Summer Strawberries at Swallowtail Bay

by Katie Ginger

  John nodded and sipped his coffee again. ‘Bouncy castle?’

  ‘Yes, definitely.’ Hetty waved the pen in excitement, happy that he was starting to participate in the meeting. She’d imagined this would be a very one-sided conversation with her simply stating what she was going to do and him scowling and reluctantly agreeing or out-and-out arguing. She hadn’t anticipated him making suggestions or speaking in any helpful way. ‘But I was thinking we could have something a bit different too, maybe a slip and slide.’

  John shook his head. Here we go, thought Hetty. Just as she’d expected. He’d simply needed a coffee before he began in full grumpy lord-of-the-manor mode. If he was going to start pooh-poohing all her ideas, she’d have to have more than one piece of cake to keep her temper. ‘That’ll need a water supply and a lot of space. It’ll be very messy too and require constant supervision.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Hetty, slightly taken aback. That was a valid point. ‘Yes, that’s true. What about a different shaped bouncy castle?’

  ‘So … not a castle then?’

  His tone was actually teasing, like he was enjoying himself. A cheeky grin grew on her face in response. ‘Maybe something like a pirate ship, or an assault course?’

  ‘Pirate ship would be good. What about a puppet show for the kids?’

  Hetty nodded agreement. ‘It’s vintage and old-fashioned. I like it.’

  ‘And a carousel? It’s traditional and everyone loves them.’

  Hetty sat straighter and put her pen down. ‘Right, what’s going on here?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You seem far too happy to be doing this. And I know Raina’s coffee is good, but I’ve never seen it have this effect on someone before.’

  ‘Maybe I like your ideas,’ he replied taking another sip as if to deliberately challenge her theory about the coffee.

  What on earth was happening here? This wasn’t the John Thornhill she’d met on previous occasions. ‘Well, if you like those ones you’re going to love this. I like to say go big or go home – so if you let me have another field, we could even have a whole funfair!’

  John laughed and it brought a lightness to his features. ‘Okay. Maybe we need to calm down a little.’

  ‘No,’ Hetty said, finally taking a sip of her own coffee. In all the list-making, she’d forgotten it was there. ‘Now isn’t the time to hold back, Mr Thornhill. Now’s the time to make this the biggest event Swallowtail Bay has ever seen.’

  ‘Are you always this convincing?’ he teased.

  ‘Convincing is my middle name,’ she replied with a smile, surprised that he mirrored it.

  After a second, the smile began to fade, and his voice became serious again. ‘And how are all the set-up costs to be paid for? The bigger this is, the larger they’ll be.’

  Hetty sighed and brushed a hand through her short hair. ‘It’s going to use up all my available capital and possibly some of my own savings, but it’s an investment in my future – one I’m happy to make, I might add. Which is why I have to make this work. The more stuff we have to attract people, the more successful it will be.’

  ‘You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am,’ Hetty said confidently. ‘Which is why my next idea might seem a bit out there and not something you usually find at a food festival, but I think it could be a brilliant way to keep people there literally all day on the Saturday.’

  ‘What?’ John’s intrigued expression slid into a scowl.

  ‘I’m thinking on the Saturday night we’ll have a film screening. We can hire a giant screen and people can have food they’ve bought from the food stalls and picnics on the grass.’

  ‘Okay,’ he replied reticently. ‘But seeing as you now have a video screen and a funfair, how exactly are you going to fit all this in one or even two fields?’

  Hetty bit the inside of her cheek and grabbed the Ordnance Survey map she’d stuffed down beside her.

  ‘With all this you’ll need a lot of facilities and parking space as well.’

  Judging by the local funfair that visited once a year, they’d need a field to themselves for the rides, parking and facilities, and the screening and picnic space needed to be near enough to the food stalls that people could get something to eat during the performance. And John was right, they’d need a good number of toilets too. Hetty picked up her pen again and tapped it against her lip. This was all proving to be a bit of a jigsaw. Some of the larger parties she’d organised before had been like this, figuring out what had to go where. They were just on a slightly smaller scale. No, she would not be daunted, she could do this and then Simply Fantastic Events would really be on the map.

  Hetty unfolded the sides of the map and studied the entirety of the Thornhill estate. John stood, walked behind her and leaned over her shoulder. Her heart gave an involuntary flutter as she smelt his aftershave. It was subtle and pleasant, carrying a depth that suited him. She glanced up and he ran a hand over his jaw.

  ‘What about using these fields here?’ he said, pointing to a large square of land.

  ‘Four fields?’ Had she heard right? He was now offering her even more space.

  John re-took his seat so he was looking at her. ‘Despite what you might think, I’m not the type to keep saying no just because I said it once before.’ Hetty coloured, hearing her own words repeated back to her. She hadn’t meant them to be so acerbic. ‘These ideas’ – he motioned to the table now covered in paper – ‘are good ideas, and as you said, we might as well make this as good as it can be.’

  Hetty felt the tension ease from her shoulders. ‘In that case, you’d better come with me this afternoon to sell this idea to the traders. Convincing is my middle name, but it’ll help even more if you’re there, lending support.’ John shook his head as he smiled, but she could tell it wasn’t a no. ‘And we’re stopping in at the town hall at four to convince the festival committee to hand over control to me. And you, it seems.’

  This time, John fell back in his chair. ‘Is that why you asked me to keep the whole day free?’

  ‘Have you ever tried to get six retired or working people together at the same time, on the same day?’ He shrugged a no. ‘It’s a nightmare. Trust me. It was the only time I could get, but please don’t be cross. Anyway, after today, you won’t need to do anything.’

  A strange look passed over his face and Hetty couldn’t figure out what it was before it disappeared, but it looked almost sad. ‘Your middle name really is “convincing”, isn’t it?’

  ***

  That afternoon, after stashing everything else in her car, Hetty and John, armed with her notebook and the list of vendors, began their quest to convince the shop owners of Swallowtail Bay to take a pitch at the food festival. The sun was shining brightly on the sea, the gentle waves sparkling as they rolled back and forth and a handful of clouds scudded across the sky. Unlike the recent stifling weather, today’s breeze – just enough to lift the longer strands of her short hair – was perfect.

  Starting at the top end of the high street where the taxis gathered, Hetty had decided they should focus on only food shops to begin with. If there were pitches left over after, she’d approach some of the nearby towns and ask different types of businesses if they wanted to attend. Miserable Gwen’s hairdresser’s was, naturally, out of the question, but the local bath bombe shop, and even Stella, with all the weird and wonderful things from Old Herbert’s Shop, might be a good try if there were places to fill.

  Hetty and John strolled down the grey-blue, uneven cobbles, admiring the vibrant window displays of the boutique shops and the stomach-rumbling smells coming from the restaurants and cafés. Everywhere people were smiling and chatting and bidding her good afternoon, laden with bags, pushing buggies or pulling along wheelie shopping trolleys. This was why she loved her hometown so much and why she’d never left for long. But there was no denying the shock on some people’s faces when they saw her with John Thornhill. She wondered how he was fee
ling about it and cast a glance in his direction, but he was mostly watching his feet as he walked along. Replying to a friend of her mum’s with a cheery hello, Hetty and John entered the first shop.

  ‘Hi, Terry,’ Hetty said to the owner of the fishmonger’s. It always amazed Hetty that a good fishmonger’s never smelt fishy, and as Swallowtail Bay’s had the freshest fish around, you couldn’t smell anything except for a woody scent from the locally made smoked salmon. John stared at the display like he’d never been in a shop before.

  ‘Hello, Hetty love. What can I get for you today?’

  ‘Me and Mr Thornhill here were wondering if you’d like to have a pitch at the food festival I’m organising.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I heard Gwen having a moan about that. She does love a moan, that one.’

  Hetty decided to ignore the fact that Gwen had already started moaning. She was only going to get worse as time wore on, and she’d be seeing her this afternoon on the festival committee, so she didn’t want to bad-mouth her in public. ‘What do you think, though, Terry? Interested?’

  ‘Definitely,’ he replied, cheerfully. ‘Could sell some of our lovely smoked salmon, we could. Where’s it to be?’

  ‘Thornhill Hall.’ Terry immediately looked at John in shock. ‘Well, in the grounds anyway.’

  ‘Thornhill Hall?’ He studied John as if he was an alien from another planet having a quick daytrip to Swallowtail Bay. Then, with a sort of derisive snort, he dropped his head and began filleting a piece of fish. Hetty nudged John, urging him to speak up.

  ‘We’re very much looking forward to hosting it,’ John said. ‘It’ll be wonderful to welcome everyone one.’

  ‘Didn’t think you Thornhills liked having people on your land.’

  ‘We don’t as a rule,’ John said rather sharply and Hetty stepped on his foot. Thankfully, he took the hint. ‘But we’re very excited about the festival. We think it’ll be really good for the Swallowtail Bay economy.’

  Terry took a moment to consider John’s response. ‘Go on then. Sign me up.’

  ‘Fabulous,’ said Hetty, placing a giant tick on her list, next to the shop’s name. ‘I’ll email you all the relevant information.’

  Outside, she said, ‘See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’ With a shrug, John placed his hands in his pockets, seemingly happy to walk along beside her.

  Half an hour later, they’d ticked off a number of businesses, all of whom had agreed to attend and been interested in the awards she was proposing to start. Hetty was grateful to be wearing her baggy dungarees because so far, everyone had been so excited at the prospect of the food festival, they’d forced a sample of their wares on her. Being too polite to refuse, she and John had eaten crostini with fresh tomato and balsamic vinegar from the local deli, a quarter of a pulled pork bap from The Pig and Pen, some weird seaweed crisps from The Veg Box vegan café, tabbouleh, patatas bravas from the tapas place, a lemon slice from the speciality cake makers, plus the chocolate mousse cake and coffees from Raina’s that morning.

  ‘Gosh, I’m stuffed,’ she said to John as they walked on. ‘If anyone else offers me anything, I’ll have to ask for a doggy bag. I might explode.’

  John’s deep, hearty laugh reverberated around her. ‘Yes, me too. We’re on the last one though, aren’t we?’

  ‘I am,’ she said, faking confidence. The Bake House was next.

  ‘Am I not invited to this one?’

  ‘I thought you might need to ring your assistant or check on the house or something?’

  ‘No,’ he answered slowly. ‘I’m sure Jaz has everything under control. She’d ring me if there was a problem.’

  ‘Right. Well,’ Hetty hesitated. ‘You can have half an hour off and amuse yourself while I tackle The Bake House. The owner can be a bit …’ She searched for the right word. ‘Funny. It really would be better if I did this one on my own.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, he’s another one who hates us Thornhills and our pots of gold?’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ Hetty considered telling him the truth but quickly decided not to. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as I’m done.’

  John clearly wasn’t convinced. ‘Look, Hetty, thanks for the support but I’ve faced enough people today who don’t like us, I’m sure I can manage this last one.’

  ‘Honestly, John it’s fine, I—’

  He walked past Hetty pausing in the doorway and motioning for her to enter first. Rather chivalrously he wasn’t going anywhere. Fabulous, thought Hetty. This wouldn’t be at all awkward would it? Pausing, Hetty straightened the straps of her dungarees, mussed up her short hair for added confidence, then stepped inside.

  Chapter 7

  The divine smell made her mouth water, despite being full to bursting.

  The Bake House’s specialty was bread and the air was heavy with yeast and all the things they flavoured the breads with: olives, tomato, goat’s cheese. The shop was still packed as people tried to buy the last few things that were left. The constant slide of the till drawer and the beep of the card machine mixed with the voices of staff and customers. On the other side, a large glass counter was half empty except for a few cakes and pastries. Heat from the giant ovens made it feel close and humid, and Hetty hoped she wasn’t going red.

  Ben, artisan baker – and unfortunately, her ex-boyfriend – had started The Bake House around about the same time she’d started her business. Breaking up with Ben had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. They’d been together for nearly ten years and despite hinting at marriage, kids, and – gasp! – living together, nothing had happened. He’d never seemed that keen on moving their relationship forward or taking the next step commitment-wise. Then six months ago, having had enough of waiting, Hetty had made the difficult decision to tear her own heart in two and move on. Seeing him now, for the first time in months, she tightened her grip on the notebook in her hand, willing herself to remain detached and business-like.

  He’d had another good day’s trading and many of the baskets and large wicker bowls used to display things were empty. Chatter filled the air as Ben, cheeky and cheerful as ever, made his customers laugh with gentle teasing and jokes at both his, and their, expense. Hearing his voice, Hetty’s heart, which she liked to believe had mostly healed, gave a double beat. Memories of all the good times they’d had together flooded back into her brain sending a longing through her bones.

  The split hadn’t been exactly amicable, but for Hetty it had been resigned. He’d argued that it was an extreme and sudden reaction. She’d shouted back that she’d subtly let him know she needed real commitment – for their relationship to move forward as they got older – but that still hadn’t prompted him to ask her to marry him, or even for them to move in together. Ben had stubbornly refused to be ‘rushed’ into doing anything, even though rushing wasn’t exactly how Hetty would have put it. If he’d responded how she’d hoped, not necessarily going down on one knee but with something to show he thought they had a future, things would have been different. She’d loved being with him. They laughed constantly, he’d always been faithful, even if he did have a flirty nature, and he’d loved her. Just not quite enough, she thought with a sigh.

  This meeting was going to be a test – the longest conversation they’d have had since the immediate aftermath of the break-up and with John Thornhill watching on, even more awkward than she’d ever imagined. Ben’s light-brown hair, heavily peppered with grey, was sticking up in its naturally fluffy style, and deep laughter lines were visible as he smiled at his customer. ‘What you do with your bread in the comfort of your own home, Mrs Wilson, is entirely your own business.’

  Mrs Wilson, who was about 80 and shrunken with age, giggled. ‘Oh, Ben, you are a treasure.’

  ‘Kind of you to say so, Mrs Wilson. Have a great afternoon.’

  Hetty smiled to herself just as Ben glanced up. Seeing her, a flicker of surprise washed over his face then he grinned. Hetty felt her eyes drawn to it. ‘
Hetty, hi. Err, what can I get you?’ He planted both hands firmly on the counter and leaned forwards. His dark-blue T-shirt tightened over his biceps, muscles worked by the constant kneading of bread, and a sudden image of his back as she ran her hands over it flitted through her brain. Luckily, the rest of him was obscured by a bright white apron, the ties of which had been wrapped twice around his waist and fastened at the front, otherwise she might have ended up blushing.

  ‘Nothing to eat, thanks,’ she said, her head and heart full of confusion. It was good to see him again. Too good, maybe, and an ache of pain threatened to seize her. Cramming all her feelings into another little box in her brain, she ensured her emotions didn’t come to the fore. She focused on the fact that if she ate any more she’d be sick. Suddenly remembering John was there too, she shuffled over a little, so he was visible as well. ‘We came to ask if you’d consider having a stall at the food festival I’m organising.’

  ‘We?’ Ben’s eyes suddenly focused on John who Hetty saw stood a little straighter, rolling his shoulders back.

  ‘Yes, this is John Thornhill. He’s agreed to us using some of the land around Thornhill Hall. John, this is Ben Jackson.’

  ‘Ben Jackson, baker extraordinaire,’ Ben replied. John acknowledged him with a slight raise of the head and Ben nodded. He didn’t offer any more and after a second, her curiosity piqued.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ She hated herself for asking, but if Ben could be relied upon for anything, it was telling her what he really thought. She’d always admired his straight-talking because when he paid a compliment, he really meant it. He had a good business sense too.

  ‘It’s ambitious but – wait, hang on – Karen?’ he called to one of his staff. ‘Can you come and serve please?’ Then he moved to the end of the counter to speak to Hetty. Hetty followed him to the gap in the worktop and felt that familiar pull of his charisma and charm beckoning her towards him both physically and emotionally. ‘But if anyone can do it, you can. I used to love the strawberry festival.’ There was a fondness in his voice that made her swallow hard. ‘I think I had my first kiss at the strawberry festival. It should definitely be brought back. And, if you ask me, you’re just the person to do it.’