I work for Bay Holdings.’ His heartfelt sigh suggests there’s nothing ‘great’ about this for him.
Unlike Nell, I’m not falling over to introduce myself to random strangers, especially not ones who are faking their enthusiasm, so I dodge his hand. I’m not that impressed by corporate credentials either. But on behalf of local mermaids, I reckon I should be pushing this. ‘So which “bay” would that be?’
‘All the bays.’ As he takes his hand back and picks up a leather zip folder from the table there’s finally a glint of interest in his eyes. ‘Wherever there’s development potential we’ll maximise it. We’re working our way around the coastline.’ He makes it sound chillingly methodical. Scary news for locals and sea creatures then.
Nell’s giving me a double thumbs up as she threads her way through the crowd towards us. From her excited bounce, she can’t have any idea how dull Charlie Hobson is.
I grab a stack of macaroons and a tea pot, fill some tea cups, and manage to loop my fingers through three handles. ‘Great, well enjoy the rest of the party, Charlie, is it?’ I’m saying this ironically too, because it’s obvious he wouldn’t know a good time if it hit him on his perfectly chiselled designer-stubbled chin. ‘And good luck with whichever bays you decide to plunder.’ It’s a bit heavy on the well wishes, but as a parting shot it’s got a nice ring. I’m aiming for a tail swing and a grand exit without spilling the cocktails. But as I swish around, there’s a tug on my thigh, like a rope tightening. ‘What the …?’
A deep growl echoes my cry. ‘… hell are you doing?’ Mr Hobson is holding his zip folder at arm’s length, and the further he lifts it up, the more my netting lifts too.
I let out a hiss. ‘Your man bag’s caught on my netting.’
No idea how Nell does it, but in two bounds she covers the length of the room. ‘Just give it a pull, Charlie, that should set her free.’ She’s skipped the intros and gone straight to ordering him around. ‘Go on then.’
‘Or we could …’ I’m squeaking, still hanging on to my biscuits and cups. ‘Is it too much to ask to unravel it gently?’
Nell shakes her head. ‘Leave it to us, we’ve got this. One two three, go …’
As Charlie wrenches at the folder the yank he gives is big enough to pull a lifeboat ashore. My cocktails fly out of their cups as I lurch, let out a yelp, then my entire tail pulls free. It sails through the air, skittles a tea cup and demolishes the remains of the macaroon tower as it thumps onto the table. I stand open mouthed as the macaroons explode off the walls and skid across the floor.
‘Jeez.’ Charlie Hobson’s personal gloom cloud has turned thunderous.
‘Sacré starfish.’ Even though I’m staring down at the skimpy skirt of my bridesmaid’s dress, without my tail I feel strangely undressed.
Plum’s already here, tutting and whisking the net up off the table. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if we’d used elastic.’
Then Sophie gives the tail a shake. And a few moments later, they’ve wrapped it around me, and twisted the fastenings back into place. ‘There you go. Good as new.’
Nell’s bobbing about picking up macaroons, oblivious of the developer disapproval. ‘And I thought you said you weren’t going to hook up with anyone? Now, Clemmie, are you finally going to introduce us all?’
From what I’ve seen so far I’d advise running a mile from Mr Hobson, not getting to know him better. But I know when I’m beaten so I grit my teeth and get on with it. ‘Charlie, this is the one and only Sophie May whose event this is, Plum owns the gallery, and Nell is St Aidan’s most prolific event organiser.’ Hopefully that covers it.
Nell’s straight in there. ‘Lovely to meet you at last, Charlie. Can we offer you some product samples?’
I smile at Sophie to cover up Nell’s blatant manoeuvre. ‘Mr Hobson’s big on coasts, if you’ve got any unspoiled coves I’m sure he’ll be happy to take those off your hands. Cosmetics not so much.’ I make it sound jokey for Sophie’s benefit, but I flash Charlie a dead eye so he knows it’s not.
Nell ignores me, senses Charlie’s hesitation and goes in for the kill. ‘You could always take some for your wife … or your girlfriend? That’s what the other men have been doing.’
Charlie puts up his hand. ‘No, I’m good, thanks.’ If Nell pushes far enough to ask if his mother might like some instead, I suspect he might implode.
Nell raises an eyebrow, digs down into her tail nets, and pulls out a leaflet. ‘In which case you may like to take this?’
Someone’s got to wind this up, and I suspect it’s going to be me. ‘You’ll have to excuse Nell, she’s a bit of an evangelist. When it comes to the Singles’ Club, she’s St Aidan’s fairy godmother, feel free to ignore her.’
Charlie looks like he can’t wait to escape. ‘I’m definitely not searching for a partner. But if you insist, some cleanser for my mum? Or a few more macaroons?’ Of three hundred guests, he’s the only person to take the swag and make out he’s the one doing us a favour. And still look miserable about it.
‘Our pleasure.’ Despite the knock back, Nell looks triumphant as she hands him his goodies.
He holds up his bag. ‘Thanks, it’s been great to meet you all, but I have a dinner meeting to get to.’ He’s wheeling out the fake ‘great’ again. The flicker of a smile on his lips is probably because he’s ecstatic to leave, but even that doesn’t reach his eyes. He turns to me. ‘Can I offer you a lift home – seeing as I defrocked you?’
There’s no harm in telling it like it is. ‘Thanks, but I don’t actually have a home. In any case, I’d probably rather swim.’ I’m clinging onto my mer-persona but being completely true to my human self here as I give him a goodbye wave.
Nell watches his back all the way to the door, then turns to me. ‘You two have a lot in common.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘Both defiantly single, both macaroon obsessed …’
He also has the biggest scowl this side of John O’ Groats. Which is only one of the hundred reasons I have to close this down. ‘That’s where it ends, okay? Shut up now, clam face.’
And that’s my first evening in St Aidan. Which is exactly why I can’t wait to leave.
In Trenowden, Trenowden and Trenowden Solicitors’ office
Peeling paint and sticky breakfasts
Thursday
‘Your grandmother was a great believer in matriarchal lineage.’
You know that thing where you’ve no idea what someone’s talking about? As the solicitor’s words float past me I gaze at Sophie, who’s effortlessly managed to nail looking cool and in control. Even though it’s barely nine and she’s bouncing Maisie on her knee, there’s not a crinkle in her perfectly pressed pale blue chinos, or the hint of that humungous hangover she’s penciled in for. Sophie’s
