Chapter 4
4
The Hideaway, St Aidan
House parties and writing in the sand
Wednesday
S t Aidan may not be as tranquil or trouble-free as I’d imagined, but I’m hopeful it will soon calm down. I won’t be rushing into anything either. It hit me as I waved the mermaids off along the track behind the dunes that however kind Clemmie’s offer, there have to be better work options to hide behind than parading myself as an outpost of her events venue and tea garden. So this afternoon, as I set off along the sands with Shadow, I’m determined to use our walk to come up with a more appropriate solution.
Unfortunately, the tide is running high up the beach and Shadow, who’s still not completely at home with the sea, takes each rush of water as a personal affront. By the time we get back half an hour later my ears are ringing from his non-stop barks, but I’m no nearer to finding the brainwave I need. Then, as we make our way up the dunes, what I see in front of The Hideaway ends all hope of a change.
‘Plum and Nell! We’ve only been gone thirty minutes! You’ve been very – er – busy!’
They’re waving at us from the main deck, and the three unfolded café tables and stack of chairs beside them suggest they’re a long way ahead of me here.
Nell’s standing with her hands on her hips. ‘We must just have missed you! How’s this for a surprise?’ Her beam is so wide as she nods at the crowded deck, all I can do is to pretend I’m delighted too.
‘Wonderful! I hope you’re not overdoing it, Nell?’
She laughs. ‘Plum’s done the work, I’m under strict orders to keep my hands in my pockets.’ She frowns down at her bump. ‘To be honest, I’m pleased to take my mind off the waiting, these last few weeks are taking for ever.’
I go in and give her a hug. ‘Not long now.’ It must be hard for Nell to see Clemmie already home with Arnie when they were originally due around the same time.
She looks down at Shadow as she scratches his head. ‘How’s this guy settling in?’
At least I can be honest about this. ‘You’d think miles of empty sand would be a treat, but he sees ghosts behind every pebble. Some days he’s so nervous I get the feeling he preferred the city.’
‘We definitely heard you coming!’ Plum shuffles the chairs into position and stands back to assess. ‘Will six seats be enough for starters?’
‘So many?’ I stifle my choke. However cute and pretty they are, I can’t imagine them with strangers sitting on them.
Plum turns to me, her hand on my shoulder. ‘Is that still the same cough you had at New Year?’
Nell lets out a chortle. ‘With a voice that low and husky, no wonder they can’t get enough of you for those love stories you read.’
Little does Nell know, but she couldn’t be more wrong. My mum’s the only person with any idea about my recent difficulties, and as I’d hate Dillon to find out, I need to be careful with my answers.
It was a huge surprise to me when the partner of one of Dillon’s colleagues who worked at a studio suggested I should try out for the audio-books as I recovered from one of my later rounds of chemo, and an even bigger surprise to find I could do the work. Accents have always come easily to me, my part-finished drama diploma meant I can read without stumbling, and it turned out that my voice had the resonance and range that meant it recorded well. Best of all, the listeners found my cosy tone easy to listen to, and their positive feedback meant my bookings built quickly for a beginner. The trouble now is that my voice gives out. One minute I’m croaking, the next it’s a whisper, then I’m squeaking. When the listeners need consistency, I’m no use at all as I am.
I’ve worked out an official version. ‘I’m taking a break from the reading work. It isn’t fair to leave Shadow until he feels more confident.’ I smile up at them both. ‘It’ll give me a chance to sort this place out too.’
That’s another porkie. Everyone keeps saying how much there is to do here, but when it comes to homes I’m low-intervention; with a location this perfect there’s very little I want to add.
Plum’s smile widens. ‘I may have another surprise to help with that.’ She pulls a folding blackboard from behind a table. ‘Ta-da!’
The curly writing in everlasting-white marker saying ‘ Welcome to the LCK, FlorenceMay@TheHideaway ’ seals this in a way that’s so permanent my stomach seems to leave my body. ‘Wow! My own signage, so fast! ’
Plum’s smiling. ‘One I made this morning. Clemmie insisted we got straight onto it.’
Nell’s nodding. ‘Your car’s fully corporate too! We went a bit overboard, but those customised branding magnets are easy and instant, and Clemmie had lots to spare.’ My stomach is dropping lower with every new revelation.
Plum props the blackboard next to the steps. ‘There’s no hiding now! The Little Cornish Kitchen has officially arrived at the Beach Hut.’
Nell’s unrolling some PVC fabric. ‘All that’s left now is the hanging sign!’
My throat is constricting in panic. ‘Won’t that attract unwanted attention?’
Plum smiles. ‘It’s important it feels genuine. Clemmie used this on her stall at the Christmas market.’ She takes the end of the string from Nell and jumps up on a chair. ‘We’ll hang it between the posts supporting the veranda roof, nice and high. How’s that, Floss?’
I’m blinking up at the sign. As it swings in the breeze against the deep blue sky beyond, it couldn’t be any more conspicuous. ‘That’s fabulous. Absolutely brill! Thanks for all your help with this!’ Every part of that is true. I just wish this feeling of misgiving wasn’t weighing like a stone in my gut.
Nell’s punching the air. ‘Great job, Plum, it really is the dog’s bollocks!’
I send Shadow an apologetic glance for that, and slide onto a chair because as the full effect sinks in my legs don’t feel as if they can hold me.
Plum’s frowning at me. ‘Everything okay there, Flora-Dora?’ Her hand is on my shoulder again. ‘Don’t worry about Sophie and her older-sister green-eyed monster, she always deals with it eventually.’
In the thirty-three years I’ve spent tiptoeing in the shadow of my go-getting sibling I’ve never considered myself worthy of jealousy before. ‘Apart from The Hideaway, what have I ever had that she’d have wanted?’
‘You name it…’ Nell laughs.
‘Pretty much everything.’ Plum’s counting off on her fingers. ‘Your name, your beach party Polly Pocket, the way your dark hair was right down your back and shone when hers didn’t, your entire life in London – especially the last flat – your long legs, big boobs and tiny waist…’
I sigh. I’ve been so unaware. ‘At least the flat, the long hair and my tiny waist are out of the equation now.’ I try never to blame things on the cancer, but realistically, without it I’d probably still have all three.
Nell blows out her cheeks. ‘You’ve always got on better with your mum, so maybe that’s a part of it too.’
Our dad left home when we were young, but Sophie was a daddy’s girl, so she always took it harder than me. I was closer to our mum, and that’s how it stayed, but I can’t believe how much me getting this place has stirred it all up. I can’t believe I assumed coming here was going to be an easy answer when it sounds like Sophie’s waging full-out war!
‘It isn’t actually Sophie I’m worried about.’ With so many home truths flying around, I may as well come clean myself. ‘I’m so grateful for all you’ve done, but I’m not sure this is the long-term answer. Even with the stage set and my hygiene training from my days at The Circus, I’ll struggle if the council come to check me out.’ I hesitate, and finally get to the real truth. ‘When I’m here to get away from it all, with a bag of nerves for a dog, I’d rather not have Joe Public tramping onto my deck.’
I should know by now that Nell always grabs the proverbial bull by the horns.
‘So what were you thinking instead?’
I’m floundering, then another glance at the tables strengthens my resolve. ‘Those mice made out of stuck-together shells?’
Plum’s joining in. ‘St Aidan’s already drowning under the weight of shell animals, but if you can sew you could do beach bags?’
Damn. They must have forgotten my second claim to fame at school was machining my oven glove project to my school skirt. ‘Scrap that idea – I can’t.’ I look along at the other larger huts nestling in their plots along the dunes, and the line of smaller huts beyond them. ‘What else do people do along here?’
Plum frowns. ‘There’s a digital pet portrait artist, someone paints words on stones and sells them on Etsy, there’s a stylist, and a couple of guys customising paddle boards.’
Nell’s leaning her shoulder against the door frame. ‘Sophie wasn’t being mean about the beach being quiet here. No one’s been past in the last hour. In the unlikely event a customer finds their way to the deck, will it be so hard to bung them a brownie to take away?’
Plum’s nodding. ‘If you did want to raise your profile, the kitchen here’s not huge but it’s got everything you’d need.’ She takes in my appalled grimace, and carries on anyway. ‘You always served up amazing meals when we came to stay in London.’
We’re on very shaky ground here talking about the past, but we’ve got to yet another crux. ‘Serving I can do. The food was mostly down to Dillon.’
Nell lets out a guffaw. ‘Well, stone the crows, you both kept that secret!’
It’s just one of those rules of my life, and it was always the same with Dillon as it was with Sophie – wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, there’s always someone who can do it better. Except for being a goth, obviously. And persuading people to buy mahoosive rounds of cocktails. Those were my superpowers. And I might have got good at the audio-books too if it hadn’t been for that last operation scuppering my chances. But for the rest, I’m completely reconciled to being bottom of the class and stepping back to let the superstars get on with it.
Plum looks at the sky, then carries on. ‘It’s a big mistake to let Sophie’s success undermine you, Floss. You’re sparky and creative, you put in the effort, and if you ever do decide to have a new-style Little Cornish Kitchen, you’re more than capable.’
Nell reaches out and squeezes my hand. ‘We’d all be here to help you too – you do know that ?’
I close my eyes and repeat under my breath, ‘ Quiet life, quiet life, quiet life.’
When I look again Plum’s nodding. ‘Clemmie’s even offered to show you her gran’s recipe cards.’
Mum wasn’t the kind of mother who’d sent us out into the world without cooking skills, and she was especially strong on her homely puddings. But my sherry trifle and apple crumble didn’t cut it once Dillon moved up the career ladder and his tastes went upmarket too.
I’m biting my lip as I look up at the concern in their faces. ‘I really appreciate your honesty and support; it means a lot.’ I have zero intention of selling eighties-style quiches from my veranda, but it’s still heart-warming to know they’ve got my back.
‘And talking of Dillon …’
My eyes snap on to Plum’s face, because unless I’m the one mentioning him, he’s the last person I want to discuss.
‘You know he still cares about you?’ She’s fiddling with her dungaree strap again. ‘A lot…’
I have no idea why she’s brought this up now, but I have my answer ready. ‘Dillon and I will always stay friends.’
The strap is knotted around her finger. ‘He still hasn’t moved on … not at all…’ The pause is for what we both know to sink in – Dillon, given his freedom and who he is, should have. That was the plan anyway. ‘I wanted you to know.’
I’d trusted Dillon would have let me know himself had there been a change, so I’m not sure where to put this information, or how to react to it. My heart was so wrung out by the time he left, I’m not sure either of us have fully processed it even now.
All I know is, every decision I made back then came from a place of love – I was desperate to do the right thing for both of us, especially him. In the end you have to go with your gut instinct in the instant, stand by that – and hope you’re giving the person-you-loved-the-most-in-the-world wings to fly, rather than a detonator and a bomb that shatters their life for ever.
‘As far as I’m aware, Dillon’s enjoying Dubai.’ I gather every ounce of my strength around me, to underline the situation that Plum should already know too. ‘It’s only Shadow and me now, and I don’t intend to change that. But thanks for telling me anyway.’
I can only hope she understands the same as I do from what I’ve said here, and doesn’t add a spin of her own. I have no plans to add in anyone new. But it also means I won’t be considering a reconciliation either.
‘Hey, Floss, it’s your neighbour. He’s waving again!’
Nell’s nudge is so hard she almost knocks me off the chair.
I already know what Kit’s friendly wave from the front of his hut looks like, because I saw it when I came out onto the deck first thing this morning. It’s just a shame he isn’t further away; a few more yards and he’d be out of waving range. As it is, there’s this unspoken pressure to acknowledge each other every time he pops up in my eye line.
I turn to give a twitch of my wrist across the expanse of dune and realise he’s not alone.
Nell’s hip collides with my elbow again. ‘There’s three of them, the other two are holding hands.’
For eff’s sake. ‘He’s not losing any time. Second day here, looks like he’s already up and running with real live customers!’ I put a hand on Shadow’s collar as I hear the rumble of a growl in his throat. ‘You can’t go running after them either.’
Plum’s frowning as the couple dash along the natural path below the deck, and down onto the beach. ‘Kit’s got his camera out. There’s not much sand to run on when the tide’s in, but they’re going for it anyway.’
I already know the drill. After Dillon and I had sorted out our rings, Kit had us posing all over Neal Street to round off our record of the day with romantic shots of Covent Garden. We’d actually chosen a picture he took of us by a line of red phone boxes for the save-the-date cards we never got as far as printing.
I glance at my phone. ‘If he’s hoping for shots at sundown, he’s going to have a long wait.’
Nell’s grinning at me. ‘With David Bailey and his happy couples prancing around down there, you won’t be short of entertainment.’ She lets out a huge guffaw and her next shove is so strong I almost land on the floor. ‘Play your cards right, you could be serving them afternoon teas!’
I laugh. ‘The High Tides Hotel or my beach hut? I think I’m safe there.’ But seeing Kit waving his Nikon, I’m kicking myself. ‘Why didn’t I think of opening the sand deck as a photo booth?’
Plum laughs. ‘Too late now! The Little Cornish Kitchen at The Hideaway is here to stay!’
It’s not as if you can look away when it’s playing out right on your doorstep. Kit’s directing the happy couple from pose to pose along the dune edge. Back-to-back, side by side, face to face. As they hurl themselves down on the sand, chins propped on elbows among the reed clumps, they’re barely twenty feet in front of us. Kit comes to a standstill above their horizontal bodies then turns to look at us. As his gaze meets mine, he grins at me, shakes his head and rolls his gaze up to the clouds. Then a second later he’s down on his knees, going in for the close-up shots.
Plum looks across at me. ‘Did you see that eye-roll? What the hell was that about?’
‘I’ve got absolutely no idea.’ But I could do without the goosebumps it brought on.
She frowns. ‘Are you shivering? You need to wrap up with that cough of yours.’
Another nudge from Nell brings me back down to the deck. ‘I know you’re averse to customers, but what’s a thirsty woman got to do to get a cup of tea round here?’
And a second later I’m inside putting the kettle on.