I press upload on the clip, swig back the last of the fizz, and then we go inside to bed.
24
On the deck at Plum’s gallery
Deep cuts and good ideas
Tuesday
It’s Tuesday lunchtime and after yesterday’s sessions at Walter’s it was blissful to get back to Clemmie’s kitchen. As I finally got down to making the dough for some cookie box orders, while also adding ideas to my long list for my cookie chapter, I never wanted to set foot on a farm ever again. But that’s not what farming is like. There are living breathing animals who need almost as many meals as we do, so here I was again this morning, whisking up milk for the calves’ breakfast.
The bake boxes have taken off so well, a lot of the time they’re spoken for without even advertising. So when I got home today I pulled in a cupcake and rocky road bake, which means there’s something to put up on Facebook for this evening to keep the interest going. And then Clemmie and I looked through my cupcake snaps. We were still a long way from deciding whether to lean towards out-there and unusual or tried-and-tested favourites, but then we had the sudden brainwave that there might be a place for two chapters – so trad and edgy it’s going to be.
And now Diesel and I have come up the hill from the harbour to Plum’s gallery for a quick lunchtime meet-up with half the mermaids for an urgent fundraising chat. Then afterwards Diesel and I are heading straight off to meet Nell for this afternoon’s baking session at Kittiwake Court.
I know I was hoping to use my time in St Aidan to chill, but as the weeks go by I’m busier and busier. Using the recipe tests for the book to fill the bake boxes has been a win-win and thanks to Clemmie’s china and the flat, my blog photo-library grows every day. I’ve tweaked my methods and written introductions as I’ve gone along too, so I’m making good progress there. And with each FaceTime bake chat with Clemmie, the book is becoming firmer. I know I was busy before, filming and prepping my blog posts and keeping across what was going on all over the net, but from where I am now, it’s feeling as if I’ll be getting my rest when I go back home again.
Plum converted her gallery a few years ago from an old chandler’s store, and Diesel and I waft through lofty white spaces filled with seascapes, past the postcard stands and shelves of jewellery and gifts, and out onto the deck where Plum, Sophie and little Maisie are already sitting at a table with the sea shimmering pale blue in the distance.
Sophie hands Maisie a slice of watermelon then looks up at me. ‘So how’s it going for our land girl?’
I grin. ‘It turns out your Joules wellies are fab for keeping calves in line. And I still have six and a half fingernails left.’ Another one went this morning. It’s such a horrible feeling when they crack, I’m coming round to the idea of wearing them shorter. I’m pinning my hopes on getting faster with the farm jobs; if I carry on as I am now, I’ll be in the fields more than I’m in the kitchen.
Plum glances at her own paint-streaked fingers. ‘It’ll be helpful for Ross to have an extra pair of hands up there.’
I wince as that reminds me. ‘I had no idea his accident was so bad.’
Sophie’s brows furrow. ‘It’s a lot more serious than he lets on.’ Which confirms that like everything else here, they’re all aware of it. Then her anxiety melts to a smile. ‘You two seem to have put your differences behind you?’
Knowing how fast the gossip line works here, I’m not going to fan any flames. ‘It’s easier now I’m getting to know him more. Millie was right, he’s great at washing up.’ Hopefully that’s made him sound suitably distant and insignificant, and what I pull from the top of my bag should distract them. ‘I’ve brought you some old-school sponge, which is deep cake topped with glacé icing and sprinkles, cut into squares.’
Plum licks her lips as she lifts the lid. ‘Just like we had for school dinner seconds back in the day, with pink custard!’ She puts some slices onto a big plate. ‘How is the cake so yellow?’
I’ve got a confession. ‘It’s made from Walter’s eggs, laid by hens with feathers on their feet, collected from the toilet cubicle in one of Walter’s broken-down vintage caravans.’
Sophie’s holding her piece in the air. ‘That’s quite a back story. Baked by a Londoner, who’s been here so long you’ve almost got St Aidan residency.’ She gives a cough. ‘And whose other claim to fame is getting twenty thousand likes in two days for her film clipHow not to make meringues.’
I can feel my eyebrows shoot upwards with the shock. ‘You’re joking me?’ I checked that it had all loaded up okay on Sunday night, and, I’m ashamed to say, since then I’ve been more concerned with hungry calves. I know how unpredictable social media can be, but this reaction is so much more than I’d imagined.
Plum’s beaming. ‘Millie’s made up, she was texting me all day yesterday as the numbers rose.’
Sophie’s eyes are shining. ‘She was simply there with her phone at the right time. The reaction is all down to your followers, Cressy. And your comedy timing, of course!’
I pull a face. ‘Even I have to admit, it is funny.’
Plum gives my hand a squeeze. ‘Well done for putting it out there. It takes a big person to be comfortable as the fall guy.’
Sophie smacks her palm against mine. ‘Thank you for having the guts, we all appreciate it.’ She’s peering at my bag. ‘What else have you got in there?’
I laugh. ‘Nothing edible, just ideas for fundraisers.’ However many people have seen me getting egg poured on my head, I haven’t completely ditched the pretty things in life, so I’ve rewritten my ideas neatly into my lily flower notebook because they’re symbols of prosperity. At a time like this we need all the help we can get.
Plum’s eyes are popping as she pours us coffees from a large pot. ‘What do you say to aMamma Mia!singalong film screening on the beach?’
Sophie claps her hands. ‘With fancy dress!’
I can already see it. ‘And moussaka!’
Plum’s noting it down on a large pad in thick black felt tip. ‘That’s a dead cert. What else?’
