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

I’m playing for time here, avoiding the issue. ‘Have you noticed how the sea changes colour? It was way greener as we came in.’ Now we’re done, I’m strangely loath to leave. The dreamy part of me would like to forget about going back to give George the keys and sit up here and watch the sea all day. But the firm and practical voice in my head is shouting at me very loudly, telling me to get the hell out of here and leave George to sort the sale.

Sophie frowns. ‘It’s strange. When we arrived, I expected to have to work my butt off doing the hard sell. In fact, I haven’t said a thing, yet there you are in your red flowery dress, looking like you’ve been here all your life.’

I owe it to Sophie to be honest. ‘Actually, now I’m here I don’t know what to think.’ I’ve tried to take an over view rather than zooming in on the small stuff, but now I’m closer I can’t help focusing on the parade of tiny wooden penguins marching along the shelf edge in front of the books. I don’t even feel my arm move, and my hand has landed on the blue painted box next to them.

Sophie leans to see. ‘Is that the musical box you told me about?’

My fingers are already twisting the winder on the back. ‘Remember those musical jewelry boxes with the spinning pop-up ballerinas in net tutus that Plum gave us all when we were kids?’

Sophie laughs. ‘The ones that played tunes from the Sound of Music? Mine was Climb Every Mountain, Nell had Doh a Deer, yours played My Favourite Things, and Plum had Edelweiss. Plum had to keep hers shut because she used to cry buckets every time she heard it.’ Sophie can recall the tiniest detail.

‘And this one is …’ I’m bluffing. Unlike Sophie, I haven’t got the foggiest what I’m going to hear. But I open the lid and the tune comes tinkling out.

She gets it on the third note. Somewhere Over the Rainbow? That fits in perfectly with all the colours somehow.’

Like everything else, now I’m hearing it, it couldn’t have been anything else. ‘And there’s one of those blurry Kodachrome colour photos that makes the world look so old.’ I overcome my reluctance to intrude, but as I pick the photo out of the box I see a blurry dark auburn woman cuddling a toddler with a mass of ginger curls and a blue dress with butterflies I recognise from the picture on my mum’s dressing table. ‘Oh my, that’s me. And I think that must be Laura.’ Laura’s face is so full of love as she looks down on me I’m swallowing back a lump in my throat.

Sophie’s hand lands on my arm and she squeezes. ‘Pictures of generations are lovely. It couldn’t be any more tender, could it?’

I sniff and rub my eye. ‘How could I ever have forgotten how comfy it was to be wrapped up on her knee?’ All that love from years ago, and it’s rushing back, warming my chest.

Sophie’s first sympathetic pat gives way to a triumphant shout. ‘And finally we get to find out where your red hair came from. But jeez, just think, if you’d had your way and had George send in the clearance people straight away, you’d never have found that.’

‘You’re right.’ I’m feeling confused.

She jumps up so fast poor Maisie shoots her arms out. ‘That settles it. You can’t walk away. Not until you’ve had a look through everything.’

I let out a long groan. ‘But the place is rammed.’ The picture is like a gem, but even with the promise of more treasure, the thought of so many rooms packed with someone else’s possessions is overwhelming.

She brushes away my protest. ‘If we all come to help, it won’t take long.’ She’s happily including Plum and Nell in her offer too. ‘This is way more fun than any Bumps and Babies or Singles’ stuff. And once you know exactly what bits of your history are here, then you can make an informed choice about what to keep. And then throw the rest away if you must.’ This is what Sophie’s like. When she gets that dynamic gleam in her eye, there’s no point blocking her. Even if she is pushing me towards the door. ‘We’ll see George now, and take it from there.’

‘Great,’ I say, as I linger on the stairs, meaning anything but. As for this particular bit of history, however heartwarming a picture of me with Laura is, there are other parts where I’d rather not be digging. For every lovely bit the blank parts I don’t know about are way scarier. If I’m feeling ambivalent, it’s because however astonishing the riot of colour and the amazing space is upstairs, it’s not a neutral place. It’s like a step into the unknown because there’s no knowing what will turn up. What’s certain is, if I choose to spend more time here I’ll need to be prepared to be brave. For someone who habitually runs away, I haven’t had much practice at manning up. And I’m not entirely sure I want to start.

Sophie is hanging back, examining the letters on the tenants’ post table. ‘There’s one here addressed to a Mr Hobson.’ There are times when I wish she was less thorough.

‘It won’t be the same one we know.’ My hand is on the door handle, and I’m already looking forward to the breeze off the sea battering my cheeks.

She wrinkles her nose. ‘As Nate was saying, Bay Holdings are getting everywhere.’

Which sounds like one more reason for me to get as far away as I can, as fast as I can.

4 (#uada80eec-a092-58c0-b151-4d07c112936f)

In Laura’s flat at Seaspray Cottage

Bacon and salty dogs

Friday

A lot can happen in a short time when Sophie’s on the case. When we get back to the office, George advises leaving it a week or two before I make a final decision on the flat. One wise man, and the pressure’s off me. Then I spend Thursday afternoon doing a trial on the front desk at Trenowden, Trenowden etcetera. In fact, the name is misleading because it makes the office sound way more busy than it is. As soon as I’m on the other side of the desk I discover that in the St Aidan office there’s only George, me and whoever is in for appointments. By five thirty I’ve learned how to push enough buttons to work the phone system – three – and managed to convince George I’m not going to frighten his clients away. He offers me enough hours to keep me in takeaways and we agree to flexible temporary, with a day’s notice on either side. For someone as wary of commitment as me it’s a comfortable arrangement. Luxurious even.

I turn up and keep his chair warm for the whole of Friday morning, discover three hours’ commitment is do-able, then nip to the bakery to buy a BLT cob for lunch and wander along the quay to Seaspray Cottage. I’m planning a quiet afternoon of pottering, then the girls are popping in later, after work.

This time I manage not to fall up the steps on the way in and second time around it’s way less unnerving letting myself into the flat. I grab a plate from the kitchen and find my favourite velvet chair. Then because it’s so warm I unlock the window leading onto the balcony, and open the door a crack.

I’m basking in my sun spot, trying how it feels to be somewhere so huge with so much lovely stuff that’s entirely mine. For someone whose lived out of a backpack for the best part of fifteen years it’s an alien concept. And yet with the luminous light and the vibrant colours and the beautiful fabrics it’s a wonderful place to be. The kind you never want to leave. It’s a bit like the time we all went off to a high-end spa in Bath for Sophie’s hen weekend. The suite we booked into was so blissful we were pinching ourselves to make sure the downy four posters and palatial bathrooms were actually real. At the flat, while I’m tingling because there’s so much space, it’s also deliciously cosy and familiar. As I soak up the warmth and the place wraps itself around me, in my head I’m testing out how it would feel to stay here forever. Then I crash back to reality and the ton weight of responsibility that comes with it. The live-in rooms that come with my jobs are usually tiny, but the up side is that the bills and the leaky showers are someone else’s problem. When the most I’ve ever had to maintain is a suitcase, five rooms and a hall is a lot to get my head around. And that’s before I even get on to service charges. I’m mulling and agonising, munching on my sandwich stuffed with salt ’n’ shake crisps, having occasional panic spasms every time I think about meter readings, and watching the walkers down by the water’s edge when a sudden scrabbling outside makes me almost drop my baguette. By the time I’ve licked the mayo off my fingers there’s a big grey dog scratching at the door.

‘Where the heck have you come from?’

Short of being dropped from a helicopter, I can’t think of an answer to that, although it crosses my mind he’s living dangerously. There have to be less precarious places in St Aidan to stand. From under his grey floppy fringe he’s staring at me with the kind of brown soulful eyes that melt your heart in two seconds. Or maybe less.

‘Hey, mate, eyes off my lunch.’ However much I’m melting, I’m too hungry to share.

He bounds, barks, slobbers on the glass. Then he starts barking again, except this time in a crazy ‘won’t take no for an answer’ way.

I’m yelling over the din, shaking my head at his Bambi legs and scrabbling claws. ‘Watch out, the planks are rotten, please stop jumping or you’ll fall through.’ I put my plate on the side table, and as I wrench the door open he bounds straight past me. ‘Nooooooo.’ I let out a wail as he heads for my sandwich but I’m too late. His nose is practically at elbow height, the table might have been made for him. Two gulps later, the plate is empty and my sandwich is ancient history. Then he flops down in the doorway and rests his chin on his paws.

‘Hey, don’t go to sleep there, I’m really not up for a rescue dog.’ I’m staring down at him, working out my next step, when a pair of bare human feet come into view. ‘You might not want to walk there. Those boards could collapse at any moment.’ Feeling like I’m stuck on repeat, I follow the jeans upwards, and hit a soft checked shirt. Then as I come to a rough jaw and some very crinkly dark eyes, I let out a long sigh. ‘Charlie Hobson, what the …?’ Of all the guys on all the balconies, and this one had to turn up on mine. Or rather, Laura’s.

‘Clemmie, what a surprise. I hope Diesel isn’t making a nuisance of himself.’

I take a moment to let my galloping heart rate subside to normal. ‘Not too much but he’s just arrived. So far he’s only wolfed my lunch.’ I’m working hard at making my smile ironic when it hits me if gravity gets the better of him, he could disappear too. ‘Unless you’ve got a death wish maybe you’d better come in …’ He’s the last person I’d choose to invite into the living room, but it has to be a better option than scraping him up off the garden wall in pieces.

One hop, he’s over the dog and we’re standing on the same rug.

As the delicious scent of expensive body spray drifts up my nose, I take a big step backwards. ‘Now you’re both safe maybe you can clear up why you were risking your necks on my balcony?’ As soon as it’s out, I’m cursing the slip.

Charlie’s narrowing one eye. ‘Your balcony? We’re from the flat next door, the balcony’s shared. Do I take it from this you’re the mysterious absentee landlord?’ He shakes his head. ‘George is a dark horse. He could have told us we were going to be neighbours.’

I try not to baulk at the word and put on my best ‘office’ voice, which is still way lighter than his. ‘In a place as small as St Aidan, confidentiality is crucial.’ George gave me ‘the talk’ when he took me on, along with a complementary tube of super-glue to apply with my lip gloss. If this was anyone else, I’d let my smile go. Faced by Charlie’s humourless expression, I stay tight lipped. ‘Apparently, the tiniest piece of information in the wrong ear will be around the town faster than you can say “compromising situation”. And obviously, we can’t have that.’ It would have been useful for me not to be so much in the dark here too. At least then I might have avoided the heart attack I almost had when Charlie invaded my space.

Charlie pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘If you’ve landed the job at George’s, we’re going to see a lot of each other, I’m in there seeing George most days.’

I try to look less disappointed than I feel at that news. And in line with company policy I don’t press him to find out why the heck he needs to spend so much time visiting his solicitor. ‘Just don’t expect me to talk to you at the office. With George’s list of banned topics, “Hello, can I offer you a coffee?” is the most I’m allowed to say.’ Which is probably damned useful given he’s not exactly easy to talk to.

Charlie’s eyes are boring into me again. ‘So you won’t be asking me how many sugars then?’ If there were the merest hint of a smile, it could be jokey. But there isn’t.

I don’t smile back. ‘Nope, that’s definitely off-limits.’

‘Two.’ He gives a sniff. ‘Just so you’re prepared. Keep that on file, please.’

I can’t ever remember not smiling for this long. Even the pharmacy queue is jollier than this when I’m waiting to pick up Maude’s arthritis medication, and that’s full of ill people. ‘Sweet tooth?’ Although I already know that from the way he hit the macaroons the other evening.

He pulls a face. ‘I’m anyone’s for a piece of cake.’ Then he lets out a sigh. ‘That’s why Diesel was confused before. We used to pop in here most days for tea with Jenny, your former tenant. Her rocky road slice was spectacular, that’s the reason Diesel was hell bent on battering the door down.’

‘You actually knew her?’ I’m intrigued, because thanks to George and his obsession with discretion, I haven’t even got as far as extracting her name from him. Although it’s hard to imagine anyone as tense and gaunt as Charlie ‘popping in’ for ‘cosy chats’.

‘Jenny was an author, but she was more an old friend of your grandmother’s than a tenant. She lived over near Rosehill, but she never stayed over, she just came here every day because the views helped her write. The arrangement suited them both. Jenny used the place until you grew up, and the peppercorn rent went towards any repair costs.’ Despite the sullen expression Charlie is as open as George is guarded.