Page 73 of One Summer

‘No, I’m fine,’ I say.

‘Then why aren’t you dressed? It’s afternoon.’

She doesn’t seem to make anything of the corn snake, who’s trying to anchor himself by low-level constricting my biceps. Luckily, he’s not strong enough to do any damage, but I admire his pluck for giving it a try anyway.

He’s one of the animals who require a garden slither once a day to keep his spirits up, otherwise he gets depressed and refuses to eat.

‘I don’t need to get dressed. It’s not like I have people to see or places to go,’ I say, with a shrug.

‘You most certainly do.’

I groan. ‘Are we going to Caleb’s place? Is he back from his trip?’

‘He just got back this morning and I invited him to come with us today, but he declined. Too much laundry to get through, I expect.’

I feel the tiniest ripple of disappointment.

‘Here, I’ll take your friend, and you go and get yourself ready.’

She takes Cedric from me gently and dangles him around her own neck, whereupon Cedric seems to immediately relax.

‘I didn’t realise you liked snakes, Betty.’

‘I like all God’s creatures,’ she says, as if I should never have doubted as much.

‘Where are we going? Do I need a jacket?’

‘Lindy,’ she says, shaking her head in exasperation. ‘You always need a jacket on Loor. The squalls come in so fast from the Atlantic, it can be lovely one minute, then peeing down with rain and blowing you off your feet the next.’

When I come back to her, five minutes later, Cedric is inside her cardigan with his little orange head poking out of her left sleeve.

‘I think he likes your warmth.’

‘No, he just likes me,’ she says, as she takes her cardigan off and passes both it and Cedric back into my hands. ‘Put him away in his little house and we’ll get going.’

‘Get going where?’

‘Pub. You need to see it.’

‘The one in the harbour? I’ve already been. There was a rat.’

‘Not that one. Good Lord, The Lonely Lad is depressing. I’m taking you to my local for a coffee and a slice of cake. Your treat.’

‘Okay,’ I say, laughing, but glad I know where I stand regarding the bill.

*

The Merry Maid stands on an outcrop overlooking the wide sweep of the bay and has truly panoramic views. The beer garden is set with picnic benches and a play park, where a few little kids of different ages and their teenage sibling babysitters mess about in the sand and play noisy games of chase. There are ominous black clouds on the horizon, but it looks stark and beautiful.

Inside, most of the tables are taken, customers sitting elbow to elbow, and the acoustics are awful. No music, just a loud hubbub of voices bouncing off all the hard surfaces. There’s an indoor games area with pool tables and air hockey and a variety of fruit machines. The atmosphere is fraught with tired tourists who have just made the journey over on the ferry and are focussed on getting themselves and their families fed. The place feels cold and damp, and without the view to look at, there’s a vibe of disappointment and mild depression.

I can’t help feeling surprised that this is the place Betty is so keen to show me.

As we weave through the crowded tables, she takes me by the arm and pulls me to a corridor that leads to the kitchen.

‘Are we going to be baking our own cake?’ I say, wondering what she’s up to.

‘Don’t be silly.’

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