“I think that’s that.” Locryn smiled, chancing a cheeky ring of the bicycle bell. “Give my love to Fionn when you hear from her, and I’ll make sure everyone that comes in gets a pasty or a squab.”
“Don’t tell them I made them. I want them to be honest.” Although they probably would be honest, especially if they knew they were Jake Brantham creations. Jake gave Locryn one last hug. “I’ll see you around tomorrow then?”
He nodded. “Definitely. Why don’t I pop along to your galleon once the café’s closed? I can see how things are going and we can look at the feedback together.”
“I’d like that. And maybe I can cook dinner?”
“I’ll never say no to that. But don’t forget that cream horn, because Dorothy won’t!” Locryn leaned closer and kissed Jake softly on the lips. “Sweet dreams, Captain Jake.”
“Night-night!” Jake waved Locryn off, and once he’d rattled off across the uneven farmyard courtyard, Jake stood in the quiet for a while, enjoying the calm.
Then he went inside and was just in time to see Dorothy, claws extended, trying to take the lid off the cream horn’s box.
“That’s how we’ll fall out, young lady!”
Jake settled her for the night, then he headed upstairs with a cup of cocoa and the cream horn. It might not’ve been cocktails in a West End nightclub, but it seemed a much better way to end the day.
Chapter Ten
Jake passed a busy day on the pirate ship, but although they were one person down, they seemed to progress far better without Fionn around. And that was even after Jake had dispatched a runner to the nearest supermarket to stock up on whatever Dorothy might need.
He’d put the word around the Porthavelans who were helping on the ship about his mystery cat, and none of them knew where Dorothy could have come from either. Perhaps she was one of life’s unsolvable enigmas, and now that Jake was oddly chilled, he decided it didn’t matter that much.
It was just after lunchtime when his mobile rang and there on the screen he saw Fionn’s name. Only then did it occur to him that he hadn’t been in touch to find out how she was.
Jake went out on the deck, where it was quiet and no television cameras were ready to swoop into his face. “Fionn? Hey, got your feet up while we’re all working our arses off?”
“You don’t know the half of it, sweetie.” She laughed, though, so perhaps it wasn’t all bad. “It turns out that I’ve made a total balls of my leg and the medicine here is a little too Cornish for my tastes so I’m off home tomorrow, laid out across the backseat of a limo, to see my little chap on Harley Street. So you really need to get your bum over here before I go, because we have serious business to discuss, hon.”
Do I or do I not bring her a chocolate eclair?
Yes. Of course I should.
Jake looked at his watch. He could fit everything in, he didn’t need to run about. “I’ll be over when I can. I could pop by this evening when we’ve finished up here?”
But what about Locryn’s plans to visit the ship? What about dinner?
I can do it.
“Whatever you like. I’m about to have a pedi then I’m doing nothing except taking phone calls about a certain shocking chef show.” Fionn laughed again, a laugh honed by a hundred cigarettes. “And tell lovely Loc that he can relax. I won’t be calling my lawyers. In fact, I’ve just closed a deal with Sky for When Bakeries Go Bad, so I owe him a thanks for the inspo! People falling on their faces and getting a jam doughnut in the eye, that kind of rubbish. They’ve got a cute footballer who’s desperate to break into telly so he’s going to present it. It’ll soak up the pissed dad audience on Boxing Day.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “So you didn’t pitch When TV Producers Throw Baked Goods About Like a Toddler Having a Tantrum? Maybe the title needs some work, but still.”
“Working on it. Got it jotted on the iPad as Telly Tantrum Traumas. Look, Jakey, I’m going to have to fly, the pedi girl’s loitering about like a spare prick at a wedding.” From somewhere in the hospital, Jake heard the sound of nervous laughter. “I’ll see you tonight, cap’n, if you can tear yourself away from the hot baker!”
“Yeah, see you. Bye.”
Jake ended the call. Just think, Fionn off to London in search of opioids and weeks, if not the entire shoot, in peace. With a smile, Jake trotted back inside the ship and got on with his work.
* * * *
The sky was growing dark outside when Jake heard footsteps descending into the galleon. Then a plummy voice called, “Permission to come aboard?”
“Come on in!” Jake bounded up to Locryn and put his arm around his shoulder. He couldn’t wait to show Locryn what they’d been up to. “What do you think? Looks a bit different, doesn’t? No more scary 1970s bistro curtains. I do like a slatted shutter.”
“Good heavens!” Locryn blinked and looked around. It was still a building site of course, and lights and cameras were positioned between dust sheets and paint pots to capture every moment of the renovations, but there was no denying that the garish pirate ship was well on its way to becoming something Jake could put his name to. “You and the Porthavelans have really been working hard. Look at this place!”
“Are you a little bit impressed, Locryn?” Jake chuckled. “It’s still a ship, but it’s…well, it’s getting there. How’d you get on today?”
“Well, I delivered the loaf to your crew.” He put his arm around Jake’s waist and peered around the ship again. They were alone now, work having finished for the day, and Locryn chanced a kiss to Jake’s cheek. “And I gave away all the pasties. Any word on Fionn’s leg?”
“Pop a cork, because Fionn is buggering off back to London tomorrow!” Jake hopped from foot to foot. His glee made him immune to his concerns about how well the pasties had gone down with the locals. “I’ll have to go and see her in Plymouth in a bit, but if you don’t mind the drive, we can grab something there if you like? Or I can knock up a quick something when I get back.”
Locryn’s eyes widened and he said, “She’s leaving? Oh, that’s wonderful news. People’re going to be very happy to hear that.” He seemed to realize what he’d said then and quickly composed a look of sympathy. “Obviously, I hope she’s not in any pain, but… Well, she’s not an easy lady to get along with.”
“It’s all right,” Jake said. “You can be glad about her misfortune because if it had happened to anyone else, that steel-hearted cow would’ve exploited it.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Locryn clapped his hands. “If you’re dead set on it we can have something spiffy in Plymouth, but I don’t want you to have to cook after that drive so how about when we get back, we call in on Captain Cod and get a good old chippy tea? My treat. Then we can look through the feedback forms and stuff our faces all in one go?”
“That’s brilliant! I won’t be in Plymouth long, besides, I don’t want to leave little Dot on her own. Ready to go?”
He nodded. “Unless you’d rather I stay here and cat-sit? Up to you, I wouldn’t mind if you’re worried about leaving her. I’ll give her some supper and we can have a bit of a play.”
“Stay, Loc, it’s fine. I’m sure you’d rather not see Fionn ever again! And especially not cranky with a broken leg.” Jake laughed. “To be honest, I’d rather not either, but there’s some stuff to sort out with her, then I can draw a line under it.”
Locryn smiled and his cheeks colored a little. He’d been caught out, and he knew it. “Can I borrow your keys? And I’ll make sure the table’s all set, ready for our fish and chip supper when you get home, if you don’t mind picking it up in the chefmobile?”
Jake fished the keys out of his pocket and passed them to Locryn. The fob, presumably from a local souvenir shop, was of a large enamel crab holding a flag that said Porthavel on it. “Thanks, Loc. I’ll bring you a sausage with your chippy tea too as a thank you!”
“How can I say no to an offer like that?” He put the keys into his coat pocket. “Let me know when you’re
on your way home. I’ll make sure everything’s ready.”
Jake slipped his arms around Locryn. “You know I’d rather stay with you instead of go off to see the Telly Gorgon?”
“I sort of hoped you would.” He kissed the tip of Jake’s nose. “But don’t we want to be absolutely sure that she’s really gone?”
“We do. Short of shoving her off a cliff!” Jake hugged Locryn tightly, then did what he’d been thinking about all day. He brought his lips to Locryn’s and kissed him. It was the sort of kiss that he knew would give him the fortitude he needed to tell Fionn that her services were no longer required, which she had probably guessed. Even better, he had an excuse now too. She could hardly focus on producing the show when she was facing rehabilitation for a broken leg, after all. It just wouldn’t be fair.
“Don’t be too long.” Locryn smiled and escorted him up onto the deck. “We’ll be missing you.”
Reluctantly, Jake got behind the wheel of his car and waved to Locryn as he set off. It was getting dark so he saw little of the beautiful coastline, but he focused on the relaxation music playing in his car. He used to have rock and rap blaring out at top volume, but he was now getting into his forest sounds playlist, although the ear-splitting whoop of a monkey that came on halfway through nearly scared him witless.
But it made him laugh. Because it was a monkey, and imagine taking a monkey into a hospital to see Fionn, and imagine how shocked she’d be, then imagine how quickly she’d try to turn it into a pitch. Then imagine the monkey running riot, throwing the patients’ grapes around and swinging from a curtain track.
Jake was still laughing when he arrived at the hospital.
He found Fionn in a private room off the ward. She was propped up against a pile of pillows like an empress, resplendent in pajamas of dark purple silk, her leg encased in a heavy cast from the bottom of her toes to above her knee. Her toenails, Jake noted, were immaculate.
“Didn’t bring flowers,” Jake said. “Didn’t you say you’ve got hay fever?”
Fionn was tapping at the screen of her tablet as she replied, “No sense of smell anyway. Thirty years of fags does that to a girl.” She threw the tablet down onto the bed. “Come and sit down, we’ve got some telly business to discuss.”
Jake pulled the chair into position by the bed. He tried not to look at her plaster cast, nor the bare toes poking out the end. Her skin was bruised but her nails were fabulous.
“You know that I love working with you and all my telly chefs, Jake, don’t you? But even I’ve only got so many hours in the day and the fact is, whoever Mr. L.A. chooses for Shock Chef, he wants me to produce.” And Jake realized what was about to happen. She was dumping him. “So if it’s you out there buzzing the dumbnuts who are willing to sign up to be juiced for cutting a tomato in the wrong way, that’s going to be fucking grand for me but…fact is, lovey, it might not be you. And if it isn’t, I’ll still be heading off to Hollywood. I’ve signed on the dotted line.”
Jake folded his arms. He thought the entire concept was laughable and cruel, but never having had a Hollywood call before, Jake wondered how it all worked. “If I signed up to it, would I get executive producer? And a big glittery star on my dressing room door?”
“The studio has to want you, and you know you’re on that shortlist and you know I’m going to be pushing hard to get you the gig. I can’t imagine anyone better suited for firing a couple of hundred volts into the knackers of a bunch of losers like that.” Fionn hooted with laughter, glancing at her tablet screen again. “I’m just picturing it. You screaming and shouting, them quaking and blubbing. It’ll be the making of whoever lands it. And the money’s going to be sky-high. There’s a real appetite for this kind of thing right now and you could be right at the front of the line if you play your cards right. But you can’t turn into Locryn, Jake. He’s sweet as a button but they’d chew him up and spit him out in the States. What is it they say? Cute for a taste, but not for a swallow.”
Jake’s mind drifted back to Locryn’s cream horn that he’d devoured in bed the night before. He shook away the image. As he glanced at the bowl of grapes by Fionn’s bed, Jake remembered the monkey.
And felt rather mischievous.
“Can I have a monkey? You know, just sort of hangs around my neck, gurning at the contestants. Badass monkey with big scary teeth.”
“What’s the health and safety like over there?” She frowned, toying with one of her chandelier-like earrings. “But you know what, I’m going to mention that when I talk to them. That’s going to wedge you in their minds good and proper.”
Jake hid his smile behind his hand and coughed loudly as laughter rose up inside him. Captain Jake and his badass monkey in…Monkey Kitchen.
What a load of old crap.
“I was going to say, don’t worry about From Wreck to Restaurant. You get that leg of yours better, Fionn, okay? We’ll soldier on.”
“I know I’m letting you down, but would it be a massive ball ache if I bowed out of this one? Give me the credit and the cash if you insist—I know you’ll insist—but creatively, I’m going to have to let you take the reins.” Fionn pouted her blood-red lips but for Jake, the sun had just burst out through the cloud. “Let me focus on getting you the States gig, yeah? I don’t need a leg to sell you to Hollywood. All I need is my gob and my phone.”
“That’s a shame.” Bollocks, it’s not. And Jake had already decided he’d see if he could change Fionn’s credit from producer to the more humble production assistant. “Yeah, see if they’ll take Captain Jake and his monkey.”
And then we’ll know for sure that popular culture is doomed.
“So you know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” She lifted a biro to her lips, as though taking a drag on a cigarette. “You can’t get attached to Cornwall and you can’t get attached to the blue-eyed baker, yeah? Think of him like a weekend home? You can head down here now and then for a bit of fun then back to the real world. Maybe back to L.A. if they like what they see on the showreel.”
In the past, even a week or two ago, Jake would have exploded and raged at Fionn for being so crass. He’d never use someone like that, even if his past relationships had only been casual.
Instead, he shrugged. “It’s a nice place. You know I had my reservations, but it’s really not too bad.”
Fionn took another drag on her biro, leaving red lipstick on the barrel as she took it from her lips. She looked thoughtful then said, “Got to wonder about him though, don’t you think? You know he had investors wanting to finance a chain right across the country, no questions asked. There’d have been a Locryn’s in every town, churning out scones and whatever else he does. Think Gregg’s but with posher fonts. But he says no, he’s happy with his little café! He still makes everything himself with half a dozen villagers to help. What’s that all about?”
She shuddered as though a cold draught had passed over them but Jake pictured the garden bakehouse that Locryn had shown on his television specials, cozy and homely as he crafted his bakes. “What’s the point of the telly shows and the cookbooks if you’re not going to seriously monetize? He’s well-off, that one, but he could be raking it in. He’s probably a bit nice but dim in that way rich boys are.”
“Maybe he’s…I dunno…happy? And isn’t his brand handcrafted bakes? That eclair you chucked about yesterday was artisanal. Not easy scaling that up across the entire country. He’d wreck his brand if he did that. Imagine if there was a Brantham’s on every waterway in Britain?” Jake knew that Fionn probably could. “Nope. Not happening.”
Fionn’s bed creaked as she hoisted herself back against the pillows and lowered her voice to say, “Do you know what my L.A. contact told me just now? Locryn was offered a permanent slot on Good Morning America after one of the anchors came to Porthavel just to taste his macarons—catering the pudding table at a royal wedding does things to Americans—and he turned it down. He’d have had to appear once a week, chuck on a Union Jack apron, c
ook something picturesque and make millions. And he said no. That’s not someone who’s right in the head.”
And Jake would’ve turned it down too. “What would Locryn do with millions anyway? Cover his bike in gold leaf and put rubies on the spokes?”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot that bit. They wanted him to ride into the studio on the bike too, with all the ingredients in the basket.” Fionn laughed. “You’d have bit their hands off for that, wouldn’t you?”
“So they wouldn’t even have had him beamed in by satellite from Cornwall?” Jake was now even less surprised that Locryn had turned it down than he had been before. “No, I wouldn’t have signed up for that. I’d have been a laughingstock.”
She shook her head. “You’d have been making it big in America. People don’t laugh so loud when you’re making the serious money.”
“Well, we’ll soon find out when me and my monkey are electrocuting people for making leathery omelets, won’t we?” Jake looked at his watch and pictured Locryn lounging with Dorothy on his lap. Had he been here long enough to escape? Would it look rude?
As he was formulating his exit strategy, a blast of heavy metal music tore through the room and Fionn looked down at her tablet, then swept her finger across the screen to silence the noise.
“I’ve got a Skype in five with a bloke about the Going Tits-Up in a Bakery special. Cheers for coming, sweetie, but do you mind slinging your hook?”
Halle-fucking-lujah!
“Yeah, of course, I’ll be off, then.” Jake got back to his feet. “Get well soon!”
But not that soon.
“I’ll keep you in the loop. Say hello to the baker for me!” she said with a wink.
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