I’m obviously being ironic, but he turns to me again. ‘If Zofia’s going to make good copy, you might like the lot down Saltings Lane.’
I can’t believe he’s talking like he’s a local. ‘How long have you actually been here?’
He hesitates. ‘A couple of years. Just while I step back from the business. It’s definitely temporary.’
I put that shock to one side for now and get back to what’s important. ‘Where the hell is Saltings Lane? And what’s down it?’
‘We just passed it. There was a sign saying Shepherds Huts, and there are barns with local makers. I’m surprised you haven’t been there already.’
I open my mouth and let out the yell that’s been waiting since we set off. ‘Stop! STOP! STOP!’
Miles jumps on the brakes. ‘What do you want me to do now?’
I’m shaking my head that he even needs to ask. ‘Turn around, please, so we can have a look!’
‘This is Cornwall, Betty Beth, there’s no space for turning.’ He grins across at me. ‘I’ll reverse.’
Three hundred yards going backwards at top speed? On balance, I’d rather have waited and come back on my own later.
12
The Barnyard, Saltings Lane, St Aidan
Chocolate chips and lucky breaks
Friday
It turns out that suitable subjects for pieces are like buses. I’ve waited the best part of two weeks to find any, then three come along on the same afternoon. At the end of Saltings Lane, Miles and I found a field with a view of the sea filled with shepherd huts and garden rooms, all decorated in different styles and colourways, and enough swinging fairy lights for me to know this is my kind of heaven. There’s also a barn full of carefully chosen quirky accessories and second-hand furniture that is ready for painting, so customers can create designs that are completely unique to them, and do as much or as little of the work as they choose. The best part for me was that every single corner was so beautifully arranged and presented, even Miles couldn’t find anything to be sarcastic about.
In ten minutes flat I’d taken enough photos to persuade Fenna to commit to a long piece on decorative themes for huts and garden rooms, and some step-by-step features on individual up-cycling projects, as well as the big spread on Zofia. The speed Fenna emailed back, she must be as excited as I am.
The assistant at the shepherd’s hut company is called Edie, and she said to come back again today to take in the Friday market that’s here for smaller traders too. So now I’m here exploring the bit they call the barnyard, which has smaller units in some converted buildings around a courtyard that is bursting with makers and doers.
When I set off from the cottage forty minutes ago there was a stiff breeze blowing the clouds across a bright blue sky. The solid indigo of the sea was streaked with foam, and the early weekend visitors were scattered in groups across the sand huddling behind their windbreaks. I walked along the beach to the harbour, only stopping to writeMake my dayandBlue, blue, blue, then wound my way up the twisty road to the top of the village and on towards Rosehill. Turning into Saltings Lane I can already hear the sound of voices a hundred yards further down the lane.
I hurry along and join the crowd milling around the courtyard, buy a coffee from the side of a wonderfully weathered camper van with a stack of vintage surf boards on the roof, and then I catch sight of an open stable door and, beyond it, shelves stacked with rainbow-coloured felt slippers with curly toes, and I know I’m onto a winner.
The handmade felt bags and open baskets stacked high on the shelves inside the converted, white-washed building are the kind of wonderful that make me think for a second that maybe one day Iwouldlike a home after all. It’s the strangest feeling, and for a fleeting moment it’s as if I’m in someone else’s body, not mine. But then I come to my senses, fan my face with relief, and treat myself to a garland of tiny, felted pom poms the size of marbles that are small enough to fit in my pocket.
The woman gives me my change and smiles. ‘There’s lanterns, candles and recycled metalwork next door. And then there’s the soap factory, the patchwork store, and vintage clothes and at the end there’s a bicycle shop with books. And don’t miss the “anything goes” produce boxes outside; you mostly put your money in the jars for the things you buy from those. Everyone’s talking about the sweet pea posies. And the Little Cornish Kitchen have a muffin table in the unit next door.’
A moment later I’m back outside, helping myself to the last two bunches of flowers complete with their own jam jar vases. I’m not sure what happens in the next hour, because I’m definitely not used to having cash to splash around, but today I’m suddenly surrounded by things that are both beautiful and such great buys they’re crying out to be mine. With Fenna’s three pieces coming up, I feel rich enough to rush around like a shopaholic. What makes things even more moreish than the vibrant colours are the items I find in unexpected places. I’m gasping at the rainbow stack of patchwork quilts in the fabric stable, when I come across the kind of china bowl I’ve been waiting for all my life.
I’m already carrying way too many packages, but I take it down from the shelf anyway to sigh over its bright floral design.
I dip into my purse for a ten-pound note, then smile when I recognise the familiar red hair of the woman in a flowery tea dress who is taking the money.
Her face lights up as I arrive at the table. ‘Hi, I’m Clemmie. We’ve waved at you from our balcony. My daughter Bud is smitten with your pony.’
As the woman I recognise from the gallery comes in with a tray of cakes, Clemmie calls her over. ‘Plum, look, I’m finally face to face with Scarlett’s sister.’
Plum swishes her dark ponytail, puts the tray down and pulls me into a hug against her paint-splashed dungarees. ‘Lovely to meet you, you must be Betty?’
I hug her back. ‘That’s right.’
Plum jumps across to the door. ‘Wait a moment, and you can meet Nell, too.’
Clemmie laughs. ‘Meeting three mermaids in three minutes, that has to be a record.’
