Chapter 37
The doorstep at Smugglers End, The Harbourside, St Aidan, Cornwall
Home truths and a suitable arrangement
Monday
It’s typical of Sav that he had no time to stick around once his personal mission next door was over.
Even the offer of warm Mars bar brownie couldn’t stop him rushing Lando off to something more pressing down the coast. Obviously that was the best outcome for me, but Lando was visibly gutted to be forgoing anything that delicious.
Also, the biggest blag of the afternoon was Sav claiming that Martha had been cooped up all afternoon and wouldn’t want to spend another two hours in his teensy car, and so she’d be staying with us rather than going with them.
I mean, the kids loved lounging on the sofa with her, but it’s still about Sav ducking his responsibilities.
And somehow, without Sav’s intervention, the kids’ quest to hitch me up to the nearest unsuitable husband might have fizzled out before teatime, where now it’s exploded into a full-blown, ongoing obsession.
Which is another reason why I don’t mind dropping Martha off at Smugglers End once the kids are settled in bed. At least this way I can set Lando straight without the entire extended family joining in.
He answers my knock so quickly that he could have been waiting in the hall, so I push Martha’s lead towards him and fire, ‘It’s lovely to see Martha – she’s had her tea – but you can’t keep dumping her on us; it’s not fair on Mum or on Martha.’
Lando’s shoulders rise and fall again. ‘Poor Martha, it isn’t her fault people can’t handle her.’ He flips the silky bit of her ear through his fingers. ‘She deserves so much more than she’s getting with Sav. He’s too preoccupied to put in the time with her, and I’m not always around to fill in.’
I’m hardening my position, if not to Martha, definitely to Sav. ‘We’ll always do our best to help out, but Sav has got to take responsibility.’
Lando takes her lead from me. ‘I’ll pass that on.’
‘Martha is adorable, but if she doesn’t get consistency and firm boundaries now, she’ll get completely out of hand.’ I can’t resist a final comment. ‘A lot like her owner.’
Lando blows out his cheeks. ‘Sav has great qualities. You miss them because you’re too close.’
I let out a splutter. ‘The man’s a wrecking ball; I can’t see past the demolition dust. And we’re too busy hating each other, especially now I know about the DNA stunt.’
Lando’s voice goes deeper. ‘You know he’s your fiercest defender?’
My laugh explodes. ‘You’re joking me!’
He holds his gaze. ‘He wouldn’t let me or anyone else anywhere near you.’
I frown. ‘Back in the day or more recently?’
Lando shrugs. ‘He’s always kept a barricade around you because he cares and he wants to keep you safe.’
This is so far away from anything I’d imagined.
‘Did you want to be near?’
His mouth twists. ‘What do you think?’
There’s a twang in my chest, and my heart is thumping so hard Lando has to be able to hear it. But if we’re having a deep and significant moment, it’s fifteen years too late for me. Thank you, Sav.
I start again and change the subject. ‘As for the kids and their dating quest—’
Lando cuts in. ‘Unless you want to update the whole of St Aidan, you’d better come inside.’
It’s the last thing I intended, but he’s right about avoiding the local gossip grapevine. I hand him some brownie wrapped in foil as I pass him, then go on into the living room and lean against the kitchen island.
He holds up the cake. ‘If this is Mars bar brownie, I’ll do anything you ask.’ There’s a smile lingering around his lips. ‘If you’ve come to withdraw from dating under duress, I’ll be devastated to miss the homemade scones, but I’ll understand.’
His willingness to write it off so easily take me by surprise.
I spread my hands along the slate worktop to steady myself. ‘The kids’ concerns are real. When they’ve put in so much thought, I have to join in, even if I know their scheme is a no-hoper.’
‘But is it?’ His eyes are dancing.
I open my eyes wide. ‘Lando, seriously, I’ve never had a relationship. I could maybe fit another dog into my life, but I’d rather eat my own head than get married.’
The corners of his mouth are twitching. ‘So you’d like me to play along for the rose garden cream tea, on that understanding?’
I nod. ‘If you don’t mind.’ That went so well, I’m thinking further down the line. ‘If you came along for a couple more dates that would save me having to find anyone else.’
‘Of course.’
As I watch him rub his thumb along the stubble of his jawline, I ignore the tiny electric shocks that are running up and down my spine, and the even bigger inexplicable urge to throw myself at him and snog his face off.
I nod. ‘It’ll give you a chance to see more of Nemmie too.’ I grin. ‘She’s alarmingly formidable.’
Lando’s eyes narrow. ‘I’d like that.’ He bites his lip. ‘She’s even more scary than you, if that’s possible.’
As Lando has zero experience of children, I need to explain how this is going to go. ‘Kids are funny. They’ve picked this up and they’ll throw themselves into it, but then they’ll move on to something new, and this will be forgotten.’
He’s tilting his head on one side. ‘And when that happens, my fake boyfriend services will end as quietly as they began.’ He gives a shrug. ‘If we add in that every non-date must include home baking, I’d call that a workable arrangement.’
It’s so easy I’m wondering where the catch is. ‘Cherry, plain, date, cheese or sultana? For your scones.’
He blinks at me. ‘Sultana. With jam.’
Then his mouth slides into the start of a smile, and as my insides turn to syrup, I know I have to run.
I clap my hands. ‘Great! I’ll leave you and Martha to your brownie, and see you at the next wedding’—I do a mental calculation—‘the day after tomorrow.’
As he waves me off across the harbourside and I dodge the evening holidaymakers milling round his doorstep, I can see why he’d be up for somewhere quieter. But for my own sanity, considering the way my body tingles every time I see him, that can’t be anywhere near me.
He calls after me, ‘Our competition was won by the first women we saw. They’re having a double vow renewal and topping up for a whole afternoon at the beach. If they splash out on dresses from the shop, that’ll be a win-win-win-win-win-win-win.’
The wins are still echoing in my ears as I wind my way along the narrow, cobbled footpaths back to Climbing Rose Cottage.
It’s not lost on me: for the last few months parading round with a fake husband has taken every bit of my patience and persistence.
If I add a fake boyfriend into the mix too, my head might just explode.