Since Monday Pumpkin has been wearing his saddle with two gingham bags-for-life made by Edie’s Aunty Jo slung across, so rather than me carrying the buns, Pumpkin carries them for me. I also bought some mini bunting from the barnyard to hang around his neck and stretch along his flanks to his tail. I haven’t actually shared with him that with his bulging bags and colourful flags he looks like a walking country fair, but there’s no mistaking what we’re out for– visitors definitely see us coming!
In the shop I’m holding to my vision, and when an item runs out, I’m bringing in whatever else rare and beautiful I can get my hands on. The hat stand now has some small, vibrant, jewel-coloured felted bags hanging from it, and for the last couple of days Zofia’s brought courgettes in instead of rhubarb, and next week she’s promising bunches of cut herbs.
From my side, the beach walks with Miles haven’t been anything like as bad as I’d feared either. So far, we’ve mainly focused on Fudge. As his recall is non-existent we had so much work to do with him, that there’s been no time for conversation to drift to more difficult areas.
If anyone had told me when I first arrived here that I’d not only be spending time with Miles, but would also be working with him, I’d have laughed them out of town. He’s still just as up himself and he still looks down on the rest of the world from his lofty, boardroom perch– especially on me– but five weeks on it’s less jarring. I’ve seen his entitled attitude paraded so often that I no longer want to splatter custard pies in his face every time he opens his mouth. I probably wouldn’t even rush to push him into that proverbial hole in the sand Scarlett and I used to fantasise about. He’s still just as infuriating, sometimes even more so, but somewhere along the way I’ve learned to distance myself. Stay chilled. Keep my cool.
Then sometimes, just sometimes, he’s so kind and warm and understanding. And that’s when things get most confusing of all.
As for the way he snubbed me at the wedding, it’s ironic that Tate and Scarlett aren’t even together anymore. I could take that as a sign that perhaps it’s time for me to forget it and move on, but weirdly, rather than making me not want to work with Miles, what he did that day is spurring me on. If his skills enable me to get the shop off the ground, it’s like tipping the scales back in my favour. If this is a chance to get my own back in some small way, or better still, to feel better about myself, then I’d be mad not to take the opportunity. And strangest of all, it’s his throwaway interventions– a sentence here, a confession there, a candid disclosure– that are really helpful. The kind of thing that when I look back and dwell on it, makes the light of confidence inside me grow.
You’d hope that so much rational thought would spread to other areas too– that the guy would have lost his fairy dust when it came to the lust stuff. In fact, the opposite has happened, but you can’t win them all. I’m sure my sensible brain and my out-of-control sex drive will realign eventually, and he’ll just become another ordinary mortal who happens to be quite good-looking, but who I have no interest in slamming against a wall whatsoever. All I can say is, roll on that day.
This afternoon, I’m about to close the shop door after the last customer so we can go home when I see Clemmie, Plum, and a crowd of children hurrying across the harbourside, all of them carrying boxes.
Clemmie comes in with her double buggy, puts her box by the hat stand and directs the others to add to the pile. ‘We’re doing the school run for our very pregnant friend Sophie today, so the kids are helping bring a few more bits from the barnyard that had come as far as Plum’s gallery.’
Zofia is close behind her, with a bag of plants in one hand and a Henry vacuum in the other. ‘If I drop these in now rather than first thing, I’ll give the place a quick going over while it’s empty.’
She’s barely finished her sentence when Miles arrives too and puts a stack of boxes of Scarlett’s pretty canned drinks down next to the fridge.
I watch the kids cross to pet Fudge where his long lead is tied to a table leg over by the succulent shelves, then turn to see Miles. ‘I thought you’d gone to Falmouth?’
He nods. ‘I called in my favourite upmarket cash-and-carry while I was there.’ He waves a bag. ‘As a thank you for looking after Fudge this afternoon there are some new drinks for you to try, all picked for their pretty labels.’
Me, dog-sitting? I’m as shocked about that as anyone, but it was the same as letting Fudge on my sofa at night. I hadn’t meant to, but when it comes to that toffee-coloured nose and a tail that won’t stop waving, it’s hard to say ‘no’.
I smile at the women. ‘Vanilla cola rather than Pepsi, and more exotic water.’ I dip further into the bag ‘Hibiscus, watermelon, cherry blossom and key lime! And fruit-infused teas too. Those are perfect!’
Zofia gives Miles a pat on his arm. ‘We’ll send you shopping again!’
I nod in agreement. ‘We’ve learned a lot the last ten days. The pastries are what pull the customers in, and as most people will want a drink to go with them, they may as well buy those from us. And after that, we hope they’ll be tempted by the rest.’
Plum is grinning. ‘Two weeks in and you’re already talking like an old hand.’
‘I’ll take that.’ I grin back at her. ‘Fruit tea is a great alternative to cans because it only needs hot water, but I refuse to do washing up and single use cups are wasteful, so we’re a bit stuck.’
For once Miles’s self-satisfied smile is justified, but it cranks up a notch. ‘That’s where these come in!’ He whips a stack of cups out of his pocket. ‘Reusable cups with lids, that people buy alongside the tea if they don’t have their own mugs with them.’
Zofia punches his shoulder. ‘You are shooting from your big guns today, Miles!’
His smile widens again. ‘Better still, for a tiny amount more you can include a company logo and have free publicity forever.’
I laugh. ‘Logo? We don’t even have a name!’
Clemmie is straight back at me. ‘So choose one!’
I pull a face. ‘If I’m wearing four dresses because I couldn’t choose between them, how will I ever decide on a name?’
Zofia gives me a nudge. ‘Letushelp you!’
Clemmie’s eyes light up. ‘Keep it simple. How about Betty’s?’
Zofia purses her lips. ‘There are already Betty’s in Yorkshire. It needs to be new.’
Plum’s stare is hard. ‘I bet there’s never been a Betsy and Miles?’
I hate it. I mean, when have I ever wanted to be associated with Miles in any form, in public or in private? I give a cough. ‘It would need to be Milo and Betsy because Milo sounds more playful, and Miles’s buns are what are making it work.’ Then I think again. ‘Or better still, Milo, Zofia, Betsy, and friends.’
