I’m about to do exactly as he suggests when Sophie sweeps over.
She whips the fork out of my hand. ‘Come on Clems, out of the kitchen.’
‘B-b-b-ut …’ My mouth’s still open in anticipation of pudding.
She’s got a firm hand on each of my shoulders. ‘This way, there’s a large glass over here with your name on.’ She’s already powering me past the chair line. ‘I insist …’
‘I should really look after George.’ I know we’re not at work, but I still feel responsible for him.
Sophie’s growling in my ear. ‘Take it from me, George is in very good hands.’
Which brings me neatly back to Nell. ‘What a woman. She certainly saved me with her quick thinking there.’ I make a mental note to make her a batch of chocolate brownies as a special ‘thank you’ for that one.
I must be knackered and over wrought, because I have another little moment, this time fanning my face. I’m tired or else this Freixenet stuff that Sophie’s just handed me another glass of is way stronger than the ice cream pink bottles suggest. This time the lump in my throat is because I’m so happy that I can actually make brownies. All by myself. To think that when I first came to Seaspray Cottage, I couldn’t make any of the things I’ve made tonight. Not that I’m shouting about it, but I think Cressida Cupcake would be thrilled by what she’d inspired me to do. But most important of all, I hope Laura would be too. She’s the person I truly have to thank for this. With everything I know now, it’s hard to imagine what it was like to be that ‘clueless in the kitchen’ person who walked into Laura’s flat all those weeks ago. I’m still not Nigella, but I’m way better than I was. So much so, when I have my dreamy moments between client calls at the office, I imagine a Little Cornish Kitchen that doesn’t end. A Little Cornish Kitchen that would let me stay in the flat I love, with all the happy times I remember. Being here has not only let me discover what I’m good at. It’s also what I enjoy. When I’m here in Laura’s little kitchen it’s as if I’ve finally discovered who I am, I can be the person I’m meant to be. And I so want to find a way to hang on to this.
Then I remember that sometime soon an email will come from Geneva, calling me all the way back to Paris be the person I was before. To pick up again where I left off. For tonight I’m not letting myself think about that. I know I used to love that spangly view of the Eiffel Tower in the dark. But now I love the lights of the fishing boats bobbing out to sea, and the arc of twinkle where the lights sweep around the bay just as much. Actually, a whole lot more.
The minute Charlie’s flat’s back to sparkle clean standard, I’ll pad along the balcony and spend half an hour before bed counting the stars over the bay with Diesel. Then later when I curl up in bed there will be a soft salty wind wafting through the open window. And Pancake will sit on my hair as she’s taken to doing lately. And she’ll purr in my ear until morning so the roar of the waves doesn’t wake me.
And just for tonight, because I’ve smashed it with my puddings I might just allow myself to pretend that life could stay like this forever.
21
In Laura’s flat at Seaspray Cottage
Lost dogs and kimonos
Saturday
This is why I rarely let myself dream – because the reality is so often a letdown. When I got back to my end of the balcony last night, Diesel had disappeared. Nothing sinister. There was a scrawled Post-it note from Charlie, saying they’d gone for their evening walk. Charlie, Dakota and Diesel, I take the threesome as a given because however irresistible Dakota is, Diesel still needs to pee. And realistically she didn’t get legs like hers by refusing any bit of exercise that came her way like I do. So, they probably had to have a break in their wardrobe action. Yay to that. The thought of them together made me feel like vomming. Although that could also have been down to necking the best part of two bottles of fizz and finishing off way too much trifle.
I used to like star gazing on my own, but that wasbeforeI’d had a dog’s head resting on my shoulder, sighing, groaning back to all my remarks about the moon and the reflections shimmering on the water. Once you’ve been spoiled with that kind of doggy company, doing it on your own isn’t half as magical. So, I left the living room door ajar in case Diesel needed to take refuge again, then I wandered through to the bedroom where I found that Pancake had puked up a fur ball on the rug. Which was exactly what I meant about the good times lasting. Let’s face it, any happy cloud built on a foundation as insubstantial as puddings was bound to be fleeting.
When I open my eyes next morning, I assume from the pale light that it’s early. I take in the raindrops splashing through onto a dark puddle on the bedroom floor in front of the open window and grope for my phone which tells me it’s eight o’clock and pissing down in St Aidan. Then I remember the whole reason for the party – Operation Siren – failed spectacularly due to Charlie leaving the scene.
On the up side, I bought quadruple quantities of croissants and pain au chocolat from the bakery yesterday afternoon as a hangover precaution. And I can have my wake-up blow out on the balcony while the kettle’s boiling. Swinging my legs out of the high bed, I pull a cardi over my sleep shorts and vest, grab a brolly and make my way through the hall. As I reach the living room door, I’m met by a cold black nose and a rough grey head.
‘Diesel, so youdidcome back. I don’t blame you for wanting to hide out in a groan free zone.’ I push my way through to the kitchen, and give his ears a rub as I fill the kettle. ‘Come on, let’s go outside for a blast, then we’ll have coffee.’
I’m crossing to the balcony doors, when I hear a grunt. As I turn to the patchwork sofa, the pile of throws on it heaves, and as a hand comes out I let out a squeal. A second later the heap of blankets parts and Charlie’s stubble covered face appears. ‘Did someone mention coffee … and what’s that about groans?’ He scratches his head and crumples up his face. ‘Why are you carrying an umbrella, Clems?’
As I stare down at my stumpy legs sticking out of my pyjama shorts I’m kicking myself for not putting on my flea market wedges. Then I notice the crumpled pile of denim on the floor by the sofa and catch a flash of tanned skin between the folds of alpaca rug, and I forget all about sandals.
My mouth is dry, but I have to check. ‘Sorry, where do you stand on underwear?’ However much I should, I’m not up to tackling him about what the heck he’s doing with my half-brother Joe and Siren House. As for the snog that never was, I’m going to act like he’s forgotten it.
There’s a smile playing around his lips. ‘That sounds like a trick question.’ From the slices in his cheeks he’s finding this a lot more amusing than me. ‘You need to be more specific.’
I swallow hard. ‘If those are your jeans on the floor, I’m hoping you wear it, that’s all.’
He laughs. ‘At a guess I’d say my boxers are marginally larger than yours.’
I’m trying hard not to think about them. And failing. ‘Damn. Back in a sec.’ What seemed fine for a moment on the balcony is way too skimpy when there’s a half-naked guy in my living room. It’s like every fantasy I’ve had over the last few weeks has come to life but now it has I’m completely unprepared to deal with it. I dash to the bathroom and unhook one of Laura’s flowery kimonos from the back of the door. It’s the best way to stop the virtual version of myself leaping on top of the quilt pile. Not that I wear them often. When you travel light like I do dressing gowns aren’t top of the ‘to pack’ list. Even if this one’s a bit voluminous it’s a perfect, instant cover up.
As I go back into the living room Charlie narrows his eyes. ‘Is that Laura’s robe?’
Moving across the room the peach silk splashed with cornflowers is almost weightless. ‘I’m borrowing it for the next two minutes, while I wave you and Diesel off. Then it’ll go back on the bathroom door where it belongs.’
He pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘No need to feel guilty, everything here was meant for you. From what Jenny said Laura chose what she left behind very carefully.’
