Chapter 33
It was the evening of the gathering Tilly had been invited to by Lucie. After Tilly had put the beautiful handmade throw quilt on the sofa, she'd messaged Lucie with a follow-up thank you and a photo. Lucie had replied with a pink love heart emoticon and reiterated the invitation.
Tilly had replied that she'd love to attend, but now the evening had rolled around, she had very much changed her mind.
She was all for making new friends and trying to be positive, but honestly, she wasn't sure if she had socialising in her.
Really, she was simply happy doing her own thing.
The last thing she felt like doing was turning up, Billy No Mates, to some perfect local's house, having to say all the right things, ooh and ahh here and there and smile as if she was nice.
Tilly had done enough of that as part of being the girlfriend of an entertainer and, to be frank, she'd had a gutful of it to last her a lifetime. To all intents and purposes, she’d rather stay tucked up in the shed working on her new business.
For the whole day, as she'd attempted to make sense of the room to the side of the main shed area and had taken some shots of the linen, she’d wondered whether or not to go.
She’d told herself that she should be grateful to have been asked in the first place.
In old work dungarees, a playlist on her phone and a long, lovely conversation with her mum in France, she had spent most of the day going back and forth about the invitation from this Lucie person.
Yes, she would go, no, she wouldn't. Could she be bothered?
No. Too tired. Yes, she would go and stay for one drink.
No, she couldn't be faffed. Yes, she would turn up with some baked goods and try to make friends.
Hard no, she didn't have the energy. Then there was also the directive from The Properlies to find out about Otto and the wife, to take into consideration.
By the end of the day, she was so sick of thinking about whether or not to go, she decided that she would turn up for one drink, say a few hellos here and there, smile and nod.
She would show her face, be perfectly cordial and polite and then skedaddle as soon as politely possible.
That way she would meet a few people and still be home in time to get in her dressing gown and read her book in bed.
Having left it far too late for baked goods, she rumbled around in the freezer and fridge and took stock.
Old Mother Hubbard was around, but she did have cheese, honey, a packet of puff pastry, loads of pasta, plenty of eggs, flour and the obvious staples.
Nodding, she pulled out the puff pastry, cheese and honey.
One of the perks of the previous forty-eight months wandering round the planet attending to the needs of the rich and sometimes famous was that she'd actually learnt a thing or two about catering from scratch.
A French cook in the Maldives had forced her to learn very quickly how to make new things out of a fridge full of leftovers, an egg chef she'd assisted in Hong Kong had made short work of making all sorts from a couple dozen eggs and in Fiji when she'd been positioned in the adults only executive end of the resort to staff the afternoon tea lounge she'd learnt a thing or two.
One such recipe came to the front of her mind.
Kalara, who ran everything in Fiji with an iron fist, had been behind the scenes, steering the ship after most of the staff had gone down with the flu.
It had been Tilly's job for the afternoon tea to whip up scones, feta and honey bites, and finger sandwiches by the armful.
Now the honey bites would be making an appearance on a little island on the other side of the world.
As if pinged back into the Fijian kitchen in the hotel, only without the tropical heat and hibiscus clip in her hair, Tilly cut the pastry into squares.
Plonking the feta into the middle of each square on autopilot, she could almost taste the Fijian humidity in the air.
She then washed the pastry with egg, sprinkled it with sesame seeds, shoved it in the oven, job done.
Half an hour later, the feta bites took pride of place on a vintage platter Tilly had found at the back of a cupboard, were drizzled with honey, sprinkled with extra sesame seeds and draped in a tea towel. Bob was your uncle.
After a long shower and a double-conditioned hair wash, Tilly stood in front of her quite pathetic selection of clothes, wondering what to wear.
Quite frankly, she needed to up her outfits substantially if she was going to make a go of it back in the real world.
In the tropics, working seven days a week and having a uniform had left little time or inspiration for much other than swimmers and the odd sundress or two.
Now here she was in a different climate with two pairs of jeans, one denim, one white, three silky shirts, one black, one cream, one dark green, two strappy sundresses, one pale pink dress she'd bought in a market in India, two pairs of sandals, one pair of very gorgeous bottle green espadrilles, a pair of ballet flats, two pairs of black trousers, a coat which had seen better days, three beach cover-ups, one puffer jacket and one wool scarf.
Not only were her pickings slim, but they were also still in her suitcase.
Trying on the white jeans with the black silky shirt, she shook her head, leaned towards the window, peered up at the sky and assessed the weather.
No sign of rain and not too chilly, Tilly felt as if it was a dress occasion.
Picking up the pink dress, she put it to her face and inhaled, taking in the lovely smell of the hotel laundry washing powder.
She smiled. The hotel laundry in Fiji had been a very nice perk of the job.
Letting the skirt section fall in front of her, she nodded, slipped it over her head, decided a vest was needed for warmth, took it off, added a vest and popped it back on.
With her hair done, age-defying foundation in place and the dress on, Tilly stood on a chair to try and evaluate the outfit from the only large mirror in the house.
Not bad actually. The dress was a winner for sure.
She'd bought it from a market in India for no other reason than the fact that she'd fallen in love with it.
Now, back home, it was performing its job admirably.
Once ready to go, spritzed with perfume and with a cream gilet under her arm and the platter in her hand, she'd got to the door, stepped outside, changed her mind about attending and had gone back inside again.
Sitting on a little chair by the window, she'd gone back and forth about whether or not to go. The Lennixx Years had left her no stranger to arriving at things solo or sitting alone at a bar, so it wasn’t that.
It was more a question of why she was going.
She didn't really feel the need for girlfriends and couldn't be bothered to have to stand and chat.
On the other hand, if she was going to make a go of it on Darling, she needed to make a modicum of effort to get to know a few people.
Even if only that, when the next storm came, she wasn't completely on her own.
Ten minutes later, it was take two, and with the platter, her bag, the gilet and the lovely green espadrilles in place, she set off in the direction of the tram with the intention of stopping at the off-licence to get a bottle of wine.
She'd spied the off-licence on the first day on Darling and had even seen it mentioned on Instagram as a bit of a destination place.
It had been tagged, reposted and gushed over by many people.
Assuming it would turn out to be one of those places that looked marvellous on a phone screen and thoroughly ordinary in the flesh, as she came round a bend in the road and saw a gold sign reading simply Bottles on Darling, she had the sneaking feeling that she might be impressed.
Pushing open the door to the shop with the tinkle of a bell, Tilly stopped just over the threshold and let her eyes travel slowly round the whole glorious place. Without a shadow of a doubt, she felt as if it might be in the most beautiful little shop she'd ever set foot in.
Sporting an old-fashioned apothecary feel with deep vintage-green shelving so dark it was almost black, Bottles on Darling razzle-dazzled, and Tilly didn’t know where to look first. Panelled walls showcased deep shelves and little handwritten labels taped on with washi tape under each bottle, looping ink described delightful ingredients.
Jazz drifted out from somewhere behind the counter, and the air was thick with the scent of woody incense, spices and amber.
This was no dodgy corner shop selling knock-off beer in a can.
Inhaling, Tilly couldn't quite get enough.
If heaven had a smell, it might very well be this funny little island off-licence.
A far cry from the strip-lit supermarket aisles and duty-free pyramids of vodka, Tilly had shuffled past in airport after airport over the previous four years, she could have laughed out loud as she peered around.
A few small black café tables were tucked in among rows of French wine, bentwood chairs squeezed in beside them, and little tasting glasses set out ready.
At one, a couple sat with their heads bent together over a single bottle, and through a small doorway at the back, she could see a Gin Room and yet more candlelight flickering and catching cut glass.
She was just drifting along, wondering what to purchase and tilting her head to read the labels when a voice came from behind the counter and made her look up.
'Hiya. Are you after something in particular, or are you happy having a little wander? Take your time, my lover, there's no rush in here.'
Tilly turned to find a woman of about sixty smiling at her, silver hair pinned up in a soft twist, a pair of half-moon glasses on a beaded chain and a linen apron the same deep green as the shelves.
The whole feel of the place wrong-footed Tilly.
Feeling as if she'd just stepped into someone's front room rather than a shop, she smiled and heard herself garbling on and explaining that she'd been invited to drinks and wasn't sure what to take.
Absorbing Tilly's words with a series of warm little nods, the woman narrowed her eyes and put her glasses on.
'Drinks, is it? Lovely. Well, you can't go far wrong with a nice bottle of fizz, but I'll tell you what I'd actually take, if you'll trust me on it.
' Coming round the counter and reaching, without even appearing to look, for a bottle on a low shelf, she pulled up a bottle with a soft cream label with a sprig of something hand-drawn on it.
The woman nodded repeatedly. 'This one's a little English sparkler from just up the coast, dry as you like, and it goes down a treat with absolutely everyone, which is rather the point at a gathering, isn't it?
I always think you have to get it right.
Go too cheap, you appear, well, cheap as it were and go the other way, and it's all a bit over the top.
You don't want to be the one who turns up with something nobody dares open. Do you know what I mean?'
Tilly took the bottle and its accompanying card, turned the card over, and read the looping description on the back.
Not really sure about the qualities of English bubbles, Tilly didn't like to say no, said she'd take it, and the woman wrapped it neatly in tissue and a twist of brown paper, all the while chatting.
'You'll be the one in Margery's old Boat Shed, then.
We did wonder who'd take it on. Well, you come back in when you're fully settled, and I'll do you a proper tasting through the back. Had many baskets on your doorstep? Welcome to Darling, my lover. You'll find it grows on you, this place, whether you mean it to or not. I haven’t had a chance to drop my basket off yet. It’ll be with you soon. '
Tilly beamed. ‘Ahh, yes, I am.’
‘Surprised we all know who you are?’
Tilly chuckled. ‘I’m getting used to it.’
‘How are you finding it? How did you fare in the storm? Otto said you were fine.’
So Otto had mentioned her. Bingo. An image of herself cowering under the duvet in the foetal position flashed through Tilly’s brain. ‘I was okay in the storm. It was a bit of an eye-opener.’
‘If you can survive a Darling storm, you’re a keeper. Anyway, I’d better get on. Say hello to Lucie and Shelly for me.’
Tilly nodded and pretended that she was used to people knowing where she was going. ‘Will do. Thank you so much.’ Tilly tucked the wrapped bottle carefully beside the platter and stepped back out into the Darling evening. So Otto had mentioned her to someone. Ring-a-ding ding.