The Little Cornish Kitchen: A heartwarming and funny romance set in Cornwall. Jane Linfoot
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recipe basket earlier. Nothing’s too complicated to make, but everything in there looks seriously yummy.’
‘Which kind of reminds me …’ Edible being everyone else’s description of the man in question, not mine. ‘Do you think Nell’s interested in my neighbour?’ I can’t quite bring myself to say his name. When I think of him trying to wrestle the flat away from me I’m livid. But then I catch my stomach disintegrating when I think about the way he looked at me afterwards.
Plum wrinkles her nose and rubs her finger round the rim of the bowl. ‘Nell would never admit it. But she does get extra animated whenever he’s around.’
I’ve no idea why I wish she hadn’t said that. ‘I’d noticed too.’ It’s good to get this out in the open.
‘Then she always claims it’s on other people’s behalf.’ Plum rolls her eyes as she sucks raspberry mixture off her finger. ‘She loves it when she gets couples together at her events. But she always holds back herself.’
I let my lips curl into a smile. ‘Maybe we’ll have to give her a helping hand, one of these days.’
Plum grins. ‘A bloody great push more like.’
It’s funny how differently our lives have all panned out. When Sophie was brave enough to have Milla on her own not long after uni, none of us imagined ten years later she’d have Nate, her business and three more children. Plum and I were always the ones to prioritise life not relationships. Whereas Nell was the one who always had a boyfriend in tow, from the age of thirteen onwards. She settled down early and bought into the whole mortgage and the house on the estate with way more bedrooms than they needed, only to have it all crack up. Last year, quite abruptly, she and Guy decided they’d be better apart than together. He moved to Glasgow, and that was that. One weekend she was enjoying a married mini break in Bridport. The next she had her house on the market and was flinging herself into singles’ karaoke at the Hungry Shark.
Somehow the parade of wooden penguins has migrated from the living room shelf to the kitchen table. Okay, they didn’t move on their own, it was me. That’s another thing I’ve remembered. Laura used to move them around. I pick one up and rub its white painted stomach. ‘Nell definitely deserves a second chance to find her special penguin.’
Plum’s eyes light up at the reference. ‘Oh my, remember Drew Barrymore and Never Been Kissed? How many times did we watch that film when we were teenagers?’
I laugh. ‘Enough times to know the scenes off by heart. And for you and me to decide the bit about spending our lives looking for one penguin to stay with forever with was bollocks.’
She wrinkles her nose. ‘Josie Geller getting her penguin at the end was still one of the best movie snogs ever.’
‘Even though I’d hate to be tied down personally, it still gives me teenage goosebumps when I think about it.’ It’s great to be able to admit this to Plum and know she won’t ever try to hook me up with anyone. ‘So what’s the story with George? How come he isn’t press ganged into going to Nell’s events?’ I may as well ask now we’re here. Then we’ve covered everything.
She laughs. ‘George goes his own way; we all gave up on him years ago.’ She adds the empty bowl to the huge stack next to the sink and slides the last dish into the freezer. ‘So what’s next? Shall we clear away, then go for the booze?’
I turn on the tap. ‘Good idea. At least with washing up and Gin Fizz, I’m back in my comfort zone.’
Plum picks up a tea towel. ‘And there can’t be too many sinks in the world with a view straight out to sea. Which is a good thing, because looking at the number of dishes, we’re going to be here forever.’
It turns out that she’s right. By the time we get back from town it’s late afternoon. We’re on the landing letting ourselves into the flat, when the door across the way swings open.
‘Charlie, lovely to see you.’ I’m over compensating here. He’s the last person I want to meet when our bags are clinking with enough gin and soda for twenty, plus helpers.
‘Diesel and I thought you might like some tea?’
I’m kicking myself for staring at his bare feet and tanned ankles. ‘Errrr …’ My mouth gapes. As I try to work out the best excuse I let my eyes rise, and notice he’s carrying a loaded tray.
He’s too quick for me. ‘Great, it’s all ready, and we have brownies. Just showing there’s no hard feelings after yesterday. I’ll grab another mug for Plum.’
I pull a face at Plum as he disappears. ‘Because obviously the six shelves of mugs at ours won’t be enough.’ As for who’s the hard feelings are, he doesn’t say. I’m guessing if he was the one apologising, he’d come out and say it. In which case this is him saying he’s forgiven me for calling him an ‘opportunist’. Or was it an ‘arse’? I refuse to be forgiven for telling the truth, so those brownies had better be amazing, or it could all kick off again.
‘He probably wants all the mugs to match.’ She drops her voice to a hiss. ‘And while he’s around, it might be a good idea to come clean about tonight.’
I glance at my phone and my stomach leap frogs. ‘Shit, three hours from now they’ll be arriving.’ As I look through into the living room and imagine twenty guests filing in from the landing my squeak rises to a shriek. ‘How the hell will they all fit in? There’s nowhere near enough chairs for everyone, it’s going to be like playing Sardines.’
Plum sniffs. ‘Maybe Nell has over extended with the numbers, but with the singles’ the more they’re squashed the better they like it.’ She winks at me. ‘Close encounters and all that.’
‘Whatever floats their boats.’ I shudder at that thought, then hold the door open for Charlie as he wanders back across, with Diesel two steps behind. ‘Let’s have tea in the kitchen.’ I’m saying it so often it’s feeling like a habit. This way we avoid Diesel dropping chocolate crumbs on the rug, and I can take a look in the freezer while we’re there.
As Charlie pours the tea and offers the cakes round I whisk a brownie off the plate and sink my teeth into the dark sticky slab. After a few minutes of cocoa swoon, I screw up my courage to speak. ‘So I’m having a few people over this evening.’ I’d planned to sound brighter and more airy, but my throat is clogged with chocolate. As I point to the embarrassingly large cluster of Gordon’s bottles poking out of the carrier bags and amble across to the freezer, it strikes me I need to make it clear he’s not getting an invitation. ‘Gin and home-made sweets for some very, very, very close friends.’ Okay, I’m only bragging about the ‘home-made’ thing because I’m over the effing moon with what we’ve pulled off here. And hopefully he’ll get that the ‘close’ bit excludes pushy neighbours. As I open the freezer door a crack, I’m praying the jammed-in dishes don’t dislodge and come cascading out.
‘Sounds like a chilled kind of evening.’ Charlie’s giving Diesel a bone shaped biscuit from the tray. ‘By the way, I’m not being mean with the brownies, but chocolate’s bad for dogs.’
‘All the more for me then. Excuse me a sec, I’ll just check on the sorbets.’ That’s another sentence I’d never planned to say in my entire life ever. Feeling very like someone else’s mother – obviously not mine, as she doesn’t cook – I lift the cling film and peer into the raspberry mixture. ‘This looks a bit weird, I was expecting it to be solid.’ I’m already regretting my boast. As I stick my finger in and find it’s still as runny as when we put it in, I let out a scream. ‘Waaaaahhhh, it’s still liquid, this can’t be right?’ I turn to Plum.
Plum blinks at her phone. ‘How long’s it been in?’
It feels like hours. ‘It froze solid in half this time when we tried it out at Sophie’s.’
She comes and pokes at the others. ‘Shit, none of it’s anywhere near frozen.’ As she purses her lips her eyes are