to hook up.’ The life I live is just for me and I don’t need complications. The few guys I went out with at college were all more effort than fun. Which doesn’t mean I don’t have loads of friends, a lot of whom are guys. In fact, as more people are arriving, I’m bobbing up and down non-stop waving at people over Sophie’s shoulder.
Nell’s not going to be put off. ‘Fine, skip the singles’ events. But there are some really nice, genuine guys in our group. It can’t hurt to introduce you … to one or two?’
If I thought dressing up as a mermaid was bad this is worse. I put up my hand. The one thing I’ve learned in Paris is if you want respect, good service, and halfway decent artichokes, there’s no point coming over all nice and friendly. It’s the ‘don’t mess with me’ ‘mean bitch’ expressions that get the un-burned baguettes. I scrunch my face into my best French scowl. ‘No activities, no introductions, is that clear?’ I don’t wait for a reply. Apart from anything else, I’m bursting for a pee. Not that I’d planned to use the loos tonight given how thoroughly we did up the tail ties. But those mismatched tea cups hold more than you’d think. ‘And now I’m off to the Ladies’.’ As I grin at Nell to show her there’s no bad feeling so long as she’s got the message, I notice her mermaid shell crown is completely skew whiff. Looks like I’m not the only one who’s over done the fruit cup. I turn around, throw my foot forward to stride purposefully away, hit my tail tie, then begin to topple.
‘Whoops, steady there!’ Sophie and Plum catch one arm each and gently ease me upwards until I find my balance point.
Plum’s scratching at the seaweed dangling from her pearl head band. ‘Maybe next time we do this, we need elastic rope around our ankles?’ For an artist, she’s very analytical.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing as I set off again. ‘There’s going to be a next time?’
When I reach the loo, it turns out my fears about finding my pants are completely right. Put it this way – real mermaids are damned lucky they can pee in the sea. I have so much tulle and fish net to untangle before I can go, and I don’t put half enough effort into getting it back into the right place again. As I shuffle back into the gallery my tail’s as saggy as if I’ve collided with one of those heaps of abandoned nets down by the harbour. I feel more like a Strictly dancer who got caught in a wind tunnel than a silver-tailed siren as I press myself against the rough white-washed wall as a group of guys pass, all waving their tea cups in appreciation of Plum and Nell’s costumes.
Despite my firm stand, as I arrive back, Nell’s providing me with a running commentary of everyone in trousers I don’t already know. ‘That was Blue Watch, arriving from the fire station. And I’m sorry but the total hottie in the suit by the Cleanse and Polish stand is someone I don’t know.’ She sends Sophie a querying glance.
Sophie scans the crowd. ‘Hot and then some. I think he’s something to do with some property consortium.’
‘And?’ Nell’s waiting expectantly. ‘The least you can do for a jawline like that is check the guest list.’
Plum and Sophie both start peering at their phones, but Plum’s first to look up.
‘Got him. At a guess that’s Charlie Hobson, he’s down here as “local developer”.’
Nell’s got a gleam in her eye. ‘I may have to Google him on behalf of the singles’ group. Whale Watching would pass a whole lot quicker with that kind of dark charisma in the bows.’
‘Dark being the important word there.’ However much he looks like he strode straight off the pages of GQ magazine, as expressions go, objectionable doesn’t begin to cover it. If I was at sea with that particular long face I’d have to jump ship.
Sophie shakes her head at me. ‘And the big blond man by the door is George Trenowden, our legal whizz. He’s single but as he’s your solicitor too, I take it you won’t throw a wobbly if I introduce you once the crowds thin out.’
I ignore the jibe because it will be useful to meet him after years of only communicating by letter. ‘Great, I’m seeing him about the flat first thing tomorrow.’ Although I couldn’t feel less enthusiastic about that.
Sophie laughs. ‘No need to look so worried, he gave up eating mermaids years ago.’ Her brow wrinkles. ‘Do you want me to come with you to hold your hand?’
I can’t think of anything better, but I didn’t like to ask. ‘Aren’t you busy?’
She whips out her phone again. ‘Let’s check the family spreadsheet. Milla’s at school, my mum’s taking Marco and Matilde, so that only leaves Maisie.’ Her face breaks into a grin. ‘It says here that tomorrow morning is officially booked out for hangover recovery. So, Maisie and I are all yours.’
‘In that case I’ll celebrate with more macaroons.’ I’d hate to see any go to waste after all the effort I put in. And I’ll risk another cocktail too. I point myself towards the drinks station. ‘Anyone like anything bringing over?’
Nell perks up. ‘If you strike up a convo with the lush Mr Hobson you could tow him back with you. We always need more men at events.’
I pull a face. ‘As if.’
Sophie checks her phone. ‘Don’t spoil your appetite, the bakery is bringing in food soon.’ She’s forgetting, when it comes to me and eating there’s no such thing as too full.
As if to cue the start of the party, the Serenity Spa music that’s been wafting around us cuts out, and after a beat of silence the Sugababes start belting out ‘Push the Button’. As I dance my way through the crowd, I’m careful to stay well away from any suited shoulders. But I’m only halfway to the edge of the room when there’s a shout: ‘Pies are ready!’ The next thing I know the crush of bodies is enough to lift me off my feet. By the time I’ve grappled my way to the refreshment table I’m breathless. I grab a handful of macaroons from what’s left of the tower, then close my eyes to savour the moment. As the sweet almond deliciousness melts onto my tongue a low voice rumbling in my ear brings me crashing back to reality.
‘Do pasties always cause a stampede in St Aidan?’
As I open my eyes a glimpse of a grey jacket cuff has me spitting out my buttercream. ‘Only the hot ones.’ I’m silently cursing because I’ve landed next to the one guy I meant to avoid. Up close his eye lashes and his scowl are both blacker than they were from a distance. If I’m swallowing hard at the sight of his slightly loosened tie knot and the open top button of his shirt it has to be because I don’t come across many guys dressed for the board room. In the bars where I serve drinks if you meet a James Bond lookalikey he’ll probably be in fancy dress. To judge from Charlie’s glower, either he hates product launches, or he’s rocking the male equivalent of the resting bitch face. But there’s something so raw about the moody shadows under his cheekbones that for a second my heart squishes.
‘I suppose canapés haven’t reached Cornwall yet? Personally, I’d rather stick with these.’ He couldn’t sound more bored but as he waves a macaroon at me his frown deepens. ‘Did you know you have a starfish stuck in your hair?’
When someone really doesn’t get the irony, you have to take the piss. Especially when you’re kicking yourself for being ridiculous enough to let the word ‘sexy’ flash through your head when the man in question really isn’t at all. ‘That’s where I store my starfish until I’m hungry. It’s what mermaids do when they come ashore.’ I
