Chapter 20
20
The Hideaway, St Aidan
Open mouths and bright sparks
Thursday
K it ambling across the dunes and swinging up onto the deck isn’t ideal at the best of times. When there’s barely half an hour left for the last-minute jobs before the guests arrive for Jean and Shirley’s mini birthday ‘do’ on Thursday it’s definitely bad timing.
At least the light strings are lit, the flower posies are on the table with the glasses they brought around earlier, the fridge is bursting with their Prosecco, and the ice bucket is waiting in the freezer. If I carry on hanging the blankets over the chair arms, he should get the message.
‘Nice shirt, Kit.’ I assume that’s what he’s come round to show me. The dark blue check could be wilder, but at least it’s a start and the colour suits him way too much. It’s not his fault the extra open button where his tie usually is lets me glimpse the indentation at the base of his throat, and sets my heart banging against my chest. ‘Great with those jeans too.’ I’m lying. From the point of view of my pulse rate the whole outfit is a total disaster. ‘I’m sure your clients will appreciate your vibe.’
He grins. ‘I hope it’s not too casual for tonight. I came early to help light the lanterns.’
‘Early – to what?’ I have zero idea what he’s talking about, but now I’ve given his outfit the thumbs-up, I’m wishing he’d hurry up and leave.
He frowns. ‘The birthday get together – it is this evening? ’
My mind is racing. He can’t possibly be coming. I can’t stand another night of him at The Hideaway. ‘Since when do you know Shirley and Jean and their friends?’
He gives a shrug. ‘We met on your steps and bonded over Coco Pops. They asked a lot of questions about my wet suit, and it grew from there.’
Unbelievable. ‘They implied it was a women’s night, that’s all.’
He pulls in a breath. ‘Apart from me it is. I’m not under any illusions – I’ve been invited to pour the drinks and look pretty.’
He’s here as toyboy totty! My jaw is on the floor. ‘Do you mind that?’
His mouth twists into a smile. ‘There are incentives. If I eat enough puddings it saves me cooking dinner. There’s birthday cake too…’
That’s the downside of letting people pay to use my veranda – I don’t get to choose the guests. Even if I have more parties, I seriously doubt Kit will turn up at any others, so I need to concentrate on the good bits, like the happy whoosh I’ll feel if everyone has a good time. And how much this will add to the roll of notes in my kitchen. Every day my throat stays husky, I look up at that roll more often.
But back to tonight, it’s happening, so I need to suck it up. I thank my lucky stars it ends at nine and start acting like a hostess.
‘In that case, welcome to the party, Kit! I probably should get on, so if you’re sure you don’t mind helping…’ I hold out the candle lighter.
‘So long as I get to finish the leftovers?’
‘You might have gone home by then.’
‘I probably won’t.’ He laughs. ‘Leave it with me.’
Like so many things in St Aidan, the reality when it happens is nothing like as bad as I fear. Jean, Shirley and their three friends come along the beach from the harbour, and Jean and Shirley have been here so often they’re immediately at home, pointing out the landmarks in the distance around the bay. As soon as I bring the ice bucket out Kit pours the drinks and hands them round.
While they stand and watch the sea rolling up and down the beach and drink more fizz, I get busy with the ice-cream scoop, and in no time they’re sitting down, gasping as I deliver the first trayful of goodies to the table. As the evening passes, they have more wine, and more puddings.
As they work their way through even more wine, and even more sweets Shadow and I are sitting quietly inside, listening to the chatter and the laughter, and watching the light strings swing as the grey sky beyond turns to charcoal.
I break off from making lists of new sweet ideas to take out more fizz, and serviettes and plates, and then I light the seven and the zero candles, and carry out the cake. I stay long enough to sing ‘Happy Birthday’, then slip back inside again.
Even though I’m here every day, I never stop thinking how amazing it is. And because the sky and the wind and the sea change from second to second, no two moments are ever the same. It’s such a special place, everyone here tonight will remember this evening for ever. It’s not just about making people think The Hideaway is important. It’s so unique here, it’s a lovely feeling to be sharing it with other people, even for a short time.
As they cut up the cake the door opens a crack, and Kit comes in carrying some for both of us.
‘How’s it going? Still in one piece?’
He laughs. ‘I did my uni placement in a jewellers on an upmarket cruise ship so I’m used to this crowd. Their generation are great company.’
This man is full of surprises. I glance at my phone. ‘There’s still half an hour and a few more bottles to get through. If you give up now, they’ll call you a lightweight.’
‘I’ll take that risk. I was wanting a chat with you anyway … about Sunday.’
I put my hands over my ears. ‘I can’t think about that until this is over!’
From his smile he thinks I’m joking. ‘It’s about the timings.’
‘And?’
‘With the numbers Nell’s talking, it would be great if you could come and help me with the hosting and the tours at mine.’
‘Me?’ It’s the end of a long day. ‘Why me? ’
He blows out his cheeks. ‘You’ve lived the ring-making experience, you know enough to talk about it confidently. No one else here can do that.’
‘And the ice-cream van?’ I can’t actually bring myself to mention the hundred and eighty puddings.
‘That can be part two, once everyone has been through the studio.’ He smiles. ‘Then I’ll be around to help you.’
I’m mentally shaking my head. The van was so I could stay right away from the High Tides people; this way means a hundred per cent exposure. If Kit insists he needs my help with his part I’ll come through with that, but he doesn’t need to be involved with mine.
‘The van will be full of mermaids – they’ll all want to help, they always do.’
‘Nell in the ice-cream van? Really? ’ He sounds doubtful.
I have to be realistic, she won’t want to be on her feet all evening. ‘Maybe not Nell. Or Clemmie.’
He carries on. ‘If Rye’s on the bar, Plum may prefer to be with him.’
And good luck to anyone who tries to prise her away. It shouldn’t be a shock he’s noticed. He’d have to be blind not to have done.
Which leaves Sophie. Who is also doubtful. ‘Milla may come. Or my mum.’
I’m bluffing. Singles club is the last place she’d want to be, and if Milla is still grounded it’s likely this will be me on my own.
Kit stares down at the curls of buttercream in his hand. Then he grins at me. ‘I had a lot of practice working small spaces on the cruise ship, I promise not to tread on any toes.’
That’s the best reason of all to say no. Me in the confines of an ice-cream van with Kit’s denim-clad butt is a very bad idea. That rear and I need to be properly socially distanced at all times. Two metres clearance is nothing like enough.
I cram a handful of cake into my mouth and try to sound airy. ‘I’ll get back to you on that.’
He nods. ‘You can always use my place for prep. We’ll need a run-through of the tour, and we can talk through your strategy at the same time. You can let me know then.’ He swallows a buttercream rosette.
‘Fabulous. Absolutely.’ It’s totally not. What the hell does he mean by strategy? All I have this far are paper ice-cream cups in pastel colours, a pack of two hundred biodegradable mini spoons, and a promise of trays and containers from Clemmie.
He flicks a cake crumb off his cuff. ‘I can run a few shirts past you too.’
‘Better and better.’ Like there’ll be time for that!
‘Will nine tomorrow be okay?’
This isn’t me! I’m not a caterer or a fashion expert! Before now I’ve always been the kind of person who goes to parties, not someone who puts them on. I’m also someone who throws things together and wings it. It’s not like I’ve ever done anything this big or important before, which is why I must be mad to even try.
I hate to admit that Kit’s right – but that mahoosive number of puddings aren’t going to materialise on their own. If I want to avoid falling flat on my face in a puddle of soft scoop, I’m going to have to seriously up my game here. All while trying not to rip the clothes off the metallurgist.
It’s an enormous challenge – I only hope I’m up to it.