Page 69 of Tricks & Treats at The Cosy Cornish Bakery

‘Oh?’ Ginger looked suspicious.

‘A night out. You’re coming to Ivo Heath’s barbecue and fireworks with me. Please? For me? I need a night out after dealing with Mum.’ Chloe batted her eyelashes. ‘There’ll be Morris dancing, how could you resist?’

CHAPTER 33

When Chloe met Ginger at The Sanctuary on the evening of the barbecue, she could see her friend had been crying. ‘Oh, Ginger, what’s wrong?’

‘It’s nothing. I’m just being a fool. Josh’s hire car was collected today. It sort of felt a bit final, you know.’ Ginger sniffed. ‘I’ll be all right. Don’t worry.’ She forced a smile.

Chloe gazed at her. ‘Do you still want to go out? I’m happy to stay in and start a rerun of Gilmore Girls.’

‘God no. Not in the mood for all that chirpiness. Besides, you promised me Morris dancers. How could Stars Hollow compare with men in tight white trousers flapping a handkerchief?’

‘If you put it like that. Come on then, kiddo, brave face on.’

Ginger took in a deep breath and wrapped her long stripey scarf around her neck. Shoving her crocheted beret on, she said, ‘Are you Lorelai or Rory?’

‘I’m supposed to be the clever one, although I’m not sure where it got me. So I suppose I’m Rory.’

Ginger brightened slightly. ‘So that makes me the wise-cracking mum?’ She nodded. ‘I can live with that.’ She thrust a hand through Chloe’s arm. Pulling the front door shut they made their way down the track. Ginger flicked on the torch on her phone. ‘That’s better. Can see where we’re going now. At least the clouds have gone out with tide and it’s stopped raining.’ She shivered and hugged Chloe nearer. ‘Cold, though.’ She blew out a breath and saw it mist into the clear starlit night.

‘Winter drawers on.’

‘What?’

‘Winter drawers on. It’s the stupid joke Hannah and my mother share when it’s getting cold.’

Ginger thought for a minute and then squeezed out a laugh. ‘I’ve got mine on,’ she joked. ‘The Sanctuary is freezing in the winter. Only the best flannelette will do.’

‘Flannelette drawers,’ Chloe marvelled, joining in with the humour. ‘I mean, I knew Wheal Kitty Cove had stayed in the last century, but I didn’t think it was that far behind.’

‘Think behinds had everything to do with it, Chlo. Got a feeling old-fashioned drawers were crotchless.’

‘Crotchless flannelette drawers?’ Chloe felt mirth beginning to bubble. It was quite possibly hysteria; it had been a long week. ‘Surely that’s missing the point? Bit draughty.’

‘Easy access for any point, I suppose. If you get my drift.’

Chloe laughed. The conversation was inane and not even all that funny but it was doing the trick. Ginger was looking a little happier. ‘That’s so rude!’

‘Those Victorians. Sexy bunch.’

‘So, underneath all the silk and crinolines, they were wearing naughty knickers?’

‘Oh yes indeedy.’

They reached the bottom of the track, but Chloe had to stop. She clutched on to her side, roaring with laughter. It was the ‘indeedy’ that had done it. Ginger joined in and they held on to one another, laughing until the tears ran.

‘Oh, Chlo.’ Ginger snorted. She fetched out a tissue and wiped her eyes. ‘I needed that.’

‘Me, too, my lovely. Me, too.’ Chloe straightened and looked around her, still gulping a little with mirth. The funfair was blasting out the old Clash classic ‘London’s Burning’ from Ticky Tacky Green. It was the fair’s last night. Tomorrow it would pack up until next year. To their left, towards the sea, the barbecue had been set up, as it always was, at the top of the slipway. A queue had already formed. Ivo Heath’s burgers and chicken thighs were the stuff of legend. The Old Smugglers Inn was alive with light, with people drifting in and out carrying glasses brimming with beer and cider, despite the cold. And on the beach an enormous heap of driftwood and pallets and anything else flammable was piled up, ready to be lit. Chloe felt a surge of unexpected fondness for her home village. The barbecue and fireworks night had been a tradition for years. Ivo must be in his eighties by now but still turned out, whatever the weather, to treat the villagers.

‘What do you want to do first?’ Ginger asked. ‘I could murder a burger. Haven’t eaten very much these past few days and the smell of the onions is driving me wild.’

‘Burgers it is, then. We can take them up to the green and eat them while we watch the Morris dancing. Always find the sight of men prancing about in clogs gives me an appetite.’

‘You’re so rude,’ Ginger said as they joined the end of the queue on the slipway. ‘Don’t you know Morris is a prized rural tradition?’

‘If you say so. And I know it must be difficult to learn but I can’t take it seriously. It just makes me laugh.’