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‘Faith is our favourite designer,’ Rosie says. ‘She’ll be directing the kids’ work today.’
‘I’ll be right back with hot drinks and snacks,’ I offer, moving towards the kitchen, where Calvin is busy pulling out trays and mugs, a shy smile on his face.
‘Oh, wait, I almost forgot!’ Nina calls after me, hefting a cardboard box. ‘This is from Alfie and The Post of Ice Cream ladies.’
I stop halfway to the kettle. ‘Post of Ice Cream? What’s that?’
‘Oh,’ she laughs. ‘It all started with the post office. The second ‘f’ was missing off the sign for the longest time, so we dubbed it the Post of Ice.’
‘Quirky!’
‘And opposite Alfie, three sisters run an ice cream shop, which they called The Post of Ice Cream just to take the mickey.’
‘So is there a tiny feud going on?’ I ask.
‘Oh, no. They love him. They’ve been taking care of him since his wife died.’
‘Aww…’
Nina smiles. ‘Yeah. Alfie would be lost without them. They cook for him, do his laundry and sort out his paperwork.’
‘That’s so lovely.’
‘Well, that’s a small community for you,’ she replies as she turns to look through the kitchen door at the buzz of activity in the living room. ‘And so is this.’
She’s absolutely right. When I first arrived in Cornwall I’d seen nothing but kindness and open doors (except of course from my own grandmother, but that’s another story). Complete strangers have invited me in, offered me hospitality, food, drink, a kind word and a laugh. They’ve opened their hearts and shared their own precious friendships with me as if they’ve known me for years. How can I not fall in love with these tiny villages strung together like pearls on a necklace? How can I ever forget these people? Going back to London isn’t going to be a walk in the park.
Nina slides us a smile as the doorbell rings. ‘That must be our Christmas tree,’ she says and shuffles off as Nat pulls Alfie’s cakes out of the box and I busy myself with the hot chocolates for the kids.
‘I thought we had a Christmas tree,’ I offer as an afterthought, but Nat rolls her eyes.
‘That plastic thing? Please. Now take a look at that!’
I come out with the food and drinks and put them on the sideboard as the children gather round like bees on honey.
‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ two voices in unison boom from the living room, and I look up to see a huge horizontal Christmas tree on four human legs.
And that’s when with one almighty push from one of the men and an equally almighty shove from the other, the tree is righted to the ceiling and I almost drop my mug. Am I seeing things? Or rather, people?
Before me stand, flushed and happy, none other than the Hollywood actor Luke O’Hara and the British rock star Gabe York, side by side, like in a ‘two for one’ offer.
I turn to look at Nina. ‘You are joking, right? Is this place some secret hideaway for celebrities? Or am I onCandid Cameraor something?’
The two blond superstars laugh and remove their gloves to shake my hand as I, slack-jawed, let them, my gaze darting from Gabe to Luke then back again.
‘NoCandid Camera,’ Luke O’Hara assures me, pointing to Nina. ‘I’m with her.’
‘You wish,’ she says, winking at him.
‘Oh my goodness! I’ve seen all of your films, Mr O’Hara. And, Mr York, I have all of your CDs and – oh, Jesus, do I sound like a stalker or what!’
Luke laughs. ‘Not at all. But everyone on the coast here is so used to me they make me feel normal again. But if you want to make a big fuss over me, please do. I love it.’
‘And I thoughtIwas the ham!’ Gabe laughs, clapping him on the back as his eyes swing to Faith, who’s up the ladder, where she’s adjusting some branches, completely oblivious.
‘Dude,’ Luke says, and when Gabe turns to look at him, Luke shakes his head firmly.
Gabe seems to have shrunk in the few minutes he’s been here.
