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‘Stephen, I’m sorry, but our engagement party is a moment to share with our friends and family, not an invitation to the whole of the National Couture Guild.’
‘But how would that look to her clientele?’
‘That is of no concern to me. She should have thought of that before asking me to try on a dozen dresses, none of which I liked.’
They made me feel awkward and physically uncomfortable, like I’m being pulled in a hundred different directions at the same time.
‘Emmie, you’re being unreasonable as usual.’
‘I’mbeing unreasonable? This is our engagement party, Stephen, not her showcase. And what do you mean by unreasonable as usual?’
‘You never accept any of her suggestions.’
‘That’s because I don’t like them.’
‘But would it kill you for once to pretend?’
‘Would you like me to pretend about other things, too, Stephen?’ I ask, not really knowing where I’m going with it, but it suddenly feels good all the same.
He groans. ‘I see that you’re still in one of your moods.’
It’s obvious that I’ve brought my problems with me to Cornwall, which was supposed to be my temporary bubble of peace. But at least Ihavemoods. They don’t call him Headmaster Stone Face (among other, er, endearments) for nothing.
‘Look, can we talk about this when I return? I’m on my way out,’ I explain.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To explore the town.’
‘You mean you’re meeting Maisie at the local pub of some godforsaken hamlet.’
Are we that predictable? ‘Yes. And?’
He sighs impatiently, as if he’d like to say something but has thought better of it, luckily for me.
‘Nothing. I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he says.
‘Fine, talk tomorrow,’ I agree, flicking my mobile off before he can add anything else.
Sometimes talking to him can truly aggravate me and ruin my mood. Oh, but not today, because it’s time to explore this deliciously festive little village lying at my feet like an early Christmas present!
I literally skip out of the cosy inn and down the coastal path to Starry Cove, which offers me a bird’s-eye view of the crescent-shaped inlet dotted with houses so colourful it could easily have been an island in the Mediterranean.
A pang of envy shoots through me as I gaze down on life by the sea. In the distance there are a few sailing boats drifting on the breeze and, further out, seagulls riding the thermals. Here, there are no buses ready to knock you down in the road, no fumes, no greyness ready to swallow you up. It’s a completely different universe.
Grinning to myself with sheer delight, I wrap my scarf tighter around my throat and set out, teetering over high, grassy emerald cliffs that, in the absence of wind today, are literally kissed by the lapping cobalt waves. Despite the penguin weather, the air is clean and I can see for miles in every direction, including the other nearby villages dotting the coast that Penny had mentioned.
I soon discover that Starry Cove doesn’t announce itself with a sign or anything so definite. Rather than a village, it seems more like a hamlet or a small settlement that starts haphazardly, almost by mistake. A farm here, another one at the top of the hill. Has a central flourish with a bounty of quirky old shops and houses huddled one atop another and then gradually eases off again to a farm or two, only to start over with the next hamlet. Utterly gorgeous.
*
‘You’re two rounds late,’ Maisie greets me as I remove my coat and slide across the bench seat opposite. ‘I’ll choose for you,’ she offers, getting up. ‘We have to keep up with the locals.’
‘OK, but I have to eat something or I won’t make it to dinner alive.’
Angler’s Rest, as it turns out, is a quaint olde worlde pub with authentic interiors and original features, judging by the hint of must that only an old place can have and that just can’t be replicated. Not that you’d want to, of course. What comforts me is that there’s no smell of cooking fat that usually permeates other eating places in cities across the country.
Maisie takes a sip from the overspilling pint glass as she returns from the bar, peering into the glass as if to fathom some deep secrets.
‘A bit too strong for my taste, but I might get used to it!’
I take a draught from my own glass, smacking my lips and grimacing as I scan the menu. They actually have the gall to call this beer? This could strip paint off of a lamp post. And then I look up and freeze.
