Chapter 16
16
The Hideaway, St Aidan
Heroes and happy Mondays
Monday
‘F loss, you’re there!’
When Kit’s name flashes up on my phone two days later, the moment I pick up I can tell there’s a problem.
‘Are you free to come to the studio – like now?’
‘This sounds urgent!’ It’s a surprise he needs me so soon after my own emergency, but I want to arrive prepared. ‘Shall I bring an extinguisher?’
Not only did my own three arrive by next-day delivery, but every time I’ve dropped a box of ‘thank you’ brownies on the doorstep of Kit’s hut, he’s brought me a pile of firefighting equipment in return.
I sense his sigh. ‘You may need one. One half of this morning’s couple is having a meltdown. I hoped you could talk her down.’
I’ve never actually been in his studio, but if it’s anything like his trousers it’s going to be well upmarket so I’d better check. ‘Is there a dress code?’
‘Smart but speed is more important. She’s quite upset.’
Most of my clothes are cast-offs or from charity shops. At The Circus we could wear what we liked so long as it was outlandish and vaguely on theme, which suited me down to the ground. When I reached the dizzy heights of team leader I took to wearing a ringmaster’s outfit, and ran around in a red long-tailed jacket with a nipped-in waist, with a baton in my hand and velvet shorts or silk breeches, depending on my mood. So there’s no point looking to my work clothes is what I’m saying – and the rest of my wardrobe resembles a jumble sale.
I flip through the pile of clothes on the chair, pull on the least flouncy midi dress and some cowboy boots, grab a spritz of Miss Dior and run. By the time I jump onto the veranda of Kit’s studio with Shadow two steps behind, I’m gasping … and not just because I’m out of breath. Out in the sunlight my boots look like they belong in the wild west, there are so many creases in my tiered denim dress it looks like crinkle fabric, and a loop of cream lace is dangling from the hem. And eff my life – I haven’t brushed my hair today!
I’m leaning up against the doorframe, with two minutes to elevate myself to High Tides standards. As I unknot the hair tangles with my fingers and try to tie up the trailing trim, an image flashes into my head of the day Dillon and I went to Kit’s place in the city, and I know I’m so far below Kit’s level that I’ve already lost the fight.
His fiancée, Violetta, was the one who welcomed us, and she was impeccable; statuesque and spare, groomed within an inch of her life, her sheath dress so classy you knew it had cost more than I’d have earned in a month, and that’s including tips. I’ve revisited this memory a lot lately, trying to second-guess where she is, because she was so dynamic and present, she’s not the kind of person who would simply drop out of the picture. Hair piled up, every sweep of bronzer highlighting her incredible cheekbones. I’m trying to recall her nail colour when the support behind my shoulder gives way, and a second later I’m diving headfirst into the studio, the wooden floorboards flying up towards me.
First impressions don’t come much worse than me sprawled with my nose an inch away from Kit’s shiny black brogues, my boobs spilling out of my scoop neck, while Shadow licks my ear. But as Kit helps me up and I hurriedly drop his hand and rearrange my dress instead, it sinks in that no one is taking notice of me.
The space I’m staring into has the sharpness you’d expect from a designer who just landed from London, but there’s a serious lack of warmth. The walls are painted in blocks of grey, with occasional tall glass cabinets and angular steel furniture artfully arranged. Seeing Kit still hanging on to the same signature flourish of significant quotes written on the walls, all these years on from Dillon’s and my visit to Covent Garden, gives me shivers of the wrong kind. And if that hadn’t already turned my blood to ice, the young woman sitting on the long suede sofa beyond the desk, crying buckets into her tissue, finishes the job.
‘Is she okay?’ I mouth the words at Kit, but it’s obvious she’s not.
Her partner is standing beside her, his hands jammed into the pockets of his chinos, staring upwards like he’s trying to bore holes in the ceiling.
Kit hisses in my ear. ‘Bianca and Salvador walked in, looked around and this started…’ He steps back and shrugs, then comes back in again. ‘If you’d like to take it from here? For context, I’ve told them you’re my partner…’
My stomach does a giant leap. As it hits the floor, I screech, ‘Your WHAT ?’
‘Business not sleeping…’ The flicker of a smile goes and he blows out a breath.
Okay, I put my hands up. Weeks scanning the area without a single sighting of Violetta should have been the clue, but it’s still come as a shock to march in and find she’s definitively not inside.
I hurry on to check my mission statement. ‘Do you have a preferred outcome?’
‘No expectations, do whatever you can. A smile as she leaves would be a bonus, but I accept that’s unlikely.’
I glance along the studio then mutter down to Shadow. ‘Firefighting would be a hundred times easier.’
I stare down at my feet, think of Violetta’s Manolo Blahniks, and it hits me – the way forward might be to channel a bit of the woman whose shoes I’m filling. I close my eyes, imagine I’m wearing that dress, and give a mental gasp as, in my mind’s eye, my thigh slides through the waist-high side-split. The breath I drag in to summon my courage adds six inches to my height. As I take four immense strides down the room, I force my face into a smile as confident as Violetta’s and it takes all my inner willpower not to add in her gorgeous Eastern European accent too. Whatever I’ve done, something must have worked, because as I open my mouth, I feel ready to boss the world.
‘Kit!’ In my head I’m teetering on stupendous spikes. ‘While Bianca and I get to know one another, why not show Salvador your alchemy equipment?’
His eyes widen in surprise. ‘It’s not alch—’ My frown kicks him back into line. ‘Great idea, thanks for that, Floss.’
I aim a super-sophisticated beam at the woman on the sofa. ‘What are men like? This one doesn’t even remember his partner’s proper name.’ I roll my eyes at Kit, then turn back again. ‘Lovely to meet you, Bianca, this is Shadow and I’m Florence. ’
Kit’s already steering Salvador past the desk. ‘Come next door to the workshop…’ he sends me a meaningful stare ‘…also known as the atelier or the metallurgy department.’
And a second later they’re gone.
Now I’m closer I get the full benefit of Bianca’s blonde pixie cut with the blue blaze that matches her faded denims. As she twists her cropped biker jacket tighter around her waist and crosses her feet in Doc Marten sandals it hits me how young she is.
I scrunch up my skirt, prop my chin on my fist and turn to look at her. ‘No pressure – at all – but if you’d like to tell us what’s going on, Shadow’s a very good listener.’
That makes her smile. Then she heaves a sigh, and she leans back to look at me. ‘It’s completely stupid. If I hadn’t been certain about this, I’d hardly have got up at dawn so we could get here.’ She sniffs and dabs her nose. ‘Then I get in the door, read the words on the wall and two seconds later I’m in bits.’
As I scan the blocks of painted script searching for a clue, I can’t see that Albert Einstein’s famous quote about attraction would push anyone over the edge. ‘Which words exactly ?’
She points at the wall above the desk. ‘It was your slogan – tOgether fOrever .’
It’s ironic she’s attributing me ownership of my most hated phrase, so I try to distance myself. ‘That’s one of Kit’s favourites. Me, not so much.’
‘I love being engaged. I can’t wait to be married.’ She scrutinises the tiny solitaire on her left hand. ‘Then I got here, read that and…’
I fill in for her. ‘You did the maths?’
She nods. ‘I’m twenty-two. All that flashed through my head was, it sounds like a very long time to be with one person.’
I’m going to have to put a different spin on this. ‘How did we get that so wrong? It’s not meant to scare the bejesus out of you, it’s supposed to remind you that … forever isn’t long enough .’
Shadow’s sideways glance tells me my improvising hasn’t convinced him, so I can only hope it’s helped Bianca.
She shakes her head. ‘That’s what I’d always felt until now. The worst thing was, I blurted out how scary it sounded to Salvador. He looked so gutted and the next thing I knew there were tears flooding down my cheeks.’
I put my hand on her arm. ‘The run-up to a wedding is a very emotional time.’ Then I notice how pale her cheeks are. ‘You say you had an early start. Did you have breakfast?’
She winces. ‘That was another disaster. We were running late, then when we did arrive the hotel menu was so weird, we didn’t bother.’
‘One thing I do know, you can’t make rings when you’re hungry!’ Gently reinforcing the idea of what they’re here for, I dial Nell, hoping she’s in town and available for a dash to Crusty Cobs. ‘How about we reset with some bakery pastries?’
Bianca’s face brightens. ‘Could we have coffee with those?’
‘Absolutely.’ I stand up and head for the row of three doors across the room, in search of a kettle. It would be more than I’d hoped to hit the kitchen straight away, but I dive into the walk-in cupboard in front of me, trying to look like that’s where I meant to go. When I come out of the gloom five minutes later, Nell’s up to speed on my new role and location and on her way. And Kit’s replied to my texts to say the coffee machine and fridge are one door along, and that they’ll give us another twenty before they come to join us.
As I emerge from the kitchenette with a tray of mugs and a large pot of coffee ten minutes later, Nell is already pushing her way through the front door, puffing with the exertion.
She shakes her head. ‘Latitude One and Two? What’s all that about then?’ Trust Nell to pick up on Kit’s shiny new name boards.
I grin at her as I put the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa. ‘They’re the official addresses of the beach huts.’ Before she launches into a tirade about poncy Londoners, I get in first. ‘Latitude is a play on the navigational position and the sense of freedom.’
She drops a large cake box down beside the tray and leans back and stretches. ‘Well, who’d have thought?’ She turns to Bianca. ‘I’m Nell. I’m eighteen months pregnant which is why I’m the size of a ferry boat. And I don’t know about you, but I’m gasping for a drink!’
I smile at Bianca and pull up a leather chair for Nell. ‘Nell runs the St Aidan singles club, and she’s promised she’ll share her insights on romance in return for a Danish.’
As I open the lid of the cake box Nell closes her eyes and breathes in the smell of vanilla and jam. Then, as I hand round the drinks and they pull out an almond croissant each, Nell turns to Bianca. ‘So what’s he done? They can all be knobheads sometimes.’
Bianca replies straight away. ‘We hardly ever argue, but this morning we had our first tiff.’ Her frown deepens. ‘We were already behind, and I’d just been back into the flat to change my shoes for the third time, because I wanted today to be perfect.’
I look down at my toes, realising the issue. ‘For you the important thing was your feet feeling right, but for Salvador it was being on time. Him hurrying you along could be a sign of how much he cares too.’
Bianca’s nodding. ‘That’s true.’
Nell chortles. ‘It’s also normal to throw wobblies when you get to the parts like the rings – because that’s when it hits you how real it is.’
Bianca’s nodding hard. ‘That’s it too!’
I’m the last person who should be persuading people to tie the knot, but there’s no going back now. ‘But if you’re more comfortable with that person than anyone else, it’s a damned good sign.’
Nell pushes the cake box towards Bianca and takes a cinnamon whirl for herself. She brushes the pastry flakes off her bump. ‘If you feel like you’d like their baby sometime, that’s even better!’
Bianca breaks a corner off her pain au chocolat. ‘He wants two kids, I want four – so we’ve settled on three.’ Her eyes go wider as she stares at Nell’s expanse. ‘Not straightaway though.’ She relaxes again. ‘The nursery is going to be Farrow and Ball babouche yellow.’
‘You’ve obviously thought it through.’ I sigh at the bliss of her certainty. That they have so much planned out, with no concept of what might lie ahead to derail those dreams. I widen my smile. ‘You still need to be brave. It takes a lot of courage to commit.’
Nell chortles. ‘The trick is, don’t overthink it. Listen to your heart and trust your own judgement.’
I have something more to add. ‘Kit doesn’t only make wedding rings. He does eternity rings, and promise rings, and groups come to make them to celebrate friendship.’ Our time is running out, so I’m throwing it all in here. Playing it down, but playing it up too. ‘Your rings simply embody whatever you feel in the moment you create them. They can even just be a lovely way to celebrate a day by the sea.’
Bianca’s eyes are bright. ‘We want the ones with our fingerprints on in dark shadow. In gold, with inscriptions on the inside.’ She pushes a spike of hair off her forehead and gives her nose a last dab. ‘Or at least, we did. So long as I haven’t blown it with my howling.’
I hardly dare to hope, but Bianca sounds like she could be back on track.
‘You’ll be fine.’ As I push the pastries towards her again, there’s the sound of footsteps on the deck. As Kit and Salvador come into the room I jump to my feet and turn my smile on the guys. ‘Once Salvador’s had a cream horn, I’m sure he’ll be happy to carry on with the day?’
Salvador nods. ‘Definitely.’ He drops a kiss on Bianca’s cheek and takes her hand then turns back to me. ‘I explained to Kit earlier, nothing’s quite as beachy as it looked in the photos. I’m guessing that’s why Bianca was upset.’
Maybe this isn’t in the bag after all.
I’m straight in with the excuses. ‘We’re very new here, which is why it’s still a bit bare.’
Kit’s staring at me like I’ve fully lost my marbles.
Bianca’s biting her lip. ‘Victor and Amery’s pictures on the Vintage I never imagined their publicity would backfire so spectacularly.
Kit steps forward. ‘Victor and Amery had a special advance arrangement to take photos at Florence’s antique beach hut next door.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘They also chose the afternoon tea option.’ There’s a pause as he lets that sink in. ‘You’ve opted for the six-course plant-based Ocean Wonders hotel dinner, which means your venue is slightly different from theirs.’
Another place entirely, in other words.
As Nell sees their faces fall, she jumps in too. ‘Brave choice having the seaweed-central menu! But I’m sure Florence can think of some other way to make your day more what you were hoping for?’ She and Kit are both staring at me.
The local joke is you come out of High Tides more hungry than when you go in … and that gives me an idea. ‘If you’re up for eating two puddings, I could serve you a selection of mini sweets on my veranda after your meal? Give you a quick taste of vintage-by-the-sea before bed.’
They’ll have to bring their own fizz and glasses, but I’m sure Kit can sort that out. More important still, if I’m trying to make the beach hut more significant, this is a gift of an opportunity and I need to seize it!
Bianca looks at Salvador, then he nods. ‘That would be a game changer. So long as it’s not too much work?’
Nell beams at him. ‘Don’t worry! Florence has a gang, we’ll all pile in.’
It already feels more like a party than a chore. As I grin at Nell, I know with their help I can do this standing on my head. And in my mind I’m punching the air because with this as a decider, I’ve pulled them on board for the whole day. And for me that’s a result!
Kit holds up his hand. ‘Thanks all the same, Nell, but Florence and I can handle this.’ He raises one eyebrow. ‘Can’t we, Floss?’
Why the hell is my heart racing when it should be plummeting? As for this being a walk in the park, we all know everything gets a hundred times more difficult when Kit is around.
Nell laughs. ‘Good thinking, Kit! Put in the practice for your joint singles club event.’
Damn damn damn! I’d assumed that was off now I’m distancing myself – which admittedly could be going better seeing as I’m technically on High Tides ground now .
And this is my life in St Aidan: two steps forward, twenty-five steps back.
As for my worries about my conscious self getting lost in St Aidan, they’re completely justified. The person who arrived here is disappearing, but not because I’m shrinking. I’m being buried beneath the mountains of interference.