Nell chokes into her fist. ‘That’s not strictly true. Everyone here always knows what everyone else is doing, sometimes before they’ve even done it.’
Sophie shakes her head. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds. We’re just off to the Surf Shack for a late lunch, if you’d like to come too?’
I hesitate for a second. Even if I didn’t need to save every penny I can, yesterday’s girl chat was quite enough to last me. On the other hand, I may feel elated now I’ve made a cake stack the height of the cliffs, but I didn’t think it through as far as who was going to eat them. I can’t possibly have them all to myself. Growing out of my jeans would push me off the financial cliff.
‘Or I have a batch of warm brownies and the kettle just boiled. We could have tea in the garden?’ If Sophie and Nell are here with a small, hungry army it’s a no-brainer to put my reservations to one side and reach out instead. They’ll be able to give me feedback I need on how they taste, and enjoy the cake mountain too. I mean, I haven’t completely embraced Martha’s suggestion of carrying on with my book regardless, but as I’ve got this block of time allocated to recipe testing, it might be a waste not to use it.
Sophie’s voice goes dreamy. ‘Brownies, you say?’
Nell nods. ‘With a pot of strong tea? Now you’re talking! Sophie can sort out the seats down here, I’ll come up and help you carry.’
I’m hesitating. ‘So long as you promise not to judge me on how messy the kitchen is.’
Nell seems to find that funny. ‘As if! Sophie might, but I was practically brought up in a farmyard, so I never would.’
Which reminds me that these ‘instant’ best friends really belong to someone else. It’s funny how little I know about their backstory and what makes them tick. But whatever, ten minutes later I’m handing out Clemmie’s pretty, mismatched plates. Even worse, there was no time to check how woozy my hair was. After being out on that balcony, I probably look like a haystack that got stuck in a wind tunnel.
Sophie’s already dipping into the mini taster-squares as she shunts the pale green metal table into position on the patio made of faded criss-crossed bricks. ‘This end of the garden is less private, but it’s more sheltered here today and we can still see the sea.’
Nell’s looking over the low wall to the beach path beyond. ‘Better still, we can introduce you to anyone we know who walks past. And Diesel should behave himself today because he’s at home.’
Sophie watches as the older kids take a lump of cake in each hand then run off through the picket gate and throw themselves down on the grass underneath the apple trees. ‘They love this garden. Clemmie does afternoon teas here for our Mums and Bumps group in summer.’
Nell’s nodding. ‘And it’s great for outdoor singles evenings when the nights are warmer. Everyone loves a pudding night – they could be right up your street too.’
What they’re talking about is Clemmie’s amazing Little Cornish Kitchen business, which she started upstairs a couple of years ago and then moved down to the ground floor when it took off. I came and did my hygiene courses with Clemmie a couple of months ago, because I think she’d hoped I might keep the business going while she was away. But we both decided I wasn’t up to the challenge.
As for the way Nell’s directing this at me, I’m not sure where she’s going with that.
She’s giving me a hard stare. ‘Just saying. They bring good money in. I’m sure Clemmie wouldn’t mind you putting a couple on yourself – if you’re short.’
I know I’m panicking about money, but I didn’t know I wasthattransparent. ‘Short ofwhat?’
Sophie lets out a sigh and pulls the smallest child up onto her knee. ‘We’ll come clean. Nell’s other half accidentally overheard your call down at the harbour this morning. We’re here to help.’
Nell chimes in. ‘If you’re having cash-flow problems, events at Seaspray Cottage are definitely your answer.’
This makes yesterday’s afternoon-tea intervention look like nothing. Quite apart from anything else, I’d never use Charlie and Clemmie’s place to earn money when we hadn’t planned it in advance.
However well-meaning they are, I need to put them right on this. As for getting it right on the night enough to put on events, forget it! Bake-off-gate has taught me my lesson – from now on I’m going to stick to what I know. The thought of veering this far off course is making my palms sweat all over again.
Like a lot of people, my career hasn’t turned out as I expected and I definitely haven’t been turning out perfect flans since the age of two. I went to uni with dreams of working on a make-up magazine and I didn’t even begin to bake until I was twenty. But me using my baking professionally was completely accidental. I was working for a stable of upmarket lifestyle magazines and in a mad moment I filmed myself on my phone showing a friend how to pipe buttercream. She uploaded the clip to YouTube the same week the entire world went crazy for cupcakes and the rest is history. But it’s completely different from the fabulous parties Clemmie’s told me about that made her a local legend; even in my biggest, most inflated dreams, I’m not in that league.
Sophie’s wiggling her eyebrows. ‘Clemmie was a total beginner when she started. We made it work for her, we can do it for you too.’ Her eyes are fixing me to the spot.
Unlike Clemmie, who worked bars right around the world, I have zero face-to-face customer skills and no hospitality experience. I’m desperate to make them understand how wildly off-target they are here. ‘I film myself doing simple baking, but I’m like an actor. Everything I do is a pretence, it doesn’t relate toreallife at all.’
Nell sniffs. ‘These brownies taste pretty damn real to me.’
Then another, more concrete excuse flashes into my head. ‘It’s out of the question anyway. The builders are knocking down walls in Clemmie’s work kitchen while she’s away, and all the tables and chairs have gone to be repainted.’
Sophie slaps her knee. ‘Damn, I’d forgotten.That’swhy the garden looks so empty.’
I force out a smile. ‘Maybe you can help me another way. I actually hoped selling brownies over the wall would plug the hole in my finances.’ That shows what pressure can do for on-the-hoof brainwaves. I dip sideways and do a little jazz-hands wiggle behind one of the trays. ‘So what do you think?’
Sophie sits back in her chair and peels her child’s hands off her T-shirt. ‘Lovely and sticky, I’ve got great coverage here.’ She stares down at her cocoa-covered boobs. ‘This is why I have two hundred identical tops – did Clemmie mention it?’
Nell pulls a face. ‘One brownie at a time? Speaking honestly as an accountant, it’s going to be an uphill struggle.’
