The Little Cornish Kitchen: A heartwarming and funny romance set in Cornwall. Jane Linfoot

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ be backed into a corner by a man with a hostess trolley, even if he does have beautiful glasses.’ She holds her flute up to the light, then finishes the half-inch of fizz she accepted. ‘So are we going to make a move? I’m taking this lot home for supper, if you’re hungry?’

      Nell grins. ‘Or even better, come with Plum and I on the Singles’ All the Sixes evening. That’s six bars in six hours.’

      After so many bottles of real ale I can’t think of anything worse. ‘Since when did you want a boyfriend, Plum?’ We’ve always been the two who are entirely happy on our own.

      She laughs. ‘Definitely not looking for one of those, but Nell’s pub crawls are too good to miss.’

      As I stand up and stretch, my head feels like it’s filled with cotton wool. ‘I’d barely begun to look around when Diesel and Charlie arrived. Maybe I should stay here tonight.’ Note to self: getting pissed in the afternoon and ending up a prisoner in the attic is off-the-scale bad. But at least this way I avoid staggering down two flights of stairs when my legs feel like they belong to someone else, and I get out of a night out with the dreaded Singles’ Club. That’s a result all round. Although I have to admit my half-drunken self is feeling a sudden pang for what I’m about to give up here. ‘Make the most of it while I can, and all that?’

      Nell frowns at me. ‘For one time only, we’ll let you off the singles’ event. So long as you have us all round for brunch tomorrow.’

      Plum’s staring out of the doors to the balcony. ‘Good idea. I’m missing this view already and I haven’t left yet.’

      Sophie’s on her feet. ‘I know exactly what you mean, Plum. It’s the kind of place that makes you want to come back again and again. Way too good for Charlie Hobnob.’ She’s scooping up Maisie from the sofa. ‘We’ll bring the food, Clemmie, be ready. Brainstorming begins at eleven sharp tomorrow. This is one fight I promise we’ll win.’

      So, it’s official. We’re going into battle. That’s Sophie all over. But right now, all I can think of is making my way to the pink haven of the bedroom, and crawling under the quilt.

       7

       In the flat at Seaspray Cottage

       Ice cubes and cold feet

       Saturday

      I’m standing on the balcony next morning, breathing in the sharp salty air, watching the figures along the water’s edge and the sand clouds whipping up the beach. It turns out ten minutes of having your face blown off is a great way to wake up even if it makes your hair go wild. I’m just about to go inside when a shout drifts up from the garden.

      ‘Hi, Clemmie, how was your first night at Seaspray Cottage?’

      Peering down, I catch sight of a grey wagging tail, then Charlie comes into view, craning his neck to look up, blinking in the sunlight.

      ‘Great, thanks.’ I’m not telling him that once I’d slept off the beer and champagne, the waves crashing up the beach kept me awake until the tide went out again. Give me the lull of traffic and police sirens any night. ‘How did you know I stayed?’ As if me standing out here at the crack of dawn wasn’t enough of a clue.

      If it was anyone other than Charlie, I’d swear he let out a chortle. ‘I reckon the whole of St Aidan hears when you pull that flush of yours. I’m assuming it was you in the bathroom in the night, not intruders?’

      Shit. If the sea making it impossible to sleep wasn’t enough to put me off the flat, Charlie Hobson counting every time I visit the loo takes away all the enjoyment of my first night ever with my very own bathroom and spare bedroom. Although I’m determined not to let myself get used to it, a whole flat all to myself, not sharing a loo, with rooms to wander through is beyond awesome. ‘Off for your morning walk?’ Hopefully that’ll take us somewhere less cringeworthy than him knowing how often I pee.

      That sounds like another half-laugh. ‘Diesel and I had our morning walk hours ago, this is our lunchtime one.’

      Damn again. When did it get so late? ‘Jeez, I’d better go.’

      He steps backwards and looks out along the quayside. ‘Nell and Sophie are on their way now. It looks like they’re carrying the entire morning’s output from the bakery.’

      ‘Thanks for the running commentary.’ As nosey neighbours go he’s scoring a straight ten here. My ‘against’ list is getting longer by the second.

      ‘You’re welcome, any time.’ He’s missing the irony again. ‘By the way, there’s no need for you to shiver out here doing your Bridget Jones impersonation. There are some silk dressing gowns hanging behind the door in your bathroom.’

      I’m gobsmacked, but I ignore the urge to run. Instead I give my long cardi an extra tug downwards and face him out. ‘How the hell do you know that?’ Even if my pants were on show – which they’re absolutely not – I’ve no worries about minimalism or over-exposure because my granny knicker shorts almost reach up to my boobs.

      He’s already backing off along the path towards the bay. ‘Laura’s tenant did a lot of tidying before she left, we saw the bath robes when Diesel and I were round for tea one day. Anyway, we must go.’ No doubt he’s rushing off before Sophie comes close enough to collar him. ‘Enjoy your lunch.’

      I give the girls a wave, then dip inside. By the time they burst in from the landing I’ve had time to dive into yesterday’s dress, flick on enough eyeliner and mascara to make it look like I have actual eyes rather than slits, and use up the whole of my handbag perfume.

      ‘Shall we eat at the table in the kitchen?’ I rake my fingers through my hair and bundle it into a bun with a scrunchie, then do a double take because that’s not a sentence I’ve ever said before. One night staying in a flat that’s almost all mine and I’m already sounding like I shop at Waitrose.

      ‘Good idea, then Matilde can do her colouring while we chat.’ Sophie leads the way and pulls out the fuchsia chair for her. ‘Your favourite colour, how lucky is that Tilly?’ She pulls a face. ‘Four kids in, I’ve decided you can’t fight gender stereotyping. Tilly was screaming for pink as they brandished the forceps.’

      As Tilly slips off her unicorn backpack, scrambles up and spreads out her felt tips, it hits me I must have done the same thing at the same table when I was Tilly’s size. As Plum slides in to draw her some butterflies to colour, Nell’s getting her apple juice and waffles, and I’m plumping her cushion, making her comfy. When I think of how much love we all have for Tilly, it reminds me of the look on Laura’s face on the photo in the musical box. She must have done a lot more with me than I realise when I was small. Love comes from so many different places, but having it in our lives makes us who we are. For a second I’m overwhelmed by the feeling, and it’s like an unexpected gift to be back here having a chance to revisit everything Laura gave me.

      ‘Coffee’s the priority.’ Nell throws a pack on the worktop, and fills the kettle. ‘Let’s hope you’ve got a pot here, Clemmie.’

      Sophie’s unpacking the bags onto platters she’s found on the dresser. ‘We’ve also brought every kind of breakfast pastry the bakery makes.’

      ‘Yummy.’ СКАЧАТЬ