The Tasting Menu

Course 2 A Princess’s Kiss To Break the Spell

Smoked Frog’s Legs served in a gilded White-Chocolate-&-powdered-Lobster ball, with a Lobster-&-Tarragon velouté

It was pretty obvious that The Singing Mermaid hadn’t been designed with passengers in mind, but at least the captain had cleared away the creels and nets, leaving just enough space for the five of them and their luggage while he steered from the wheelhouse. Soon as they cleared the harbour walls, the engine abandoned its gentle putt-putt-putt for a throaty growl, forging a bow wave through the mirrored water. Leaving a scarred wake across the reflected mountains and trees.

Alex nudged that huge suitcase with her toe, setting something inside click-clacking. “You don’t exactly pack light.”

The little old lady pouted. “I’m sorry...”

The taller one laughed. “Olivia makes the best marmalade in the country, don’t you, Olivia?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” A proud wee smile bloomed. “Don’t you listen to Muriel, she’s prone to tall tales.”

“Nonsense. You’ve won awards, old girl!”

Olivia checked both ways, as if looking for jam spies. “It’s the bergamot puree that gives it an extra zing.”

“Normally the chef makes everything in-house, but even he can’t beat Olivia’s marmalade. So once a year, we make the trip from the ancestral pile and do a swap. They even sell it in the hotel shop!”

“It’s nice to be able to pay one’s way, don’t you think?”

Pink bloomed in Alex’s cheeks, but she didn’t say anything.

Michael leaned on the gunwale, frowning out at a clump of rocks where a trio of seals lounged like huge glistening slugs. Staring back at him as the boat growled past.

Victor sidled up alongside. “So, what were you pacing the harbour wall for, face like a spanked arse?”

“Mmm? Oh... Erm... Nothing. Just this Hollywood producer who won’t take no for an answer. You know what Film People are like.”

The lie got him a laugh and a slap on the back. “Make the bastards pay, right?”

“Yeah...”

Up ahead, a huge bank of fog marked the end of the world, swallowing all sound and detail. The Singing Mermaid grumbled into it, and everything turned grey and dim. The captain flicked the boat’s lights on, but somehow that just made things worse.

Alex joined them. “What?”

“Just reminding our Mikey how lucky he is I took him under my wing. You’re gonna write about the swamp, you need someone who knows the water.” Wriggling his hands about like he was swimming. “Someone who can guide you through the dark currents: point out how to catch the shiniest fish and dodge the poisonous snakes.”

Her lip curled. “And in this little scenario, are you meant to be an alligator? Because I’ve always seen you as more of a toad.”

Here we go again.

Michael’s shoulders drooped. “Guys...”

But instead of retaliating, Victor gazed out into the fog. “I ever tell you about a guy called French Bob? Frog-faced wee bastard-and-a-half. Convinced his luck was for shite because some old gypsy wifie cursed him. Course, he torched her caravan with her wee dog in it, so she kinda had reason. Only it turns out the MacDougal brothers have got a soft spot for wee dogs, and they were not pleased that someone in their employ had been so careless. Took them six months to track him down.” Victor’s toe tapped a little tattoo against the boat’s hull. “You’d be surprised how much dog food you can make out of one frog-faced wee bastard. Especially if you take your time carving bits off him.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “This a confession?”

“What, me? Naw.” Grin. “Just a daft auld mannie talking nonsense to entertain his friends, isn’t it?” Victor sucked a hiss of air through his teeth. “But that’s why you should always check for wee dogs before you set fire to somewhere. Good life lesson, that.” He dug out his hipflask again. “Now, who fancies a morning pick-me-up? No?” A wink and a swig. “All the more for me then.”