Chapter Twenty-Two
What on earth’s got into you, Mum?
‘Do not say a word,’ I warned as we powered along Starlight Street. ‘Blasted man. He’s so full of himself – and his dog too. Did you see it? Standing there, like it owned the footpath. Lips peeled back. And Milo wasn’t much better. Grimacing for England. He looked like Homer Simpson suffering a bout of constipation.’
I thought you said he looked like Antonio Banderas.
‘Okay,’ I conceded. ‘He looked like Antonio Banderas suffering a bout of constipation. Anyway, enough of him and his wretched mutt. Let’s find the farm shop. I’m determined to get something sweet and sticky. Right now, I have an overwhelming desire to mainline on sugar.’
I marched down the lane, Cindy doing a brisk trot to keep up with me. The Strawberry Shed loomed into view. At the sight of it, I felt instantly soothed. The encounter with a prickly Milo and his haughty dog receded.
‘What a delightful place,’ I murmured to Cindy. Together, we went through a picket gate, then made our way to the farm shop’s entrance. ‘And such a contribution to the Starlight community,’ I added.
I paused to read a sign on the door about the opening hours. It concluded with a footnote that made my heart feel all warm and fuzzy.
Dogs welcome
‘Come on,’ I said to Cindy. ‘You’re allowed in too.’
As we stepped inside, an old-fashioned bell tinkled merrily overhead. I was instantly smitten with the interior. Rustic trestle tables doubled as display surfaces. Each were laden with jars of local produce. From pickles to marmalades. Jams to honey.
Another table was artfully draped with cotton products. Dishcloths. Embroidered tea towels. Cooks’ aprons. A third table was stacked with large keepsake tins of biscuits. Their lids showed off pictures of thatched cottages, grazing cows, and woolly sheep.
I grabbed a wire basket and began slowly perusing in almost childlike delight. This place was like Santa’s grotto. Everywhere was stuffed with gorgeous goodies.
A jar of honey boasted its source as direct from the Starlight hives. I placed a pot into my basket. Moving over to the display of linen, my fingers trailed across the tea towels. On a whim, I picked up a couple. I’d surprise Lisa with them. Her dishcloths were so frayed, they were more thread than fabric.
I moved over to a large dresser. It displayed packets of multi-coloured pasta. The sizes and shapes defied the average packet of penne. My hand hovered over a bag of Conchiglioni – Italian dried giant shells. How gorgeous they looked. And… how much? Clearly the Strawberry Shed stocked posh pasta, not supermarket spaghetti.
Skirting the pasta, I picked up some caramel biscuits. Mm. They sounded nice. The packaging was fussy and decorative, which I knew would reflect in an elevated price. However, the description sounded so good, I nearly dribbled on the spot:
A rich and buttery shortbread layered with soft toffee and a topping of melt-in-the-mouth creamy chocolate .
Two packets found their way into my basket. I’d take one to the office to share around. However, with the other, I’d pig out in front of Lisa’s telly.
I walked past a chiller cabinet. It contained trays of meat. Each was labelled high welfare local beef . A shiver ran through me. Would the cows, blissfully grazing in Fern Farm’s fields, one day reside in this refrigerator? That was the downside of loving meat. Knowing where it came from.
I blocked the thought and moved on. Oooh, what was this? Slabs of butter. Again, produced by Fern Farm. Lovely. There was also plenty of cheese, pots of cream, and even raw milk.
I wandered over to an old-fashioned counter with – how charming – a cash register straight from my childhood. A woman, around my age, put down her gossip magazine and smiled at me.
‘Hello,’ she said, taking my wire basket. She peered over the counter. ‘Aww, what a lovely doggy,’ she cooed. Cindy wagged her tail politely. ‘I haven’t seen you around these parts before.’
‘No,’ I said ruefully. ‘I was hoping to buy Starlight Cottage. Unfortunately, somebody beat me to it.’
‘Ah,’ she nodded, picking up the honey and scanning it.
Oh. I see. The cash till only looked like an antique. Sometimes there was no getting away from technology.
‘I’m Linda,’ she said, holding the pot of honey in mid-air. ‘Want a bag?’
‘Please,’ I nodded. ‘And I’m Tilly, and this is Cindy.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you both,’ she dimpled.
As Linda popped the honey into a brown paper carrier, I had a flashback to my chat with Hetty Cartwright. She’d mentioned her son and daughter-in-law taking over the farm. A lightbulb went off in my head.
‘You must be Linda Cartwright,’ I said.
‘I am. How did you know that?’
‘I’ve met your mother-in-law, Hetty. What a lovely lady,’ I said, remembering the vibrant Golden Oldie. ‘She rather prophetically told me that this village would become my home.’
‘Hetty is a bit of a character,’ Linda chuckled. ‘Fancies herself as having a hotline to Heaven. She claims to know certain things before they happen.’
‘Yes,’ I sighed. ‘It’s a shame she got my prediction wrong.’
‘Indeed,’ said Linda. ‘Usually’ – she paused to scan the tea towels – ‘Hetty is peculiarly right. I’m sorry you were unsuccessful with the purchase,’ said Linda sympathetically. ‘Conveyancing can be so stressful. Starlight Cottage is a gorgeous house. Hetty was great friends with Audrey Garroway, the lady who used to live there. It was a shock when Audrey unexpectedly passed away. Her husband was devastated. Still, I think old Albert has now found happiness in Dorset. And, of course, the cottage’s new owner has sent hearts a-fluttering.’
‘Oh?’ I said cautiously. ‘You’ve met him, have you?’
‘Yes,’ Linda nodded. She stopped scanning for a moment, keen to gossip. ‘Between you and me’ – she gave me a sly look – ‘I wouldn’t say no. Don’t tell my Hugo that,’ she guffawed. ‘Milo Soren is a total babe .’ She brushed one hand across her forehead, as if about to faint. ‘Phew!’ she giggled. ‘I reckon he’s in his mid-forties. He’s got everyone lusting after him, from Hetty down to young Polly. She’s the barmaid at the Starlight Arms and half Milo’s age. It’s so unfair, isn’t it?’ Linda pulled a face. ‘Men just seem to get better and better with age. Whereas us women dry out like prunes.’
I experienced a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. Was that why Robin had shacked up with Sexy Samantha? Because he was maturing like a fine wine, while Samantha was still moist ? Did the new woman in my ex-husband’s life have to worry about rubbing her neck with night cream? Or whether to add Replens to her shopping list? And did young Polly ever resort to two slices of cucumber over her eyelids? Whereas, if I stayed up beyond midnight, I needed the whole cucumber?
‘Yes, it is unfair,’ I agreed.
‘Mind you’ – Linda added – ‘Milo isn’t just a babe in the looks department. He’s charming with it.’
‘Really?’ I snorted, earning a strange look from Linda. I quickly turned it into a cough.
‘Talk of the devil,’ she whispered as the shop’s bell gave a jaunty tinkle.
I turned in time to see the babe in question step inside the shop.