New shops keeping Miles and I apart? So much for my unswerving instincts, I got that bit entirely wrong, but the last few days have been so full-on that I gave up worrying.
Sunday is St Aidan’s busiest day, which means I carried on as normal at the shop. Once Miles had finished cooking at the Net Loft, he went off to Jackie’s to do an afternoon of additional training with the more eager members of the new team. Apparently he’s been building up frozen dough stocks ever since he sorted the method, which proves he’s had his eye on expansion long before I accidentally showed him a way to do it. Not that I’m questioning him, but he’s confident that he can keep the supply going to the end of the season, so at least that’s one less thing to worry about.
Zofia looked after the St Aidan end again on Monday while Miles and I did another tour of the new places. When you’re only popping up for a few weeks, it’s all about minimal input and quick decisions. By the end of Wednesday Aleksy’s painting teams have white-washed every shop inside, and painted over any outside signage, Edie has made us six Betsy & Milo signs, which are quickly hung up, and Harry and Miles have raided Jackie’s garage, Zofia’s outbuildings and Edie’s barns for suitable tables, shelving, hat stands and postcard racks, which get dropped off by Malcolm and Harry in Plum’s gallery van.
The shops already have fridges, so we fill those up with vanilla cola and our most popular organic sparkling waters. Miles hits his catering suppliers for his usual pastry storage domes, fruit teas and Betsy & Milo mugs. I put in a large postcard order and then Plum gives me the numbers of the barnyard makers, and I also ring the ones from the market to see what stock is available immediately.
As someone who has lived so minimally, this sudden explosion of spending is hard to reconcile. Miles seems to be better with figures than he is with his reading, and he assures me that this initial outlay is normal and that I’m the only one who’s finding it mind-blowing. I’m happy to take his word on that, but I still look over his shoulder as he fills in his spreadsheets every evening. When I offer to type in the entries for him, it’s more to distract myself from staring at the curve of his thighs and the way he rubs his thumb along the stubble on his jaw when he’s concentrating, than because of his erratic spelling.
Not that I’m wishing my summer away, because I really wouldn’t do that with anything so precious, but it’ll be a relief when this week is over, and we can go back to having separate areas of responsibility.
Considering what I’ve added to my remit since Friday when we first visited Stoneybridge, by the next Thursday I’m astonished at how far we’ve come. We’re having the sameSAND, SEA, SALT, SURFpictures as at the Net Loft, but adding others to give each shop its own identity. So I’ve done one-word ones for the Falmouth shop saying SURF, SAND and SALT with one letter in each rectangle of the frame, Stoneybridge getsMeet me at the beach, and Abbots Sands getsWild and free, just like the sea.When the delivery driver drops a roll of the large prints off at Boathouse Cottage on Thursday tea time I take Fudge for his evening walk along the beach and call in the Net Loft to slip them into the frames we have there and get another item ticked off the to-do list.
I let myself into the shop, flick on the switches, and smile when the soft light illuminates the ceiling all the way to the roof. Then I grab a stack of frames from the kitchen, and unhook the rope on the stairs.
I call to Fudge. ‘Come this way. I know it’s strictly out of bounds and so secret your dad hasn’t even seen it, but if we work up here we’ll save mess down below.’
He skips up the stairs ahead of me, and by the time I reach the top he’s sniffed around and curled himself up in the armchair to watch me.
I laugh, turn on the extra lights and flick the music on my phone. ‘Don’t get too comfy, Fudge, we won’t be here long.’
I rest the frames on the bed, pull off the first of the packaging, ease off the back of the frame, unroll the print, centre it, and put the backing on again. Half an hour later I’m all done, bundling the wrappers into a bag, still bouncing around to Queen’s Greatest Hits when the click of the shop door opening down below makes me freeze.
A moment later I hear Miles shout. ‘There’s only one person I know who plays “I Want To Break Free”thisloud. Do you need a hand up there, Betsy B?’
I don’t bother to reply, because I can already hear the creak of the bottom step.
He takes the stairs two at a time, and as he arrives beside me his beam turns to a look of bewilderment. He stares around.
‘There’s a bed.’
‘There is.’ There’s a nano second where I imagine pushing him down on it, jumping on top of him and snogging his face off, then I see his smile’s disappeared and he’s looking all superior and sarcastic.
‘Has the loft cupboard always been this sensational?’
I wither under his gaze. ‘It’s a live/work unit; it was my emergency accommodation. In case sleeping on the sofa got too much.’
His face is white. ‘You’re not seriously thinking of moving here?’
I shrug. ‘Not since Scarlett ordered me to guard the cottage.’
His features relax. ‘Thank Christmas for that. I like you being there. It wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t.’ He hesitates. ‘I mean, it’s more practical, with Fudge and the business and Pumpkin.’ His eyes are wide and anxious. ‘Any time you want the bed…’
I blow out a breath. ‘I know– I only have to ask, but I’m okay as I am. And you’re right, it is easier.’ I feel he’s put himself out on a limb, and I want to do the same. ‘I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t want to be there.’
He comes in and grasps me by the shoulder. ‘Great, so we’re good. Lifeisbetter in flip flops. Shall we go to Jaggers and drink to that?’
I’m staring up at him, working out how to take this, when I’m saved by the vibration in my pocket.
‘That will be Scarlett. She’s phoned me every night since Saturday.’
Miles takes the bin bag from me. ‘I’ll clear up while you talk.’ He tilts his head. ‘Unless you’d like privacy?’
I shake my head. ‘Carry on tidying, then Fudge and I will grab a lift home.’
The moment I press accept, Scarlett launches. ‘I’ve worked out why I’ve been so single-minded and impossible. After Mum died, I was so afraid of losing control. It was such a shock, our lives disintegrated overnight, everything felt so fragile. When I held on to everything so tight, it wasn’t me being a diva. It was because if I let go, it felt like I’d lose everything else too. Making everything perfect and doing everything the way I wanted it was my way of guarding against chaos. It was my way of making myself feel better, my way of coping. And now instead of holding everything together, I’ve held on so tight it’s all spun out of control and crashed and I’ve lost it anyway.’
My heart goes out to her. ‘I’m so sorry, Scarlie. You were always so busy being strong for both of us. I need to hug you.’
