Miles gives a cough. ‘Now we’re operating within the law, it would be a shame to wreck that with an animal running amok on the beach.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘Pumpkin doesn’trun wild!’
Miles is rolling his eyes harder than me. ‘It’s entirely possible he could stamp on peoples’ sandcastles. Or their children.Or even them. I’d rather not pick up the tab for that.’
What the actual eff? ‘Pumpkin has his own insurance. It covers vet’s bills, and public liability. Scarlett looks after the direct debit, but I’ve got the paperwork.’
Miles’s eyebrows go up. ‘If he’s insured, that’s different.’
I’m shaking my head in despair. ‘He needs to be well covered the way he looks at those quayside window boxes. The plants in there could run to thousands.’
I look at Miles again, to see how I feel when he’s being mean about Pumpkin, and– no surprise– when he turns, his bum is still as delectable as his pecan toffee croissants.
I’ve never experienced feelings like this around a man before. With the guys before Mason the catastrophes were each very different, but they all followed a reassuringly similar pattern. We’d start with friendly banter. If we made it as far as bed and the sex was okay, it was game on. And then sometime later it would all unravel– usually spectacularly.
There was the guy who hit on me when he really wanted my flatmate instead, and the one who was still so hung up on his ex he rang her every evening, and the gay vet who wanted to parade me for his mum.
But my skin feeling like it’s scorching when someone’s in the room, or my stomach doing cartwheels when someone appears is a whole new ball game. And however much I’m zoning out what happened with Mason, the vestiges of that should be enough to block my nerve pathways forever. I shouldn’t be feeling like this– end of story.
I turn to Miles. ‘So Pumpkin’s allowed to come?’ I take his eye roll as a ‘yes’.
Even though I look up at the living room ceiling all the way to the top of the roof, my own eye roll still isn’t enough to express my despair.
20
The beach by Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Every day is a Saturday
Thursday
By the time we reach the beach, Pumpkin’s speed picks up to a fast walk and he races over to the first couple we come to sitting in their matching folding canvas seats.
I take a breath and begin the pony part of my speech. ‘This is Pumpkin…’
The woman puts her hand out and tickles Pumpkin’s nose. ‘There’s no need for introductions, we’ve done this before. This is your favourite place for a rub, isn’t it, laddie?’
I’m kicking myself for not taking more notice. ‘Of course, didn’t we see you by the harbour a couple of weeks ago?’
The woman smiles at me. ‘We’re Carol and Martin, from The Crow’s Nest, next door but two to Plum’s gallery. We’ve often seen you since from a distance.’ She looks back at Pumpkin. ‘You’ve got pompoms on your head collar today! How smart is that?’
They’re the ones I bought last Friday, which I’d hung to brighten up Scarlett’s minimalist living room shelf, and grabbed today hoping they’d add some pizazz for the beach.
The woman leans towards me. ‘We heard you were out selling cakes on the beach last weekend. Is that right?’
Her husband joins in. ‘We were over in Truro. The Yellow Canary was buzzing with it when we got back.’
I’m taken aback. ‘I didn’t think people would recognise me when I wasn’t with Pumpkin.’
Carol smiles. ‘Everybody knows! You’re the one with the pink and orange skirts who twirls along the shoreline and writes notices in the sand.’ She smiles. ‘Our cottage looks straight out down the beach. We often watch you, as we have breakfast.’
Their cottage must be one of hundreds that look down on the bay. As I remember how many windows there are with a direct view of the sand, I feel queasy. All this time I’ve considered the beach as my own private space where I was entirely alone with my thoughts, and now it turns out a lot of the village has been there with me. It just shows how wrong you can be.
Her husband nods. ‘It’s been the highlight of our morning walks the last few weeks, looking out for the messages you’ve left.’
My tummy had tensed, but when the full realisation of what they’re saying hits me, it goes in full spasm.
Miles gives me a nudge. ‘Nice to know that Pumpkin isn’t the only local celebrity.’
