Except we haven’t got any part of it! The two of them had trouble keeping up first time round and when people have to wait too long it kills their enjoyment. I’m resigning myself to the earlier success turning into dismal failure when there’s a tap on the van side. A moment later a face appears next to the driver’s mirror.
‘Kit! If you’re here for second helpings, we’re a bit busy.’
Kit smiles. ‘I haven’t hadanyyet, I gave mine to David.’ He takes in my blank stare. ‘David …Byron.’
My jaw drops because this wasn’t in the plan at all. ‘David Byron’s eating my dessert? Whatthe hellis he doing here?’
Kit shrugs. ‘I’d guess because he owns the hotel and wants to support our event.’ His face cracks into a smile. ‘He is single too. And he probably heard how good your sweets are and wanted a piece of the action.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘If that’s all…’
‘It isn’t.’ He holds up a finger. ‘Sophie mentioned you might need a hand. I’m scrubbed up and ready, just point me to where I’m needed.’
The minute space beside me would have been fine to rub along with Sophie, but can I cope with Kit that close? It takes a nanosecond to decide.
‘I’m just on my way to get Plum.’
He raises his eyebrow. ‘I’ll save you a journey. Someone else took over on the bar, and Plum and Rye were last seen heading off along the beach.’
Milla lets out a whoop. ‘Another coup for Nell!’
I give Kit a look. ‘And two more rings for you down the line? The singles club could be a whole new market!’
Milla laughs. ‘No arguing, Aunty Flo. If Plum’s making out in the dunes, it looks like Kit’s on custard.’
And for one time only I have nothing left to add to that.
23
Latitudes One and Two, High Tides Hotel, St Aidan
Revelations and incantations
Monday
Last night in the ice-cream van… How did it go?Honestly?
Being crushed into a space the size of a shoebox with the most touchable body in St Aidan then having to dip and bend and swivel around him while simultaneously delivering perfect scoops of fudge brownie ice cream into cups was as tense and tantalising as playing Twister with an octopus.
Me having accidentally landed on him barely fifteen minutes earlier, knowing how delicious it felt to have my boobs rammed against his ribs and my hip bone grinding against his fly made it a thousand times worse. Imagine the most luscious dark chocolate cake, covered in lashings of buttercream, then put yourself two inches from it, and for an entire two hours, you aren’t allowed to touch it.
Add in a running commentary from Milla at the serving window, who had eyes in the back of her head when it came to seeing what was –or wasn’t– going on behind her. Then you’ll see why I’m really pleased that today is a brand-new day.
When I was ill and had my first operation, I didn’t allow myself to worry in advance. I’d always imagined I’d be the kind of courageous woman who blasted her way through the hospital doors, punching the air while Sia’s ‘Titanium’ pulsated through her ear buds. But when it actually happened, I crept into the surgical unit at six-thirty in the morning in total silence, whispered, ‘See you on the other side’ to Dillon, and slid into my gown. When the nurse brought me my elastic stockings, I was so scared my feet were shaking too much for her to put them on. But then the pharmacist came, and the anaesthetist, and after that there was so much going on there wasn’t time to worry. And when I woke up afterwards all there was left for me to do was to recover.
But what that whole time taught me was that the fastest way to get over your fears is to live through them – and I feel I should be doing that now. Except I haven’t really thought that one through. If I were applying that to the teensy problem next door, I’d simply breeze in, sleep with it and get the whole thing out of my system. That’s what I might have done when I was twenty, but there’s no way I’m up for that anymore. It’s not only about my age. It’s about my post-operative state, which is actually like a disability. And as it’s relatively new to me, I’m meeting all these issues for the first time. Heading through life without my usual toolkit is like trying to fight a boxing match with my hands tied behind my back. But all things considered, I’ll have to skirt around this problem, rather than deal with it head-on.
Not that I count this as a huge issue when there are other much bigger ones around. I’m hoping this is one of the kind that will go away if I forget it. So when I hang around on the path by my deck, stretching my neck to watch until Kit’s left his veranda and headed off towards the hotel, I’m definitelynotstalking. There’s simply no point making things more complicated by bumping into him when I’m going to pick up the remnants from yesterday.
The moment I see him amble off towards the car park, Shadow and I sprint across the dune, heading for the porch on Latitude Two, where we’ve agreed Kit will leave anything I didn’t pick up last night. We’re on our second trip, sweeping the last of the boxes into my shoulder bag, when a voice beyond the deck chairs makes me jump.
‘Floss! Just the person I was hoping to meet.’
‘Kit!’ My heart sinks as I scramble to my feet. ‘We thought you must be out.’ Including Shadow in the statement makes me feel like I have backup.
Kit gives Shadow’s ears a tickle. ‘I went to run something past David. He said to pass on his compliments for your sweets.’
When Sophie phoned last night to thank me for supporting her with Milla, she mentioned this too. As if David Byron chugging his way through my chocolate chips wasn’t bad enough, apparently he also took every opportunity to mingle and spread the word about his bloody lido.
