A Summer to Remember. Victoria Cooke

silver glitter adds emphasis to the wings, and shading underneath casts a shadow, making it look like it’s floating an inch above my skin.

      ‘I love it. It will be a shame to wash it off,’ I say honestly.

      ‘Just come back tomorrow and I’ll paint you a new one.’ He winks. ‘That’ll be twenty dollars.’

      Twenty dollars? No wonder he could give up the rat race to paint people. I take out a green note and hand it over, and he grasps my hand. ‘Actually, if you’re here all alone, you should come to dinner with us tonight, we can talk about all the marketing stuff then.’

      That’s a bit forward, isn’t it? But I am starving, and it might be nice to speak to someone this side of the Atlantic who doesn’t just see me as the doughnut fetcher. Plus, I don’t know much about what’s available round here and some company would be nice.

      ‘Oh, Barney, you’re a plangonologist of living dolls.’ Harry glances up from the child’s arm he’s painting a dolphin on, the curly-haired girl from earlier has gone.

      ‘I am not a people collector, Harry; I’m just friendly.’ He turns to me. ‘Honestly, he learns a new word and has to toss it into every conversation.’

      I smile and look down at the floor, unsure as to whether or not the invitation still applies.

      ‘Come with us?’ Barney asks again. ‘I could listen to that English accent all day, and Harry over here can sit wallowing in his grumpy pants.’

      I look at Harry who gives a casual nod. Barney wraps his arms around Harry and kisses his head. Neither of them look like axe murderers, and I don’t think there’s an ulterior motive aside from the bit of marketing advice Barney is wanting.

      ‘Okay, I’d love to.’

       Chapter 8

      Double checking the address Barney wrote down, I hover outside what looks like someone’s house. There is no indication anywhere that this is even a restaurant, no neon sign or A-frame outside, but I do spot a few people coming and going. How odd. I decide to wait five more minutes. It’s already eight and that’s what time they said to meet.

      I start to feel ridiculous standing here waiting for two strangers. There was a fish restaurant near the pier. I’ll go there. As I turn to leave, I spot Harry and Barney walking towards me. Harry takes long casual strides as Barney seems to use all his limbs for propulsion. Relief dilutes the weird cocktail of apprehension in my stomach.

      ‘You’re in for a treat,’ Barney says, linking my arm like an old friend and frog-marching me up the wooden steps to the veranda. He knocks on the door, and a kindly young woman opens it and gestures him in.

      ‘Your usual table is ready, guys.’ Her smile fades as she takes me in. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, it’s only set for two.’ She looks mortified.

      ‘Just pull another chair over and we’ll cosy up. We’re all friends here,’ he says in what I’m coming to realise is his actual voice and not just his ‘cheerful’ tone.

      Once we’re seated, I’m handed a paper menu. I’m no expert on the Cape Cod cuisine scene, or any cuisine scene to be precise, but this is the most unusual place I’ve ever been to. ‘There’s only one choice per course here,’ I say, tapping the sheet of paper.

      ‘Oh, honey, this is a secret restaurant. It’s a surprise menu each day, though we come so often, we know the rotation. Tonight is Harry’s favourite.’

      ‘He’s right. Butter-poached lobster and wild shrimp.’ Harry pats his stomach. The food does sound amazing.

      ‘If it’s a secret, why did you bring me here? I’ve not come across a secret restaurant before but I bet it adds to the exclusivity.’

      ‘It’s the worst-kept secret in town but to some extent it keeps the tourists out. No offence.’ He pats my hand. ‘It just keeps it special for the locals. And as you can see – it’s always busy.’

      ‘Well, it’s utterly charming,’ I say, running a hand over the simple wooden table.

      The waitress places some mismatched crockery and a platter of something deep-fried on the table. I’m so hungry I don’t care what lies beneath the batter.

      ‘Fried oysters.’ Barney hands me the plate. ‘Try one, they’re to die for.’

      I take a bite, and he’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever had an oyster before. The thought of them has always made me a bit squeamish. Kev wasn’t an adventurous eater and he used to say they were like swallowing a ball of phlegm. The thought makes me heave.

      ‘You don’t like them?’ Harry says.

      ‘Oh, I do. They’re better than I was expecting. I was just … remembering something.’

      ‘Try the hot sauce,’ Barney says and I dip one dutifully. It tastes a bit like Dijon mustard and lemon.

      ‘Mmm, delicious,’ I say as the flavours and texture alight my senses.

      ‘We think everyone should come here at least once,’ says Harry.

      ‘Thank you for inviting me. I don’t know where I’d have ended up otherwise.’ I dunk another oyster.

      ‘Barney picks up all the waifs and strays,’ Harry says. I instantly feel awkward as his tone is more matter-of-fact than Barney who seems to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but when I look at him, the corner of his mouth is lifted. ‘I’m just teasing. We both love to meet new people.’

      ‘So, I know you’re in Boston for work, but why is a pretty girl like you in P-Town alone?’ Barney asks as he wipes the last oyster round the dip bowl.

      It’s a strange feeling to want to spill all to two people you don’t know from Adam, but a compelling one, nonetheless. Perhaps it’s because they’re the first people I’ve connected with since I arrived in the US, perhaps it’s desperation but whatever the reason, I proceed to fill them in.

      ‘Nobody listens to me or values my opinion,’ I finish. ‘I don’t agree with the way the campaign is going and I think the company who hired us will hate it, but apparently, I should just shut up and put up. I guess I just don’t fit in with the team.’

      Harry points his fork at me. ‘You will. You just need to find your place. All groups have roles for people to fill. You’ll get there. Like my Barney here is the people collector—’

      ‘I’m intuitive and sociable,’ Barney interrupts.

      ‘I’m the pragmatic one, my role in a group is the voice of reason. Martha, who owns this place, is the chef. We know most of the people in this town, and they all have their place.’

      Barney laughs. ‘You are so not the voice of reason.’

      ‘Okay, humour me – what am I then?’ Harry shakes his head and gives me a ‘can you believe this guy?’ look.

      ‘The fussy one.’ Barney cocks his head to the side as if it proves his point.

      Harry looks at me. ‘I just like things in order, which in my opinion makes me practical.’ He shrugs his shoulders like that proves his point.

      ‘Well, my place at present seems to be chief doughnut-getter,’ I say, breaking up their affectionate bickering.

      ‘Well, there you go – you have a place. But if you want a better one, you need to play a little game of Snakes and Ladders: work your way up without getting knocked all the way back down. You’ll figure it out.’ Harry says this so casually. If he’s fussy and still thinks it’s all just a simple game, then maybe I should too.

      The waitress clears our table and I take the opportunity to sip my water