The Beach Cafe (22 page)

Standing up on the clifftop seemed the wrong place to be having this conversation, though. Anyone could wander along and interrupt; I didn’t want Ed to be put off again. ‘Why don’t we go back to the café and talk about it there,’ I suggested. I pointed at the camera. ‘I promise I won’t try and take a photo of you.’

He smiled weakly at my rubbish joke. ‘Good idea,’ he said, whistling to Lola, who’d gone to sniff at a rabbit hole. ‘Let’s do it.’

We wandered back together, and he began asking about my camera and what I’d been taking photos of up on the cliffs. We got into a conversation about photography, and the type of pictures we both liked best, and by the time we’d got back to the café he was offering to give me surfing lessons if I gave him photography lessons. I agreed, laughing, because I knew it wouldn’t really happen, that it was one of those stupid things you went along with at the time. Besides, he was only here a few weeks longer, wasn’t he, while he was dog-sitting. I had a sudden pang at how much I would miss him when he left Carrawen, and stopped laughing abruptly.

Nevertheless, the awkwardness from earlier had melted away by now, and it felt as if we were mates again. My note was still on the café door, but there was a new line written underneath it –
Gone to Rachel’s becos her mate is making us curry! She says you are welcome too!
– in Phoebe’s rounded, girlish hand, followed by an address.

I smiled. ‘She’s sweet, isn’t she?’ I said, taking down the note and unlocking the door. ‘Come on in. Fancy a drink?’

A brief chat over a glass of wine, that was what I’d envisaged, followed by an early night and nine hours’ sleep. But no. As I was pouring the wine, Ed asked something about my sisters, and then somehow or other we ended up having this whole conversation about siblings and families, which turned into stories from childhood, through to embarrassing teenager anecdotes, and then more widely, on to stuff like music and books and films. By now, of course, I had completely forgotten the point of him coming here, and that he hadn’t actually explained his odd behaviour the night before. He seemed to have forgotten too. It was only when I was trying to persuade him that
Grease
was a way better film than
Citizen Kane
, for oh, so many reasons, that we realized we’d sunk two bottles of wine and were both ravenous. How had that happened?

‘I’ll make us something if you like,’ he said, getting to his feet and lurching rather unsteadily towards the kitchen. ‘What do you fancy?’

The dog lifted her head drowsily from where she’d dozed off under the table and watched him go. I was watching him too, but for some reason my eyes had gravitated to his bottom. What did I fancy? Um . . .

‘Anything,’ I replied, dragging my gaze away and blinking hurriedly. What was wrong with me? I was as bad as Colin the Human Slimeball, perving after my own chef. ‘A piece of toast or something. A sandwich,’ I said, following him into the kitchen. Gawd, I thought, as I bashed my hip on the doorway, unable to walk in a straight line. I was kind of squiffy, it had to be said.

He gave me a look. ‘Is that what you usually have for dinner: a piece of toast?’ he asked. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got this great big kitchen, with every utensil a chef could ever desire, and all you make yourself is
toast
?’

I shrugged guiltily. ‘Yeah,’ I admitted. ‘Sometimes with cheese on top,’ I added, as if that made it all right.

He rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘What are you like?’ he laughed. ‘God!’

But then he caught my gaze and everything went a bit strange, as if we couldn’t stop looking at one another. He was smiling at me, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and it was so full-on all of a sudden that my insides turned swimmy and I started to worry I was going cross-eyed.

‘What
are
you like?’ he repeated softly and reached a hand to my face, his fingers just caressing my skin with their tips.

A shiver rippled through me and my heart seemed to stop beating. And then he leaned forwards and kissed me, his arm encircling me so that I was pulled in against him. His lips were soft and I shut my eyes, and then the blood was rushing around my face, pulsing beneath my skin, and my heart
was
beating after all – it was pounding in fact – and I could hardly breathe because it felt so good and so natural to be kissing him, right there in my kitchen . . .

Then he drew away, looking agonized. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Evie,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I’m really sorry.’

‘No,’ I said, grabbing his hand, ‘don’t be sorry.’ I was about to tell him how much I’d been enjoying it – and hell, let’s just carry on with that kissing thing – but the words died in my throat as I noticed how mortified he looked, as if kissing me had been a truly terrible idea. Maybe it had been a truly terrible
experience
for him too, I couldn’t tell from his expression. Either way, he was clearly regretting it, big time.

I looked at the floor. ‘You’re probably right,’ I said miserably. ‘We’re both a bit tipsy. Got carried away.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. He cleared his throat. ‘That’s right. I know you’ve just come out of a relationship, and . . . and so have I. Not the best time for either of us.’

It was news to me about his relationship, but I tried to look nonchalant. ‘We’re as bad as each other,’ I said breezily. ‘Rebounding all over the place like a couple of . . . of . . . balls.’ I cringed at the terrible choice of word. ‘Well, not
balls
as in
balls
,’ I said, then groaned. ‘Oh God, Evie, just shut up. Sorry,’ I garbled. ‘Drunk and lost the plot, that’s me. But anyway. No more kissing – I get it. Not practical, if we’re both going to work together. So . . .’ I closed my eyes, wishing with every ounce of my being that a kindly relationship-god might come to my rescue with a lightning bolt, or an earth tremor, or some other distraction. Unfortunately not.

‘I probably should make a move,’ he was saying. ‘Home, I mean’, as if there was any danger I might think he meant making a move on
me.

‘Yeah,’ I agreed, nodding far more vigorously than I needed to. ‘Home. Of course. Don’t worry about the toast, I’ll make my own. Oh!’ I had just remembered about the explaining he was meant to have done – his whole reason for coming back and having a drink in the first place. I shook the thought out of my head. I wasn’t going to ask him about all that now, I decided. That could wait for another day. Right now I wanted him to go, so that I could be on my own and get my head around the fact that we’d just had the most erotic kissing session I’d ever had, right here in this kitchen.

‘Oh?’ he prompted.

I gave him a super-fake smile. ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

I stayed in the kitchen while he left with Lola, then cradled my head in my hands and let out a gigantic groan. It was the damsel-in-distress thing that had kicked this all off, it had to be. I must have some faulty wiring somewhere in my brain that was causing these mad, lusty feelings to course through my body whenever somebody rescued me from a perilous situation. Either that, or I was far too drunk for my own good and needed to go to bed.

I made myself some toast while I thought about it, the feeling of his body against mine still making me tingle all over.

Chapter Twenty

I woke up the next morning feeling embarrassed and slightly sick that I’d kissed Ed during a mad Pinot moment.
What are you like
? he’d said in that teasing, affectionate way. It was a good question. What
was
I like, getting into a drunken clinch with him at the drop of a hat. Matthew hadn’t even crossed my mind until Ed had broken away and started mumbling about us both being on the rebound. I’d been too engrossed in that kiss, the sudden leap of blood I’d felt, the excitement that had fluttered up through me. Not him, though. His thoughts had turned to his ex, whoever the hell she was. I wondered if she was the reason he’d run off to Cornwall in the first place. Had she broken his heart? He’d said something about wanting to get away from London, back when Amber and I had first spoken to him in the pub, hadn’t he? Typical. The first decent kiss I’d had in ages, and it was with a guy who was clearly hung up on his ex. No wonder he’d left in such a hurry last night; probably couldn’t wait to get away from me.

Ten minutes after he’d left the door had opened again, and my spirits had soared – he’d come back! – but it was only Phoebe, of course. Thankfully she’d been so full of tales of swimming and curry, and Rachel’s cool backpacker flatmates, that she hadn’t noticed the flush on my cheeks or the slightly deranged look in my eyes. I’d made my excuses and crawled off to bed, where the kiss had swum around and around in my head, even making its way into my dreams, where it had developed into a full-blown X-rated scene, with clothes flying off in all directions, and . . . well, you get the picture.

And now it was the cold light of day, and Ed and I were due to work together again in just a couple of hours. That was going to be . . . interesting. I would need to resurrect all my old acting skills if I was going to get through the shift without giving away how I felt about him now.

I sat up and pulled on my dressing gown, not quite sure how I
did
feel about him now. I had wanted to kiss him (and the rest), and found him attractive, and funny, and
nice
, but . . . It was complicated. Too complicated to think about coherently with a hangover, that was for sure. Anyway. These things happened. We were both adults and could get over it. Right?

Ed gave me a look when he came into work that morning – a swift, searching, are-we-cool? sort of look – to which I responded with a quick, business-like smile, hopefully conveying the message:
You bet we are cool, never been cooler, cool as the coolest cucumber, that’s me
. We were busy in the café that day, without a lot of downtime to chat, so there wasn’t the ideal moment for either of us to refer to what had happened in any greater depth. This was probably for the best, I figured. I mean, nobody likes those excruciating kinds of conversation, do they? We’d already done the
Oops. Sorry we kissed. Shouldn’t have done
thing. I didn’t want him to go on about what a mistake it had been, all over again. Because, in all honesty, it hadn’t felt much of a mistake to me at the time. It had felt really lovely.

At the end of the Sunday shift I gave Rachel and Ed their wages, making sure that Rachel had her tips from Friday night. ‘The café will be closed tomorrow,’ I said. ‘We all need a day off. So I’ll see you both on Tuesday morning, okay?’

‘A day off !’ Ed said teasingly. ‘What are you going to do with yourself?’

‘I have no idea,’ I replied. ‘Get on the beach and work on my tan, hopefully. I’m pale as anything, being in here all week. And actually . . .’ I swallowed. I had to be honest with him, lay all the cards on the table. ‘I’ve got some job applications that I should look through too. People who want to take the chef ’s job here.’ I plastered on a false, bright smile. ‘So you won’t have to put up with working with me for too much longer, you’ll be glad to hear.’

‘Oh,’ he said. He looked hurt, which I hadn’t been expecting. I hoped he didn’t think I was booting him out because of the kiss. I so
wasn’t.
If anything, the kiss had made me want him to stay even more. He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh well, thank God for that,’ he said jokily. ‘It’s been a nightmare.’

There was a rather strained silence. ‘You did say you only wanted to be here a week or two, didn’t you?’ I said, just to be certain.

‘Yeah, absolutely,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure you can find someone much more suitable than me, someone who won’t bite journalists’ heads off or—’

‘I’m sure we
won’t
find anyone better than you,’ I told him. ‘But needs must, and all that.’

‘Right,’ he said stiffly. ‘Well, enjoy your head-hunting then. See you Tuesday.’

‘See you Tuesday,’ Rachel echoed, waving a hand. ‘And thanks for the money. I’ll try not to spend it all in the pub tonight.’

I watched them go, feeling as if Ed had completely misread me. Surely he didn’t think I wanted to get rid of him because of the journalist debacle? It had annoyed me, yes, but not enough to give him the boot. I didn’t
want
him to go; I really liked him. I’d come to rely on him, to trust his judgement as a colleague and a friend. But . . .

I sighed. Perhaps it was as well to get another chef in fast, after that kiss. It had made it hard to concentrate all day, being in close proximity to him, especially when I’d taken orders into the kitchen where it had all kicked off between us.

‘They’re nice, those two, aren’t they?’ Phoebe said, interrupting my thoughts. ‘Rachel and Ed, I mean. Really friendly.’

‘Yeah, they’re great,’ I said, wondering where this was going. She was looking out of the window at the big waves outside, and there was something wistful and far-away about her face. Was she homesick? I wondered. ‘What are your friends like back home?’ I asked.

Her eyes lit up. ‘They’re fab,’ she said. ‘Really funny and mad. We all hang out together and borrow each other’s clothes and do each other’s hair. Polly is the craziest one, she’s just totally outrageous like, oh my God, is she for real, kind of thing. And Rosa is like the most beautiful person in the world, and all the boys fancy her big time. Zoe is arty and wears weird vintage stuff, but always looks amazing, and Sasha is really brainy like this mega-geek who can remember loads of phone numbers and stuff, but so gobby she’s always getting into trouble.’ She wrapped her arms around herself as she stood there. ‘I kind of miss them,’ she said after a moment. ‘I wish they were all here as well. We’d have a right laugh.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I said. ‘I miss my friends, especially my best friend Amber. It’s hard coming somewhere new, where you don’t know anybody, isn’t it?’ I got my phone from my pocket and held it out to her. ‘Why don’t you give one of them a ring for a gossip?’ I suggested.

‘Really?’ she asked. She was looking at my phone so yearningly, it was as if she could have eaten it. ‘Are you sure? Oh, cool, thanks.’

I busied myself with the cashing up while she took the phone upstairs to find the number on her out-of-credit mobile. I could hear snatches of laughter and conversation floating down every now and then. ‘No WAY!’ I heard her squeal. ‘Oh. My. GOD!’

I smiled to myself. It was nice to hear her sounding like a teenager for once, all giggly and high-pitched, rather than a stressed-out mini grown-up having to tough it out independently.

I made a plate of salad and helped myself to the last chicken pasty we had, then poured a glass of cold rosé and took the whole lot outside onto the deck. The sea was wild and bucking, with romping great waves, and the surfers were out riding them, their black wetsuits glistening in the surf like sealskin, their boards becoming part of their bodies as they rode in, arms outstretched, muscles taut. One of them had a dog that was bounding about excitedly in the shallows, tail wagging, barking for joy, and with a sudden jolt I realized that it was Lola, Ed’s dog. Did that mean Ed was one of the surfers?

My heart was pounding that extra bit quicker as I peered down at the sea, trying to pick him out. Then I saw Lola going mental as one particular surfer swerved into shore, and then he was laughing and petting her, while her tail was a frenzy of happiness. Ah. Gotcha.

I sipped my wine and watched him, a blush creeping into my cheeks. He was the only one not in a wetsuit, and my eyes were drawn to his lean, flat torso and his muscular arms, all tanned an even, golden brown above the long black trunks he was wearing. Water dripped off him as he picked up his board and waded back into the waves.
Phwooarr
, I found myself thinking, remembering the kiss and my dirty dream, and then jerked in my seat, cross with myself. No, not ‘Phwooarr’! He was my
chef
, my
employee
, not an object of lust to perv over, I reminded myself sternly. An employee nursing a broken heart, no less.

But then again . . . ‘Corrrr,’ I marvelled, forgetting all of this in an instant, as he paddled out on his board, then waited for the next big wave to roll in. He had a lovely back and shoulders – rippling and beefy. Who would have thought, to look at him in his chef whites?

Moments later, the sea bulged and rocked with the force of an incoming wave – whoosh, there it went – and there he went too, up on his board as the wave crested, holding his balance as he surged into shore, bringing him and a couple of other guys racing in with it. I realized I was holding my breath as I watched, only to let it all out in a rush of relief as he reached the shallows and Lola bounded up to greet him.

She wasn’t the only one to run over to him. Another surfer, clad in a black and electric-blue wetsuit, jumped off her board and high-fived him, and I was sure I heard them both laughing over the roar of the waves. It was Rachel.

Oh, right. Oh. Well, she had said she was a surfer, hadn’t she? So it shouldn’t have been all that surprising that they were down there together, but . . .

They hadn’t asked me, I thought childishly. I hadn’t been invited. Was it wrong of me to feel a prickle of jealousy at them enjoying themselves – frolicking, you could even say – in the surf, when they hadn’t thought to mention it to me? Don’t say he was rebounding from his ex, to me, to
her
?

Phoebe skipped out onto the deck just then, looking happier than I’d ever seen her. ‘Okay?’ I asked, needlessly. I turned my head away from the surfers, not wanting to see any more. Blood was throbbing around my face and throat, and I kept replaying the images I’d just seen. A variation of a childhood song began running through my head: ‘
Ed and Rachel splashing in the sea, S-U-R-F-I-N-G . . .
’

Phoebe beamed. ‘Awesome. I just talked to Zoe, and it was so cool to get all her gossip and hear what’s been happening. She’s like totally loved up with Max, this boy in our year, and she asked him to her birthday party as a dare, and he said YES! So she’s freaking out about it now and doesn’t know what to wear, and doesn’t know what to
think
, and . . .’

‘When’s her party?’ I asked casually.

‘It’s next Saturday,’ she replied, biting her thumbnail. She slumped into a chair and dangled her legs over its arm. ‘I wish I could go.’

‘Then go,’ I said. ‘What’s stopping you?’

She swung an arm around indicating the beach. ‘Well, cos I’m here. But . . .’

I sipped my wine, catching her gaze. ‘Come on. You might as well tell me what happened at home. Were things really so bad that you can’t go back for Zoe’s party? Don’t you think she needs you to be her right-hand gal, and help her and lovely Max get together?’

It all sounded a bit
Hollyoaks
to me, but Phoebe really did seem to be dithering at this. ‘Well . . .’

‘I know you and your mum fell out, but couldn’t you stay with Zoe for a while, or one of your other mates? Just until you sort things out with your family?’

She tipped her head back and stared up at the sky. ‘I guess,’ she said tentatively. ‘The thing is . . .’ And then the whole story poured out in a gush of words: how she’d always felt overlooked by her parents because her brother was disabled, and needed lots of extra care and attention, and how he took up most of their time. How she got fed up with feeling as if nobody cared about her, or asked how her day was, because they were so busy with Isaac. Why she had stopped bothering trying to do well at school, because she didn’t think anyone was interested.

‘Why bother trying to do well? For yourself, of course,’ I put in, but she wasn’t listening.

‘I started hanging around with Zoe and that lot, who are a “bad influence”, according to my mum,’ she went on, contempt in her voice. ‘And, finally, I felt like I was getting a reaction from Mum and Dad. For the first time ever they actually noticed what I was doing, what I was wearing, where I was going. I wasn’t “good little Phoebe” any more.’ She propped her head on one hand, her expression hard. ‘But the thing was, the more they went on at me, the more I felt like pissing them off. So . . .’

‘So it became a vicious circle,’ I said sympathetically.

‘Yeah,’ she said. She stared out to sea, shivering as a sudden breeze swept in from the waves. ‘And then, when I ran away, I thought they’d probably be glad I’d gone, glad they wouldn’t have to worry about me any more, now that they only had precious Isaac to bother about.’

‘No way,’ I said firmly. ‘There’s no way they’d think that. Look, you said yourself how upset your mum was on the phone. She’s probably been feeling massive guilt that it’s come to this. She and your dad must be desperate for you to come home and try again.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, her voice icy. I could see right through her, though, and was sure this was her hurt pride speaking.

‘What did Zoe say about you running away?’ I asked after a minute of silence.

‘She said they were all freaked out, they missed me, and . . .’ She stumbled over the words. ‘She said it wasn’t the same without me.’

‘Of course it isn’t!’

‘And she also said, if I wasn’t going to come back, could she have my hair straighteners, because they’re better than hers,’ she added, and a smile twisted her mouth upwards. ‘Cheeky cow.’

‘Well, that alone is worth going back for,’ I told her. ‘You can’t have one of your mates sneaking off with your good hair straighteners behind your back, can you?’