I take a step back, fall over a chair, and Nell moves in to steady me as she shouts to the audience. ‘A win for Cressy there, everyone. She might not have got the cupcake, but the rest should have made up for it.’
Sophie’s clapping again. ‘So who’s up next? It doesn’t have to be couples, you can go for the buns on your own.’
Walter’s already on his feet. ‘Me and Joanie! If she wins she’s coming to the spa day.’
And this is the beauty of St Aidan – they’ve already moved on. And with any luck what just happened with Ross and me won’t have any significance in anyone’s head. Especially not mine. As soon my heart slows down I’ll be completely back to business as usual.
I can’t help noticing. ‘Hey, Walter, you’ve taken your cap off!’
He gives a gruff grunt. ‘That icing looks a lot stickier than cow muck, I don’t want it spoiling my Duke’s tweed.’
Jen winks at me. ‘There’s no arguing with that, Walter.’
And someone has turned on Blondie’s greatest hits in the background, and as Walter and Joanie move into position, and Millie waggles her phone at me, Debbie Harry is singing ‘Heart of Glass’.
35
Down by the harbour
Another close call
Thursday
‘When I go back to London I’ll miss the sound of the breakers. And Crusty Cobs’ croissants, obviously.’ As Diesel and I amble across the harbour, me saying the things out loud is easier than bottling them up and being sad. ‘I’ll miss Pancake doing puddings with her paws on my pillow at four in the morning. The light glinting off the water like diamonds when the sun shines. How a black sky can turn the sea to slate in a moment. The way the wind whips the shingle off the beach and flings it against the windows on the wildest days.’
As a damp wet nose pushes into my coat pocket, searching out a last gravy bone biscuit, I come to a halt with my list, because I can’t quite put into words the ache I get in my chest when I think of saying goodbye to Diesel. As for the joy of waking up every morning andnothearing Ross singing along to Radiohead on his beat box as he washes his cocoa mug from the night before and burns his breakfast toast – that’s something else I haven’t quantified yet either.
For months I’ve been desperate to put counties between me and Ross and his quirky habits and achingly beautiful thighs. But now that’s in my sights, I catch myself humming tunes from his favouriteOK Computeralbum as I wander around the flat or count the sheep up at Walter’s. And when I find I’m word-perfect on entire verses, it throws me right off my stride. So, for now I’m putting my feelings about Ross on the too complicated pile.
It’s Tuesday morning and Diesel and I are on our way back from our farm duties and beach walk. In fact there’s a lot going on as I move into the last couple of weeks of my stay here. Obviously, the biggest thing of all is that any day nowshouldbe when Clemmie and Charlie find out if their second round of IVF has been successful.
Since Charlie rang us that awful night to say the first round hadn’t worked they’ve given me endless input for my book, but they’ve never mentioned any more details of the treatment. But counting on from the night Charlie rang with the bad news, I know that this should be the make-or-break week, and I’m holding my breath, willing things to be okay for them. Needless to say I haven’t taken my eyes off my message icon, but so far there’s been no word other than our regular pet catch-ups.
I look down at Diesel, who’s walking beautifully to heel on a slack lead. ‘And you’re so much better behaved than you were when I first arr—’
Famous last words. Before I can finish my sentence there’s a tug on my arm, and next thing I’m being dragged past the cars to the front of George’s office, where Sophie is just emerging, putting on her sunnies and buttoning her coat against the breeze.
She staggers back as Diesel’s weight hits her. ‘Hey, you don’thaveto put a paw onbothmy shoulders.’ She gives me a wink. ‘We could do with you to bring Millie back down to earth – her feet haven’t touched the ground since she put up those latest clips over the weekend. I hope she didn’t overstep with what she uploaded?’
‘Seeing the number of people who are watching them, I’d say, go for it.’ She ran them all past me first before she put them up, and the ones she took of the Kittiwake residents chasing buns are fabulous. ‘Millie’s too sensible to let the success go to her head. And I’m delighted to have the traffic.’
‘They’re all pretty popular, but there is one in particular that’s streets ahead of the others…’ Sophie’s giving me a super-searching look through her Ray-Bans.
‘Anything with Walter in, the views are exponential.’ Then I have to admit, ‘I’m feeling pretty proud of the blondie posts I put up too. I don’t know if it’s a knock-on effect from the film clips, but they had almost as much response as my posts before I went on TV.’
Sophie’s eyes open wide. ‘So you’ve done it! You’ve actually rebuilt your following again?’
I can’t hold back my smile. ‘I may be reaching different people now, but the numbers are good and the comments are more supportive than ever they used to be.’ It’s actually been a bit like an avalanche – what began as a trickle built up speed and this weekend the numbers came in a huge rush.
Sophie sweeps me into a hug. ‘It’s fabulous you’ve waved goodbye to the haters.’
I nod. ‘They’ve gone, but I’ll never forget the lesson they taught me.’ I’m more grounded and less impressionable now, and I truly appreciate that on the internet you’re only ever as successful as your last posting.
Last Friday’s blondie event was the milestone that marked my posts taking off. But there are a few minutes of that evening in particular that have been playing on repeat in my brain ever since. No prizes for guessing which bit that is. And there are three questions I keep asking myself:
Why the hell did the buns-on-strings battle go so wrong when we’d done it so many times before? When my mouth did accidentally end up on Ross’s, why did I stay there so long? And why the hell can’t I stop thinking about it?
For the record, I’m thinking of it as a clash of mouths. Even in the darkest part of the night when I relive it, I refuse to call it a kiss.
