And before I get chance to send them to her, she’s sweeping in, arms waving. ‘Okay, this morning we’re all heading down to the beach, everyone be back here ready in fifteen minutes.AND DON’T BE LATE!’
You can tell why she’s gone so far in business. Her tone’s so kick-ass, a second later the kitchen’s empty. Fifteen mins on, it’s bustling with bodies zipping up their puffa jackets, stamping their bright coloured wellies while she snaps her fingers and counts heads.
‘Okay, that’s all of us except Miranda and Ambrose who are AWOLyet again, no surprise there.’
Tarkie pipes up. ‘As we came downstairs Granny was calling out.’
Fliss gives me a nudge and mutters. ‘Ambrose really is unstoppable.’ Then she looks up at Tarkie. ‘No need to take any notice of that.’
Tiff’s frowning. ‘She was actually shouting.’
Libby’s eyes go wide. ‘Holy smoke, what are those two like?’ She turns to Willow. ‘I do hope yours weren’t upset?’
Willow’s beaming around at her three. ‘It’s fine, we all know –’ she stops to make some inverted commas in the air with her fingers ‘– when “souls touch” it’s very fulfilling, but it sometimes gets a bit squeaky, doesn’t it?’ Three Twiglet heads nod in wholesome agreement.
Tarkie nods, like he knows too. ‘That’s the bit with the clingon isn’t it.’
Tiff rolls her eyes. ‘You mean the clitoris, Tarkie.’
Libby lets out a squawk. ‘Tarkie, Tiff …’
‘SoulsTOUCHING?Really?’ Tom’s choking into his sleeve. ‘Well these souls had the volume on full, they were literally banging … likereally, REALLY LOUD!’
Libby’s scowl is fierce enough to turn him to dust. ‘ENOUGH, TOMAS!’
His voice shoots high in protest.‘You were the one who told us to be open and honest about sex and that it was never too early to know where the clitoris is.’ He gives a snort. ‘I’m only telling it like it is.’
Libby’s hissing through her teeth. ‘Well DON’T!!!’ Then she turns around to everyone. ‘Okay, we’ll carry on without them. Let’s see who can jump in the sea first!’
She has that effect. However determined I am to resist her commands, simply to show I can, when I look down my feet are running, and Merwyn’s bounding along beside me. And just beyond him Miles is beaming at me, leaping like a slow motion TV advert as we pass through the garden shrubbery. As we dash out onto the sand, on the other side of him Bill’s moving like a winger on a rugby pitch, only without the ball, with the single-minded concentration to match. I mean, truly, why the hell hashecome along? Okay, he came to the rescue yesterday, but does that mean he’s ‘friends and family’ now? Surely he should be staying at home taking care of the castle or whatever it is he does.
And there’s another thing. Libby telling everyone to go and jump into the sea. I mean, why? As Fliss and I watch everyone hurling themselves into the waves like lemmings, splashing the shallows up their jogging bottoms like there’s no tomorrow, all I can do is look at her and grimace.
Fliss raises her eyebrows at me as we dodge the worst of the spray. ‘She didn’t think this one through, did she?’
But Libby’s powering towards me through the foam. ‘You did get that, Ivy? Everyone running into the winter water, that’s a wholly unique image.’
Damn. ‘Or maybe we could go again?’
In the end we go the whole way along the beach to St Aidan, running in and out of the sea, by which time the promise of phone signal and warm radiators to dry our soaking wet legs on has become too much, so we all head past the boats bobbing in the harbour, their rigging jangling on their metal masts in the wind gusts, and up the winding cobbled street to the Hungry Shark for some warm apple punch and a wifi fix.
Obviously with a bar full of fairy lights, punch bowls, stacks of mince pie muffins and piles of crusty Cornish pasties topped with festive holly leaves, I’m back in Instagram heaven. From the way they’re waving madly from the corner down the end of the bar, this also seems to be where Keef and his mates hang out, when they’re not catching half pipes, or whatever it is they do on the beach.
Libby’s lot are already at a table, Willow and the Twiglets are having lengthy discussions at the bar, no doubt arguing origins and sugar content.
By the time I get to Fliss and my pasty, Harriet and Oscar are in high chairs, and there’s no avoiding Bill who’s between them looking hugely grumpy passing out cheese cubes and carrot straws. I’m settling back against my bench seat at the side of Oscar when Milo appears.
‘Is there room for a small one?’
It’s one of those questions he’s not expecting an answer to. Realistically, the answer’s no, because the space beside me is child sized. But his glass and pasty are on the table, and his hip hits mine before I can protest. My elbows are clamped to my sides which makes my pasty pointless because I can’t get my hand out to eat it. But I take it the wide smile is meant to more than make up for that.
‘We haven’t had chance to chat yet, I hear we have a lot in common.’
Oh shit.I knew our single status would have to come at some stage, I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon or so direct. I can’t begin to imagine the build up they’ll have been giving me so I need a carefully considered reply here.So you’re single and desperate too?would work. Or maybe I should go straight for thedesperately NOT seeking …denial. Instead I take the total cop out and let him do the work. ‘We do?’
He’s laughing at me. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know – we both work in retail.’
As I let out a breath of relief my chest deflates entirely. ‘Great. Of course, I do styling atDaniels, so does Fliss.’ Widening it out to three of us is so much less intimate than two.
