Tuesday
Considering what’s coming up later, our pastry afternoon goes very smoothly. I admit when Charlie first empties the ingredients into piles on the table the thought of what’s to come has me hyperventilating. But then he looks me in the eye and says, ‘Clems, there’s nothing you aren’t going to smash here. Cressy Cupcake would do this standing on her head, you can too.’
As distractions go, this one’s quite random, but I have to put him right. ‘Head stands? I can’t do effing head stands. Apart from anything else, my dresses would fall over my face.’
Charlie shrugs. ‘Like a lot of things, head stands are easier than you’d think. There’s an American photographer who took a whole load of selfie portraits doing headstands in skirts. They’re great, you should Google her. One time she put camera on automatic, did her headstands, and her dog photo bombed every frame. Maybe you and Diesel could try that?’
Whenever he does long speeches like this I always end up fixating on that vulnerable dent at the base of his throat. That’s Charlie for you. By the time he stops talking shit I can’t remember what I was worrying about to begin with. It’s nothing new though. Since the first day I arrived he’s been here, filling the flat with the same white noise. It used to annoy the hell out of me, but sometimes when he’s not here, I hate to admit there’s this emptiness where he was. Although, let’s face it, what with all the cookingandcoming round at all hours to check on Pancake, he is here driving me to crazy distraction a lot of the time. And even if he’s not, Diesel will usually creep in to keep Charlie’s place on the sofa warm.
When it comes to great shortcrust, forget gimmicks like ice filled rolling pins. It turns out the knack is to keep the pastry cool and have a light touch. A quick whizz of the Magimix – and whoever thought I’d ever be saying that sentence like I meant it? – then so long as you let it rest in the fridge before you roll it out you’re on to a winner. Because we’re using mini tins, that makes the rolling out easier. As Charlie says, we’ll do the tough calls later. Save the giant quiches for a day when we have hours to perfect rolling the pastry onto the rolling pin and back out over the tin.
Okay, the kitchen does look like a snowstorm, thanks to me going into overdrive with the flour sifter because I was so scared the pastry wasn’t going to come off the rolling board. And the blizzard has extended miles past my apron edges and is clinging to my maxi skirt tassels all the way round to my bum. But after puddings for eighty, tarts and tartlets for two is mini. Then we move on to a quick dark chocolate brownie mix, to complement the raspberry tartlets. Although I suspect that’s more of an excuse for Charlie to have something sweet to dip his spoon into.
As I’m putting the mini cheese and onion quiches into the oven Charlie dashes out, and when he comes back he’s carrying a smart orange paper carrier with dark blue wavey lines running across it.
I make my eyes suitably big. ‘So who’s been shopping at Riptide, then?’ It’s the surfie shop up in town which is so pricey I wouldn’t dare to put even my nose in, not that there would be anything in there I’d want to buy. I suspect for me the entire stock would fall into the category ‘wouldn’t be seen dead in’.
He dangles the strings off his finger as he hands the bag to me. ‘Don’t put them on the table. It’s an old superstition. My mum always made us put new shoes on the floor.’
‘Shoes?’ Now we’re onto another random subject when I should be pushing him on the trickier issues.
‘You did say size five? I thought glitter Converse might hit the sweet spot between practical and on-trend girlie.’
I’m swallowing back my shock, reminding myself a present is not an excuse to fling my arms around him, especially when I haven’t opened it yet. I put the bag down and prise the lid off the box far enough to peep. ‘Dusky pink, it’s a great colour. Thanks, they’re beautiful.’ For anyone else but me, that is. The last time I wore flats I was nineteen. After years wearing heels my calf muscles had contracted so much they were impossible to walk in. Even if they’re the most shimmery trainers in Cornwall, it’s going to take a lot more than flatties to get me onto that boat.
‘Dusky blue would have been better for a mermaid, but they didn’t have your size. If you need to change them the receipt’s in the bag.’ As usual he’s covered every eventuality with maximum efficiency and the minimum of fuss. ‘There’s no excuse not to walk along the beach with Diesel now. Although we’ll let you off on the days when you’re wearing your tail.’ He almost sends me a grin for that.
I smile back. ‘They’ll be fab for running between Metro stops when I get called back to Paris.’ It’s all bullshit. I’m as likely to run as I am to wear the shoes. Once Sunday’s over, I’ll slip them back to the shop and get him his money back. As for Paris, there are days when it feels so distant I might have dreamed that I was ever there. But I will have to face up to going back at some point, given all the paycheques that have been landing in my bank account. When I think of swapping Charlie for Maude, it’s not the best exchange.
Then as I catch Charlie’s crestfallen expression I kick myself and hurry on. ‘Anyway, while we’re waiting for these tarts and brownies to cook you can tell me how lunch went.’ I send him one of Sophie’s hard stares because turning up with shoes isn’t going to save him from the interrogation that I’ve been putting off for too long. ‘You might like to elaborate on whatever dirty deals you and Joe are cooking up together. It’s pointless pretending otherwise – linking up with the guy I’m avoiding to shaft Sophie and Nate feels like a total betrayal.’
He’s wheeling out that old familiar eye roll. ‘No deals have been done. Dirty or otherwise.’
‘So what is going on, why tell Sophie she knows where to find you?’
He drags on a breath. ‘There was no deceit on my part. Joe contacted all the developers in the area with a view to sharing the site, but as far as I know no one’s taken him up on the offer. I was simply flagging up to Sophie that she could pursue that option too.’
‘Right.’ I suppose that gets him off that particular hook.
He turns from where he’s leaning on the work surface staring out of the window. ‘Joe’s still in the picture for Siren House even without developers. He said today he and his brothers have some inheritance they have to spend in the area. So long as they get their finances sorted in time, they’ll be at the auction.’
‘So you two property moguls had a very chatty lunch then?’
He shrugs. ‘I wasn’t the only one digging. He was picking my brains about the local market, but he also knows I’m Clemmie’s neighbour, don’t forget.’
My stomach freezes. ‘You told him stuff about me?’
‘I had to trade something.’ Charlie’s only looking slightly guilty. ‘He’s very keen to talk to “Clemmie” but he still doesn’t know that’s you. George has made it clear he’s got to wait for you to approach him, but in the meantime, he’s wanting to find out everything he can about you. So, I mentioned you had a thing for loud French songs and a soft spot for meringues and my cat.’
I can’t help my squawk. ‘Jeez, Hobson.’
‘What?’ He’s sounding spectacularly unrepentant. ‘Anyone in St Aidan could tell him the same. He’s staying in an Airbnb up in the town, and weird as it seems, he’s lived in France a lot too. And his dad used to be a chef.’ He breaks off to peer through the glass on the oven front. ‘It’s funny. You both do that half close of your eyes when you smile sometimes. And the same “don’t mess with me” frown.’
There’s a deluge of facts to take in. But my voice shoots up with disbelief at the last accusation. ‘I don’t frown.’
There’s a smile twitching around Charlie’s lips. ‘Of course you do, all the time. Looking like you’re totally not taken in is your trademark thing.’
‘So when did you become the expert?’ No one ever analysed my facial expressions before, and I’m not enjoying it now they are.
