I was declining their offer of a meal for the third time when the front door banged open and a moment later, Pip appeared, the dogs dancing around his legs as though this were his grand homecoming, rather than two days earlier.
‘Just in time for lunch,’ Rosemary said. ‘I’ve got your favourite cider chutney.’
‘Ah, sorry, Ma.’ Pip eyed the plate of meat, bread and salad on the kitchen worktop and put an arm around his mother. ‘I’ve picked up a hamper from Dahlia’s.’
‘Ooh, hark at you. Two years at an English university and now you’re shopping like a tourist. Those hampers cost a lot more than my leftovers. Caroline told me they decant cheap, imported factory produce into fancy packaging and stick on a sprig of garnish to make it seem posh.’
While his mum was talking, Pip spotted me lurking in the doorway to the office. His sudden enormous grin was impossible not to reciprocate, despite how it caused Rosemary to abruptly stop talking as Gabe carried on eating, seemingly oblivious.
‘Have you been waiting long?’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s only quarter to.’
‘I was asking your dad about egg suppliers. I’m thinking of getting a new one.’
‘Oh.’ Pip looked slightly taken aback. ‘You could have asked me. I know a lot of Nottinghamshire farmers.’
‘Of course you do – I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. It was more some general advice really, rather than specifics. I mentioned it last night, so Gabe offered to have a chat next time I was here.’
‘Right. Well. If you give me a couple of minutes, I need to change.’
Pip disappeared, and after a minute of hovering while Gabe and Aster ate and Rosemary topped up Aster’s drink and offered her husband more chicken, another pickled onion, a slice of fruit cake, I mumbled an excuse and went to wait outside in the sunshine, donning my trainers instead of the boots.
‘Sorry if that was awkward.’ Pip reappeared a short while later, his muddy cargo trousers and grimy shirt replaced with a pair of grey shorts and pristine, pale-blue T-shirt. ‘As far as island mothers are concerned, there’s no greater insult than spurning their home-cooked meal for something shop-bought.’
He held up a small picnic basket.
‘I suppose she wants to spoil you after being apart for so long.’ We began walking in the opposite direction to the day before, back towards the strawberry patch, only this time weaving around the side of the yard rather than straight through it. ‘I would have been happy with leftovers. The food last night was fantastic.’
‘High praise indeed from the owner of Parsley’s.’ Pip smiled. ‘I’ll be sure to pass your compliments to the chefs.’
He paused as we reached a stile, allowing me to go first. Anticipating some rugged terrain, I’d worn shorts rather than adress, and it was the right choice. As we wound towards the edge of the cliff, frequent gusts whipped my hair out of its ponytail and flapped my new top. However, after about ten minutes of this, our conversation limited by the whistle of the wind and me having to concentrate on the narrow stony path, we turned a corner, curving around a slight hillock, and within seconds, I was looking at paradise.
Pip spread a blanket out at the base of the slope that was sheltered from the wind but not the sunshine, and we settled down to soak it in.
The grass around us was thick with flowers – I recognised willowherb, buttercups and the daisies and forget-me-nots from Mum’s wedding bouquet – butterflies and bees dancing amongst the blossoms. Rather than a cliff-top, here the land sloped more gently down towards a wide strip of pale sand, beyond which lay the shimmering sea.
‘Watch.’
Pip pointed to the sea on one side, taking hold of my shoulders and turning me slightly when I couldn’t find what he was showing me, moving the arm that was pointing to only an inch from my jaw.
‘Oh!’
I saw it then, a flash and a splash, then several more.
‘Dolphins?’
‘Porpoises. See the nose is blunter than a dolphin? If you want to spot a dolphin, we can walk to the northern coves another time. If you want to see a whale, we need to use the boat.’
I felt a warm glow at Pip’s suggestion that we’d have more days like this. Combined with his hand, still resting gently on my shoulder, the proximity of his chest to my back, it did a good job of rattling my resolve to avoid a short-term something with him.
We watched the porpoises frolic through the waves until they disappeared into the distance. When Pip moved away, it felt as though the sun had gone behind a cloud.
‘We’d better eat. I don’t want Da thinking I’ve picked up slacker habits from you mainlanders.’
The hamper was full of food that definitely didn’t taste mass-produced. Separate pots of tomato, potato and prawn salads, crusty rolls still faintly warm, which we smothered with salted butter and a crumbly cheese. A thick wedge of crab quiche and then tiny, tart raspberries served with a mini tub of clotted cream, washed down with cloudy lemonade. We were talking and laughing the whole time and, putting the location and the company together, it was, without a doubt, one of the best meals of my life.
Usually, I shied away from people asking me personal questions – it wasn’t as if I had anything much to share beyond making pasties. The older I got, the more acutely I realised that most people viewed hearing about my odd upbringing with morbid fascination rather than genuine interest.
Given the insular nature of his own life, the solidarity with which Pip listened to my descriptions of Mum’s uncompromising ways, sharing his own island stories, and the impact they had on his time at boarding school in return, made talking to him not only comfortable, but uplifting and at times even joyous.
