Chapter 15
15
Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Snap decisions and incredible crunch
Sunday
W hen I come back to the cottage later on Saturday there’s no sign of Miles (hurrah!) nor (boo!) his baking. I make the most of his absence, watch the sun slip down behind the horizon from the lounger, then when the sky darkens, I move inside and fall asleep a long time later watching my fifty-fourth viewing of Gilmore Girls .
Next morning, I nip to the bathroom early to avoid any unnecessary meetings in the hallway. As I slip back onto the sofa at 5.45am I hear Miles call softly from the far end of the kitchen, ‘Don’t mind me, I’m making an early start I won’t disturb you.’
Too right he won’t. I pull the covers over my head, snooze for another hour, then I grab some clothes and a backpack and slip out through the French windows and into the field where Pumpkin is standing waiting for me.
If ever I mention my best friend is a pony, people think I’m joking. But Pumpkin is always up for an outing. Better still, he’s empathetic, constant and dependable, he has a good sense of humour, and mostly he doesn’t argue with me. When I stop to think about it, I probably spend more time with Pumpkin than I do with any person. He’s less than delighted to find I’ve come out without my morning carrot treat, but he soon cheers up when I clip his lead rope onto his head collar and we set off along the beach towards the town.
Pumpkin doesn’t understand everything I say, but he’s adept at picking up cues and reading wider situations. When I mention we’re on our way to buy carrots from the shop, his walk speeds up.
It’s shortly after seven, and we almost have the beach to ourselves. As usual, I’m stopping every couple of paces to pick up shells or stones, but as there’s no one to chat to we make good progress, striding along the firm damp sand over the wavy ridges left behind by the outgoing tide. It wouldn’t be a morning walk around the bay if I didn’t find a stick and stop to write and photograph a message to myself and/or the world.
Today, in anticipation of what might (or might not) be coming later, I write Taste the difference? A bit further along the beach I stop again to do an anticipatory Yum yum . When I stop later to look how many white streaks there are on the sea, for some unfathomable reason when I look down at my feet, I find a sign looking up at me that says Nice bum .
As I’m wearing ripped denim cut-offs with cycling shorts and a lace-over dress, I must subliminally be complimenting myself, or possibly Pumpkin’s lovely round rump. For the record, I definitely wouldn’t be writing that about anyone else I know. Certainly not about Miles, however much I find it hard to take my eyes off his butt, which I shouldn’t even be noticing.
It’s amazing how time passes when you’re wandering along the shore. Near the end of the beach we wave at Clemmie who’s sitting quietly on the balcony with a child on her knee, then carry on across the harbour and up the winding street to the Spar shop where I buy a bag of carrots for Pumpkin. Then I go to grab a takeaway coffee from the van next to the doughnut stall, which is opening up in anticipation of a busy Sunday.
I take a sip of my coffee and mutter to Pumpkin. ‘When I smelled those sugary doughnuts, I was this close to buying a box. I hope Miles comes through for us.’
I can tell by the way Pumpkin blinks he’s recognised the name.
I nudge his flank. ‘Miles needs to do a lot of baking to make the leap from being the knobhead you decided he was last week.’ Looking up from checking the time on my phone, I see Clemmie standing on the balcony beckoning.
By the time we’ve walked along to the balcony, she’s coming out of the front door underneath.
I smile at her. ‘Someone else up bright and early?’
‘Two babies mean we always are.’ She grins. ‘The Little Cornish Kitchen will be opening soon. You’re both very welcome any time, the apple trees give plenty of shade.’
I look at Pumpkin. ‘Could you decimate an orchard in the time it takes me to eat a muffin?’ I smile back at Clemmie. ‘We’re not eating today. We’re out walking while Miles bakes. It’s a fine line. We don’t want to get back too early but if we wait too long, I might expire.’
Clemmie wiggles her eyebrows. ‘It sounds like someone is upping their game.’
‘There’s still a long way to go, isn’t there, Pumpkin?’ I take another sip of coffee even though it’s making my hunger pangs worse not better. ‘We’re walking towards Oyster Point while the magic happens.’
‘We came down so Bud could see Pumpkin close up.’ Clemmie looks at the child in her arms. ‘Would you like to stroke him, Bud?’
Bud has the same auburn curls as her mum, but she wrinkles her nose, pulls away and scrunches her hands into fists.
‘Maybe another day?’ I walk Pumpkin through a half circle so we’re facing the harbour again.
‘Don’t forget to look out for sirens by the sea pool.’ Clemmie’s smile widens as she steps back onto the doorstep. ‘Plum, Nell, Sophie and I are known locally as the mermaids, but you, me, Bud and Pumpkin are like a little auburn sub-group.’
‘I’ll take that,’ I call over my shoulder as we set off. ‘We’re heading back for ten, so we’ll give you gingernut piskies a wave on our way past.’
When I’m out with Pumpkin, even just for a walk, things always take longer than I expect because along the route there might be a hundred conversations. By the time we’ve seen the sea pool and we’re on our way back, the harbourside is as busy as I’ve ever seen it. Far from being alarmed, Pumpkin is in his element. The more people there to pat his head and tug on his mane, the better he likes it. My timing goes out of the window, and it’s gone eleven by the time Pumpkin trots off across his field again.
As I push my way in through the French windows, the smell of hot pastry immediately makes me drool. I’m scanning the island unit and empty work surfaces, looking for even a teensy plate when Miles appears in the doorway.
‘Sorry I’m late. We got caught up in the crowds.’
‘It’s fine. You’re here now.’
I swallow. ‘If you’ve already eaten the bakes, I can make a sandwich.’
He jumps forward. ‘Please don’t. They’re in the mud room. Sit down and I’ll get them.’
By the time I’m climbing onto my high stool, Miles is already pushing a wide platter of pastries in front of me.
‘You’ve made different types?’ Remembering how they tasted last time, I’m melting in anticipation.
‘Almond and raspberry, double chocolate, pecan and salt caramel, and apricot.’ He points to each as he names them, then slices them into quarters. ‘Try them all and tell me what you think. Once I’ve seen your reaction, you can eat as many as you like.’
Considering how many I ate last time he might regret saying that.
‘Almond and raspberry– with white chocolate icing…’ I take a bite, then another straight away because it tastes like heaven. Then I remember what I’m here for, and find some words. ‘Flakey, delicious, I love the way you’ve got ground almonds in the centre, and the flakes on the outside, all shot through with raspberry coulis. And the fresh raspberries on the top are the cherry on the cake.’
Miles watches me move onto the next. ‘Double chocolate has dark chocolate slices, and cocoa in the dough too.’
I pop a piece into my mouth and let the cocoa explode on my tongue. ‘I’ve never tasted anything quite like it before. It’s incredible.’
He smiles. ‘I should be serving you spoonfuls of cucumber sorbet to clean your palate between flavours.’
For one time only I forgive him for being the kind of guy who hangs out in places where they have fancy shit like that, and grin at him. ‘I’m good without the greens, but I bet these would be amazing with herby cream cheese, or spinach and ricotta.’
He holds up his finger. ‘Thanks for that. It’s noted in my memory bank.’
I reach out for my next piece. ‘Apricot– aha! Let’s see how these compare to yesterday’s pastries.’ I’m chewing and waving my hands at the same time. ‘No comparison. They’ve blown the others out of St Aidan bay.’
‘And the last one. Basically it’s pecan nut with toffee drizzle.’
I go straight in for a whole one. ‘If these are what I had last time, I already know.’ This time around I’m not even trying to keep the flakes under control. I take the bun in my hand, open my mouth as wide as I can, and go for it. I’m still grinning as I wipe the crumbs off my cheeks when it’s all disappeared a few moments later.
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Not so bad then?’
I have to be honest. ‘If I could only eat one thing for the rest of my life, these would be up there.’ I stop for a second. ‘Have you got any more? Last time I ate four, but I could easily have eaten eight.’
Surprisingly there’s no judgement on Miles’s side. He laughs, and looks secretly proud. ‘If every potential customer felt like that, I’d definitely be onto a winner.’
I’m sitting up straight in my seat. ‘So they are a commercial venture for you?’
He sniffs. ‘It’s very early days. I’ve never baked before, let alone sold food. But my mum’s dad was a baker, so if it works out, I’ll be following the family tradition.’
He’s caught my attention. ‘So what are you going to call them?’ I pick up a chocolate one. ‘If croissants crossed with doughnuts are cro-nuts, shaped like muffins… they’d be cruffins.’
He pulls a face. ‘I’ll certainly run that past my marketing teams.’
I roll my eyes that he’s got one of those to hand. ‘I’m afraid I’m an instant person, I can’t possibly wait for them. For now, I’m going to call them boathouse buns.’ I try it for size. ‘How many boathouse buns have you made today?’
He gives a shamefaced grin. ‘There’s another sixty in the mud room.’
I’m making it up as I go along, but I might as well state the obvious. ‘Even if we save a dozen for immediate consumption, that still leaves forty-eight more than we can’t eat ourselves, so we may as well use them as testers.’
He’s looking at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Any research will need to be meticulously devised and targeted.’
I can’t believe what he’s missing. ‘You’ve got a beach full of people who’d be very happy to give their opinions. It’s baking not rocket science, why waste the audience?’ I’m not usually a bossy person, but I can’t hold back on this. ‘Miles, this is StAidan, not London. It’s free for the taking. Look, I’ll do the talking. Stop prevaricating and fetch the goods before everyone goes home.’
His jaw drops, but a second later he slides off the stool and three minutes later Miles and I are down on the beach with a platter of his boathouse buns.