‘What?’ Lily replied from behind the brim of her hat, her voice resigned.
‘You promised we could have the pasties when we got to the beach. We got herehoursago, and I’m so hungry I really, really, really need one. Right now, Mammy!’
‘Is Mister Whiskers safe?’
‘Yep.’
Lily tipped the hat back to see where Flora and Beanie were busily arranging a long black branch.
‘Beanie and Flora are watching him, so heissafe,’ Jack argued.
‘Go and help them finish off, and I’ll get the pasties ready.’
Unlike the previous few days of clear skies, this afternoon, the streaks of cloud drifting above our heads made a warm pasty the perfect accompaniment to the intermittent sunshine and fresher breeze.
Everybody had at least one, so the cool boxes were soon empty.
‘That was divine,’ Violet said, wiping her fingers on a napkin. ‘Emmie, are you sure you won’t consider setting up a franchise at our airport?’
‘Excuse me,’ Barnie, sitting beside her on a blanket, huffed. ‘Are you trying to do me out of business? I really don’t need the threat of any competition right now.’
‘If you learned how to make a half-decent doughnut then Parsley’s Pasties wouldn’t be a threat,’ Violet teased.
‘You said my doughnuts tasted like a dream holiday in food form.’
‘True. But theylooklike a bad day at work.’
‘Ouch.’ Barnie winced. ‘You know how I said I like it when you’re honest with me? Scrap that. Lies are fine when it comes to my food.’
‘Could you ship these over?’ Hugh asked, finishing off his second helping. ‘Maybe Barnie could sell them on his stand, so they’d be no threat to his dough-blob business.’
I shook my head. ‘They’d have to be transported frozen, then baked here. It wouldn’t be cost-effective for a business my size, even if I did have time to make enough.’
‘Shame,’ he mused. ‘These would be perfect for our wedding.’
‘Oh. My. Days.’ Iris, sitting beside him, grabbed his arm. ‘I was thinking the exact same thing.’
‘Really?’ I looked up in surprise. ‘They’re not exactly fancy.’
I’d never been to a wedding, but on films and TV-show weddings, people ate classy dishes with at the very least a knife and fork, not a pie specifically designed to be eaten with your hands.
‘If you hadn’t noticed, we’re not that bothered about fancy around here,’ Violet said.
‘Besides, tasty beats fancy any day,’ Iris agreed.
‘We wouldn’t have to bother with plates,’ Hugh added.
‘We’d still have plates,’ Iris said sternly. ‘People might want to put their pasty down while they pose for a photo, or tell the bride how gorgeous she looks.’
‘That’s a grand idea,’ Pip said, smiling. ‘Given that the only islander who won’t charge ridiculous tourist rates for catering got herself pregnant at the worst possible time.’
‘I have apologised for that,’ Lily retorted. ‘It wasn’t planned.’
‘Yeah, we gathered that by Malcolm’s face when he announced it.’
‘All the decent places are booked up anyway,’ Iris went on. ‘Even if we wait two years, they insist on hosting the entire reception on site, which costs another fortune, and is pointless when we’d rather use the farm.’
‘Is that settled, then?’ Hugh asked, turning from Iris to me. ‘We’re expecting about eighty people. Is that doable in Lily’s kitchen?’
