The Beach Cafe (10 page)

I took some bread and munched it. ‘Let’s not talk about this any more,’ I said. ‘It’s making me feel strange.’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But you know I’m here, don’t you, if you ever do want to talk about it?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know.’ Despite my words, I was already mentally slamming the door I’d inadvertently opened, trying to lock away the conversation so that I didn’t need to think about it. I imagined myself sliding great metal bolts against the door: thud, thud. There.

‘So, how are things with you?’ I asked. I slipped my shades back onto my nose as I took a forkful of salad. I didn’t want her to see the troubled light that I knew must be in my eyes.

Chapter Ten

The conversation with Amber kept ringing around my head all weekend, making me feel discombobulated and out of sorts. Oh, we had a nice enough time – Saul came to stay on Saturday night, which was lovely as usual; and then on Sunday, after we’d dropped Saul back at Emily’s, Matthew and I took the bikes out along the river, with a picnic in a sunny meadow on the way. Underneath all the pleasantries, though, something felt different. It was as if I was standing outside myself, watching our relationship with a critical eye. I wasn’t sure that I liked what I saw.

Once upon a time we might have got a bit frisky in this meadow, I thought sadly as he produced a Thermos flask from his backpack and poured us both cups of tea. We’d have lain there snogging, giggling and whispering like teenagers, unable to take our hands off each other. Now we were sitting there, eating cheese sandwiches and drinking tea on our M&S travel rug, like a boring old married couple.

I toyed with the idea of pushing him down on the rug and straddling him, but then had visions of him complaining about his bad back, or giving a startled yelp as he was scalded by his tea. So I didn’t.

Even spending the previous evening with Saul had seemed to take on a new poignancy after talking to Amber. He’d brought some Lego with him, and the two of us spent ages making a castle together, with turrets and secret doorways and dungeons. ‘This room is for you and Daddy,’ he said, pointing it out. ‘And there’s Mum and Dan’s room. My room is right in the middle, see?’

‘Perfect,’ I said, but it cut me to the quick.
Hypothetically speaking
, I heard Amber say in my head,
if you and Matthew went your separate ways, what would be your gut feeling?

Sadness, I thought in the next second. Sadness that I’d no longer be able to do this with Saul. If Matthew and I did separate, would I ever see my boy again? He would grow up without me, maybe make castles with another of his dad’s girlfriends, build a different woman a Lego suite with Matthew instead of me . . .

‘Evie, are you crying?’ I heard Saul ask in astonishment.

I wiped my eyes hastily. ‘I think it’s just hay fever,’ I told him. ‘So, who’s going in the dungeon, then?’

Later that evening, after he’d had his tea and a bath, we snuggled up on the sofa together and I started reading him my childhood copy of
Finn Family Moomintroll
while Matthew leafed through the newspaper. Saul’s hair was in damp strawberry-smelling spikes as he leaned against me, and once again I felt that same piercing happiness laced with sadness as I read. I’d kept loads of my favourite books from when I was his age – the Roald Dahls, the Helen Cresswells, the Enid Blytons – and there was something lovely about sitting here, reading the Moomins to Saul, just as my mum had read it to me. There were still so many books I hadn’t read with him, though. Would I get the chance to, now?

I shook myself. I was being maudlin, acting as if Matthew and I had already decided to split up, when nothing of the sort had happened. Probably just PMT, I told myself, trying to shake off my weird mood.

Everything seemed to have changed lately, that was the thing. Jo dying, me inheriting the café, and the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps Matthew and I weren’t as rock-solid as I’d always thought. It felt as if someone had taken my life and shaken it up, jumbling all the elements so that they didn’t quite fit back together as they used to.

The next week passed with dreary familiarity. My temp job was still mind-bogglingly awful, and the situation between me and Matthew felt disjointed and somewhat fragile. I kept trying to work up to having a Big Conversation with him, about where we were going and what the future held for us, but found the idea so paralysingly stressful every time that it hadn’t actually taken place.

I popped round to my mum’s one evening and found her looking suspiciously red-eyed as she pored over one of Jo’s old photo albums. ‘I still can’t believe she’s gone, Evie,’ she sniffed, as I put my arms around her and hugged her. ‘I feel lost without her somehow, as if the world’s not right any more.’ She blew her nose and turned the page, and we both looked at the photos of a very young Jo wearing a bikini on a palm beach somewhere exotic. She was beaming into the camera, her arm around some strapping bloke in shades, as if she was having the time of her life.

‘You know, I always envied her for having the guts to do her own thing,’ Mum said, dabbing at her eyes. ‘She was so . . . brave. Much braver than me. Especially the way she stood up to our parents the way she did. I’ve been going through her letters and there are some really quite nasty ones from Granny and Grandad, almost bullying her for the choices she made.’

‘Oh no,’ I said. Granny and Grandad had never been the cuddliest grandparents, even when I was little. They were prim and proper, liking children to be quiet and well behaved rather than noisy and fun-loving.

‘Yes,’ Mum said. ‘I felt that too. How anyone could try to crush their child like that, push them in a direction they really didn’t want to go, then turn against them for not conforming, is beyond me.’

I said nothing, and after a rather loaded silence, she looked at me in concern. ‘Evie – you don’t feel that Dad and I have ever done that, do you?’ she asked. ‘I know things haven’t fallen into place for you quite as easily as they have for Ruth and Louise, but you do know that we just want what’s best for you, don’t you?’

I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I
did
know that, but didn’t want to hurt her feelings by saying so. ‘Well . . .’ I began, searching around for the right words.

‘Because we’ll always love you, whatever you decide,’ she said, putting her arm around me. ‘
Whatever
you decide.’

I twisted my fingers in my lap. ‘I might not have done everything perfectly, like Ruth and Lou,’ I began, ‘but—’

‘There
isn’t
a perfect way, though, Evie,’ she said. ‘And you know – you may not believe it, but I think deep down they’ve always rather envied
you
, in the way that I envied Jo.’

I gave a snort. ‘Yeah, right,’ I said sarcastically. ‘Because there’s just so much to envy.’

‘I’m serious,’ she said. ‘Neither of them would ever dare break away from what’s expected of them, just like I never did. Whereas you – you’re gutsy, like Jo. And I think that’s a really admirable quality, love. I genuinely do.’

‘Wow,’ I said, checking she was serious. She was, and it made me feel slightly lost for words. ‘Um . . . thanks, Mum.’

‘I suppose Jo dying so suddenly has made me think about life, and what’s important,’ she went on. ‘And it’s brought it home to me: life is short. You can’t waste it doing things you don’t enjoy.’ She blew her nose again, then smiled at me. ‘So I, for one, am going to have a glass of wine and drink a toast to Jo, who lived every minute to the full. Will you join me?’

I smiled back at her. ‘Damn right I will,’ I said.

My head was reeling as she poured the wine. Whoa. My mum had never said anything like that to me before. It made me feel different about myself somehow, the fact that she thought I was gutsy, like Jo.

‘Cheers,’ she said, passing me a glass. We clinked them together.

‘Cheers,’ I echoed thoughtfully.

On Thursday, I had a phone call from Annie while I was at work. ‘Hi, Evie,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a problem. The café hasn’t been open for the last few days, and—’

‘
What
?’ I asked. Denise, the clerk with a perfect blonde ponytail and pale eyelashes, who worked nearest me, shot a nosy sideways glance my way and I lowered my voice. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I went along to deliver the cakes yesterday morning and the place was all closed up,’ she said. ‘I had to go to work, so I couldn’t hang about, unfortunately. Then I tried popping back last night, but it was still closed. It hasn’t been open today, either. I don’t know what Carl’s up to, but I thought you should know.’

‘Oh, shit,’ I groaned, earning myself another look from Denise, and one from Tweedy Brian, the office manager, who stood up and glared sternly at me over the partition between our desks. ‘Just what I didn’t need. I’ll give Carl a ring to see what he’s playing at. Thanks, Annie.’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let me know if I can do anything to help.’

‘Cheers,’ I said, ringing off. I got to my feet. ‘Just nipping out for some fresh air,’ I said. ‘Anyone want a coffee?’

Tweedy Brian eyed the wall clock.
Jobsworth alert.
‘Morning break isn’t for another twelve minutes,’ he said, all prim and disapproving. His fleshy chin wobbled as he spoke and I had the sudden urge to flick a paper clip at it.

‘Ah well, I won’t tell if you don’t, Bri,’ I said, smiling brightly and walking through the office.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Excuse me, Miss . . . um . . .’

‘I think her name’s Eva,’ Denise put in, sounding thoroughly uninterested, as if she was talking about sanitary towels.

‘It’s
Evie
,’ I said, without breaking my stride, ‘and I’ll be back in five minutes, okay?’ I could hear Tweedboy protesting, and there were a few indignant sniffs as I went through the door, but I ignored the lot of them. I hated office politics. All that pettiness about who owned which stapler, and who hadn’t replaced the toner in the photocopier, and who had the cheek to walk out of the office twelve minutes before morning break.
For God’s sake
, I felt like shouting.
None of this matters!

Outside the office, I perched on a wall and dialled Carl’s mobile number. It was eleven in the morning, so he should have been in the café for the last hour, but he sounded as if I’d woken him up, once he finally answered. ‘Yeah?’ he said.

‘Carl, it’s Evie,’ I said crisply. ‘Annie’s just phoned and told me that the café hasn’t been open for the last few days. I was wondering—’

‘Oh, yeah, I meant to tell you about that,’ he said, his voice sounding thick and groggy. I heard him puffing on a cigarette and hoped it wasn’t anywhere near my stock. Where was he?

‘Tell me what?’ I snapped. ‘Because—’

‘Excuse me,’ came a loud male voice from behind me.

I looked up to see a burly security guard leaning out of the reception door. ‘Can’t sit there, love. Could you move along, please.’

Move along, please. Like he was a flaming police officer. ‘I work here,’ I said huffily. ‘I’m just making a quick phone call, that’s all.’

‘Yeah, well, whatever you’re doing, can you do it somewhere else, please. Thank you.’ He had one of those potato faces, piggy eyes and jowly cheeks. He was tall and overweight, and looked uncomfortable in his uniform; the kind of man you could imagine perspiring pinkly on warm days. ‘Now, please,’ he prompted when I didn’t move.

I tutted and rolled my eyes. What was it with these jobsworths anyway? This office seemed to attract them, with strange magnetic powers. Then I stood up, taking my time to walk all of two feet away from the office door. ‘Are you still there, Carl?’ I asked. ‘Sorry about that. So, as I was saying . . .’

‘I was gonna ring you later anyway,’ he interrupted. ‘Tell you that I’ve quit.’

I stopped dead, as if someone had just shot me with a tranquillizer gun. ‘You’ve . . . quit?’ I repeated. The word rebounded around my head like an echo. ‘What do you mean? You can’t just quit on me.’

I heard him puffing out the cigarette smoke – puff, puff, puff – as if blowing smoke rings. ‘Well, sorry,’ he said. ‘But I got a better offer. I’m working at a place in Tregarrow. Started yesterday.’

‘Nice of you to tell me,’ I said, feeling helpless with frustration. I wanted to scream. ‘You need to give me more notice than that, Carl, you can’t just walk out!’

There was a pause while I imagined him shrugging. ‘Well, I just did,’ he said.

I gritted my teeth. ‘So you did,’ I said, wanting to strangle him. ‘I guess that’s that, then.’ I hung up, then kicked the wall so hard, I thought I’d broken my big toe. ‘Fuck!’ I yelled into the car park. ‘SHIT! And BOLLOCKS!’

‘I’ve got to go down there,’ I said to Matthew that night. ‘I’ve just got to. There’s no chef now Carl’s walked out, which means there’s no money coming in. I’ve had Annie making cakes that aren’t going anywhere – it’s a disaster. I’ve got to sort it out.’

He nodded as if he’d been expecting this. We were sitting having a Chinese takeaway (his choice) in front of a TV talent show (my choice). He watched dispassionately as a so-called talking Pekinese dog remained mute, much to its spangly-dressed owner’s despair. ‘Come on, Ruffles,’ she cooed. ‘Tell everyone your name.’

‘I mean, I’ve got to,’ I said, waving my fork in the air. Several grains of rice fell from it like tiny snowflakes. ‘When I rang Annie back, she said she’d keep any eye on the property for me, but all the same, I can’t leave it abandoned.’

He opened his mouth as if he was going to ask about my temp job, but then closed it again. He already knew the answer.

‘Come on, Ruffles,’ the despairing granny trilled on the telly. ‘Just say your name, darling. Say “Ruffles” for the nice people. Say “Ruffles”.’

BUZZZ, went one of the judges, pressing a button to vote her off.

‘And . . . to be honest,’ I said, ‘I might have to stay there for some time. Hire a new chef, keep everything ticking along.’

Matthew was sitting there as mute as poor old Ruffles. It made me feel edgy. ‘Why aren’t you saying anything?’ I asked.

He sighed and put down his fork on his congealing chow mein. ‘Evie, if you go . . .’ he said, and then pressed his lips together without finishing the sentence.

My heart boomed painfully inside me. I knew what he was going to say. And I kind of wanted him to say it, yet at the same time was terrified of hearing the words.

BUZZZ, went the second judge on the TV panel, Simon Cowell, rolling his eyes and looking impatient.

‘Matthew,’ I said quickly, before he could go on. ‘Maybe—’

‘I think you should go,’ he said, as if he couldn’t hear me. ‘I can tell that’s where your heart is.’

His old-fashioned terminology made my eyes prickle. ‘My heart is here too,’ I tried saying. ‘But—’