TEN
The next Saturday, Ellie found herself back in Mark’s kitchen, this time learning how to make Bath buns. The Supremes played on Mark’s surround-sound system.
‘You know, you have surprising taste in music.’ Ellie frowned as she added dry yeast to a pan of warmed milk. ‘Aretha Franklin last week, Diana Ross now.’
‘You seem to find me surprisin’ quite a lot.’ Mark shot her a look from the other side of the kitchen island, where he was weighing out raisins. ‘What’s wrong with Diana Ross?’
‘Nothing. I just would have thought, someone like you would like… I dunno… Status Quo, or something,’
‘Status Quo?’ Mark chortled. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Ellie giggled. ‘Def Leppard, maybe.’
‘Bloody ’ell. Kill me now.’
‘Soul divas all the way for you, is it?’ Ellie peered at the recipe book Mark had propped open in front of her. ‘Am I doing this right? I’ve got to put the dry ingredients in here, then add the butter. Right?’ She went over to the gleaming electric mixer and stared at it, trying to work out how to turn it on.
‘Yeah. Carry on.’ He sat down on one of the high stools at the steel-topped island and watched her. ‘Turn it on at the wall. Then it’s the catch on the side to pull up the mixer part.’
‘Okay.’ Ellie added the ingredients to the bowl, then added the butter before turning the mixer on. ‘Oh! It’s good, isn’t it!’ She beamed over at Mark, delighted with herself, as the mix started to form in the bowl.
‘Uh-huh.’ He grinned back, drinking a beer. They’d had lunch in the garden this time, and the buns were to be an afternoon treat.
Ellie wondered at how she and Mark had fallen into such a pleasant pattern in their time together, without ever having discussed it. Last Saturday, they’d chatted, laughed, baked, drunk coffee and, when their baking was done, they’d eaten it in the garden as the evening approached. Ellie couldn’t believe that she’d eaten half a loaf of bread, slathered in butter, with Mark tearing through the other half. They’d also managed to drink a bottle of wine between them as the sun set and the shadows lengthened in the garden.
Mark had asked her back this weekend, and she’d said yes. It still wasn’t a date.
They’d agreed, slightly awkwardly, as Mark had said goodbye to her at his front door, that it wasn’t a date.
Fee, however, as soon as Ellie had got back to the beach house, had asked her pointedly how herdatehad gone and refused to be persuaded otherwise. She had also pointed out that Ellie had been out all day, and it was ten o’clock before she got home.
The thing was that Ellie had hardly noticed the day passing at all. One moment, she’d been drinking coffee in the garden, and the next, she was shamelessly bloated from eating so much bread, toddling home tipsily across the cool sand of Magpie Cove.
Today, when she’d arrived, Mark had lunch waiting: a fresh mango salad with pan-fried halloumi and a Thai-style dressing which was so good that she’d had seconds. He’d said it was only to make sure she didn’t have an attack of the ‘hangries’ when they were baking, like before, but she knew he’d gone to some trouble in making it.
Hemustbe seeing someone, she thought, as the dough mix thickened in the bowl and she slowly added the yeasty milk and some caraway seeds.No man this good is single.
‘Why are you single?’ she asked now, outright, surprising herself.
‘Change of topic, but okay.’ He raised one eyebrow.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business.’ Ellie turned off the mixer. ‘It says to rest the dough for ten minutes now.’
‘Yup.’
‘So?’ She picked up her beer bottle and took a drink. ‘I asked, so you might as well answer.’
‘I dunno why I’m single.’ He shrugged. ‘I just am.’
‘Typical man.’ Ellie rolled her eyes.
‘How?’
‘Completely unanalytical. I’ve never met a man that thinks about why things happen in their love life. You just all seem to… I dunno. Sail through it.’
‘What do you want me to say?’ He frowned at her and looked away, clearing his throat a few times. ‘Haven’t met the right person, I s’pose.’
‘Do you see a lot of women?’ Ellie blurted out.Am I cross-examining him?she wondered. She wasn’t a barrister, but she knew how it was done in the courtroom.For goodness’ sake, woman, he’s not on trial, she thought. ‘I… just don’t get it,’ she ended, lamely.
