Another nudge from Nell brings me back down to the deck. ‘I know you’re averse to customers, but what’s a thirsty woman got to do to get a cup of tea round here?’
And a second later I’m inside putting the kettle on.
5
The Hideaway, St Aidan
Dancing queens and breakfast telly
Thursday
‘If you’re barking at the sea again, it’s too early.’
It’s the next morning, and my shout is muffled by the duvet clamped over my head to keep out the morning light that floods in through the windows in the sloping ceiling above the double bed. I’m puzzling because I usually have to prise Shadow out; our mutual love of cosy mornings is another reason we’re so in sync.
When his noise doesn’t stop, I stagger across the living area, rub my eyes awake and hope his wave-chasing will subside before it becomes a habit. It’s only when I reach Shadow, his tail wagging furiously by the French window, and pull back the white muslin curtains to look out that I understand.
‘Sorry.’ I pat his head. ‘Good boy for letting me know we have visitors.’
Except the people I’m looking out at seem more permanent than that. Two women in puffer jackets are outside on the deck, their knees already firmly under a table, ankles crossed under their chairs. When they notice me, one raises a hand and the other gets up and comes towards me.
I open the door a crack. ‘Can I help you?’
‘We saw the sign and came to see if you were up and running.’ She’s looking achingly expectant. ‘We rather hoped we might be your first customers.’
At seven-thirty my groan is entirely justified. ‘I’m still in my pyjamas.’
Which is shorthand forfully shut, do not disturb.
It’s my own fault. A ‘Closed’ sign across the blackboard was all it needed. I add it to the top of my mental to-do list, which I’m much less on top of now than when I was working.
She studies the palm trees on my PJ bottoms. ‘They’re very pretty for nightwear, we’d never have guessed.’
It’s not as if I’m wearing one of those swanky satin sets the fashion editors are already pushing to double up as office-wear in summer.A chrysanthemum-print top with a starry sweatshirt added at midnight to keep out the chill wouldn’t make it intoCosmopolitan, but in Cornwall at dawn I’m warming to the compliment. Which I shouldn’t be at all when I brought them up as my excuse for closing the door immediately and diving back into bed.
‘So what were you hoping to order?’
Her eyes brighten. ‘What have you got?’ As I hesitate, she comes closer. ‘So long as we get a pic for the socials, we’re happy to make do.’
Her friend calls from the table. ‘Before you say it, old people do Insta too now.’
They remind me a lot of my mum, with their early-morning lippy and their buttery blonde balayages. ‘You both look in great shape. Definitely not old.’
The one at the table carries on. ‘That’s thanks to the 5:2 diet, and lots of walking. We never say “no” to puddings though.’
I have to tell them. ‘You do know our Seaspray Cottage branch is serving a very wide menu onlyashort walkalong the beach?’ As well as doing functions, lately Clemmie’s place is open from early ’til midday.
‘But we’rehere.’ They sound as determined as my mum. ‘We’re Jean and Shirley, by the way. It’s lovely to meet you, Florence.’ Just as clever as Mum too, using my name off the sign so I feel more obligated.
I lay down some ground rules as I try to think what I’ve got inside. ‘MyLittle Cornish Kitchen branch will usually be open by prior arrangement only, with occasional takeaway cake days, and it’ll never serve drinks.’ There’s not enough milk for tea, no bread for eggs on toast, I don’t have bacon. Then it hits me that Clemmie began by serving desserts, and I have my solution. ‘It’s never too early for chocolate, so today –as a very special concession– how about a lucky-dip medley?’ I’m thinking cheesecake cubes and mini scoops of vanilla ice cream all topped off with a Coco Pop garnish. If I give them my left-over slice from tea and the last of my cereal, that’s breakfast and lunch gone, but at least I’ll get my deck back.
Their smiles widen. ‘We’ll have two of those please.’
‘They’ll be eight pounds each.’ The price I pull out of the air is to scare them from ever coming back. Then I remember most of my dishes are dirty. ‘This particular sweet comes in a cup.’
Their eyes brighten. ‘Better and better.’
It’s so unbelievable, it’s surreal. I murmur down at Shadow as I pull the door closed behind me and head to the kitchen area, ‘Ipromisethis is a one-off.’
