The woman’s looking up at me. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why are you writing them and who are they for?’
I’m opening my mouth to reply, but Miles gets in first.
‘Some of those thoughts in the sand have been very profound, so if you’re not comfortable answering that, Betsy, we’ll all understand.’
I turn to Miles. ‘You, too?’
If the thought of two random strangers seeing into my head was unnerving, this is ten thousand times worse. I didn’t even know he walked on the beach.
He shrugs. ‘Like they said, once I noticed, it became compulsive. I didn’t want to miss any.’
What can I say? It’s not as if we’re on a desert island. In fact, these beaches are often rammed, but the thought was they were rammed with strangers who I’d never coincide with again, not locals who would start quizzing me about every nuance. They weren’t ever private, so I might as well explain. ‘They were me writing whatever came into my head in the moment, first for myself, and then as an open message to the world.’ I’m pondering. ‘They were always going to be temporary, but I had a feeling that once they’d been washed away by the sea, that would somehow make them last forever.’
Carol nods. ‘That’s a lovely way of putting it. What was it you wrote yesterday– “Make spray while the sun shines!”’
I’m relieved that she hasn’t picked anything more personal. ‘It was my beach-y take on the old “make hay while the sun shines” saying. However sweaty, exhausting and prickly it used to be throwing bales about, I had a sudden pang for the haymaking I’ll be missing this summer.’
Miles chips in. ‘Betsy Bets comes from Somerset, that’s why she’s all about the maypoles and the fairy rings.’
I roll my eyes. ‘I also cover cow pats and pig driving.’
Carol laughs. ‘That quirky humour of yours might be why we enjoy them so much. They’re all refreshingly different, but they’re very uplifting too. Like the place where they’re written.’
Martin nods too. ‘It’s not only us! All our friends look out for them. They’re a favourite discussion point for everyone in the Yellow Canary. And the Hungry Shark.’
I consider shrivelling up on the spot, but if it’s gone this far, I might as well roll with it. ‘I suppose they’re my way of telling my story for the summer. I have photos of them all, they’re my project while I’m in St Aidan.’
Carol pats my hand. ‘Thanks for sharing that, Betsy.’ Then her smile fades. ‘You won’t stop because we’ve mentioned it? You are going to carry on?’
‘Of course.’ A tiny idea is growing in my head. ‘The cakes you mentioned just before are a new range of bakes which Miles is working on. Tell all your friends, we’ll be leaving messages on the beach about any new flavours that are coming out.’
Miles grins beside me. ‘Totally flawless. As a marketing strategy, that’s next level.’
However uncomfortable I was earlier, I’m happy at how this is turning itself around. ‘As for the boathouse buns, if you’d like to try them, Miles is carrying lots of free samples in his bag.’
Martin is on this. ‘I was told we could buy them?’
I beam at them as Miles dips into his carrier. ‘You probably heard already, the bakes are what croissants would be like if they were made in heaven. Today we have three banana-based variations.’ I pause to let them help themselves to the slices Miles is holding out on his platter. ‘If you like what you taste, we do have some for sale.’
Martin’s pushing flakes into his mouth. ‘We’ll take six.’
I laugh. ‘Finish tasting first, then you can decide which you’d like.’
Martin holds up his hand. ‘Six of each! If this is another limited edition, our friends at the Yellow Canary wouldn’t forgive us if we didn’t take some for them too.’ Martin is licking his flingers. ‘Once we get to the pub, they’ll disappear in seconds.’
I’m pushing the result here. ‘I take it you like them?’
Martin considers. ‘On a scale of one to ten…’ Then he slaps his knee with his hand. ‘No! These actually blow scales into oblivion. They’re extraordinary.’
‘He’s right.’ Carol’s sucking her finger. ‘Except I’d call them sensational. I’m just thinking– we’d hate to miss out on these a second time. Could you take our details, and let us know when you’re next coming out?’
Miles passes her a small brown paper bag and a pen. ‘Write your name and number on there, then Betsy can text you. If you’d like to be on our mailing list, add your email too.’ He beams. ‘You can unsubscribe at any time.’
I look at Miles again. ‘You bought bags?’
He gives a shrug. ‘I also have tissue paper squares for eat as you go, and boxes for the larger orders. Talking of which…’ He pulls out three rectangular cartons, and hands them to Carol. ‘Betsy Bets tells me fifteen pounds for six is our introductory deal, how about we call that forty for eighteen?’
Martin pulls some notes out of his pocket, and that’s a third of our stock gone already. Easy as that.
