Christmas Carols and a Cornish Cream Tea by Cressida McLaughlin

Author:Cressida McLaughlin [McLaughlin, Cressida]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-10-06T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Finn took a torch out of the boot of the Audi and hefted the tote bag over his shoulder. Meredith zipped her coat up, lifted Crumble out of the back seat and then bumped right into Finn when he turned in a direction she hadn’t expected.

‘What do we need the torch for?’ she asked. ‘I thought you were taking me to see Laurie.’

‘Not tonight. And it’s not a steady path down to the beach.’

‘We’re going to the beach?’ Meredith glanced at Laurie’s beautiful white house.

‘Laurie’s got some friends over,’ Finn said, pausing to wait for her to catch up. ‘And besides, you can’t meet her properly yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because if someone is going to fill in the gaps, I want it to be me, not her.’

‘So I can only meet your aunt once you’ve answered all my questions?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Looks like you’re going to be doing a lot of talking then,’ Meredith said.

Finn grabbed her hand as the torch revealed an uneven patch on the dusty path he was leading her down, and she let him take her to the cove she knew so well, but had never approached from this angle.

Once the sand was beneath her feet and moonlight presented the small beach to them like a magical scenescape, Finn led her over to her sitting rock and, reaching inside the bag, took out a blanket. He spread it over the flat surface, and Meredith wondered how many times he’d done this; how often their paths hadn’t crossed, despite both of them loving the same small patch of Cornwall.

‘Your picnic blanket, madam,’ he offered with a flourish, and Meredith sat on it, putting Crumble on her lap. The puppy climbed off and sat next to her, and she picked him up again so Finn could sit down. Crumble, not remotely offended, stretched his small body out between them, warming Meredith’s thigh.

‘Night-time picnics on a beach in winter,’ she said. ‘Don’t you feel the cold?’

‘Are you cold?’ Finn asked.

It had been one of the milder December days, the sun unusually strong, and while she couldn’t admit to being toasty, she wasn’t freezing.

‘No, actually,’ she said, as Finn placed another blanket over their laps, making sure Crumble’s nose was sticking out of the end.

‘I did tell you to brace yourself,’ he said, handing her one of the packets of fish and chips they’d picked up on the way. As she unrolled it, he took out a bottle of mulled wine and two paper cups, and filled them before passing her one.

She took it, and they clinked. She wasn’t a mulled wine fan, but not because she didn’t like the taste. That – she thought as she took a sip, Finn’s gaze unwavering on hers – was a metaphor for everything Christmassy in her life. Was it time to take a bigger gulp?

‘So,’ she said, after she’d eaten a few chips, deliciously salty and sharp with vinegar. ‘This is authentic Finn Becker.’

He nodded. ‘This is me.’

‘You do this often?’

‘At least once every time I’m in Cornwall.

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