
An ‘appalled of St Aidan’ expression spreads across his face. ‘And exactlyhow manyother people are saying this?’
I’m mentally checking off the Dainty Dusters staff. I’ve seen at least six arriving in the mini bus at Sophie’s. ‘Don’t worry, the source is fastidious and very discrete.’ There’s a cleaning clue there if he wants to pick it up. ‘It won’t go any further than us.’
‘Shit, Clemmie.’
Before he can say any more and actually explode, I point to my butter and sugar mix to distract him. ‘Creamy enough?’
He drags in a breath and shakes his head and closes his eyes. Then he opens them again and nods at the bowl. ‘See how it’s changed colour from yellow to white? That means it’s ready to crack in the eggs. One at a time.’
‘Great.’ I’m pushing my luck here. ‘Which brings us back to Nell.’
For a second he looks like his eyes are going to pop. Then he lets out a sigh. ‘You do know about George?’
‘No? What about him?’ As to why we ended up talking about George when we were actually talking about Nell, he’s lost me there.
He pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘You’ll have to consult your fastidious friend on that one.’
‘Hell, that’s not fair, how would I know stuff when I’m never here.’
He lets out a grim laugh. ‘That doesn’t appear to have held you back digging the dirt on me.’ He gives another sniff. ‘You’re meant to put the eggs in without their shells, Clemmie.’
‘Damn.’ That wasn’t meant to happen. I pick out the pieces of shell from the bowl. Maybe he can be ironic after all.
He’s still peering into the bowl, poking about looking for egg shell. ‘So why is George not invited to your parties? I know for a fact he’s desperate to be included.’
‘I have it on the best authority that George doesn’t socialise.’ When I catch his doubtful gaze, I add weight to my argument. ‘That came straight from the horse’s mouth.’
The corners of Charlie’s mouth turn downwards. ‘Well either you’ve been talking to the wrong horse, or your equine friend hasn’t been entirely straight with you.’ He looks at me from under one raised eyebrow. ‘You can fold in that flour now. Use a metal spoon not a wooden one, don’t over stir.’ He’s already opened the paper cases and he’s spreading them onto a baking tray.
