Chapter 12
12
The Barnyard, Saltings Lane, St Aidan
Chocolate chips and lucky breaks
Friday
I t turns out that suitable subjects for pieces are like buses. I’ve waited the best part of two weeks to find any, then three come along on the same afternoon. At the end of Saltings Lane, Miles and I found a field with a view of the sea filled with shepherd huts and garden rooms, all decorated in different styles and colourways, and enough swinging fairy lights for me to know this is my kind of heaven. There’s also a barn full of carefully chosen quirky accessories and second-hand furniture that is ready for painting, so customers can create designs that are completely unique to them, and do as much or as little of the work as they choose. The best part for me was that every single corner was so beautifully arranged and presented, even Miles couldn’t find anything to be sarcastic about.
In ten minutes flat I’d taken enough photos to persuade Fenna to commit to a long piece on decorative themes for huts and garden rooms, and some step-by-step features on individual up-cycling projects, as well as the big spread on Zofia. The speed Fenna emailed back, she must be as excited as I am.
The assistant at the shepherd’s hut company is called Edie, and she said to come back again today to take in the Friday market that’s here for smaller traders too. So now I’m here exploring the bit they call the barnyard, which has smaller units in some converted buildings around a courtyard that is bursting with makers and doers.
When I set off from the cottage forty minutes ago there was a stiff breeze blowing the clouds across a bright blue sky. The solid indigo of the sea was streaked with foam, and the early weekend visitors were scattered in groups across the sand huddling behind their windbreaks. I walked along the beach to the harbour, only stopping to write Make my day and Blue, blue, blue , then wound my way up the twisty road to the top of the village and on towards Rosehill. Turning into Saltings Lane I can already hear the sound of voices a hundred yards further down the lane.
I hurry along and join the crowd milling around the courtyard, buy a coffee from the side of a wonderfully weathered camper van with a stack of vintage surf boards on the roof, and then I catch sight of an open stable door and, beyond it, shelves stacked with rainbow-coloured felt slippers with curly toes, and I know I’m onto a winner.
The handmade felt bags and open baskets stacked high on the shelves inside the converted, white-washed building are the kind of wonderful that make me think for a second that maybe one day I would like a home after all. It’s the strangest feeling, and for a fleeting moment it’s as if I’m in someone else’s body, not mine. But then I come to my senses, fan my face with relief, and treat myself to a garland of tiny, felted pom poms the size of marbles that are small enough to fit in my pocket.
The woman gives me my change and smiles. ‘There’s lanterns, candles and recycled metalwork next door. And then there’s the soap factory, the patchwork store, and vintage clothes and at the end there’s a bicycle shop with books. And don’t miss the “anything goes” produce boxes outside; you mostly put your money in the jars for the things you buy from those. Everyone’s talking about the sweet pea posies. And the Little Cornish Kitchen have a muffin table in the unit next door.’
A moment later I’m back outside, helping myself to the last two bunches of flowers complete with their own jam jar vases. I’m not sure what happens in the next hour, because I’m definitely not used to having cash to splash around, but today I’m suddenly surrounded by things that are both beautiful and such great buys they’re crying out to be mine. With Fenna’s three pieces coming up, I feel rich enough to rush around like a shopaholic. What makes things even more moreish than the vibrant colours are the items I find in unexpected places. I’m gasping at the rainbow stack of patchwork quilts in the fabric stable, when I come across the kind of china bowl I’ve been waiting for all my life.
I’m already carrying way too many packages, but I take it down from the shelf anyway to sigh over its bright floral design.
I dip into my purse for a ten-pound note, then smile when I recognise the familiar red hair of the woman in a flowery tea dress who is taking the money.
Her face lights up as I arrive at the table. ‘Hi, I’m Clemmie. We’ve waved at you from our balcony. My daughter Bud is smitten with your pony.’
As the woman I recognise from the gallery comes in with a tray of cakes, Clemmie calls her over. ‘Plum, look, I’m finally face to face with Scarlett’s sister.’
Plum swishes her dark ponytail, puts the tray down and pulls me into a hug against her paint-splashed dungarees. ‘Lovely to meet you, you must be Betty?’
I hug her back. ‘That’s right.’
Plum jumps across to the door. ‘Wait a moment, and you can meet Nell, too.’
Clemmie laughs. ‘Meeting three mermaids in three minutes, that has to be a record.’
A woman in a checked shirt and a gilet comes in pushing a buggy, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Nell, we’re out without our tails today. Due to Plum’s chamber of commerce initiative, and the rest of us being inundated with babies, Clemmie’s having a Little Cornish Kitchen stall in Loella’s fabric shop.’ She gives me a hearty slap on the back. ‘If ever you need eggs, I deliver to your door.’
Clemmie laughs. ‘Don’t worry if you can’t keep up!’ She takes the bowl from me and wraps it in paper. ‘This is a Villeroy and Bosch; it’s not that old, but you’ve bagged yourself a bargain.’
I grin back at her. ‘I’m hoping to use it for fruit– if that’s not too controversial for my housemate.’
I’m not sure why I’m sharing this, other than the feeling that if we knew each other better she’d understand.
‘If you’re arguing over where to store the bananas, things are bad!’ Her smile is warm. ‘Apart from your grumpy housemate, how are you settling into Scarlett’s place?’
I pull a face. ‘I’m crossing my fingers I’ll last the summer.’
‘Good luck with that!’ She searches through a pile of patchwork pieces, and then hands me the card she finds. ‘In case it doesn’t work out, this might be useful.’
I’m staring at the words above the phone number. ‘A studio space at the Net Loft?’
She’s still beaming at me. ‘A shop space with a sleeping gallery, small but perfectly formed, free until at least October, and currently crying out for an occupant. A friend of ours was about to sign the lease, but her dad was taken ill and now she’s in St Andrews not St Aidan.’
With holiday rentals round here at thousands a week, I hadn’t thought of looking for anywhere else to stay. I mean, swanning into a rental agent just isn’t who I am. I prefer to live in the kind of places that happen without me realising they have, where it’s easy to slip in and even easier to slip out again.
I wave the card at her. ‘Thank you, I’ll definitely give this some thought.’
She laughs at me. ‘You probably think you won’t, but if you’re already scrapping over where to put the apples, you might be glad of it.’
Plum leans over and drops a paper bag into the midst of my shopping. ‘There’s a muffin there to brighten your day. Now all you need is someone to take you and your parcels back to Boathouse Cottage.’
Nell lets out a loud guffaw. ‘You’re quite a local celebrity. The woman who walks on the beach with a pony the same colour as her hair, people will be fighting to give you a lift.’
Plum joins in. ‘A very hunky housemate you’ve got there. What a shame his personality doesn’t match his looks.’
I load my bags onto my arms. ‘Actually, I’m good to walk.’
As Clemmie finally ushers me out into the afternoon wind she nods at the card in my cardigan pocket. ‘When you do call the number, tell them Clemmie said to ring.’