She gives me a nudge on my way to the door. ‘As the summer traffic builds it takes longer and longer to get to places, but you’ll get used to it. I’ll tell Miles to send out a search party if you’re not back by nightfall.’
It’s not only the roads that are different here– I swear that there are Cornish time slips, too. When I leave Boathouse Cottage shortly after ten, I’m joking about failing to reach my destination but it’s five hours later by the time I arrive back in St Aidan again.
There are so many reasons to get sidetracked. My phone is filled with photos from my visit to Zofia’s garden, but I also stopped every time I saw an honesty box shop at the end of a farm track or by a garden gate.
Even though it’s a Monday, as I climb out of my car in the area beyond the jetties the public car park by the harbourside is rammed with cars, and I’m thanking my lucky stars that Scarlett organised a parking permit for me for the boat owners’ end.
I’m clutching an armful of brightly coloured zinnias from Zofia’s garden, and my head is so full with images of the gorgeous garden-gate shops I’ve seen that I nearly walk into a set of steps that are propped on the pavement in front of the Net Loft. When I blink and look again, I see someone on the inside with a squeegee cleaning the windows of the studio I looked into the other day.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve stepped into the doorway. ‘I take it this is the vacant studio. Have you found a tenant already?’ I’ve no idea why my heart’s dropped like a stone when I’m not thinking about the place for myself.
The man in overalls dips into a bucket of water and wrings out a cloth. ‘No tenant yet. That’s why I’m giving it a spruce-up. One person was interested but it was too small.’
‘Clemmie gave me a card when I was up at the barnyard.’ My voice is operating with no input on my part. ‘It’s probably too big and I definitely don’t need a shop.’
‘You may as well look now you’re here.’
I laugh. ‘I probably can’t afford it.’
‘You never know.’ The man laughs. ‘The building is run by a cooperative, so the rent is low and all-inclusive. It’s the kind of deal you can’t walk away from.’
I’m already looking at a high gallery on one side of a double-height space. With the whitewashed walls and the light splashing down from high level roof lights, it reminds me of a rustic version of Boathouse Cottage.
The man is not holding back with the persuasion. ‘It’s very quiet, just the sound of the waves crashing in the distance on stormy days and the jangle of the rigging on the masts of the boats in the harbour. With tourists and fishermen passing the door, it’s a good spot for footfall.’
I turn to look through the window. ‘You can’t beat a view of lobster pots with the sea beyond.’ I look at the pale turquoise shimmer in the distance. ‘It changes colour all the time. It was aquamarine this morning.’
‘However long I’m here, I never get tired of that.’ The man laughs then holds out his hand to shake mine. ‘I’m Malcolm, by the way. My Beth does the lanterns at the barnyard, and I live at Periwinkle Cottage, just along the lane from there, with Edie’s Aunty Jo.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Malcolm.’ I might as well introduce myself too. ‘I’m Betty, staying at Boathouse Cottage while my sister’s abroad.’
His grin widens. ‘You’re the one who walks that ginger-haired pony called Pumpkin.’
However many descriptions I hear, there are always new ones to make me smile. I take in the twang of guitars coming from an ancient CD player. ‘Is that Razorlight you’re playing there?’
A whole new smile spreads across Malcolm’s face. ‘It’s on the Dad’s Juke Box compilation CD Beth made for me for Father’s Day four years ago. Are you a fellow fan?’
I let out a sigh. ‘Let’s just say, if my housemate played Razorlight more often I might not be here.’ That’s not quite true. With Miles it’s a lot more than our musical differences; it's our entire attitude to life.
Malcolm points to the staircase. ‘Well, your living and sleeping space is up top, kitchen and bathroom are under the gallery. The rest is for whatever you want to use it for.’
‘Is the postcard rack staying?’ Of all the ridiculous things to ask. I peep into an unexpectedly spacious kitchen with a range cooker and tall fridge already in place. Then I glance into a bathroom large enough for the double-ended freestanding bath, and my heart is well and truly lost.
Malcolm nods. ‘It’s everything you see. Washing machine in the porch. There’s a tiny sitting area opening off the bedroom level, with space for a washing line when it’s not too windy.’
I slip upstairs and take in a wide low bed, a door opening onto a balcony, and even better views across the double-height space below and through the roof windows out to the sea. As I hurry down again, and head towards the door for some inexplicable reason I’m watching a mental slideshow of all the garden-gate shops I saw this afternoon.
‘Thank you for showing me round, Malcolm.’ I have to be honest. ‘It’s lovely, but it’s out of my league.’
‘You might want to hear the details before you write it off.’ Malcolm’s got his hands in the pockets of his painting overalls. ‘This blank canvas is a snip at five hundred a month.’
That’s less than a lot of my friends pay for a room!When I do the maths and think I already have enough savings to cover that until the autumn, my heart skips a beat. This could be my ticket to freedom– my own space, my own bed, my own bath. I could do laundry whenever I wanted to. I could even fit my own small sun lounger on that balcony.
‘You’re right, Malcolm. That does sound…very interesting.’ I’m hoarse with excitement.
He nods, beaming. ‘I told you it was worth hearing me out.’
My mind is racing faster than my heart. ‘So what would the arrangements be?’
