The Beach Cafe (15 page)

‘Evie, I’d love to chat, but I really need to get on with these pasties,’ he answered now, and I felt I was being politely but firmly blocked. ‘Okay?’

I raised my eyebrows, but he still wasn’t looking my way and didn’t notice. ‘Fine,’ I said, walking briskly out of the kitchen. So he didn’t want to talk about it. That was cool. That was okay. It wasn’t like I’d officially employed him or anything, anyway. He was just doing me a favour, being here and helping out for a few days. I couldn’t exactly throw a hissy fit and start demanding answers, could I?

All the same, even though it was none of my business, Ed’s reticence was kind of strange. Kind of . . . mysterious. I made myself another cup of tea and began chalking up the new pasty fillings on the menu, trying to put the whole thing out of my head.

I opened the café at nine to a trickle of early, breakfast-seeking customers, then my new employee rocked up (five minutes early – perfect) and got stuck in straight away. I could tell almost immediately that she was one of those easy-going, unflappable types, who had a smile for every customer and wasn’t scared to get her hands dirty. A million times better than sulky Saffron and nice-but-dim Seb, that was for sure.

‘So how long have you been in the UK?’ I asked, between customers.

‘Six months,’ she said. ‘Mostly working in London, but I spent a few weeks up in Edinburgh and Glasgow seeing rellies and travelling around. It’s great down here, though. Really beautiful. I’m a beach girl at heart – I’ve missed the sea.’

I smiled. ‘I think I’m a beach girl at heart too,’ I told her.

Between serving teas, coffees and pasties (the new ones looked and smelled every bit as delicious as yesterday’s), I found out that she still had six months before she had to return to Australia, and was now saving up for a jaunt around Europe before then. ‘I’d love to go to Paris,’ she sighed dreamily. ‘And spend a week or two in Italy. And Amsterdam sounds cool, oh, and Barcelona . . .’ She grinned. ‘So it’s awesome that you’ve given me a job here. I’ll take as many shifts as you can chuck my way.’

‘I might take you up on that,’ I said.

Ed stayed in the kitchen most of the morning, but when I gave Rachel a break, at half-eleven, and was the only one behind the counter, he brought orders out to me, to save me dashing to and fro the whole time. He’d just carried through two hot Cornish pasties to go, when something strange happened.

‘Hey,’ said my customer, a middle-aged woman with white-blonde highlights, a St-Tropez tan and designer sunglasses propped on her head. She was staring at Ed. ‘I know you from somewhere, don’t I?’

She had one of those crisp, well-spoken voices that you can’t help but pay attention to. Interested – and yes, all right, with some nosiness – I looked from her face to his, only to see Ed flush red and come over more awkward than I’d ever seen him. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said quickly, passing over the bag of pasties and backing away.

‘Yes, I’ve definitely seen you,’ she persisted, her voice clipped and self-assured. She tapped a polished red fingernail on the counter thoughtfully. ‘Definitely . . .’ Then a look of triumph appeared on her face. ‘That’s it! Weren’t you the chef from – oh, what’s the name of that place?’

‘No, sorry,’ he said, edging away into the kitchen. ‘I just work here. I’m not anybody.’

There was an awkward silence after he’d disappeared, and the woman stared after him, puzzled. ‘Strange,’ she said. ‘I was sure it was him. I’m very good with faces usually.’

I bit my lip. Why was Ed being so damn shifty? ‘That’s four pounds, please,’ I said politely.

She handed over the money, still looking perplexed. ‘Could have sworn it was him,’ she said to herself. ‘Thank you.’

Ed didn’t come out of the kitchen for the rest of the day. There was something odd going on, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask why he was behaving so secretively. The last thing I wanted was for him to be annoyed by my questions and – God forbid – walk out, just when he was becoming so indispensable.

All the same, I wasn’t a fool. Anyone could see there was something big that he wasn’t telling me. I just had to find a way of discovering what the hell he had to be so mysterious about.

The afternoon passed without any huge dramas. The pasties were proving very popular, with the classic Cornish being our bestseller of the day, closely followed by the chicken-and-vegetable. I still hadn’t decided on my own particular favourite. I thought it had been the chicken, until I’d tried a lamb-and-mint one on my lunch break, which had been so delicious, it had thrown me into turmoil. By the end of the day, we’d sold every last one of our pasties, and all the cakes too. Rachel had been fab: chatty and hard-working and, best of all, told me she had a mate, Leah, who was due to arrive in Cornwall imminently and would be looking for a job. ‘So if you need another waitress, she’s your woman,’ she told me. ‘Heaps of experience, hard-working and a good laugh.’

‘Sounds just about perfect to me,’ I replied. Result!

I was in such a cheerful mood that even the thought of going out with Ruth that evening didn’t annoy me. ‘I am just as good as you, Ruth,’ I practised saying into the mirror after I’d put on my lippy. ‘Just as good. Amber says so, so it must be true.’

Ruth drove a big Ford Galaxy, with Hugo and Isabelle strapped into the back seats, and Thea in the middle. She and her husband were in the front, so I pulled open the sliding door on the side and peered into the back. ‘Evening, all,’ I said. ‘Are you having a lovely holiday?’

‘Yeaaaahhh!’ the kids chorused.

‘We went to a fantastic castle today in Launceston, didn’t we, children?’ Ruth said. ‘Super views from the keep.’

‘And we went on a boat,’ Isabelle said. ‘But Hugo was a bit sick, weren’t you, Hugo?’

Hugo ignored his sister. ‘You get to sit next to Thea, Aunty Evie,’ he said, leaning forward. He was only nine, but had a lofty air of authority about him; I could imagine him in the House of Commons addressing the Prime Minister in similar fashion in years to come. That was if he hadn’t been elected Prime Minister himself, of course. Knowing Ruth, she was already grooming him for the top spot. ‘Me and Isabelle don’t like sitting with her, cos she’s so naughty.’

‘Yes, do hop in, and we can get going,’ Ruth said, from the driver’s seat.

Two-year-old Thea gave me a dazzling smile as I clambered inelegantly in. ‘Nice dwess,’ she said, reaching over and patting the fabric with a sticky hand. ‘Nice dwess, Aunty Weevie.’

Hugo and Isabelle fell about in hoots of mirth behind us. ‘Aunty
Weevie
! She thinks you do lots of wees!’ Isabelle spluttered.

‘Isabelle!’ Ruth snapped, turning and glaring in disapproval. ‘Let’s not have any naughty words, please. Sorry, Evie. They’re overexcited.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ I said, clipping on my seatbelt. ‘As long as it’s not Aunty Poovie, of course. I might have to put my foot down about being called that.’

There were shocked screams of delight from the back seat. ‘Aunty
Poovie
!’ Isabelle squealed, nearly wetting herself, while Hugo snorted with laughter, very much like a breathless warthog. ‘Aunty POOVIE!’

A certain tightness appeared around my sister’s mouth as she drove away. Oops. ‘Evie, please don’t encourage them,’ she said in a strained voice. ‘I do my best to keep toilet humour out of family life, but . . .’

‘Mummy say TOILET!’ Thea announced joyfully, and then they were all off again. Their shrieks of laughter were infectious, and I couldn’t help joining in.

‘That’s enough, kids,’ Tim said, although I was sure I caught sight of him smirking to himself. ‘Settle down.’

I felt partly to blame for the decline in conversational standards, and tried to make amends. ‘So, whereabouts are you staying?’ I asked politely, as Ruth left Carrawen and navigated a tight bend at a safe twenty-two miles per hour. A line of traffic was already building up behind us.

‘A little cottage just outside Rock,’ Ruth replied. ‘We’ve been there the last few years too, so it’s almost home-from-home now.’

I had a sudden image of her telling Oxford friends about ‘their little place down in Cornwall’, as if it was a second home that they owned, while omitting to mention that it belonged to somebody else and they were merely renting it. I was probably being unfair, though. Be
nice
, Evie, make an effort.

‘Sounds good,’ I said. ‘And you’re here for the whole week?’

‘Yes, we’re very lucky,’ Ruth said. Much as I loved my sister (I did, honestly), I wished she didn’t have such smugness in her voice. ‘Tim’s managed to get the full week off work, so we’re staying until Saturday.’ She frowned as she turned a corner and saw a juddering tractor ahead. ‘Oh God, a tractor,’ she said. ‘That’s all we need. I don’t know how people stand driving around here.’

We slowed to a crawl in the wake of the tractor. The cars behind seized chances to overtake in daring bursts of acceleration, but Ruth didn’t seem to consider this an option. I was starting to feel hungry, and slid an arm across my belly. This could turn out to be a long journey.

I turned to smile at Hugo and Isabelle. ‘Anyone want a game of “I Spy”?’

‘So,’ Ruth said, some time later, when we were finally sitting in the restaurant, having ordered our food. ‘This is nice.’

It
was
nice. ‘Naice’ even, if you had that kind of plummy accent, which plenty of the diners here did. It was a place in Tregarrow that had been recommended in Tim’s AA holiday guide and was full of couples who bore distinct resemblances to Ruth and Tim, all wearing Boden, with confident-voiced prep-school children in tow, called things like Henry and Celia. By the time we’d arrived there, though, Thea had fallen asleep and was now grumpy and red-faced, Hugo and Isabelle were bored and complaining, and my tummy had been rumbling for at least twenty minutes. It had also started sheeting down with rain.

‘Bit fancier than the café, eh?’ Tim said condescendingly. ‘You could get some tips from this place, Evie.’

‘Mmm,’ I said, trying not to rise to his jibe. Oh, sod it, I couldn’t hold back. I was fed up with being talked down to, on my own turf as well. ‘Different kind of outlet though, really, Tim,’ I said, equally patronizingly. ‘My customers come in off the beach, rather than dress up for the occasion, so you can’t really compare. Although we are looking into expanding, to an evening opening, so . . .’

‘Are you?’ Ruth asked in surprise. She shot an annoyed look over at Hugo, who was twirling his fork round and round, rather too near Isabelle. ‘Give that to me,’ she hissed, reaching over and snatching it from him. ‘We don’t want it going in someone’s eye.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve got this new chef in, who’s keen to try an evening service at weekends, so I thought we’d give it a go.’ Not that Ed and I had discussed the evening thing any further, I realized. I hoped he hadn’t gone off the idea now that he’d actually had the experience of working alongside me. ‘The thing about being your own boss,’ I said loftily, well aware that I was sinking to their depths, ‘is that you can change things around however you want to.’
Take that, you mere employees, you
, I wanted to add.
Shove
that
in your company pension plan.

‘Obviously you need to get the right menu for an evening service,’ Tim said wisely. Clearly all his years as an academic had given him a razor-sharp insight into the restaurant business.

‘Well, yes, obviously,’ I replied, resisting the urge to add a rude ‘DUH!’

‘And obviously you need to have enough staff,’ Ruth advised me. She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘It looked pretty hectic when we came in yesterday – oh, I did feel for you. I could tell you were having a tough time.’

I could feel my fists clenching under the table.
You are every bit as good as she is
, Amber had told me. I was struggling to hang on to that now.

‘I wanted to try the ice cream in your café, Aunty Evie, but Mummy said we couldn’t,’ Isabelle said, slipping her hand into mine.

I gave it a squeeze. ‘Well, you’ll have to come back another time then,’ I told her, trying my damnedest not to let Ruth get to me.
Has she ever had the balls to do anything spontaneous or reckless? No.
‘We’ve got lots of yummy flavours, Izzy. Raspberry ripple, chocolate, mint choc-chip – what’s your favourite?’

She smiled at me. She was sweet, Isabelle, with her freckles and dark bob, which fell into a fringe just above her eyes. ‘Chocolate,’ she said, her hazel eyes round and solemn.

Thea perked up from her high chair where she’d been playing with a little cuddly dog. ‘Me want chocolate,’ she said. ‘Chocolate now?’

‘Thea thinks we’re going to have chocolate now!’ Hugo guffawed, as if this was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. ‘She thinks this is a chocolate restaurant, where all you get is chocolate!’

‘Well, Thea is—’ Ruth began.

‘And everything is MADE of chocolate!’ Isabelle interrupted. ‘Even the chairs and table!’ She pretended to nibble on the wooden table. ‘Deeee-licious!’

‘Ooh, that would be good,’ I said, smiling at her. ‘I’m going to eat your chair, Izzy. Yum-yum!’

‘Stop that, Isabelle,’ Tim snapped.

‘I’m going to eat Thea’s high chair, then she’ll be able to escape and do naughty things,’ Hugo said, leaning over and pretending to bite it.

Thea squealed in excitement and biffed him on the head with her spotty dog. I laughed – they were so much funnier than I’d remembered, my nephew and nieces – but Ruth and Tim had disapproving expressions.

‘Behave yourselves,’ Ruth hissed. ‘This is a nice restaurant, it’s not a . . . play-barn. People are looking.’

Nobody was looking at all, she was imagining it, but Isabelle, clearly in a silly mood now, pulled a funny face and waved. ‘Hello, people,’ she giggled.

‘Hello, people-weeple,’ Thea echoed.

‘She said WEEPLE,’ Hugo spluttered. ‘That’s what you call people who do lots of wees!’

‘Hugo, Isabelle and Thea, that is ENOUGH,’ Tim said in a dangerous-sounding low voice. The giggles and snorts stopped immediately, all gleefulness killed off in an instant.

‘Sorry, Daddy,’ Hugo said, looking down at his lap.