He laughs. ‘No one’s going to have time for the terrace. I’m talking about baking and dog walks.’
And I thought that Miles and a shop was as bad as it could get.
33
Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Seagulls, light years and thermostats
Sunday
Don’t ask me how it happens, but it’s actually Sunday morning before I see Miles again. On Friday and Saturday nights, I curl up on the sofa while Miles is still out, and wake in the small hours to find Fudge wedged between my thigh and the sofa cushions. When I get up in the mornings Fudge gets up too, then when I go through the French windows and out into the field he takes himself back to the sofa again. I haven’t introduced Fudge to Pumpkin yet, but Fudge has glimpsed Pumpkin beyond the door, and hasn’t thrown himself at the window, which I’m taking as a positive sign.
As for the promised fridge, Miles delivered on that quicker than you could say ‘chiller unit’. Late Friday afternoon a van arrived from Falmouth. The guys placed and plugged in a very sleek appliance (to turn on twelve hours later once the coolant had settled) and took away the packaging too. Far from being reassuring, it was the kind of complete service that makes me wonder what’s waiting for me down the line.
And in the meantime, I spent two days on my own at the shop, which was another eye opener, because compared to Thursday’s whirlwind, trade was non-existent. I sold a handful of cards, a cushion, three sage plants and a succulent, but at least that took away the pressure to restock.
Spending time doing nothing but wait for customers in the centre of St Aidan wasn’t my favourite thing, but at least it gave me a new view on what else I could offer Fenna. After a morning staring out at the row of harbourside cottages, with their colourful front doors and profusion of planters, I made a dash to take pictures. As the afternoon began to drag, I scribbled a ‘Back in ten minutes’ sign and nipped along the side streets and alleyways further up the hill to do the same. It’s amazing how many frames you can capture and how far you can get in a short time if you hurry. After every outing I came back and edited the pictures, and so long as the sun stays out, by Monday I should have enough to tempt Fenna with a few new angles. I know as a shopper I hate to find a ‘Back in ten’ sign, and I really don’t want to become the shop that’s closed more than it’s open, but now I have bills, I have to be realistic about finding ways to pay them.
When I wake shortly after dawn on Sunday and hurry back from the bathroom, I’m so busy thinking about capturing the village in pixels, that at first I miss that I’m not alone in the kitchen. It’s only when Fudge’s cold nose nudges my bare knee that it hits me that Miles is up too and standing by the kettle.
He holds up a mug. ‘Can I pour you a coffee?’
‘Milk, no sugar, please.’ There’s probably a catch, but for once I don’t care. ‘You’re up early.’ Unlike me, at least he’s made the effort to pull on some jeans and a T-shirt.
He pushes the mug towards me. ‘I was hoping Fudge and I could join you for your morning beach walk.’
The feeling of my heart sinking is getting horribly familiar, but I force my face into a smile. ‘It’s not that complicated to do for yourself. You stand on the sand with the dog beside you, and then you move your legs.’
His frown deepens. ‘You’re so comfortable with animals, and I’m struggling here.’ He looks up hopefully. ‘It would be a chance for Fudge to spend time getting used to Pumpkin?’
‘For someone who claims they have no idea about animals that’s an unnervinglysensible suggestion.’
Miles tilts his head. ‘So, we can come?’
I take a swig from my mug. ‘Give me five minutes to get dressed and drink this, and I’ll be with you.’ I look at Fudge, who is staring at me equally expectantly. ‘If there’s a choice of leads, bring the longest one.’
And just like that, a proverbial hammer smashes through my sacred Sunday morning walk, along with everything else.
However much Miles and Tate are trying to wreck my life, I refuse to let it bring me down. By the time Pumpkin and I are wandering along the water’s edge, watching the foam frills rush towards us across the shine of the wet sand, I’ve breathed in enough cool salty air to feel calm again.
Miles calls from a couple of yards away. ‘I’ll stay on the drier sand.’ He gives a head shake. ‘Fudge is supposed to be fifty per cent French water dog, but he hasn’t embraced his wet side. He doesn’t like getting his paws damp.’
I smile. ‘Lucky for Scarlett he’s not fully immersive! What’s his other half?’
Miles wrinkles his nose. ‘Poodle and golden retriever, with a dash of hound. So I’m told.’ As Fudge yanks and pulls Miles almost horizontal, he shakes his head. ‘Any useful tips from St Aidan’s most famous pony walker?’
Pumpkin and I pick up our pace and fall into step beside Miles and Fudge. ‘Encourage him to walk next to you rather than tugging, keep him on the lead until you’re sure he’s not going to disappear over the horizon, always carry poop bags, and have fresh water for longer walks.’ I take a few more strides then ask a question of my own. ‘Does Tate know he’s at the cottage?’
Miles pulls a face. ‘Tate sees strength in numbers.’
I blow out a breath. ‘Those two really are up shit creek, aren’t they?’
Miles winces. ‘Everything Tate has is because he worked his arse off for it. I can’t understand why he’d jeopardise that.’ He kicks a stone and sends it bouncing across the sand. ‘Me being Team Tate doesn’t mean I condone his behaviour.’
I’m hiding my shock. ‘I’m a hundred per cent Team Scarlett. But thanks for saying that.’
Miles picks up a stone and hurls it into the water. ‘A lot of us would give anything to have a relationship half as strong as theirs. It’s infuriating to see him throw it away.’ He shakes his head. ‘Anyway, how are things at the shop? Do you want any more of my buns?’
