Extract
Lily takes a deep breath, just like she did when she stepped into Demelza’s.
‘It’s an amazing view. I love the view from Ben’s parents’ house over Mounts Bay but the north west is so wild.’
‘It’s hard to decide which is better,’ I say, aware of Ben standing next to us, not that he seems too bothered as he’s still scrolling through his phone.
‘Is there a signal up here?’ he says, holding the handset up.
‘It’s patchy,’ I admit. ‘But there’s Wi-Fi in the cafe and cottages. We plan to offer Wi-Fi all over the glamping field and events area before your wedding.’
He doesn’t answer me but hmmphs and shoves his phone in his jacket. He joins Lily who has walked the few yards from our land to the coastal path. It’s still windy but I think she’ll be OK.
‘This looks like a scene from The French Lieutenant’s Woman, doesn’t it, Ben?’
‘Yeah,’ he says, standing behind her with his arms around her waist.
‘I haven’t heard of that,’ I say.
‘It’s a book and it was a film before I was born. Isla wants to do a remake but it’s set in Lyme Regis not Cornwall. There’s a scene where the heroine stands in a howling gale almost being blown off the Cobb. I’m hoping Ben will play the hero in it.’
Wow. I think Ben may have actually smiled. Maybe his grouchiness is from pre-wedding nerves or the pressure of his job. I wouldn’t want to live my life under the microscope like they do, even though they’re meant to live for the publicity. I bet they have to do a lot of things they don’t want to as well.
The publisher of our canine cookbook wants my co-author, Eva Spero, and me to do some radio and TV appearances when it comes out later this year. To be honest, the idea makes me go weak at the knees but I guess I’ll get used to it. Cal and I still haven’t quite got over being featured in a Sunday lifestyle magazine last autumn, thanks to Eva who was impressed by our set-up when she turned up to Kilhallon’s launch party last year.
‘Shall we move on to the wedding glade? It’s more sheltered down there,’ I ask, seeing Ben shivering in the wind blowing off the sea.
Lily slots her arm through his. ‘Are you cold?’
‘Freezing my rocks off,’ Ben mutters.
‘Let’s get out of the wind,’ I say, wishing Ben had come equipped for the weather.
On our way to the glade, Harry walks to the left and a little behind, checking around him at intervals. Maybe he thinks an assassin might be hiding behind the cafe bins or the high-banked hedges that protect the camping field from the worst of the Atlantic wind.
Clumps of snowdrops nod their delicate heads in the breeze and early primroses dot the banks that line the lane to the cottages and the edge of the copse. I love the first signs of spring. When I spent a stint sleeping rough, all I cared about was a warm place to stay, but now I’m lucky enough to appreciate the seasons changing from a warm bed and home.
A boy waving a plastic cutlass shoots out of the copse next to us onto the path.
‘Wooo hoooo! Watch out! I’m a pirate!’
‘Jesus! What the—’ Ben steadies Lily as the boy clips her arm.
‘Sorry!’ the boy shouts but races off down the slope towards the yurt field, waving his sword cutlass. He’s wearing a pirate hat and an eye patch but I’m sure I know him.
‘Are you OK, baby?’ Ben asks Lily.-
Lily smiles. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’
‘Quick! Blackbeard’s after us!’ A little girl in pirate gear shoots out of the copse and clips Ben. He tries to stay upright but slips on the damp turf and lands smack on his bum in a puddle.
