‘What about the shower? And did you try the brownie? Because it was a newish recipe and some people find them a bit stodgy…’
‘Ma!’ Flora groaned. ‘Stop with the interrogation. Emmie’s only just got up.’
‘Well, yes, and are you sure the bed was okay? Because it’s still very early to be up when you’re on holiday. Oh, my goodness, was it us? Did we wake you thumping down the stairs like a rhinoceros stampede?’
‘Everything was perfect,’ I said, a little too loudly because this barrage of questions was making me break into a sweat. ‘It was like spending the night in a cosy corner of heaven. Honestly. And the brownie had precisely the right amount of stodge.’
‘Really?’ Lily promptly burst into tears, blotting her face with her apron while Flora came to help Jack scoop eggs onto a plate of toast.
‘Here, Mother. Sit yourself down and eat some eggs. They’re good for baby.’
Flora steered her mum over to the table, Jack following with the plate, and Beanie hopped off the bench and pulled out a chair for her.
‘Mammy gets tired because she’s getting everything ready for the grand openingandgrowing a baby,’ Jack told me, blue eyes solemn, cowboy hat tipped back over blond waves.
‘Sometimes, the baby makes her cry, but she’s not really sad,’ Beanie added, climbing back onto the bench.
‘Well, if there’s anything I can do, I’d be happy to help,’ I said, startling myself as the words popped out.
‘Be careful what you offer,’ Malcolm said, eyes twinkling as he helped his youngest daughter push the last bit of egg onto her fork. ‘We’re reaching the point where we might just take you up on that, and there’s a heck of a lot to do. You could end up staying longer than originally planned.’
While eating poached eggs that Jack proudly informed me had been laid by, ‘Pecky. No, Clucker. Or that one looks like maybe it was from Mrs Scratchy,’ Lily asked what I had in mind for the day.
‘Pip asked me to let you know that he’ll be in the chicken barn most of the day, but there’s a “welcome home” family meal for him this evening, and he’d love you to come.’
I briefly weighed up the embarrassment at being introduced to Pip’s whole family alongside getting to see him again. No contest.
‘Fantastic.’ Lily grinned. ‘I’m heading into the village this morning, so if you don’t have other plans then we could shop for pasty ingredients, get baking this afternoon and bring some along to the meal?’
‘Had you considered that Emmie might not want to spend the first day of her holiday making pasties?’ Malcolm asked, loading the dishwasher after reminding the children to bring him their empty plates. ‘And by that, I mean have you forgotten you’d promised to help finish painting the lilac room?’
‘Och.’ Lily dismissed that with a wave. ‘It’s only a small room; you’ll be fine without me.’
‘Will I also be fine doing both school runs, picking Beanie up from nursery and chasing up those forms for your da, as well?’
Lily furrowed her brow, looking startlingly like her youngest daughter, who was currently sitting on the floor, struggling to stuff a water bottle into a tiny bag.
‘There’s a long list of things to do in the next two weeks, my love.’
‘I know that.’ Lily sighed. ‘Okay. I suppose Emmie should spend the first day of her holiday out of a kitchen.’
‘We could buy the ingredients this morning, and then I’ll help you paint?’ I suggested. Very aware that, not only was I stayingwith these people I didn’t know for free, the prospect of an empty afternoon made my skin itch. ‘We could bake tomorrow.’
Malcolm gave his wife a look that clearly said there was no way their first guest was getting roped into painting.
‘How about you come with me to buy the food now, and then enjoy Port Cathan while Malc and I paint? I can pick you up when I get the kids from school.’
‘Perfect.’
We drove four miles back to the village in Lily and Malcolm’s bashed-up seven-seater car, dropping Flora and Jack off at their school and Beanie at the nursery next door, and then headed to the farmers’ market. I was slightly anxious about trying to source ingredients somewhere other than the wholesalers and butcher I was used to. Logic told me that I knew the recipes well enough to improvise if needed, but it had been drilled into me from birth that, when it came to Parsley’s Pasties, deviating from the exact formula was sacrilege.
It was easy enough to find good-quality flour and fat to make a dozen pasties. Lily then impressed me by bartering down the price for the vegetables and herbs. The first obstacle was venison.
‘We don’t have deer on the island,’ Lily explained as we scanned the meat stall.
‘We could try beef?’ I suggested, stomach clenching.
‘Not happening. I’m not having my sisters gloating over my inferior pasty-making skills. We’re doing this right.’
