Page 2 of Tricks & Treats at The Cosy Cornish Bakery

Ginger grimaced. ‘So not my scene.’

‘Must be wealthy enough to pay for six rooms,’ Chloe said, returning to the original topic. Ginger was deliberately low-key, so it was hard to imagine her dealing with the most demanding of guests. But she did. And very successfully. Chloe knew her friend’s old-fashioned hospitality, laced with organic, locally sourced food and added yoga and reiki was a successful brand.

Her friend grinned. ‘Oh yes. Trust me, he is. Suits me, to be honest.’ She yawned and stretched. ‘Been mega busy this summer. Nice to have time to sit and stare at the sea. I’m only offering to cook him breakfast and dinner, so it’ll be good to have some me time.’

‘Bit like old times, this,’ Chloe observed. ‘We’ve spent hours on this bench.’

‘Yeah, not at seven thirty in the morning, though.’ Ginger giggled. ‘Teenage me was allergic to early mornings.’ She lifted her face to the sun. ‘Still am, I reckon.’

‘Have we really known each other over thirty years?’

‘Thirty-three, babe. Neighbouring coat pegs in Mrs Elliot’s reception class. Don’t you remember, aged four, holding my hand in our first PE lesson?’

‘No.’ Chloe snorted. ‘I remember holding your hair back at the Polveanan High School Halloween disco, though. Too much rough cider.’

‘Not touched the stuff since. Still like my cider but I’m strictly a Cornish Gold girl now.’ Ginger shuddered and reached out a hand. ‘And isn’t that what friends are for? You never got bladdered, though. Far too much self-discipline.’

Chloe squeezed Ginger’s hand and then tucked a strand of long dark hair back into her messy bun. The wind had tugged at it and she disliked it loose. ‘You’d been snogging Karl Polkinghorn, I seem to recall. He was gorgeous.’

‘Runs the big garage up on the Polveanan road now. Four children.’

‘That’s all this village needs – more Polkinghorns,’ Chloe said with a laugh. ‘Place is overrun with them as it is. And look at us now. Both washed-up spinsters. My mother never lets me forget it.’ She sighed, lost for a moment in a simpler world of school discos and dodgy cider. ‘I’m sorry not to have been in touch more recently,’ she said suddenly.

‘Hey, you’ve had a couple of tough years. It’s okay.’ Ginger reached for Chloe’s hand again and clasped it tightly. ‘And we’ve always had the sort of friendship that could be picked up as and when. Sorry it didn’t work out with Jasper. What happened?’

‘A much younger colleague happened. After telling me we needed to concentrate on our careers, that marriage and children weren’t for us, what he actually meant was he didn’t want marriage and children with me. Broke up with me the day he got the promotion I was desperately angling for, got engaged to the fragrant Cindy a month afterwards. Six months, a Tuscan wedding and a pregnancy later, he’s Senior Analyst and I’m back here.’

‘Bloody hell, Chlo. I knew you were going through it, but I didn’t know it was that bad. And then redundancy?’

‘He was on the deciding panel. It was the final humiliation. I couldn’t bear to stay in that world so beat a hasty retreat back to Wheal Kitty Cove.’

‘With your mum retiring it might be perfect timing.’

Chloe remained silent.

‘Sounds as if you need a break from all that high falutin’ stuff, anyway,’ Ginger persisted. ‘Why don’t you treat being here as a rest, a bit like my creatives? Take it easy while you decide what it is you want to do.’

‘Have you ever known me to take it easy?’ Chloe gave a bitter laugh. ‘And the thing is, Ginger, your guests want to be here.’ She gazed mournfully over at the sparkling turquoise sea, the crashing waves and vivid blue sky. ‘I don’t.’

CHAPTER 2

‘It might be more fun to join in.’

Chloe tutted, irritable that her private reverie, watching the swimmers in the sea, had been interrupted. In truth, her mind had been far from the dozen or so women shrieking and bouncing up and down in the Cornish surf. After her conversation with Ginger, she’d wandered down onto the beach. Used to early starts, a long commute and a frantically busy day, she was listless with no structure. She turned to the man who had spoken, recognising him with a giant kick in the heart. ‘Nik?’ Emotion flooded back, putting her instantly on the defensive.

He smiled affably. ‘Nice to be remembered. Heard you were back.’

‘The delights of village life.’ Chloe didn’t bother to disguise the sarcasm. In London you could walk down the road dressed as a frog with three heads and still go unnoticed. In Wheal Kitty Cove the return of the prodigal daughter would be enough gossip to last through to Christmas. And it was only September.

‘Bit different to your London life?’

She studied him. Niklas Gunnarsson had breezed into sixth form ruffling feathers. Tall, blond and aloofly Swedish, he’d slotted into the cool surf crowd instantly. She’d fallen painfully in love with him, worshipping him from afar, and it had lasted until she’d gone to university. Now, his white-blond hair had darkened to straw and was tied back in a short ponytail, his smooth golden skin as suntanned as ever. The eyes, an arctic grey-green, remained devastatingly humorous but the lines fanning from the corners were new. Judging from his rash vest, shorts and the board under his arm, it didn’t look as if much else had changed.

She felt her lips twitch in derision. So he’d stayed in the same backwater doing the same thing he’d always done? ‘Yes, it’s a bit different,’ she answered curtly. Twisting to go, she heard her name being yelled. A bulky figure emerged from the sea, staggering and waving violently. She recognised the spiky dyed orange hair immediately. ‘Oh God, it’s my mother.’

Nik snorted in laughter. ‘Didn’t you know she’s a member of the Sea Kitties?’

‘The what?’