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Day 145: Monday, 26^th March

At Periwinkle Cottage

Epic Achievement: Finding Unicorn slices really exist.

If I thought a gardeners’ slideshow was bad there was worse to come. That’s the trouble with a deserted seaside town in winter; now people know we’re here they expect us to come to every event. Somehow we manage to dodge Saturday’s picnic and daffodil walk near St Austell with the gardeners’ club, because they’re all going in cars and, until one of us gets back behind the wheel, Aunty Jo and I don’t have our own transport. It’s one thing getting a lift into St Aidan, quite another committing to all day in someone else’s car. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Beth was pressing us to go to a Dance Till Your Feet Drop Off eighties disco. I couldn’t even fall back on the flashing lights excuse, because she said they don’t run to those. Much as I love retro tunes, dancing in the dark is what you do with besties, not strangers, but some lucky star must have been passing over because Aunty Jo did another of her surprise interventions and insisted our Saturday evening was already spoken for.

So instead we have a riveting night in, watching some ballerina version of You’ve Got Talent – according to Aunty Jo they hadn’t. And between times we carry on de-flowering the kitchen, and try out some paint samples that arrived in mini pots. I head her away from the fuchsia and daffodil palettes she’s hankering after, and insist we start with broken white.

Whenever Aunty Jo’s steered me towards writing practice – which is even more often than she mentions the good times back in happy Harpenden – I’ve headed her off. When I came down to porridge yesterday to find the fridge covered in Dayglo magnetic letters and numbers, she replied to my appalled, ‘What the eff have you clicked on now?’ with a sniffy, ‘I’m sure Cam might enjoy them, even if you don’t.’

She certainly doesn’t hold back with her buying finger. We’ve just had yet another mega delivery now, so I’m sitting next to a pile of paint buckets, rollers and brushes, and she’s unwrapping some oversized sticky labels.

‘So what are they for?’

‘Don’t you love it when things have two uses?’ She picks up a felt tip and starts to write, then leans across and slaps a beautifully written label on the back of the settee. ‘See, s-o-f-a – isn’t that great? I get to do my calligraphy, and you get to take in the words by osmosis.’

‘Osmosis – isn’t that what amoebas do?’ Wherever I dug that up from, I’m damn sure it’s not a flattering comparison.

Her beautifully pencilled eyebrows close together as she concentrates. ‘I have no idea, Edie, I’m just doing what your mum tells me.’

No surprise there then, even though that has to be a first. ‘What are you writing?’ It’s not as though I can read it.

‘Cushion, door, paint pot, microwave, kettle … ’ She sniffs and slaps a label on the table. ‘I’m going to need to order more of these if I’m going to put names on everything.’ Once she begins a task, she’s alarmingly thorough.

‘You do know I’m on a break?’ Emptying my head so it’ll fill up better when I begin again.

She pushes a label onto the cushion. ‘I wanted to train to be a teacher like your mum after I gave up dancing.’ She’s pursing her lips and ignoring my question. ‘Harry wasn’t keen, he always told me not to worry my pretty head about work.’

‘That’s a shame.’ Attitudes like that drive me wild on a regular basis, but that was Uncle Harry. Building sites aren’t the most forward-thinking places, but most men on them now acknowledge women aren’t purely for decoration. And if they don’t, they do after I’ve finished with them.

She shuffles. ‘It’s coming back to bite me now. Things would be so much easier if I’d taken more of an interest in the finances. Lovely George from the solicitors has been struggling with them for over a year now, I’m seeing him again this week.’

It’s the first I’ve heard about it not being straightforward. ‘You have got enough cash, though?’ She has to have, they always had pots of the stuff. Uncle Harry drove the kind of flash limos that wouldn’t even begin to fit on our drive. One time he blocked the entire close. But the work in the stable yard won’t come cheap if we want a decent finish.

Aunty Jo shakes herself back into the room. ‘We were really well off, I can’t not be fine, can I?’

The question’s so complicated I’ve got no idea if the right answer is ‘yes’ or ‘no’, so I force myself and take the label she’s holding out. ‘Can I help with that?’

‘d-o-o-r … so where does that go?’

‘On the French window?’ I’m grinning at her, deciding where on the glass to stick it, when I see a blue blur running across the courtyard. ‘Looks like we’ve got a visitor. It’s a good thing we bought those Unicorn slices.’ Once Aunty Jo accidentally pointed out that cute name, I was hardly going to leave them in the shop.

As I push open the door Cam runs in and throws down his school bag on the floor.

‘Hi Cam, have you had a good day? How about a drink?’

‘I hate school, but I’d like juice.’ He popped in a couple of times over the weekend, but he’s heading for the kitchen now as though he’s been here all his life.

‘Tea, Aunty Jo?’

‘Mango and passion fruit please – it’s the orange one, and you can take the label for the kettle when you go. You choose – it starts with a “k”.’

Just when it was all going so well. ‘Hmm …’ When it comes to letters I’m okay on a, b, c and x, y, z – it’s the ones in the middle that are troublesome.