Chapter 36
36
The kitchen at Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Rude words and heavy loads
Saturday
W hen we share an address and a bathroom it’s hard to keep anything under wraps, so Miles could hardly miss the huge box when he was the one who signed for the delivery. That’s how busy today has been– my parcel arrived and I haven’t had time to open it.
He swings in from the mud room with the box and hesitates by the island. ‘Here or on the coffee table?’
If it’s been hard brushing elbows by the workstation, I’m not up for clamping my thigh next to his as we pour over postcards, so I make my excuse watertight. ‘It’s a shame to disturb Fudge when he’s quiet.’
Miles frowns. ‘He’s settled really well this evening. He’s usually a lot more in your face.’
I’m looking to where Fudge is lying on the sofa end, his head propped on his paws. He’s got one eye on Pumpkin in the field, who is swishing his tail beyond the windows as the evening sky turns smoky purple.
Miles slides the box onto the end of the island and pulls out a couple of stools. ‘It feels like a big order, but with three postcard stands to fill, it needs to be.’ He turns to me and grins. ‘Was I right about the card that sold out first?’ He hasn’t taken much notice of the cards, beyond the one that wasn’t about him.
‘Different cards sold well on different days.’ I think back. ‘A lot of people love the It’s my lucky day one with the horseshoe prints, and the edgy ones have been so popular Clemmie was joking that if I find a fourth card rack I should do a sweary range.’
What Miles doesn’t know is that with two extra card stands to fill, I was just about to rush off to the beach with my writing stick when a customer asked if we had any cards with local views and sent me in a whole new direction.
Miles holds up the scissors. ‘Will I be overstepping if I open the box?’
I laugh. ‘Seeing you’ve asked, not at all.’
He folds the flaps back and takes out some packing. ‘I’ll let you take it from here.’
I unwrap the first small package, pull out the cards, smile to myself, and push the top one across for him to see.
His eyes widen. ‘It’s the sea of flowers in Zofia’s garden!’ He looks at me. ‘What happened to the sand writing?’
I laugh and think how he might put it. ‘I’ve diversified.’ I take a few more cards out, look at them myself, then pass them over.
He’s flicking through them. ‘Front doors, doorstep flower tubs, Zofia’s espalier pear tree, boat names from the harbour.’
I hand over the next ones. ‘My favourite garden gate jam shop, Pumpkin’s favourite geraniums down on the harbourside, and some St Aidan shop windows.’
As fast as I’m unwrapping them, he’s taking them from me. Eventually as we come to the end he looks up at me. ‘You’re a dark horse, Betsy Eliza. They’re stunning. I told you you’d be having fun.’
I give a shrug. ‘Let’s see how they sell first.’ Then I give him a smile. ‘You are right, I had a great time taking them.’
Miles picks up another card and squints at it. ‘What’s that about then?’
I lean over to look, and try not to rest my boob on his forearm. ‘That’s the graffiti on the wall by the end of the residents’ car park where the silver surfers group rest their boards. It says carpe diem – seize the day. It’s Latin.’
Miles wrinkles his nose. ‘Thanks for sorting that, I’m not the best at deciphering words.’ He blows out his cheeks. ‘It’s not only Latin– it’s all reading. I’m okay with three letter words and short sentences, but if I’m faced with anything as long as a page I give up.’ He pauses for a second. ‘You must have noticed my cryptic writing?’
I’m finding this hard to take in, then it hits me. ‘But you checked my work? That day with the fairy piece, you found every typo.’
Miles’s head shaking starts again. ‘No, I sent it off to head office and they did it. I’m told the team there are very good.’
I’m still finding this hard to grasp. ‘But you knew what I’d written?’
At last he nods. ‘That was text to voice software. It’s very good now. It wasn’t always. But I’ve had my whole life to find ways to get around the problem, I’ve never let it hold me back.’
I’m the one shaking my head now. ‘I’m sorry if I sound rude, but it’s just very unexpected… considering how successful you are.’
He stops to think. ‘My business instincts and vision were good. My enthusiasm and an eye for detail made up for what I lacked.’
I’m thinking back to my own small country village infants’ school and literacy hour, and decide there’s no point holding back. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who couldn’t read before. How did it actually happen?’
Miles pulls a face. ‘I was a bit dyslexic, missed some school and never caught up. I simply fell through the cracks. It wouldn’t happen these days. It’s not exactly a secret but I don’t broadcast it either.’
I drag in a breath. ‘Well, thanks for sharing with me.’
‘It’s the least I can do.’
I’m curious again. ‘What? Because I’m being your roll-out guinea pig?’
He looks slightly bemused. ‘No, because you let me in on your very exhaustive bad-boyfriend list.’
I stare at him. ‘That wasn’t all of it.’ The second that’s out, I’m kicking myself. ‘Shit. There was no need for me to say that.’
‘I look forward to the next instalment.’ He’s looking at me through half closed eyes. ‘This is why you should never make assumptions. People are a lot more complicated than you’d ever imagine, which is why it’s best to get to know them more before you put your trust in them.’
I’m certainly having my eyes opened here, but I suspect he is too, and not in a good way.
I push my sinking heart to one side. ‘On the bright side, if all these Saturdays go to plan, at least you’ll get your one-way ticket out of Cornwall.’
He bites his lip. ‘How about you? Are you pleased with how the shop is going?’
There’s not often the time, but when I do stop to think about it, I’m astonished at what’s come out of nothing in a very short time.
‘We have a name, we’re on Facebook and Insta, we have tag lines, an ever-expanding WhatsApp group, and after tonight we have aprons, too. We also have money rolling in so fast, I’m surprised you aren’t scouring the coast for more places to pop up.’ I laugh. ‘All we need now is for Fudge to come back when we call him, and we’ll have nailed it.’
He blinks at me. ‘Say that again?’
I need to keep this real. ‘I’m being ironic. Realistically it could be years before Fudge can run free on the beach.’
He frowns. ‘Not Fudge, the bit about the pop-ups?’
I laugh again. ‘Shops all along the coast, staffed by Zofia’s relations and builders’ wife friends. It was a joke, Miles.’ The look in his eye tells me I need to move on and fast. ‘Do you ever dance in the kitchen? It could be time to try. While the buns are baking. Have they risen yet?’
I’m waiting to see his reaction, but he’s looking past me and out to the sofa.
‘Fudge is eating something. Did you give him bone biscuits?’ He jumps down from his stool, clears the barricades, and a nanosecond later, he’s at the sofa’s end holding something high in the air. ‘Bad boy, Fudge! It’s a pink jelly shoe, and it’s totally demolished. That’s why he’s been so silent.’
I don’t have any jelly shoes, so I don’t rush.
Miles is staring at something in his hand. ‘All that’s left of the top is a gold badge with an orb with a cross on.’
My chest contracts and I feel sick. ‘Those aren’t jelly, they’re my Vivienne Westwood pumps.’ I hate making a fuss. I don’t put a lot of value on material possessions, but these were very precious. My throat is so dry my voice is a whisper. ‘They were a gift from Scarlett when I graduated.’ As suggested by mum before she died.
Miles is shaking his head. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s unforgivable. They’re irreplaceable.’
I blow out a breath. ‘They were under the sofa. I should have put them away.’ I’m trying to work out what’s gone wrong here. ‘I’ve never seen Fudge do destructive chewing or I’d have taken more care.’
Miles’s face is white. ‘He doesn’t. Hardly ever. He once put teeth marks in my mum’s best leopard loafers when she got a new boyfriend. But nothing before or since.’
I sniff. ‘A dog who senses the most heartfelt shoes.’ I’m on my hands and knees, my hand sweeping around under the couch. When I find the other one, I pull it out and hold it up. ‘At least I still have one.’
Miles drops the first one into my open hand. ‘I can never put this right.’ He tilts his head on one side. ‘Dinner, jewellery, more shoes, weekends away in a spa hotel– I respect you enough to know my usual go-tos aren’t going to work here.’
I can’t help hearing Tate cheering in the background, but I need to be firm here. ‘I don’t want anything, Miles. It was an accident.’
His voice is very low. ‘Whatever I do won’t be enough, but leave it with me.’
Which is worse than nothing at all, because now it’s going to hang over me, and I’ll never know what he’s going to spring on me.
‘What about the pastries? Will they be ready?’
His eyes come back into focus. ‘I’ll check now. We need to brush them with an egg and milk glaze, and then they’ll go into the oven, which I’ve already pre-heated.’
I zip my pumps into the side pocket of the nearest rucksack, and push my flip flops in there too, just in case.
I sigh. ‘You may as well put your music on.’
He watches me as he walks to the proving drawer. ‘Are you sure?’
I pull a face. ‘Why not? My head is shot to pieces anyway.’ All these weeks I’ve fought against Miles’s noise, but tonight it feels like it would be blissful to have a wall of sound that pulses through my body and blasts into my ears so there isn’t room for anything else.
He brings the baking trays across to the island. ‘We could play yours?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘For once Taylor Swift isn’t going to cut it. Just obliterate me with the best you’ve got.’
‘Gustav Holst’s Jupiter?’
‘That should do the job.’ At least it’ll take away the need for conversation.
I sense he’s about to open his arms, so I get in first. ‘A hug is not going to help here. Thanks all the same.’
As the first notes of Miles’s favourite tune bounce off the ceiling I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me, but the idea of burying my face in his chest feels a million times less hideous than it did the last time I thought about it.
Then the vibration of my phone reminds me that however big my problems are, they’re nothing compared to what’s going on across the Atlantic.