Chapter 17
Smugglers End, The Harbourside, St Aidan, Cornwall
Home comforts and fast getaways
Sunday
Living with a multi-generational extended family might mean I get very little time on my own, but the upside is that there are always plenty of people to call on for backup.
After everything Lando’s done to help Salvador recently, our family would naturally want to show our appreciation that he’s back in St Aidan, which is why at ten on Sunday morning, as I cross the quayside, I’m not only with Dale, Zara, Nemmie and Angel the dog, but we’ve also brought the little ones along too.
As we make our way along the row to Lando’s cottage at the end, I’m the only one with any idea about the significance of the visit. It’s such a big thing for me that I feel like I could throw up any second and my first feeble tap on the door reflects that.
We cluster round the doorstep, stare at the blue-painted door and the pink stucco wall and wait.
After a while Dale takes a step back. ‘If we were police on a dawn raid, we’d have rammed that door down by now.’
Nemmie sniffs. ‘I seriously doubt they’d bash in doors to deliver tray bakes, Dale.’
I attempt to smile at them. ‘No one answers straightaway. They have to finish what they’re doing first.’
Nemmie looks up at the little window sitting proud on the roof. ‘They might be in the bathroom…’
I cut in before the speculation gets too loud or rude. ‘Exactly. A lot of people take showers in the mornings.’ An image of a steaming wet Lando flashes through my brain, but I only have myself to blame for that.
Then I think about having to do all this another day, and when I try again my knock is loud enough that if anyone’s inside they won’t ignore it. A few seconds later we hear the pad of feet along the hall then the door swings open and Lando is blinking at us in the sunlight.
This time I know not to hesitate. ‘Good morning, Lando, we’ve brought you some home baking.’
He hitches up his weekend joggers. ‘You’ve what?’
‘As a housewarming present.’ My confidence wavers. ‘You do still eat brownies?’
As I falter, Dale steps in. ‘I made those.’
Nemmie chimes in too. ‘And me and Zara did the chocolate crispies and licked out the flapjack pan. They’re vegetarian not vegan, because we used Cadbury’s chocolate.’
Dale rolls his eyes. ‘Zara and me, not me and Zara.’
Nemmie carries on. ‘And Zara and me wrapped them up and did the labels.’
This is why I brought them. With this lot beside me there’s no danger of a lull in the conversation.
I make myself smile. ‘It’s a joint effort.
As you missed the children the other day, we thought we’d drop by to say, “welcome and hello”.
’ I know better than to pause for breath so I carry straight on to the real reason we’re here and start nodding along the row of heads.
‘You’ve met Angel already, Dale and Zara are Mum’s two, Nemmie is mine, and Flo, Jimmy and Jethro are the small ones Mum is looking after.
And guys … this is Uncle Salvador’s good friend, Lando! ’
Dale grunts. ‘I should have been called Zephyr, but Mum lost her nerve.’
Zara beams. ‘So I got the “Z” instead.’
Nemmie rolls her eyes and says the line she’s said most days since she could talk. ‘And Nemmie is short for Anemone, like the flower not the sea animal. It’s Greek and means “daughter of the wind”.’
I couldn’t have done any better if I’d scripted this; it’s the exact mix of truth and random chaos I was hoping for.
Dale, Nemmie and Zara step forward in turn to hand over the goods, and Lando looks down at the stack of boxes he’s grasping.
Nemmie grins. ‘Don’t eat them all at once!’
Dale’s staring beyond Lando into the hall. ‘Is this a smuggler’s cottage? Have you got secret passages?’
Lando laughs. ‘I only arrived last week, I’ll let you know if I find any.’
Nemmie’s eyes are bright. ‘We could help you look?’
Lando looks horrified. ‘Unfortunately … I’m on my way out.’
Dale’s straight on to him. ‘Have you got a Range Rover Autobiography like Uncle Salvador used to?’
Lando shakes his head. ‘I drive a Golf hybrid. It’s kinder to the planet and easier to park. Anyway, thanks for the cake. Let me get something for you from the kitchen before you go.’
He bobs inside the door with the boxes, then reappears carrying a large bag of small sugar-coated eggs. He hands them to Nemmie and rolls his eyes at me. ‘They’re Cadbury’s, so I’m afraid they won’t be vegan either.’
Dale and Nemmie scrutinise the packet, and Nemmie pipes up. ‘This is a family pack.’ She gives Lando her hardest stare. ‘Do you have kids?’
Lando’s eyes pop open. ‘Definitely not.’ He looks like a rabbit caught in headlights, then he firms up. ‘I have a large capacity for chocolate, the small packs don’t touch the sides.’
Dale leans over the buggy and ruffles Flo’s hair. ‘Don’t rule kids out, Lando, the small ones are very cute, and they’re less trouble than you’d think.’
Lando’s eyes are even wider. ‘I’ll stick to whales, thanks all the same.’
Nemmie wrinkles her nose. ‘We like seals better because they’re easier to find.’
I step in with an explanation. ‘Long before Lando modelled wedding gear and started buying up Salvador’s sites, he studied marine life.’
Nemmie carries on. ‘My dad works with polar bears. And giraffes. And elephants at risk of extinction.’ She sees that she’s lost him and changes tack. ‘Mum’s M we could bring you some of those next time she bakes?’
Lando is shaking his head. ‘This is already more than enough. And now I do need to go; I’m running very late.
’ He pulls some car keys out of his pocket, closes the cottage door behind him, and we part to let him through.
He hurries away and halfway across the quayside he turns and calls, ‘Great to meet you all, thanks again.’
Nemmie nudges Dale. ‘Was that rude? Rushing off?’ She sniffs. ‘He was still wearing his “save the dolphins” slippers.’
I have to defend him under this level of attack. ‘We’re in Cornwall. There is no such thing as a footwear code.’
Nemmie narrows her eyes. ‘Or maybe he was so anxious to get away, he forgot to put on his shoes.’
I step in again. ‘Give the man a break. You sounded ready to turn the place over looking for historical artefacts. This way he sidestepped that.’
Dale tilts his head. ‘Only for today.’
I’m putting the brakes on this. ‘With Lando’s schedules, we’re unlikely to find him home again, so forget the urban archaeology.’
Nemmie holds up the bag. ‘He has good taste in eggs.’
I laugh. ‘We have to give him that.’
Nemmie considers. ‘He can’t be all bad if he’s a chocolate face.’
Said by the biggest cocoa fan in the family, but I’m not going to remind her of that. Right now, I’m simply relieved that the two of them have locked eyes with no immediate visible recognition on either side.
No wonder Lando legged it. If he was terrified before, he’ll be off the scale now.
And with that job out of the way, I’m onto the next challenge: telling Lando the truth about Nemmie.