From Charlie’s spot on Penzance Harbour, St Michael’s Mount was a regal, impressive structure. It sat above the sparkling blue water like a beacon while, around it, a summer mist gave everything a hazy, dreamlike quality. But inside The Cornish Cream Tea Bus, it was anything but dreamlike.

      The tables were full, upstairs and down, and Charlie had spent a frantic morning putting scones in the oven, arranging mini Danish pastries – pains au chocolat, almond croissants and pecan plaits – on her cake stands to go with cups of strong black coffee or frothy cappuccinos. Penzance was much bigger than the quaint seaside village of Porthgolow, but she hadn’t anticipated quite how much attention her bus would get in the town.

      There were people taking photos and peering in through the cab window and she’d had to start a waiting list for customers who, when she’d told them the bus was full, said they were happy to sit in the sunshine until a table became available.

      Charlie had decided that, in order to promote her bus, and the weekly food markets she had started in Porthgolow, she was going to take Gertie to every town in Cornwall. If the others were even half as busy as this, then it would be worth it. She just wished she’d brought Juliette with her so she wasn’t running the bus by herself, but her best friend was at home, working on a marketing project, and had offered to look after Charlie’s Yorkipoo, Marmite, so he wasn’t stuck on board. It was the right decision, but Charlie missed having her little terror with her.

      ‘Oh my God, The Cornish Cream Tea Bus!’ squealed a voice. Charlie followed it to where a young couple was standing outside, the woman gazing up adoringly at the double-decker. ‘This is the one I was telling you about Matt, in Porthgolow? We have to go to their food market. Liz and Phil were there last weekend and said it was epic. Just swam and sunbathed and went back for more food whenever they felt like it.’

      Charlie smiled to herself as she put her finger sandwiches on a tray and took them to a family sitting upstairs. They had asked for two traditional cream teas and two half-sized ones for their young children. Charlie hadn’t thought of doing a children’s cream tea until now, but she was going to add it to her repertoire.

      ‘If you need anything else,’ she said as she stood back from their table with a flourish, ‘just ring the bell.’ She pointed at the cord that ran around the edge of the bus. It was one of Gertie’s most popular features.

      Running The Cornish