My stomach deflates. ‘I meantthe flavours.’
There’s a moment of silence as it hits us how badly we’ve all blundered. We’re opening and closing our mouths around the table, but then something much worse happens.
‘I came to drop that poster off, but if those are brownies, I’m a world authority.’
Damn, damn, damn.I don’t even have to look to know whose deep gravelly voice that is. And then, just when I think it can’t get any worse than bloody Ross Bradbury crashing the tea party, Diesel leaps up, sails over to the wrong side of the wall like a Grand National steeplechaser and tries to eat his face off.
‘Food that’s unsuitable for dogs.’I beam round at Sophie and Nell. ‘That’s the poster. And meet Ross, he’s the guy who first introduced Charlie to Cornwall. He’s been in St Aidan very briefly and he’s leaving any day.’ That pretty much covers it. And hopefully sends him off-stage as fast as he came on.
Sophie wrinkles her nose. ‘We know who Ross is, we grew up together.’ She turns to Ross. ‘And luckily for us, he’s been here for a proper stay this time. Blossom and Bluebell love going to see Ross.’
The alarm bells are pinging in my brain. He’s obviously been back a lot longer than he implied. And how unsettling that they all know each other, even if it was from back in the day. And so like Sophie to choose those fab names. I’m looking along the garden. ‘So which ones are Bluebell and Blossom?’
Sophie grins. ‘They’re actually our guinea pigs.’
Nell spits her tea across the table as her laugh explodes. ‘The trick to remembering Sophie’skids, all their names begin with M. From small to large, Maisie, Marco, Matilda and Millie-Vanilla. How did we not introduce them earlier?’
I’m puzzling as I take in the stubble shadows on Ross’s jaw. I thought he worked with hippos and tranquilliser darts, not small things that squeak. ‘Don’t you specialise in large game?’ I’m remembering America. ‘Or presidents’ puppies.’
He’s shaking his head. ‘Keep up, Cressy, that was one working holiday. As there’s not much call for rhino sedation in St Aidan, hamsters are also welcome.’
Sophie’s smiling at him in such an easy way. ‘There aren’t any jobs up your end of town, Ross, are there? Cressy could do with a few extra hours to add in alongside her baking.’
I’m so busy doing my impression of a guppy with lockjaw, my shriek of protest at this interference doesn’t ever make it into the air.
Whatever Ross does with his face, he’s definitely not smiling. But he still gets those killer creases down the middle of his cheeks. ‘The smallholding next to the surgery is looking for someone to feed their calves.’
‘Excuse me!’ I’m pointing upwards to my hair, and holding out my fingers. My very pretty red nails are all my own and took a full thirty minutes to bake in my mini acrylic-hardening oven last night and my entire life to grow, so he might as well get the full effect. And I know it was a rush job today, but I don’t usually leave the house without at least two and a half hours of hard prep. ‘I may look like a seagull roosted on my head, but we all have limits. Farm buckets and wellies are a long way past my safe word.’
‘It’s your call, I was only trying to help a friend.’ His voice goes extra deep. ‘The farmer, not you. He’s out of action, so we’ve all rallied round, and as I’m closest that mostly means me. And FYI, seagulls mostly sleep on the beach or at sea.’
What an unbelievable know-it-all. When did Ross become such an arse?
Nell turns to Ross. ‘Is that our Walter from Snowdrop Farm you’re talking about? How’s he doing?’
Ross sighs. ‘Not great, I’m afraid. But heisninety-two.’
Nell’s straight back at Ross with another question. But now the heat’s off me I don’t waste time. I dart for the serviettes, and before Nell’s finished her rundown of St Aidan’s OAPs I’ve wrapped two brownie parcels and delivered them to the wall.
‘Here you go, Ross. One for you and one for your friend Walter. I hope he feels better soon.’
Ross gives a shrug. ‘His condition’s terminal so on balance he probably won’t. But thanks anyway.’ As he reaches out to take the package a flash of angry skin on his fingers makes me wince.
‘What have you done to your hand?’ It’s none of my business, but it’s out before I can stop it.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ A millisecond later he’s shifted the parcels and buried his fist under his other arm. Then his eyes narrow and he’s scrutinising my face. ‘Your eyebrows look different – have they grown?’
Of all the things to pick up on. ‘It’s over ten years, a lot of things are larger than they were, Ross.’ My hips. The size of cupcakes. The rips in his jeans. How much I dislike him. How I can’t imagine what I ever saw in him.
He’s holding up the parcel. ‘We’ll get back to you with our verdicts later in the week.’
‘You’ll still be around?’ My stomach sinks. ‘That’s really not necessary.’ He’s still standing there. ‘Tell Nell. If you must.’
‘And you’ll keep Diesel away from car parks and avocados from now on?’
So he did see us at the harbour earlier. ‘And chocolate, cherries, limes and macadamia nuts. Not to mention chives, mushrooms, grapefruit and broccoli.’ Like I’d get Diesel to eat any of those if I tried. But all the same, I’m mentally punching the air that thanks to Google I’ve got the danger list word-perfect. As I march through the gate and coax Diesel back into the garden I’m racking my brains for a way to express how much I don’t want to see Ross ever again that’s suitable to say in front of the kids.
‘A pictorial reminder is so much more effective than lists reeled off.’ He’s still talking about the bloody poster. ‘Hang it above the work surface. And just to make sure, my mobile number’s on there in case of emergencies.’
