‘So for now they’ve withdrawn their contract offer!’
It takes a couple of seconds for her words to echo back off the row of fishermen’s cottages and sink into my brain. As my heart judders to a halt I stagger to a nearby bench. Then my gulp is huge enough for me to swallow the rest of what is left in my mouth. ‘So they won’t be payinganythingupfront?’ It’s meant to be a hyena shriek but it comes out as a whimper.
‘Not at this stage. And they won’t be taking the books from you either. But if you’re still keen to do one, go ahead. We can try to place it once it’s complete.’
I can’t believe she sounds so matter of fact. For me it’s like I won the lottery and now I’ve lost the ticket. But I need to get this clear. ‘So that’s all the work, but none of the cash? And no guarantees either?’
More to the point, how am I going to survive for the next six months without the money? It felt so rock-solid, I’ve based all my financial forecasts on it and my life plans too. Which sounds a lot more fancy than it is. But if you think there’s a wodge coming your way, you’re a lot less careful with the cash you have left. I mean, five minutes ago I was splurging at the bakery. What I blew there would have kept me in soup for a month. Now I’m counting every almond flake, thank Christmas I didn’t buy the fizz.
Martha’s smile is pained. ‘Get your book under your belt while the ice age is here, and pray like mad for a thaw. It’s speculative, but it’s my best suggestion, given the—’
I can’t help my yell. ‘The hashtag raw-as-effing-rainbows?’ What use is cash that may never materialise when you need the damn stuff in your hand today?
She’s got her calm-the-client voice on now. ‘It’s all very unfortunate. Let’s talk again soon, we’ll firm up when you’ve had time to think it over.’
Then Diesel gives a yank on his lead, and as I lurch to my feet and follow him to a sandwich crust across the cobbles, the signal’s breaking up. A moment later Martha’s call has ended.
Then another yank on the lead takes me by surprise and before I know it Diesel’s haring across the car park with so much momentum that all I can do is follow. It’s lucky for us the traffic here is crawling. We dodge in front of a tractor pulling a trailer piled with boxes of fish, narrowly miss two cars, and then we’ve got a clear run to the end of the harbour parking area.
‘So, I’ve got a runaway dog, no income, and just like my dreams of a book, my tarts will be bashed into a million pieces. This has to be the worst it gets.’
I’m muttering to myself as we reach the corner where the tarmac gives way to the dune path, then I twist for a moment as I clutch the stitch in my side. And in that split-second view over my shoulder I catch a figure standing by a mud-spattered estate car, head tilted against the morning sun as he watches me.
If that was Ross and he saw Diesel out of controlagain, my day just went downhill a whole lot further.
4
Clemmie’s flat at Seaspray Cottage
Gate crashers and garden parties
Later that day, Saturday
Take it from me. When your whole world is imploding, the fastest way to feel better is to make cake.
Martha’s call and my impromptu run with Diesel left me in such a whirl that I was hyperventilating even before I reached the entrance to Seaspray Cottage. But then as I wound my way up around the stairs with their creaky waxed floorboards and took in the scent of thyme and lavender on the landings, instead of gasping I started to breathe again.
And when I reach the top floor, Nell’s eggs are on the side next to the butter I took out of the fridge to soften when I got up this morning. And as Clemmie’s store cupboards are bursting with ingredients and come with an open invitation to help myself, all I have to do is set myself to autopilot and press go.
One of the best things to bake in a crisis is brownies. From the mental lists I was making as I woke up today, it’s almost as if I knew what was coming. They’re straightforward to make, so as I weigh the ingredients and set Clemmie’s baby-pink mixer to beat the batter, my mind is free to wander. But best of all is that thick, sweet, chocolatey mixture that swirls around the spoon as I fold in the walnuts. The way the chunks of dark mint chocolate in the second batch shine with promise as I spread the mixture out into the tins. Imagining the dense fudgy middle and those dark delicious flavours as the tops of the Nutella batch firm in the heat. By the time the oven door opens and blasts the kitchen with a steam-shot of pure cocoa, my brain is flooded with endorphins. I still have no idea how I’m going to live when my bank account runs dry, but now I mind about it less.
Exactly three hours after ground zero – with ground zero being the point when the signal expired on my call to Martha – I’m wiping my hands on my apron, and looking at a row of Clemmie’s colourful tin trays, each piled high with a delicious stack of sticky chocolatey squares. And even though I’ve avoided posting baking on my pages lately because every time I do, I get a backlash of nasty comments, they look so delish I can’t resist taking some photos. Just for me.
Getting the kitchen spick and span immediately after baking isn’t my biggest strength, but I get as far as piling the sink with dishes and baking sheets, and then I take a breather.
I give Diesel a rueful grin as I fill the kettle. ‘The shit is still the same, but the day is definitely brighter.’ Then I cross the living room and he follows me onto the long sunny balcony that runs the across the front of both Clemmie’s and Charlie’s flats.
The breeze is playing havoc with my hair, but the air is so fresh I carry on anyway, ignoring that the slits under my bare feet give me glimpses all the way down to the sand below. I edge past the vintage table and chairs and get as far as the hand rail. Then a shout from below startles me so much I practically fall over the edge.
‘Cressy, how are you doing up there?’
I lean out and see Nell’s sandy head, Sophie’s blonder one and a clutch of children, their faces all tilting upwards. ‘Diesel and I are having a ball.’
Nell chortles. ‘We heard he gave you a run for your money down the harbourside this morning.’
And damn that we were spotted when I’d hoped to get away with it.
Sophie digs her in the ribs and shouts up. ‘Her other half has his office there. Don’t worry, you’re only the most interesting thing in town because you’re new.’
