‘Fudge!’ I’m still holding on to the lead and I give a whistle. ‘Heiscoming too?’
If this is about Miles saying sorry for the shoes Fudge ruined, it makes it less of a thing if he’s with us. Better still, keeping to dog-friendly areas means we’ll avoid going anywhere too starchy.
I catch Miles’s nod of agreement and wave my bun at him. ‘If we’re out over lunchtime you do know I don’t do restaurants, or meat, or rapeseed oil…’
He’s looking completely unruffled. ‘All your restrictions, likes and dislikes are fully logged in the system. If in doubt, just say “no”.’
When it’s so insignificant, I’ve no idea why my tummy is whirling.
I turn to Zofia. ‘You’re sure you’ll be okay?’
She’s already pushing her cordless vacuum towards the trail of crumbs I’ve dropped. ‘Couldn’t be better. Have a good time, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
It’s a lot later when the significance of that comment sinks in.
I pass Fudge’s lead to Miles and pick up my rucksack and my vintage velvet jacket. ‘Shall we go?’
40
The Market Place, Stoneybridge
Winding roads and signature dishes
Friday
‘So what do you think?’
It’s two hours later, I’m standing at the edge of the marketplace in Stoneybridge, a town forty minutes down the coast from St Aidan, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to be reacting to.
Our first stop on today’s excursion was at the garden-gate jam shop featured on my postcard, where Miles had arranged for us to meet the maker, Maddie, in her own country cottage kitchen. Then we sat in the garden in the shade of her apple tree and while the humans tucked into fat, light, homemade scones and strawberry conserve Fudge sniffed in the hedge for invisible rabbits. By the time we left an hour later Maddie had agreed to supply her jams to the shop at a very fair price.
With that in the bag Miles carried on driving along the coast until he finally wound his way down from the hills and along the side of an estuary dotted with sailing boats towards the town of Stoneybridge which spreads up across the hills either side of the river. We parked then made our way through some municipal gardens, past some tall harbourside houses, and ended up in a bustling market square surrounded by buildings on three sides and the estuary road on the other, which is where we are now.
I hitch up my shoulder bag, look across at the hillside beyond the river and try to give Miles a proper answer. ‘I love the houses nestled among the trees and the lines of pink and yellow cottages. It’s exciting that there’s a car ferry to cross the river but the queue looks quite long.’
Miles blinks. ‘All very true, but I meant what’s in front of us not behind us.’
I turn towards the buildings. ‘Which bit am I looking at?’
‘All of it.’ He’s looking at me not the buildings. ‘The excellent central position, the town with thousands of visitors every week, the idyllic location.’
I might as well tell it how it is. ‘It’s funny. When we look at the same thing, I react like a tourist and you sound like you’re addressing the directors.’
‘I often have been.’ He pulls a face. ‘Our different backgrounds mean we bring different things to the table. That’s why we make a great team.’
I choke into my hand. ‘And probably why we argue non-stop.’
He gives a shamefaced shrug. ‘Putting my business hat back on again…’
I grin at him and fake a yawn. ‘Yes?’
‘The shop in front of us has been vacant since last year. It’s ours for the rest of the season if we want to take it.’
It comes out so fast I’m still trying to catch up. ‘Why wouldwewant it?’
‘As you were the one who came up with the “pop-up” idea to begin with, I assumedyou’dtellme.’ Miles’s voice is light and airy. ‘It might be fun to see if Betsy & Milo is only a thing in St Aidan, or if works somewhere else, too.’
I want to scream ‘noooooooo’, but for a second I hold it in. ‘Okay. So what happened to “small is beautiful”?’
