looks pretty well stocked.’ Sophie’s taking in the cupboards rammed with utensils.
I’m smiling because the collection of crockery is enormous, yet so random. ‘So long as you’re not expecting to find any two items the same, I reckon we could stay here for a month without needing to wash up.’
As Nell opens the packet the smell of ground coffee drifts into the air. ‘And any time you want matching sets, you can always plunder the flat next door. Charlie seemed exceptionally willing to share his designer kitchen collections.’
I’ll ignore that suggestion. ‘We had no need to borrow those flutes, there are shelves of glasses here.’
Nell wiggles her eyebrows. ‘No harm in accepting help and cementing neighbourly relations.’
‘Knock yourself out, Nell, but after yesterday, for the time I’m here, I’m going to be the kind of aloof neighbour who keeps my distance.’
Nell’s nostrils flare, which is a sure sign she’s pissed off. ‘You might want to think of the Singles’ Club here, not just yourself.’ She seems to be ignoring that he turned her down flat on that one.
I grin. ‘So you have got the hots for Hobson after all?’ Then knowing she’ll deny it on principle even though I’m teasing, I move on to explain. ‘First, he wants to get his hands on the flat, now he’s claiming he can hear every loo flush through the wall so blanking him is the only way to save mega-embarrassment.’ As a cover-all reason for why I’m avoiding him it’s almost worth the shudders of remembering he knows when I wee.
Nell sniffs. ‘You might want to keep him on side when you hear what we’ve hit on for your fund raising.’
Sophie frowns at Nell. ‘Best to talk about that with coffee.’ She stoops down to reach the bottom section of the dresser. ‘You really have got all the equipment here. Your very own picnic basket too, can we have a peep?’
‘Looks like a two-person set from the size. You might have something cute and matching after all.’ Nell was never this ‘couple’ obsessed before her break up. She’d shoot us down in flames if we suggested it, but the way she goes on, even if it’s subliminal, there has to be a gap in her life that needs filling.
As the wicker basket hits the table, my scalp tingles. ‘That’s not for picnics.’ As I undo the buckles a glimpse of blue gingham lining spins me back to when I was small. In my head, I’m standing on a stool so I can reach the work top better, searching through a pile of cards to find my favourites. And I know without looking what’s inside the basket. ‘It’s full of Laura’s recipes.’
As I swing the lid of the basket upwards it’s like opening a window onto the past. ‘She used to copy out the recipes she liked most.’ I’m flicking through a mass of colourful hand written cards, all with scribbled notes and sketches in the characteristically pointy writing, with cut out magazine pictures and photos pasted on too. ‘Oh my, that Pavlova on the flowery tablecloth … apple pie in a summer garden … the most delicious looking syrup tart. Maybe I came here more often than I remember.’ My mouth’s watering.
Nell’s laughing as she pulls out a card. ‘If you were making salmon en croute and soufléed spinach omelettes as a kid, how did you not end up on master chef?’
Sophie lets out a groan. ‘Strawberry and lemon sorbet with mint leaves looks gorgeous.’
Plum’s leaning over her shoulder. ‘And look at the colour of that raspberry one. This is making me so hungry.’
‘Sorbet?’ Nell jumps forwards with a cry. ‘Hold that thought, I’ve just had a lightbulb moment.’
I’m going to have to move this on before my hunger pangs get the better of me. ‘Forget about me holding anything other than a cup of coffee and a pastry. Can we please have some breakfast?’
‘Absolutely.’ Nell swings by with the coffee pot, then pulls up a sky-blue chair. ‘And Soph and I can talk you through you the finer points of our plan.’
‘What?’ I’m mainly interested in how authentic the filling is in the almond croissants. It takes two minutes of ecstasy as it melts on my tongue to discover. It’s amazing.
Sophie brushes a chunk of cinnamon whirl off her chin, and leans over to break Tilly’s second chocolate waffle into pieces. ‘We put our thinking caps on last night and came up with the perfect answer to your cash flow problems.’
‘Bank robbing?’ It’s the only solution I’ve thought of, and I had hours to wrack my brains while the sea kept me awake.
Sophie’s wearing the same rise above it expression she uses when the kids are being especially tiresome. ‘This flat of yours is perfect as a micro venue. And Nell has a database of people in her club all instantly contactable on Facebook. It’s a no-brainer – merge the two, and you’ve got your very own instant “pop up” event.’
‘Then hear the cash registers ring.’ Nell had to add that bit. ‘People are happy to pay for something exclusive. To be honest mostly they’ll be ecstatic to try something different.’
I take a custard slice, bite into it, chew. And I’m still not getting it. ‘Can you explain that again, please? In English this time.’
Nell leans forward. ‘I’ve messaged around my Singles’ Club inner inner-circle and they’re all up for an “evening” at yours.’ Who knows what her finger wiggle speech marks are hinting at there. ‘In fact, it’s so popular, there’s already a waiting list.’
Sitting with my jaw sagging open is such a waste of a good mouthful. ‘What on earth would they do here? Sit and knit?’
Plum jumps in excitedly. ‘That’s another great idea we missed when we brainstormed.’ So, they’ve definitely been discussing it in detail.
Sophie takes a breath and begins again. ‘All Nell’s friends are looking for is a couple of hours to relax and enjoy the views. It’s a spectacular setting, the quirky decor makes it totally unique. And with your flawless customer service skills, if you throw in something lovely to eat, you’re in a perfect position to give them a fab time they’ll be happy to pay for.’
I’ll concede she’s right about the flat, even if she is over playing the positivity to the point of sounding like a lifestyle manual. But they’re forgetting something. ‘I don’t host parties, I go to them. This is way beyond me.’
Sophie gives my arm a squeeze. ‘Why do you always undersell yourself? Don’t worry, you do whatever you feel happy with, and we’ll cover the rest.’
Which is lovely, but there’s one huge hurdle they seem to be overlooking. ‘So are you going to order in takeaways, or are you planning to use caterers?’
Nell’s tutting. ‘For maximum profit, cut out the middle man. If you provide the food, you make on every side.’
‘Me?’ I’m so horrified I let my custard slice drop onto my plate. ‘I’m a bar person, I serve liquid. Lemon slices are the only food I touch. And I don’t actually make anything edible, even for myself, because I don’t have the skills and that’s what chefs do.’ Let’s face it, in most of the bars I’ve worked in food was the last thing on anyone’s
