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

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      I’ve swapped my navy and white office spots for my favourite floaty flowers. And for my lips I’ve ignored the clash with my hair and picked my cranberry rose to complement the jewel colours of the flat. And it’s ‘matte all-day’, because something tells me this is going to be a very long night. But I’m so scared, I reckon I stopped breathing at least half an hour ago. ‘Cool dungarees,’ I croak back, checking the lines of waiting bowls and glasses on the table for the hundredth time, and shuffling the waiting baskets of mint leaf and fruit garnish. Even though she has more pairs of overalls than there are days of the year, Plum’s the only one who can tell the difference. Obviously, the nuances are in the rips and the paint stains. I pinch myself one final time to check that I’m not in the middle of a bad dream. ‘This really is happening, isn’t it?’

      Plum comes over and pulls me into a hug so tight her dungaree buttons make imprints on my boobs. ‘Don’t worry, Laura’s sorbets are amazing. It’s all going to be fab.’

      Then Sophie’s shouting from the living room. ‘They’re here! Go, go, go! Pop the soda and bring out the fizz!’

      I know I’m the drinks person. But when I have the first tray loaded and pick it up the glasses are rattling so badly due to my shaking that Plum takes pity and wrestles it from me.

      I’m patting her back as I follow her through into the living room. ‘Oh my gosh, we forgot music.’

      She grins at me over her shoulder. ‘Chill, Clemmie. Put on your vintage French mix, say “Hi”, then as soon as everyone’s got drinks we’ll make a start on the sorbets.’

      Which is how I end up waving an endless stream of strangers in through the door, blinking at the blur of names as they file past. Did I really hear Dakota? And marvelling at their chorus of ‘Wows’. All to the accompaniment of Charles Trenet singing ‘Boum!’.

      ‘Great tune.’ Nell’s waggling her eyebrows as she comes up the rear, translating as she squeezes in behind a hunk in a Hawaiian shirt. ‘When our hearts go “boum”, love wakes up. The way everyone’s hearts are banging after all those stairs, this could turn out to be a very amorous evening.’

      I can’t take the credit. ‘It’s a total lucky fluke.’

      ‘No such thing.’ She lifts a Gin Fizz from Plum’s tray as she wedges herself in the only spare square millimetre between my favourite velvet chair and the patchwork sofa. ‘And here’s to a great evening.’

      As a measure of how full the living room is, a game of Sardines would seem like a luxury. I wriggle my way back to the kitchen trying not to notice how many toes I step on along the way, then begin scooping sorbet into glasses. We’re serving three courses, the first in plain glasses, the next in a variety of pretty glass bowls, and the third in Laura’s colourful selection of tea cups. I’m concentrating so hard on getting my scoops even that somewhere between the tenth scoop of blurry red strawberry, and the fortieth scoop of ice green mint and cucumber I actually forget to worry. By the time I’ve added teaspoons and a sage sprig to all of them, I’m almost enjoying myself. The second I finish Sophie whisks them onto trays, and she’s off.

      By the time I’ve collapsed against the work surface, and gulped down a glass of soda, she’s back again, with an encouraging smile.

      ‘You can tell by the silence how well the sorbet’s going down. I’ve opened the balcony doors to let the breeze in, but roped it off so people don’t wander out.’ She pulls down the corners of her mouth. ‘I know Charlie’s being a sweetheart with his ice-maker, but he won’t want singles gatecrashing his quiet evening in.’

      I join her by the kitchen doorway and together we peep out at the guests. A woman with cropped blonde hair, a teensy waist and a yard of bare midriff snakes her arm around the Hawaiian-shirted shoulders of the guy I saw coming in. As she leans towards his sorbet spoon with her mouth wide open, I grin at Sophie.

      ‘I guess it very much depends who’s wandering into Charlie’s flat. If someone friendly like her walked in off his balcony I can’t see him grumbling.’

      Plum laughs as she arrives with her own empty tray. ‘Jealous?’

      ‘Too right.’ I have to admit it. ‘I’d kill for a waist that small.’

      Plum’s straight back at me with a teasing nudge. ‘I wasn’t talking about her.’

      Sophie frowns. ‘She doesn’t look twenty, let alone twenty-five. Although I’m guessing Nell wouldn’t have let her come if she wasn’t. She’s very strict with her age criteria.’

      Plum nods at the couple. ‘What did I say about close encounters? If things carry on there you’ll be in line for a “cupid” award on your first night.’

      ‘A what?’ It sounds horribly as if an assessment’s involved.

      Sophie smiles. ‘Don’t look so nervous. Nell awards a “cupid” whenever a get-together ends up with a “get together”. It’s part prestige, part statistical. Apparently, it’s a great way of working out how effective events are.’

      Since we were small, Nell’s always turned every activity into an opportunity for calculations. When we collected shells on the beach as three year olds, while the rest of us piled them in buckets and on sand castles, Nell was counting them. It’s strange how our personalities showed so strongly when we were young. By the time we were five Plum was drawing everything in sight and Sophie was organising anything that moved. There was a time when we were teenagers when we thought that she was so brilliant that we were holding her back. But then we worked out she needed us to boss about as much as we needed her to sort us out. Out of all of us, I’m the only one who never showed a talent for anything in particular. I might have travelled a long way in miles, but I’ve made very little progress with my life. Although I’d never admit it to the mermaids, it’s sad that I’ve never been good at anything.

      Plum gives a sigh. ‘Nell actually has “Cupid” award league tables.’

      ‘Please tell me you’re joking?’ I groan, although realistically it needn’t bother me with my one-off evening.

      Plum shakes her head. ‘Not at all. In fact, the regular events with the highest cupid scores are always the most popular. For obvious reasons.’

      This time my groan’s for Nell. ‘The sooner we get her a new partner the better. Then she can give up being sad and singles obsessed and get on with her proper life.’

      Plum wrinkles her nose. ‘There’s nothing sad about Nell from where I’m standing.’

      Sophie turns on her. ‘Nor should there be, we’ve worked our butts off and delivered her a stunning event in next to no time.’

      Nell’s got a triumphant shine to her eyes as she flattens herself against the bookcase and makes her way around the room edge towards us. ‘The sorbet’s going down a storm. And everyone’s blown away by how quirky and colourful the flat is.’ She waggles a sheaf of papers at Sophie. ‘Here, I brought you the quiz.’

      Sophie jumps for the sheets, then dips into the kitchen for her bag. ‘Ooo, this is me, I’ve raided Tilly’s felt tip box for pens.’ She strides as far into the living room as she can, which is approximately one step. Then she claps her hands and puts on her ‘don’t mess with Mummy’ face. ‘Okay, quizzes coming round. Grab a partner, or work in СКАЧАТЬ