This is me on Saturday afternoon, talking to Sophie’s eldest, Millie, my designated helper, as the first early-bird visitors are trickling into the garden party.
Nell filled me in on the fundraising details on our way back home the other day. Kittiwake Court was left to the community as a bequest, to be a homely place to live for people from the village who couldn’t manage on their own anymore. Over the years it’s been upgraded using gifts from grateful – departed – residents, but lately it’s been a victim of both its own success and a raft of new regulations.
Long story cut short, without new kitchen facilities and bathroom refits to bring the place up to current standards, the council is threatening to close it down. But thanks to Kittiwake taking such good care of people, there’s been a dramatic drop-off in legacies. And the eye-watering sum immediately needed to ensure the care home has a future is around a hundred thousand pounds.
There are certain grants available, and fundraising has already begun. But there’s still an outstanding amount that’s big enough to make Nell whistle. As time is running out fast, the younger residents of St Aidan are going all out to come to the rescue. Knowing all that, I was happy to stay up until gone one making cupcakes and be up again at six to get myself ready.
When Diesel and I arrived here earlier Sophie’s husband Nathan and Nell’s other half George were lugging the huge pine kitchen table across the garden, and we loaded it with the goods people had dropped off in advance. And now, with Diesel and his water bowl tucked safely underneath, we’re looking at the kind of variety you only get at a bring-and-buy event: thistle-printed shortbread biscuits tied in cellophane and finished with tartan bows, a glossy glazed apricot tart that wouldn’t look out of place in a French patisserie, a strawberry and cream gateau that looks large enough to feed a rugby team.
And then there are gingerbread men with Smarties buttons and cheeky icing grins, and chocolate cornflake clusters in pretty paper cases made by the playgroup kids, not to mention chocolate banana loaves, lemon drizzles, cherry scones and brownie stacks. And thanks to Sophie’s talent for covering every aspect, behind us – believe it or not – we have a second, empty table and a roll of labels, where people can leave what they aren’t going to eat immediately to pick up later.
As for my week and my impending visitor – Ross finally called my mobile yesterday to say he’d be dropping by the flat. Then while Diesel and I were on the beach for our afternoon walk one tiny bag appeared in the small bedroom, along with a note pinned to the kitchen door sayingBack tomorrow. And as tomorrow’s here and we’ve made it all the way to two o’clock and still haven’t seen him, we’re taking that as a win. Although the constant waiting’s not exactly relaxing; it might be better to get him there, and deal with it. And I’m no further forward with my job ideas either. My mum’s sister Nessie does astrology, and I’m currently what she’d describe as stuck. I feel like a damn great planetary shove to move me forward would be good.
Millie looks up as she gets the piles of paper bags and cake boxes ready for the customers. ‘It’s actually going to take loads of money to save the care home. And the people who live there mustn’t find out it could close, in case they worry.’ She pulls her fingers across her lips. ‘As Mum always says, it’s good we know how to zip it in this village.’
The way my own classified information spreads like wildfire, discretion isn’t a concept I personally associate with the residents of St Aidan, so I gaze around the lawns to find something to discuss where we’ll have more common ground. It should be easy because the whole place is amazing; on one side the grass ends on a cliff edge, and beyond it the navy-blue sea stretches straight out to the horizon. And as I look past the bring-and-buy stalls and the curly metal tables where people are already sitting with cups of tea, I take in a huge stone house with wall tops that zigzag across the cobalt sky. ‘It must be nice living in a castle.’
Millie rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t be taken in. Everyone knows Mum got carried away and bought a wreck. They’ll be doing it up for ever and we haven’t got two pennies to rub together. But at least my room’s cool.’ She lets out a sigh then she grins. ‘I based my colours on Clemmie’s flat.’
She sounds closer to a hundred than eleven. More importantly, for someone who claims to keep secrets, she’s alarmingly frank. ‘Let me guess. You’ve got orange, and bright pink and apple green?’
Millie’s nodding. ‘And Clemmie making rainbow cupcakes formyparty was what started the craze.’ Her face goes serious as she looks at the cupcake towers at the end of the table. ‘Yours are even nicer. It’s true what Mum says, with your cakes and your celebrity pulling-power, you’ll make us a mint.’
For now I’m ignoring that Sophie rushed past a moment ago and added a large sign sayingUnicorn Cakes by Cressida Cupcake, and doubled my price. Instead I’m watching as Nell hitches up George’s pirate britches. He’s got a patch over one eye and a fake parrot on his shoulder and as he climbs into some mediaeval stocks, she’s swilling sponges in buckets of water.
Meanwhile Millie’s waving at Plum as she comes out of the French windows in an ice-blue silk sheath dress with an over-skirt that looks a lot like a sequin-covered fish. Millie turns to me again. ‘I’ve got a mermaid outfit too, but I decided jeans were more practical for helping with Diesel.’ She looks at me. ‘What a shame we didn’t think, you could have borrowed Mum’s tail. Nell’s putting hers on soon too.’
‘Really, I’m fine as I am. In any case, people will recognise me more easily in my apron.’ It’s not a refuge I’d usually take, but I reckon I’ve had a very narrow escape there. I’m up for a lot of things, but a full mermaid costume isn’t one of them.
Millie’s grinning. ‘It’s okay anyway, they’ll all know it’s you because of your amazing shiny hair.’ She gives her hair a little swish over her shoulder that’s a lot like the one I do, then looks at me. ‘I’ve been practising all week, did I get that right?’
I’m not sure whether to be horrified or appalled, so it’s a shock when I spin around from Millie and my face hits a purple chest with a vets’ surgery logo on it. I allow myself one second to let my stomach descend like a high-speed lift, then I force myself into action. ‘Ross! Customers on the other side of the table, please!’ I’m looking past him to a crowd clustered at the far end of the lawn. ‘Whatever’s going on over there seems popular, you might like a look at that.’
Millie peers past me. ‘That’s Nell’s singles club, they’ve got a speed-dating table and a lucky-in-love bran tub.’
Ross nods at the bulging pocket of his jeans. ‘Already been, and believe me, there’s nothing lucky about that tub. I pulled out a “Get to Know Your Partner” quiz game, which is zero use to me when I don’t have one.’ He takes a step back, which in some ways makes things worse not better, because instead of looking at a small square of polo shirt piqué I now have a view of the whole smiling guy. And truly, absolutelynopart of me is whooping to find out he’s unattached. Then he runs his fingers through his curls and gives the kind of inscrutable grin that used to finish me off. ‘I saw Diesel’s lead was tangled round the table leg. If that means I’m also rubbing shoulders with Cressida’s world-famous cupcake tower, it’s entirely accidental.’
It might help if I close my eyes. ‘Just sort Diesel, help yourself to a sugar hit and—’ how to say bugger off in public? ‘—go and throw some sponges at a pirate.’ I open them again expecting he’ll be long gone, but he’s still in exactly the same spot.
He lets out a breath. ‘The stocks are next to the Roaring Waves beer tent. I just left Walter there with all his mates from the market. In any case, I wanted a word.’
The gates must have opened, because the garden is suddenly heaving and people are already lining up in front of us. I take the money for a Victoria sandwich, four bags of fudge and half a dozen unicorn cakes that Millie packs into a cake box, then push a cupcake at Ross to hide how much my heart just sank at the thought of talking to him. ‘Eat this and come back when we’re quieter.’
For the next two hours there’d be no space for Ross to get a look in even if he were here. All I’m doing is taking money while Millie wraps whatever is needed and shuffles the cakes around. Better still, I hit on a brilliant way to direct people’s attention away from the whole Cressida Cupcake thing; I ask them what their favourite cakes are, and after that there’s only time for me to say, ‘Hope you enjoy’ as I give them their change and move on to the next customer. It’s so busy I don’t give Ross another thought until there’s finally a lull and I see him coming towards us from the house carrying a tray of mugs.
‘You’re still here.’ It’s a statement, not a question, seeing as he’s next to us.
Millie grins. ‘He’s been working really hard the whole time, bringing cakes over from the kitchen.’
‘He has?’
Millie’s beam widens. ‘So I could fill the gaps on the stall. He’s what Mum calls a natural helper.’
Ross gives a shrug. ‘Only doing what Sophie told me. Now it’s quietened down I grabbed us all some tea.’
Millie beams at me. ‘Also very helpful, you see? He just can’t stop himself.’ And she could be right.
‘Great.’ The mug’s already in front of me so it looks like a done deal, but at least we’re standing up, which makes it less of a commitment.
