Chapter 13
13
Clemmie’s Little Cornish Kitchen, St Aidan
Raised voices and personal assistants
Wednesday
‘F loss? What are you doing at Mums and Bumps?’
Running headlong into a guy in a dark cashmere overcoat as I exit the loos ten minutes later is never a good look. When it’s the person I least want to meet and I’m still tucking my sweatshirt into my over-sized boyfriend jeans, ideally I want the ground to open up and swallow me.
‘It’s not Floss, it’s Florence, Kit.’ Now I’ve got over the shock of him being here, I’m not taking any prisoners.
He stares down at my stomach, his face falling. ‘You’re not…?’
Even though he hasn’t said the ‘p’ word, we all know what he means, and the silent eye-rolls from Clemmie and Nell across the room acknowledge the irony.
‘Pregnant? Me?’ I may as well fill in the gaping hole in the air. ‘Hell no! And Sophie, Mum and Plum aren’t either – we’ve just popped in for lunch.’ Well, flapjack, in my case, but he doesn’t need to know that. I look back up at him. ‘How about you?’
He smiles. ‘I’m here because I’m expecting cake.’ Then he nods towards a tall stack of parcels on the counter. ‘As your beach hut bakery is out of action Rye and I followed your recommendation – I’m here to collect our bake boxes.’
Clemmie points to the tower. ‘That pile there is yours, Kit. Help yourself, there’s nothing more to pay.’
As Kit peers over the top of the boxes he’s swept into his arms Nell’s frowning at me. ‘Orders that size, Floss, I can’t believe you haven’t grabbed the business with both hands!’
Kit nods in agreement. ‘Me neither, Nell!’ His brow furrows as he hesitates. ‘You would tell me if something was wrong, Floss? It feels like you just pulled up the drawbridge and cut us off for no reason.’
I close my eyes and count to ten, but the second I open them again my indignation bursts out like an explosion. ‘How about the hotel trying to push me out of my home so they can expand right along the beach! Is that enough of a reason? ’
I’m hissing so I don’t upset the kids, but I can tell from the way the mums are sitting bolt upright in their pink velvet chairs right around the room that they’ve all heard every word.
Kit’s frown deepens. ‘If this is about David’s offer, you’ve got him very wrong.’
‘A rich guy exploiting people for a quick profit? Someone who wants to replace the wild beauty of the dunes with box bushes and Bentleys? Which bit of that isn’t right? ’
He inhales so deeply the bake boxes heave in his arms. ‘David’s honest and fair, he’s the last person who’d want something for nothing.’
The way Kit’s talking, Byron sounds like a best friend not a business associate.
Kit’s not giving up. ‘You might have been desperate to sell, but without asking David didn’t know. As for his plans to extend the complex, he’s been talking to the council about his dreams for a salt-water lido ever since he arrived.’
The whole room is aching to catch his response. This time I can’t help my screech. ‘Why does he want another swimming pool? The hotel’s already got at least two.’
Kit smiles. ‘This one’s more special. It would be carbon neutral and chemical-free with sand filters. But best of all, it would be available for local people to use – at highly subsidised rates! ’
There’s a beat of silence as the last part sinks in. Then the room erupts.
For a few moments there’s a rushing in my ears like the sound of the sea, and I feel like I’m going to faint. Then as I grasp the corner of the counter to steady myself I’m hearing cries of ‘Wow!’, ‘I’ll have some of that!’, then, more worryingly, ‘How good would carbon neutral swimming lessons be for the children?’
Whatever I imagined Kit was going to come out with, it wasn’t this; impeccable credentials and community inclusion make it so much harder for me to argue against. If it’s a choice between a gorgeous natural outdoor swimming area that everyone can enjoy, or a beach hut so insignificant and scruffy the breeze from the sea might blow it away, there’s very little for me to add.
‘Yay, Kit! What’s not to like?’ Apart from me losing my home, which the entire room seems to have overlooked. All I can think of is how unpopular I’ll be in St Aidan if I’m the one responsible for depriving everyone of this lido-of-a-lifetime.
Clemmie’s giving Kit a glacial stare. ‘You do realise a pool where Floss’s beach hut is would mean you’d lose your local brownie stop?’
I mutter under my breath. ‘He’s lost that anyway.’
Plum’s in there to back Clemmie up. ‘If Floss goes, who’s going to catch your runaway influencers, or talk your reluctant customers round with scones and hot chocolate?’
Nell’s joining in. ‘And where are you going to get your breakfasts? No one else in St Aidan serves ice cream and custard complete with pink plastic flamingos at seven a.m.’
Sophie’s in there too. ‘Floss promised to give me first shout if ever she sold! I hope David Byron’s ready for a fight!’
Even Mum’s having her say. ‘Sophie’s got a castle and the best credit rating in St Aidan. Byron won’t get a look in!’
Now it’s Kit’s turn to look bemused. ‘Nothing’s been decided. I was simply making the private point to Floss that High Tides isn’t as bad as she perceives.’
Clemmie smiles at him. ‘I think we’ve got that now, Kit. It might be a good time for you to leave us to take in what you’ve told us.’
Kit’s staring around the room, like it’s sinking in how many people he just shared this secret with. He gives a cough. ‘I trust I can count on everyone here to be discreet?’
No one looks up in acknowledgement, because they’re already glued to their phones passing on the news to anyone and everyone they can think of.
Which is my cue to say goodbye and remind him this is St Aidan, not Hackney. ‘Good luck with the privacy policy, Kit! Enjoy your cakes.’
There won’t be any more for him from my kitchen, that’s for sure. What’s more, I’m kicking myself for rushing out of the loo. Two more minutes redoing my eyeliner, he’d have been gone, and this showdown would never have happened. With something so beneficial for the village I’m tempted to give up now.
But then I think of my coloured birds hanging from their arc of string. Now I’ve had a glimpse of how comforting a place can be when it feels like home, I don’t want to give that up. And I might be standing on my own, on a very wobbly tuft of dune grass – but at least it’s mine.
If I’m going to give this fight everything I’ve got, I need to come out from under the duvet! I need to stop pretending I’m not here and get my act together. Ideally, I need to become something everyone would miss if it weren’t here. I just don’t have the first idea how I’m going to achieve that.