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

Monday afternoon

‘There you go. I can pretty much promise your sorbets will be ready by the time your friends get here.’ Charlie swings the giant freezer door closed. ‘Don’t forget to come for them in good time. They’ll need twenty minutes to soften up again before serving.’

When he implied his freezer was enormous he was seriously understating. As for his flat, it seems like the top floor of Seaspray Cottage has been divided into ‘minute’ and ‘effing enormous’. And no prizes for guessing which half he’s got. Or how the whole beautiful backdrop of perfection only makes him look ten times more magazine-ready than he does anyway.

The space I’m staring round at is humungous, and there’s so much wall to wall white and natural wool and hewn wood I’m guessing he’s used the same super-expensive decorators as Nate and Sophie. Although the flashes of stainless steel and hi-gloss in his kitchen area are a masculine variation. Instead of being flat like Laura’s, the ceilings rise up to follow the roof line, and the roof lights punched through them let the sun flood in and outline spectacular rectangles of blue sky. It’s all a bit stark and startling for me, but Diesel has flopped in the centre of a massive grey rug almost as shaggy as he is, so at least someone’s relaxed into it.

‘So now your sorbets are in safe hands, how about a tour?’ Charlie looking pleased with himself is probably justified, although how he does that without the ear to ear grin the rest of us would use is anyone’s guess.

I try to force my face into a less bemused expression. ‘You mean there’s more?’ The room we’re standing in has to be at least the size of a football pitch. I’ve no idea why Diesel needs exercise when he lives here. A walk from one side of the kitchen living room to the other probably equals more steps than I do in a week. I shiver as I imagine Charlie and his wrecking ball approach to restoration obliterating the flat next door too. Realistically, compared to this it might provide him with enough space for a tie store.

He’s poised to go. ‘There are bedrooms, en suites, and acres more living area. I thought you’d be interested to see the different aspects?’

I’m feeling speechless enough as it is. More of the same and I might not recover. As for the way his ripped jeans are pulling across his thighs, there’s no way I can see where he sleeps and keep my thoughts clean. I can’t afford distractions like that when I need to focus on tonight’s very important job.

‘We’re good, thanks.’ I catch Plum’s scowl as her Converse collides with my heel and adjust my answer. ‘Some other time maybe … perhaps when Nell’s here?’ Hopefully that’ll satisfy Plum. Realistically, if Mr H makes Nell glow, when she sees his flat she’ll illuminate. Or maybe even explode entirely. I know I almost have.

As Plum wanders forwards, it’s obvious she’s going to make the most of her visit by exploring to the max, no holding back. When she reaches the hewn wood island unit her eyebrows shoot upwards. ‘Wow, look at these.’ She’s so far away by now I need binoculars to see what she’s talking about.

Charlie shakes his head. ‘You spotted my clutter. Everything’s supposed to be in cupboards, but somehow I can’t bear to put those little guys in the drawer.’

Plum’s yelling down the room at me. ‘Penguins, Clemmie, in a little line. Just like some others we know. How funny is that?’

Not at all, I’d say. ‘Very Josie Geller.’ That’s as much as I’m giving her.

Charlie’s eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. ‘Another Never Been Kissed fan?’

‘Shit.’

Plum recovers from the implications faster than I do. ‘You know that film too?’

He rolls his eyes to the roof window and a passing cloud. ‘Growing up with four sisters it goes with the territory. And let me guess, you can recite every line too?’

Worse and worse. Luckily, Plum’s under the spotlight for this one. ‘Too right.’

I know it. Any minute now we’ll be on to the final scene. Discussing that snog here would be beyond cringeworthy. I jump in. ‘So, remind me why the hell you want to buy the flat next door, when you’ve already got one this massive?’ As subject changes go, it’s a country mile away from anywhere I’d intended to go. But anything’s better than standing on Mr Hobson’s shag pile reliving Drew Barrymore getting her knickers pashed off to a Beach Boys soundtrack.

Charlie blinks, and curls up his toes as he considers. ‘I’m going to level with you here, Clemmie. Wanting to buy flat next door is less about the space, and more for the sake of completion. I’m very focused and hugely patient. However long I have to wait, I always get what I want in the end.’

I take it back. At least if we’d stuck to Josie Geller and tongues down throats I’d have understood. Whereas what he said there is developer-talk that makes no sense at all, served with a side order of bloody mindedness. And even if he is freezing my sorbets, I’m still determined when it comes to Laura’s flat he’s not going to get whatever completion he’s after.

He picks up my reticence and changes tack. ‘Actually I need a home entertainment space. That would be a great addition to any penthouse.’ If he knew how ‘Hugh Heffner’ he sounds, he might not say that.

As for Plum, she’s left us to it and gone off on a hike right past the kitchen and she’s already halfway across the dining area beyond. Much longer, she’ll be a dot on the horizon. ‘Hey, is that a cat?’ She’s always been the same, in situations like this she can be such an embarrassment. ‘Talk about adorable. Come and see his eyes, Clemmie, they’re completely China blue.’

Far from resenting the intrusion, Charlie’s lapping it up. ‘That’s Pancake, my mum’s Ragdoll, and she’s actually a girl. She’s staying for a couple of nights while my mum’s away.’

However frosty I feel towards Charlie right now, when it comes to a pale fawn fluff ball, my reservations go straight out the window. Despite my heels skidding across the polished boards, I run the length of the room. As I arrive panting next to Plum, my insides squish. ‘Wow, how cute are you?’ Obviously, I’m talking to the cat here. No question, Pancake’s adorable, especially when she looks up from the grey wool designer cushion she’s curled up on and allows us to scratch her head. ‘So how do she and Diesel get on?’

Charlie pulls a face as he sidles up to us. ‘They have their moments. So long as Pancake stays in her sun patch, Diesel leaves her alone. Lucky for me, she doesn’t move much.’ He sniffs. ‘Now you’ve got this far, why not let me show you the rest? Then you’ll understand how well the top floor would work as one space.’

I ignore Plum’s imploring look. ‘Sorry, we really do have loads to do.’ Drinking Darjeeling with a barefoot neighbour in my kitchen is bad enough. Being exposed to his bed linen and his waterfall bath taps is a bridge too far. Especially when he’s so blatant about coveting my bit. And that’s before we get to how hot he is. I set my sights on the distant door and start to march, and three steps later I hear Plum shuffling behind me, then the thump of Diesel’s tail on the rug as I storm past him.

Charlie’s calling after us as we spill out onto the landing. ‘Any time you’re ready for the sorbets help yourselves … the door’s always open. Feel free to use the ice maker too.’ One man and his industrial fridges. You have to laugh at guys and their gadgets, even when they are saving your proverbial bacon. It goes without saying I’d rather be using any other freezer in St Aidan.

As we reach the kitchen, Plum grins at me. ‘What a nice man, he’s left us the chocolate brownies.’

As I sink my teeth into my third slice, I can’t help feeling I’m being bought here. ‘Nice guy my bum. If he’d said about making this flat into a bloody gaming room earlier, I’d have taken the damn sorbets somewhere else.’

Plum laughs. ‘You know that’s bollocks, Clems.’

And the annoying thing is, she’s right.

10 (#ulink_29682e08-085c-5611-9051-00a4f7592462)

In Laura’s flat. Laura’s Lovely Sorbets Evening

Soft scoops and quiz nights

Monday

Two hours later, it’s all hands on deck for the mermaids. The plan is for Nell to meet up with the Sorbet Singles at the Surf Shack, then bring them along the beach and up the stairs altogether. Sophie’s dashing in and out to the balcony, rearranging cushions, enthusing about the sunset, trying to be the first to see the group arriving. Because that’s how driven and ‘in charge’ she is. And Plum and I are sloshing gin into big jugs, prodding sorbet dishes, and running from window to window in between squeezing lemons and slicing limes. ‘Nice dress,’ Plum says, trying to distract me as she clinks ice cubes into glasses. ‘And I love the lippy.’

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.’