He holds my gaze. ‘Only in between rolling sessions, while the dough is resting.’ Then he blinks. ‘If you’d like to use it, don’t let me stop you.’
There are clouds with silver linings, and there are no-win situations, and I already know which this is.
I make my smile extra bright. ‘Lucky for me I won’t be here this afternoon. I’m going out to research my pieces.’
Any other time or person, I might have been prevaricating. The awful reality of life with Miles means I’d rather go to work.
He turns his attention to the kitchen. ‘I won’t disrupt the chiller trays in here, I’ll take over the fridge in the mud room.’
I just hope there are some decent bakes to show for the inconvenience.
15
Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Snap decisions and incredible crunch
Sunday
When I come back to the cottage later on Saturday there’s no sign of Miles (hurrah!) nor (boo!) his baking. I make the most of his absence, watch the sun slip down behind the horizon from the lounger, then when the sky darkens, I move inside and fall asleep a long time later watching my fifty-fourth viewing ofGilmore Girls.
Next morning, I nip to the bathroom early to avoid any unnecessary meetings in the hallway. As I slip back onto the sofa at 5.45am I hear Miles call softly from the far end of the kitchen, ‘Don’t mind me, I’m making an early start I won’t disturb you.’
Too right he won’t. I pull the covers over my head, snooze for another hour, then I grab some clothes and a backpack and slip out through the French windows and into the field where Pumpkin is standing waiting for me.
If ever I mention my best friend is a pony, people think I’m joking. But Pumpkin is always up for an outing. Better still, he’s empathetic, constant and dependable, he has a good sense of humour, and mostly he doesn’t argue with me. When I stop to think about it, I probably spend more time with Pumpkin than I do with any person. He’s less than delighted to find I’ve come out without my morning carrot treat, but he soon cheers up when I clip his lead rope onto his head collar and we set off along the beach towards the town.
Pumpkin doesn’t understand everything I say, but he’s adept at picking up cues and reading wider situations. When I mention we’re on our way to buy carrots from the shop, his walk speeds up.
It’s shortly after seven, and we almost have the beach to ourselves. As usual, I’m stopping every couple of paces to pick up shells or stones, but as there’s no one to chat to we make good progress, striding along the firm damp sand over the wavy ridges left behind by the outgoing tide. It wouldn’t be a morning walk around the bay if I didn’t find a stick and stop to write and photograph a message to myself and/or the world.
Today, in anticipation of what might (or might not) be coming later, I writeTaste the difference?A bit further along the beach I stop again to do an anticipatoryYum yum. When I stop later to look how many white streaks there are on the sea, for some unfathomable reason when I look down at my feet, I find a sign looking up at me that saysNice bum.
As I’m wearing ripped denim cut-offs with cycling shorts and a lace-over dress, I must subliminally be complimenting myself, or possibly Pumpkin’s lovely round rump. For the record, I definitely wouldn’t be writing that about anyone else I know. Certainly not about Miles, however much I find it hard to take my eyes off his butt, which I shouldn’t even be noticing.
It’s amazing how time passes when you’re wandering along the shore. Near the end of the beach we wave at Clemmie who’s sitting quietly on the balcony with a child on her knee, then carry on across the harbour and up the winding street to the Spar shop where I buy a bag of carrots for Pumpkin. Then I go to grab a takeaway coffee from the van next to the doughnut stall, which is opening up in anticipation of a busy Sunday.
I take a sip of my coffee and mutter to Pumpkin. ‘When I smelled those sugary doughnuts, I wasthisclose to buying a box. I hope Miles comes through for us.’
I can tell by the way Pumpkin blinks he’s recognised the name.
I nudge his flank. ‘Miles needs to do a lot of baking to make the leap from being the knobhead you decided he was last week.’ Looking up from checking the time on my phone, I see Clemmie standing on the balcony beckoning.
By the time we’ve walked along to the balcony, she’s coming out of the front door underneath.
I smile at her. ‘Someone else up bright and early?’
‘Two babies mean we always are.’ She grins. ‘The Little Cornish Kitchen will be opening soon. You’re both very welcome any time, the apple trees give plenty of shade.’
I look at Pumpkin. ‘Could you decimate an orchard in the time it takes me to eat a muffin?’ I smile back at Clemmie. ‘We’re not eating today. We’re out walking while Miles bakes. It’s a fine line. We don’t want to get back too early but if we wait too long, I might expire.’
Clemmie wiggles her eyebrows. ‘It sounds like someone is upping their game.’
‘There’s still a long way to go, isn’t there, Pumpkin?’ I take another sip of coffee even though it’s making my hunger pangs worse not better. ‘We’re walking towards Oyster Point while the magic happens.’
‘We came down so Bud could see Pumpkin close up.’ Clemmie looks at the child in her arms. ‘Would you like to stroke him, Bud?’
Bud has the same auburn curls as her mum, but she wrinkles her nose, pulls away and scrunches her hands into fists.
