Chapter 11
11
In Mile’s car, on the way back to Boathouse Cottage
Wild winds and edible knickers
Wednesday
‘E nough fairytales for you in that garden?’
Even though I’ve got the window of Miles’s car down (full marks to me for managing that technicality), now we’re in here his scent is making my head spin. And in spite of his car being the size of a lorry on the outside, once I slide into the passenger seat and we both close our doors I’m practically sitting on his lap. Being near enough to see the creases on his knuckles as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel is way too much for me.
I cross my own legs, then uncross them again fast when my entire upper thigh unexpectedly slides into view. I’m also regretting the outfit choice that means I’m somehow looking down on an expanse of my own bare stomach. How the hell does that happen when I’m wearing four outfits? And as if the situation wasn’t bad enough already, now Miles is taking the piss by going on about fairies. There’s another thing I need to sort out while we’re here.
‘You told me to put my big girl pants on back there.’
‘Not “pants”.’ He gives me a sideways glance as he swings the car around in a circle, and eases it out between the gateposts and out onto the road. ‘I actually said “hat”.’
I could have done without making that slip, but that’s not what’s important. ‘Are you implying I need to grow up?’
If he is, it’s seriously insulting, and he needs to explain himself.
He pulls a face. ‘Growing up means different things to different people.’
He’s not getting out of it like that.
‘Are you implying I’m in any way like a child?’
He blows out his cheeks and his finger tapping rate doubles. ‘Child-like qualities aren’t necessarily bad, Betsy Bets. They can be refreshing and endearing.’
This teasing refusal to ever give a straight answer is another thing about him that drives me wild.
‘Stop dodging the issue, Miles. I’m either like a baby or I’m not.’ He got himself into this corner, I’m not letting him off the hook.
He drags in a breath. ‘Okay. Don’t take this the wrong way. But sometimes you do appear to be over-reliant on Scarlett’s opinions.’
‘Rather than what?’
He’s looking at me full in the face. ‘Rather than having confidence in your own.’
‘Fuck, Miles.’ I want to yell at him for the rest of time for that. ‘Look at the road, before you kill us both.’
He’s still talking but at least he’s looking forwards now. ‘Obviously you’re the expert on little things like piskies. It’s the bigger stuff I’m talking about.’
I’m picking my jaw off the floor. ‘ Piskies? ’
He nods. ‘They’re the Cornish version of pixies. If Fennel’s readers like fairies, they’re going to love those.’
This is so unbelievable I shake my head in silence.
There’s some more tapping on the steering wheel, then he’s looking at me again. ‘Zofia and her garden sound perfect for those features you’ve been struggling to find. Well done for that.’
He never fails to astonish me. ‘What the hell has any of this got to do with you?’
He shrugs. ‘Just being a supportive housemate.’ He pulls a face. ‘I don’t deliberately listen in, but when you take your calls in the kitchen and tell the horse everything right next to the fence, it’s hard not to feel included.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to bring to the table while we’re here?’
I’m obviously being ironic, but he turns to me again. ‘If Zofia’s going to make good copy, you might like the lot down Saltings Lane.’
I can’t believe he’s talking like he’s a local. ‘How long have you actually been here?’
He hesitates. ‘A couple of years. Just while I step back from the business. It’s definitely temporary.’
I put that shock to one side for now and get back to what’s important. ‘Where the hell is Saltings Lane? And what’s down it?’
‘We just passed it. There was a sign saying Shepherds Huts, and there are barns with local makers. I’m surprised you haven’t been there already.’
I open my mouth and let out the yell that’s been waiting since we set off. ‘Stop! STOP! STOP!’
Miles jumps on the brakes. ‘What do you want me to do now?’
I’m shaking my head that he even needs to ask. ‘Turn around, please, so we can have a look!’
‘This is Cornwall, Betty Beth, there’s no space for turning.’ He grins across at me. ‘I’ll reverse.’
Three hundred yards going backwards at top speed? On balance, I’d rather have waited and come back on my own later.