by Clare Lydon
“How did the wine drop-off go?” Helena had drunk three cups of coffee today, which wasn’t helping her Saffron-inspired mania. Kirsty was glad Sandy Cove didn’t attract celebrities as a rule, just artists and writers who Helena could walk past in the street and never recognise. Movie stars, it seemed, were her Achilles heel.
Unlike Kirsty, who was taking her burgeoning friendship with Saffron Oliver totally in her stride. Particularly after Saffron had texted to say thanks for the wine, and even signed off with a kiss.
Yep. Easy breezy.
“It went fine.” Kirsty wasn’t giving too much away. Somehow, she felt an allegiance to protect Saffron at all costs. Like she needed it. “I dropped the wine off; she admired our bike.”
“Of course she did!”
“Then I left. The end.”
She was lying to Helena.
That was new.
“Did you get a photo of her with the bike? It would be really good for business if we put that on Instagram.”
Kirsty rolled her eyes as she got down. “I told you, no photos of Saffron on our website, she’s here to escape that sort of attention. Also, can you drop the social media obsession? We hardly ever post anything anyway. Wasn’t that meant to be Anton’s job under your supervision?” They’d made grand plans to make it a regular thing, but nothing had come of it.
Helena focused on boxing up their regular restaurant orders, lugging the wine onto the counter with a grunt. “I’ll get him on it. He’s not doing much else during his summer holidays apart from sleeping.” She smoothed the brown masking tape along the top of the wine box to seal it, then wrote the name of the restaurant on the top. “Did I tell you we got a couple of new orders from people who saw the profile Ginger did of you on the town website? She’s got good PR going on with that, so tell her thanks.”
“You can tell her yourself. She’s coming for the New Zealand wine tasting later.”
Helena grinned. “Is her sister coming, too?”
Kirsty shook her head. “No, she has podcast interviews to do all evening for Girl Racer.” Their lives really couldn’t be more different, could they?
“Shame.” Helena wagged a finger in Kirsty’s direction. “But my spies tell me that wasn’t the end of your afternoon yesterday. Hugh’s friend Larry spotted you walking along the beach with Saffron.”
That figured. “She just walked with me after I dropped off her order. Nothing more.” Kirsty moved the ladder to the back of the shop, before leaning on the counter beside Helena. She sipped her coffee. It was cold. She made a face.
Helena took the mug without a word. She reappeared a couple of minutes later having microwaved it. It was one of her more appealing habits. Then she studied Kirsty like she was a museum exhibit. “You say nothing more has gone on, but something has.” She waved a finger in front of Kirsty’s face. “You look a little out of sorts. Flushed. Like you’ve got indigestion.”
“It’s a hazard of working with you.”
Helena gave her a grin. “I remember that face. Confusion mixed with something else.” She furrowed her brow, then put a hand on her hip. “You like her.”
“Every woman with a pulse likes Saffron Oliver. Even the super-straight ones.” Kirsty sipped her coffee. It burned her tongue, so she put it down.
“Yes, but they’re not popping round to hers like you are.” Helena paused. “This wouldn’t be such a bad idea, you know. A lesbian romance would put the shop on the map!”
“Are you asking me to sleep with her to boost business?” She was being sarcastic, but Kirsty’s body responded nevertheless, her heart pulsing on cue.
Helena smirked. “I’m not seeing this as a great hardship.”
“I might start bringing earplugs to work, just so I can tune you out. Or maybe noise-cancelling headphones would be better.” Kirsty walked back over to the window, concentrating on their festival poster. Was it straight? She tilted her head. Straightness wasn’t her forte.
“She seems nice, though, right?”
Helena wasn’t giving this up.
“I mean, lesbians don’t trot around Sandy Cove every day. You get on, and she’s single.” Helena held out her hands like this was a done deal.
“Just because we’re both lesbians doesn’t mean we’re going to get together. I believe I taught you this in Lesbian 101. Besides, she’s in her early 30s. I’m 49. I’m hardly a catch.”
“Nonsense. You’re gorgeous. Youthful. You could easily pass for late 30s.”
Kirsty heard that often. It didn’t change her age, though. She was still groan when she got out of a chair years old. Although Helena wasn’t wrong. She was attracted to Saffron. But she was also attracted to Fiona in the post office. She wasn’t about to sleep with her.
“I do like her, though. After a dodgy start, she’s proving to have a sense of humour, which is good. I’m taking her kayaking.”
Helena whipped her head up at that. “Kayaking? You haven’t done that since you and Anna split.”
“I’ve done it a few times, just not quite so often. Maybe it’s time I started again.”
“That’s how it could all start. You, Saffron, a kayak. I can see it now.” Helena stared into space dreamily.
“Or me, Saffron, capsizing.”
“You need to watch more romance movies.”
“Or maybe you need to watch fewer. I’m nearly 50. She’s a Hollywood star. I’m not dating the star of Girl Racer. Those kinds of things don’t happen to little ol’ me.”
Kirsty plonked a tube of salt and vinegar Pringles on her coffee table, and grabbed a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard near the sink. The wine tasting downstairs this evening had been a real hit, and Ginger had come up to her flat for a nightcap.
Kirsty glanced around the main room of her flat: kitchen at one end, small dining table and four chairs, and a sofa big enough for three at the other. It wasn’t much, but it was home, which had been the most important thing when she needed it. Moving above the shop was meant to have been a short-term affair, but it’d turned into years. Now, Kirsty was comfortable. She wouldn’t rule out moving into a house with a partner, but until that day, she was happy here.
“I absolutely love your place, it’s so cosy and welcoming.” Ginger was standing at the fireplace, holding up a photo frame. “Is this your parents?”
Kirsty nodded. “Yep, on their wedding day. They had way more luck than either of us. Still happily married, sometimes nauseatingly so.”
“Good for them. The world needs more love.”
Kirsty let out a gust of laughter. “Those are not the words of someone about to plan their divorce party.”
Ginger gave her a smile. “I can be bitter and twisted but still wish happiness for others. It’s a skill I’ve perfected over the past few months.”
Kirsty brought the glasses over to the sofa and popped the cork on a fresh bottle of red. “You’re going to like this one,” she said. “It’s a grenache-tempranillo blend from Southern Spain, a little spicy with mixed berries. Plus, they sent me a free case, so I’m talking them up. I’m easily bought.”
“I’ll remember that.” Ginger clinked her glass and took a sip. “I’m no expert, but that is pleasingly winey.”
Kirsty laughed again. She’d found herself doing that a lot around Ginger. She was on her wavelength, easy to get along with. Who would have guessed they only met last week? It felt like they’d packed in a lifetime over the intervening days.
“First things first: have you narrowed down a date yet? I’m thinking after the Oyster Festival, when hotels will have more room.”
Ginger nodded. “The third weekend in August. Does that work?”
Kirsty nodded. “Let me put a few feelers out. Obviously, we’re in wedding season, and a lot of the bigger places will be booked up. But you never know. Let’s work with that for now.”
Ginger put her glass on the table and sat back. “Putting a date on it makes it so much more concrete. I’ve only just got divorced, but
it still seems a little surreal.” She rubbed her hands together. “But this is my fresh start. I just have to keep remembering that.”
“Totally. A new beginning. Maybe I should have had one.”
“You still could. We could make it a joint one.”
Kirsty shook her head. “Seven years later is a little late. Plus, this is your big day, your moment. It’s not about me.”
Ginger ran a hand through her hair. “You’re right. It is about me, and I should embrace that.”
“Have you thought about what you might want? A dartboard with Dave’s face on it? A punchbag? Stripper? I’ve seen some out-there ideas on the web, but I wasn’t sure that was the way we wanted to go.”
Ginger shook her head. “I’m not trying to shock anyone. The main thing is I want it to be on my terms. Because looking back, the last few years haven’t really been. I’ve been giving in to what Dave wanted for a while. Not drinking white wine just because he didn’t want to. Then I tried those ones from New Zealand tonight, and I loved them.” She threw up her hands. “What else have I been holding back on that I should have been savouring?”
Kirsty got it. “When Anna and I broke up, one of the first things I did was buy some lilies. She was wildly allergic, and I’ve always loved them. Sometimes compromising for partners is a good thing. But only if the compromise is reciprocated.”
Ginger nodded. “Exactly. I’ve pussyfooted about with my life far too much. Which is why this party is important and has to be what I want. Not what Saffron thinks or what she can afford. Which is a lot, obviously, but I don’t want her to get carried away. That’s your job to police. Tell her no. She’s not used to that.”
Kirsty gave her a salute. “On it. Saffron and I already have an understanding anyway.”
Ginger turned. “Oh really?”
Heat rose to Kirsty’s cheeks. “She apologised for her behaviour when we met. Told me to call her out if she did it again. I’ll just add saying no to the list.”
“You’ve seen her? I’ve only had one coffee. Otherwise, she’s been avoiding me. She told me she has stuff to sort with work and her personal life.”
“We ran into each other on the street, and I delivered some wine to her place. Nothing major.” Kirsty’s skin prickled as Ginger’s inquisitive gaze settled on her. “You should go round, take advantage of her veranda. It’s got a glorious view.”
Ginger went to say something, then stopped. She took a sip of her wine before she continued. “I’ll do that. I hope she enjoys it here. She deserves happiness. I had it for a good chunk of time, until Dave went weird. Saff’s never stayed still long enough for it to happen.”
“She’s got enough wine from my shop now to keep her still for a few days, at least.” Kirsty paused. “Talking of wine, we need that for the party, too. So much to think about and only a handful of weeks to plan.”
Ginger turned to her. “Am I asking too much? Should we have it in September?”
Kirsty shook her head. “Nope. It’s my personal mission now to make this work.” She tapped the side of her nose with her index finger. “Nobody knows Sandy Cove like I do. Well, apart from my mum, but she’s on our side.”
“I’m so glad I met you. In quieter moments, I’ve been staring out at the beach, wondering if I made the wrong decision moving here. Meeting you has completely turned it around, so thank you.”
“My absolute pleasure.” Kirsty meant it, too. “Plus, the profile you did on the town’s website has already got us some new business, so we owe you, too. Let’s talk guest list. You’ve said you’ve got friends coming. What about family? Parents? Any other siblings?”
A shadow passed over Ginger’s features. “It’s just me and Saff. My parents aren’t with us anymore. I might invite a couple of my cousins. But I reckon about 30 people on my side, then perhaps some of the locals, which I’ll look to you for.”
“Leave it with me,” Kirsty replied. “This party is going to be exactly the relaunch your new life deserves.”
Chapter 8
Saffron sat on a bar stool at her kitchen island, doodling on the backside of one of the pages of the Girl Racer script, kicking her legs freely.
Her agent’s name flashed on her phone.
Should she answer? Ignore?
The phone stopped ringing.
Good.
It started again.
Not good.
“Hello.” Saffron attempted to sound as breezily as possible.
“Why are you ducking my calls?”
“I was on the treadmill and couldn’t answer in time.” Saffron closed her eyes, embarrassed by the obvious lie. Like an amateur, she hadn’t even faked being out of breath.
“Were you on the treadmill for twelve hours yesterday?”
“I hadn’t unpacked my phone charger until this morning.”
“Uh huh.” Pearl sounded as unconvinced as a parent holding a spliff while her teenager claimed she had no idea why it was in her room. “Have you read the script?”
“I have it in front of me right now.” At least that much was true.
“And?”
“And, what?” Saffron smacked her forehead with her free palm.
“Can I tell them you’re on board?”
“I haven’t finished reading it yet.”
“They’re not going to wait forever.” Saffron could picture Pearl’s snarl looking so much like the attack dog she claimed to be.
“I completely understand if they want someone else for the role.”
“They don’t!” Pearl released a whoosh of air. “This production can’t go on without you. Hundreds of people won’t get work because of you. Is that how you want this to play in the press?”
“Gee, thanks for that guilt trip.” Or was it a threat? Would Pearl stoop to that level? Would she seed stories about her own client acting like a spoiled brat to get Saffron back in line?
“It’s the nature of the business. Are you holding out for more money?”
“Not at all.”
“Then what’s wrong? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
I hate acting!
“I’m sorry. I’ll finish reading it soon. I promise.”
“In the meantime, I’ve scheduled another podcast interview next Wednesday. Don’t think of blowing it off.”
Saffron made a gun with her fingers and blew her head off. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve got to run. Bye.” She ended the call.
She’d hate knowing I’m sitting here, drawing on the precious script and haven’t read a word. That thought put a smile on her lips.
Taking up a pencil, she eyed the sketch she’d made of Kirsty, trying to capture the way her grey eyes sparkled when she smiled. The sparkle transformed into fireworks when she tilted her head back and laughed, so carefree and beautiful.
Saffron crossed her legs.
It was foolish to let her mind wander to Kirsty, who in all probability wasn’t giving Saffron a moment’s thought. Why would she be interested in a Hollywood star? The tabloids were chock full of stories about the vapid Saffron Oliver. Or the mysterious and moody actress who’d recently ditched her girl squad to appear on red carpets alone. None of them could make up their minds, which suited Saffron most of the time. She didn’t want anyone to know the true Saffron. Or, that had been the case until popping down to Sandy Cove.
It was no use, though. Down-to-Earth Kirsty wasn’t the type to daydream about Saffron. Sure, Kirsty had confided in Ginger about stripping off Saffron’s leathers, but that was before they met. Daydreaming was one thing, acting on those impulses was an entirely different matter. Besides, Saffron never had good luck in the women department. Only bad, bad, bad—
Her phone buzzed and she read the text: Ready for a kayak session this afternoon?
She tapped her pencil against the drawing of Kirsty, wondering if her luck was about to change.
Kirsty stood outside a bright pink beach hut with blue trim, waving both hands, making it impossible for Saffron
to miss the destination.
“Did you have trouble finding the place?” Kirsty took a deep breath.
“Not at all.” It’d be hard to miss Kirsty’s joie de vivre coupled with the cheery hut. “This place is amazing.” Saffron read the hand-painted sign over the door: Toffee Cottage.
Kirsty followed her gaze. “My parents named it that because when I was a kid, I had a serious toffee addiction.”
“Do you now?”
“Not after my seventh filling. The detox wasn’t fun for anyone.” She couldn’t maintain her pointed stare, as if daring Saffron to laugh, and broke into a wide grin.
“Poor you.” Saffron tugged the collar of her shirt from her flushed skin. “Can I get the grand tour?”
“After you.” Kirsty did a slight curtsy.
Saffron stepped inside, noticing it wasn’t much bigger than a garden shed, but way posher like a sophisticated playhouse for grown-ups. “Oh, I love the vintage stuff, especially the beaded chandelier.”
“My parents bought this place more than forty years ago for a song and most of this stuff came with it. My nana made the quilt on the daybed. You can sleep two in here comfortably, but when I was a teen, we’d put up a tent on the porch with sleeping bags, and six of us could spend the weekend all on our own, feeling like proper grown-ups. My parents liked that we weren’t far from home.” Kirsty wheeled about, looking out the door at the water. “This place always makes me feel at peace with the world. I can sit on the porch and watch the tide roll in and out all day and never get bored. At night, I become enthralled by the stars.” Kirsty looked over her shoulder, her penetrating gaze igniting a fire inside Saffron. “This little oasis has been a part of my life since the seventies.”
“It has not.” Saffron took a step back.
“It has.”
“There’s no way you can remember spending time here in the seventies.” Saffron narrowed her eyes to inspect Kirsty’s face. “No way at all.”
“Yet, I do. Does that shock you?” Kirsty slanted her head in such a way a wave of dark hair framed her alabaster skin and Saffron had to stifle an urge to plant her mouth on Kirsty’s full and, no doubt, soft lips.
