‘Jaz has important exams for the next couple of weeks,’ Patsy told Bel, as they sat on Patsy’s bench with a cup of tea the following Thursday, sixteen days since Bel had arrived in Cornwall. ‘So I won’t be doing any suppers for a bit. It’s too distracting.’
‘You’ve done way more than your fair share, Patsy. Let me cook for you. It’s my turn and I’d love that. I wouldn’t stay, just deliver the food, and you two can eat in peace.’ Bel had finally begun to christen her new kitchen equipment with some basic cooking, which also tested the stove’s capabilities. The shabby, falling-apart kitchen depressed her, though: it seemed impossible to make it clean.
Patsy smiled. ‘That’s very kind. But save it till she’s finished and we can all celebrate together.’ She sighed. ‘Not that I think much will come of the exams. She’s done the work, but her heart’s not in it.’
‘She might surprise you,’ Bel said.
‘Yeah, she might. But she hates school, and she’s not going to change her mind about staying.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘The kids there are so pig-ignorant. Her father – long gone now – is from Colombia, so the witless fools call her “Gyppo”, tease her he’s a cocaine smuggler. They’re merciless about her mum, too, of course.’
Bel shook her head. ‘Poor Jaz.’
They lapsed into a thoughtful silence, enjoying the warm afternoon sun.
Bel had just finished at the farm shop for the week and was feeling relaxed, aware of a small sense of achievement. There had been no more news of Louis to wind her up. According to a very relieved Tally, he was staying with an old friend in Portsmouth – Louis had mates all around the country, people he’d bonded with in kitchens over the years. This particular one he’d bumped into coming over on the Le Havre ferry.
She was also looking forward to having a break from Mr Ajax. He was the sort of boss who only criticized, never praised. It was wearing, trying to keep ahead of him. She had come to rely on Harris’s almost daily presence in the shop – his injection of humour and teasing seemed temporarily to improve her boss’s mood.
But, aside from the money, there was an advantage to working there that outweighed her problems with Mr Ajax. Every evening he left out a green plastic crate in the kitchen with all the stock past its sell-by date that he couldn’t pass on to his customers. It was mostly fruit and veg, bread, some dairy, but still perfectly edible. Bel hadn’t had to buy food all week.
‘I’m thinking of getting back to baking,’ she told Patsy now. ‘I used to be good. Not sure I’ve got a sufficient handle on the Rayburn yet, but it’s worth a go.’
And if that ‘go’ succeeds … Bel thought, hardly daring to focus on the germ of an idea that the empty kitchen at the farm shop and Harris’s tale of Mrs Ajax’s abrupt departure with the beekeeper had given her, if things went according to plan.
Sitting in the sunshine with her friend, she recalled the pleasure of baking: the dough, cool, slippery and elastic under her fingers as she kneaded. Her ridiculous excitement when she lifted the cloth to find the pillowed puff, risen and ready for the next stage. The yeasty tang filling the warm room as the bread baked, the hollow tap that told her it was cooked. Then good butter melting on a fresh slice … the crisp, crusty bite on her tongue. Even contemplating it made her mouth water.
Patsy laughed. ‘That old thing! I went electric years ago. Got bored having to tend it like a baby all the time.’
‘It is a bit like a baby,’ Bel admitted. The stove had gone out on her a few times because she’d put in too much wood or not enough or not the right sort at the right time or the wind was in the wrong direction – she never quite knew what she’d done wrong. But she didn’t mind the hassle. It was integral to her romantic enjoyment of her little stone cottage. ‘I should get the kitchen sorted first, I suppose. I don’t want to ask the guys. They won’t charge me enough and they’ve done so much for me already.’
The prospect was daunting. Lenny’s scorched laminate counters and rickety, rotting wooden cupboards needed stripping out, and new shelves and worktops installed around the Rayburn and sink. She knew it would be costly – even if she did take advantage of Micky and JJ’s mates’ rates. Money would have to be spent on the bathroom, too, with the mouldy grout and broken shower attachment, poor water pressure, curling lino tiles. Getting the place vaguely habitable had been her primary goal. But now she realized she wanted more. She longed to transform the place into somewhere really lovely … a home.
‘Talk to Logan at the pub,’ Patsy was saying. ‘His brother does kitchens. Can’t remember his name. Something stirring and Scottish. Angus, Stuart … Hamish, that’s it.’
‘Won’t he be expensive?’
‘No idea. Apart from the cooker, my kitchen hasn’t been touched since the Methodists built it in 1797.’
Bel laughed. ‘Well, they did a bloody good job. It’s gorgeous.’
Both women watched as the plump figure of Rhian Parry hurried down the lane. Patsy sat up straighter and smiled in welcome.
‘Have either of you seen Zid? He hasn’t been home all day and I’m getting worried,’ Rhian said, as she approached, slightly breathless. ‘I mean, I know he’s a bit of a tart and spends more time in your houses than he does with me, but he’s always home for his tea.’
Bel shook her head. ‘I’ll go and check. I might have shut him in by mistake this morning.’ As she walked the short distance to her house, she sensed a sudden lift around her heart. This was a proper life she was living. She loved caring about the cat and Jaz’s exams, witnessing the love on Patsy’s face for the vicar. She looked forward to every day now. I’ll make a big orange, beetroot and courgette salad for supper, bake Yarg croutons with that stale bread, she thought. She’d drop some in to Patsy, despite her neighbour insisting she was sorted. An evening swim was also on the cards. She might even meet up with JJ … When she opened the cottage door, she spied Zid curled up in the chair, fast asleep.
It was more than a week later that Hamish was standing in her small living room late on Saturday afternoon, sucking his teeth. He was a broad, sandy-haired Scotsman with a statement orange beard – which seemed to arrive before he did – and a winning smile. He was very like his brother. Patsy had introduced Bel to Logan Spieth, the Queen Bess’s landlord, when they’d dropped in at the pub for a drink one evening. She kept meaning to drop in again, find out if Logan had a room free for her father, but so far, to her shame, had failed to do so.
‘It’s not a big job,’ he said, his accent soft from the Borders, ‘but I’m afraid I’ll not get around to it till September, soonest.’ He must have seen her face fall. ‘I’d like to help, seeing as you’re a pal of Logie’s Patsy, but it’s crazy out there. Everyone wants to renovate. I’m still having a tricky time getting timber.’
Bel thanked him. ‘I’m not going to wait till September,’ she muttered resolutely, as she watched Hamish, face bowed to his phone screen, amble slowly past the window and onto the lane, where his truck was parked. She sighed, turning back to the kitchen, glaring at the offending units. Then, without thinking, in a rush of uncharacteristic irritation and fervour, she yanked hard on one of the cupboard doors. To her great surprise, it came away in her hand, the wood around the hinges clearly rotten. She dropped it, as if it had bitten her, letting it thump to the stone floor.
Hmm, she thought, her body buzzing as she reached for the other door. That proved more resistant, but it wasn’t long before both were lying at her feet. Her blood was up now and she set about the cupboards themselves, first removing the few items she’d stored in them and piling them on the counter out of harm’s way. It took a bit of leverage with the stout iron tool she raked the stove with before the flimsy plywood pulled away from the wall with a loud crack.
Bit by bit, Bel worked to tear away the crumbling units. She was red-faced and sweating in the hot June evening, using every ounce of strength, her muscles toned now, from almost a month of daily swims back and forth across the bay. After a while the room was full of choking dust, the floor covered with a pile of rubble.
‘Whoa.’ A voice stopped her in her tracks. JJ was hovering in the doorway, grinning. ‘Was it something it said?’
She stood back, hands on hips, breathless, almost unable to believe what she saw. ‘Oh, God,’ she said, eyes wide as she surveyed her handiwork. ‘What have I done?’ The adrenalin was slowly draining away and she felt exhausted and not a little dismayed. ‘I just couldn’t wait.’
JJ’s eyes were alight with amusement. ‘Remind me not to upset you.’
‘Hamish, Logan’s kitchen-fitter brother, said it would be September,’ she said, almost apologetically.
‘You’re taking charge. I like that,’ he said. ‘Although you could have asked us.’
Bel shook her head. ‘I know, and thanks. But you’ve done so much for me and you won’t charge the going rate. It’s not fair on you.’
JJ’s shrug implied that he didn’t agree.
‘What do I do now?’ she asked, almost to herself.
JJ swept a considering glance over what had been the kitchen. ‘Think about it in the morning. Micky and I are on the way to pick up a Chinese. Join us?’ He laughed. ‘You definitely can’t eat here.’
Bel, wiping her dusty face with the back of her hand, nodded. ‘Great.’
The three of them sat in folding chairs round the firepit on the headland, passing plastic boxes between them containing spring rolls, chicken in black bean sauce, crispy shredded beef, salt and pepper king prawns, rice and Singapore noodles. It was exactly what Bel needed. She was starving after her exertions.
‘You should have seen her,’ JJ was telling Micky. ‘Magnificent. Like Superwoman.’
‘Mad woman, more like,’ Bel retorted, although now she realized she was quite proud of what she’d done. It felt cathartic. ‘I’ll borrow Dora tomorrow, if Patsy’s OK with that, clear away the rubble.’
Micky raised an eyebrow, obviously amused. ‘With your current superpower, I expect you can manage that singlehanded. But if you’d like some help?’
‘I can do it, but thanks for the offer.’ Bel grinned around a mouthful of noodles. ‘Then all I need is shelves, and a worktop that isn’t covered with scorch marks.’ She munched in silence for a moment. ‘I’d love to do it myself.’ It was a novel idea and she wasn’t sure she meant it.
JJ looked sceptical. ‘You’ve done DIY before?’
She laughed. ‘No.’
‘O-kaay,’ Micky said. ‘Well, if you want to do it yourself, I’m up for showing you.’
They sat around the fire long into the warm summer night, Micky, a good raconteur, entertaining them with stories of his surfing exploits, his previous life as a nerd working for a social-media site, and the adventures he was planning in the future. ‘I’m thinking of doing Peru this winter.’ He interrupted a comfortable silence, during which the three of them had been gazing sleepily into the fire. ‘Met a guy last week who said Máncora is the place. Has a perfect left-hand reef break with an epic ride, he says. Their summer’s the time to go: October to March.’
‘Will you come back here?’ Bel asked. JJ had gone very quiet as his friend rambled on.
Micky dropped the corners of his mouth, glancing at JJ, whose head was bowed in the firelight, dark hair curtaining his face. ‘JJ is good with just hanging, getting to grips with all that spiritual shit Patsy feeds him. But I’m getting bored. You can’t live in a van for ever.’
Bel saw JJ’s eyes spark with irritation but he said nothing.
‘Sorry, mate. Not “shit”, that’s the wrong word.’ Micky gave his friend a beseeching smile. ‘Come with? Warm water, sun, rideable waves …’
JJ shrugged, but didn’t reply.
Later, when Micky had stumbled off to his van, JJ moved his chair closer to Bel’s and reached his arm across her shoulders.
‘Might you go to Peru with Micky?’ she asked nonchalantly. She knew that what she had with JJ wouldn’t last, told herself she’d accepted it for what it was, although she’d never before had such a casual sexual friendship to compare it with. But he – Micky, too – were so much part and parcel of her new life, she didn’t want either of them to go.
JJ didn’t answer her question. Instead, he asked one of his own: ‘How about a night in the van? New experience?’ He waited for her to decide, and when she didn’t immediately do so, went on, ‘Or I can walk you home. But there’s rubble all over the floor and the stove’ll probably be out.’
Bel didn’t take much persuading. Her arms and shoulders were throbbing from the destruction of the kitchen and she was chilly now, despite the fire. She wasn’t sure she could even make it to the van, let alone up the dark lane.
It was cosy inside, and she was glad of the warmth. JJ stripped to his boxers and threw back the duvet. ‘Come,’ he said, as she stood uncertainly at the foot of the bed area, wondering if this was such a good idea after all. She was too tired for sex.
JJ spooned into her, laying his arm across her body. It felt good to be held and she closed her eyes, beginning to relax. A few moments later when he began to drop gentle kisses on her naked back, she let him, too sleepy to respond. But her body had other ideas and she felt her nipples harden under his fingers, her groin stir to life. All her physical aches and pains fell away as she turned to him and they began to make love.
The next thing she knew, JJ was nudging her awake, a small espresso cup in his hand. ‘Up you get. It’s a glorious day. Swim-time!’