Page 26 of The Clockmaker's Cottage
Still, she’d made it to The Café on the Coast and that, she decided, very much counted as a win.
The café was set in a pink thatched cottage at the foot of the lane. Clemmie had pointed it out the night before during the impromptu tour. It looked so cheerful it seemed completely unaware the rest of the country was being drowned by summer rain. There were fairy lights strung above the door, a chalkboard sign announcing‘Try Our Legendary Puffin Pancakes’, and the faintest whiff of bacon in the air that hit her with almost spiritual force.
She shoved open the door, grateful to step into somewhere that was dry. A little brass bell tinkled above her, and within seconds, Clemmie’s face appeared from behind the counter.
‘Look what the rain blew in!’ Clemmie beamed, drying her hands on a tea towel, and practically bouncing over. ‘You made it! Minus the wedding dress!’
‘I did, but it would have been easier in a canoe.’ She waggled her sodden feet.
Clemmie gave a theatrical gasp as she glanced down at Pippa’s feet like they were a crime scene. ‘Those are trainers. Are you mad? What size are you?’
‘Six.’
‘Hang on. I’ve got a spare pair of wellies, and you look like you’re going to overheat in that coat.’
‘When I was doing my runaway bride act, I didn’t quite think everything through. But I don’t want to steal your footwear,’ she added, even though the boots sounded glorious.
‘You’re not stealing them. You’re borrowing them until you go home,’ Clemmie shouted as she darted into a back room.
The word ‘home’ flickered across Pippa’s mind like a faulty neon sign. She hadn’t exactly thought through the whole post-runaway-bride part of the plan, if fleeing your own wedding could even be called a plan, and now, in the comforting warmth of the café with its twinkly lights and smell of fried carbs, the reality hit her square in the gut: she was, technically, homeless.
She’d moved into Rob’s apartment three years ago under the assumption that it was temporary. They’d look for ‘something together’, he’d said, a place they could make their own. But time slipped by, the way it always did, and the flat– perfectly minimalist, with its polished marble countertops and aggressively beige aesthetic– just becametheplace. There was always something else to save for– a holiday, a wedding… The sad truth was that every framed photo on the walls had been of Rob’s mates or Rob’s nephews or Rob doing something outdoorsy in a gilet. The only hint she’d ever lived there at all was a small ceramic clock next to the fruit bowl on the kitchen shelf, which Rob once referred to as ‘that weird ticking thing’.
She had a suitcase, a few summer tops, some emergency knickers, and now, thanks to Clemmie, a pair of boots. But no home. She swallowed. That was something else she would have to sort out on her return. Clemmie returned holding a pair of bright pink wellington boots, a raincoat, and an umbrella.
‘Here. Sorry about the brightness! They’re a bit lived-in, but still very much waterproof. I grabbed you a dry pair of socks, too.’
Pippa smiled, grateful for the boots and the distraction.
‘Thanks, these are perfect. I promise to return them.’
‘Here, give me your coat. I’ll store it for you and you can pick it up anytime. Now, let me introduce you to my granny before I get you your breakfast. Granny!’ Clemmie called out. ‘Come and meet Pippa.’
Pippa glanced around as she peeled off her coat. The café was cosy, filled with the gentle hum of conversation and the divine smell of frying bacon. Mismatched teacups and pots lined the bunting-hung shelves like tiny ceramic spectators. Then she jumped. There, in the corner, stood a life-size cardboard cutout of the late Queen, watching over proceedings like an unblinking regular.
‘Aww, Pippa! I heard you arrived in the worst weather ever,’ another voice piped up from behind the counter. An older woman with snowy white hair, cherry-red lipstick, and a turquoise cardigan waved at her with the kind of enthusiastic warmth only found in seaside cafés and musicals from the 1950s. ‘I’m Betty, Clemmie’s gran and co-owner of this fine establishment.’
Pippa smiled. ‘It’s lovely to meet you. This place is gorgeous, and I see you have a royal visitor.’
Betty laughed. ‘Queenie has been a permanent fixture since Clemmie won the royal baking competition. She now has her very own published cookbook,’ she said proudly.
‘That’s amazing, I’ll need to buy a copy,’ Pippa replied, noticing the pile of books on the counter.
‘Have you eaten?’ asked Betty.
Pippa shook her head. ‘Only the food Clemmie kindly gave me last night, which was a lifesaver after arriving in this weather.’
‘Clemmie, get the girl a full English.’
‘Already on it,’ Clemmie called, disappearing towards the kitchen.
‘Tea or coffee?’ Betty asked.
After ordering a coffee, Pippa made her way to a small table by the window. She took off her trainers and socks and slipped on the dry socks and then the boots, which were glorious. Clemmie wandered over with a carrier bag. ‘I’ll take them for you, and you can pick them up later as I’m assuming you’ll be heading straight for the convention.’
‘Yes, that’s so kind, thank you.’
She watched Clemmie walk back towards the counter and had that feeling someone was watching her. She turned to the side and promptly choked on absolutely nothing as she met the large grin of Sebastian Worthington-Frost.
