The Beach Cafe (23 page)

‘No.’

There was a pause. ‘I do really want to go to Zoe’s party,’ she mumbled.

‘I think you should,’ I replied. I pushed my phone back across the table to her. ‘Go on. Ring your mum again. Tell her what you told me – get it all off your chest. Zoe needs you. Your hair straighteners need you. Your mum and dad and brother need you. I know you might not believe me, but it’s true.’

I could tell by her face she was torn, really torn. Then she moved the phone back towards me. ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ she replied.

‘Okay,’ I said, not daring to push it any more. This much was a major breakthrough in itself, getting her even to consider the idea.

Then she was peering down at the sea. ‘Hey, look! There’s Ed, surfing.’

I turned back towards the water, grateful for the excuse to look, but at the same time not sure I wanted to see. What if Ed and Rachel were now writhing in the shallows together, snogging and getting it on, like a scene from
Blue Lagoon
?

Phoebe leaned over the balcony, waving both arms above her head. ‘Hellooooo!’ she bellowed.

Ed had just fallen off his surfboard, by the look of things, and was laughing. He waved back, then beckoned us down. ‘Come on in, you two,’ he yelled. ‘Water’s lovely.’ He was looking straight at me. ‘How about that first surfing lesson?’

‘Ha-ha-ha – I don’t think so,’ I said nervously to Phoebe. There was no way I was going to let him see me in my swimming costume, with my milk-white legs and cake-eater’s belly, especially now that I’d seen just how buff and hunky he looked in his. ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ I called back, smiling, but crossing my fingers under the table. ‘And maybe never,’ I muttered. I didn’t want to scare any small children with my beached-whale surfing attempts.

‘There’s Rachel too,’ Phoebe realized. ‘Whoa, check her out, she’s awesome!
Hello, Rachel
,’ she shouted, waving again. ‘Ooh,’ she said to me, ‘do you think there’s a thing going on between those two?’

I swallowed, feeling awkward. ‘Dunno,’ I mumbled.

‘God, he’s quite fit, isn’t he, old Ed?’ she went on, still leaning over, eyes fixed on their figures in the surf. ‘Nice bod. Look at his bum! Well juicy.’

I snorted, imagining Ed’s face if he could have heard her. Talking to her mate on the phone seemed to have transformed Phoebe into a different person – ten times livelier and cheekier. ‘Well juicy?’ I echoed, pulling a face at her. ‘What are you like?’

‘Bit old for me, though,’ she went on, still gazing down at him.

‘You don’t say.’ I smiled at her. ‘Are there any boys back home you’ve got your eye on, who might be at this party, then?’

‘Well . . . sort of.’ She sat down again, Ed and his juicy bum forgotten, as she told me about this boy she liked called Will, and how she’d fancied him for ages. He was totally hot apparently, but he’d been going out with Darcey Sheldon, who was queen bee of the whole school, so Phoebe didn’t think she had a chance – until Zoe had said just five minutes ago that she’d seen them arguing outside McDonald’s yesterday. Now Phoebe was hoping Will would dump Darcey and then . . .

I raised my eyebrows. ‘You’d better get in there quick, girl,’ I told her. ‘Forget your hair straighteners, and helping out your mate. That’s the best reason of all for going back to London, I reckon.’

She laughed. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Maybe.’

We sat out on the deck for a while longer, me with my wine, Phoebe with a Diet Coke, and she was chattier than I’d ever known her to be. She told me all about her mum, who ran a gift shop in Chelsea, and her dad, who was a journalist for
The Times
; and how she was in the middle of doing her A-levels and wanted to go into fashion design. The more she talked, the more I think she was convincing herself that it would be okay to go home, that it was maybe the right thing to do. I got the impression that what bothered her most was the idea that she’d be backing down somehow, losing face and letting her parents ‘win’, but I hoped she would decide that was a small price to pay ultimately.

She flung her arms around me when it got late and we both went up to bed. ‘Thanks, Evie,’ she said. ‘You are the coolest grown-up I’ve ever met.’

I hugged her back. ‘And you are definitely the coolest teenager I’ve ever met,’ I told her. ‘Goodnight.’

Chapter Twenty-One

On Monday, Phoebe went off to the beach first thing – it was a glorious day – while I got down to the thorny problem of my chef-hunt. I’d had another couple of job applications, but none were leaping out at me as must-employ types. The problem was, I wanted Ed – in more ways than one. After seeing him surfing, I’d had another enjoyably rude dream about him, where we’d been on the beach together and he’d ripped off my bikini (and hadn’t burst out laughing: this
was
a dream, after all) and then he’d ravished me on the sand, and I’d woken up, absolutely panting and yearning like something from a bad porn movie, and slightly concerned that I might have shouted his name out in my sleep and woken Phoebe.

The dream had disturbed me. It had been so real and so vivid, and I had imagined it all in such detail, too: him wrapping his arms around me, the feeling of his weight on my naked body, squeezing that juicy bum of his (Phoebe was dead right about that), even the noise he made when he came (quite loud and caveman-ish, if you must know). And of course, being a dream, there was no problem with sand creeping into intimate, sensitive areas. It had been wonderful.

I sighed. What an idiot I was, getting my knickers in a twist over him when he clearly wasn’t interested. It would be better for both of us if I found a new chef, so that he didn’t have to put up with me lusting over him every day. It was the grown-up, business-like thing to do. So I picked up the phone and called three of the applicants – the pub-restaurant chef, the chip-meister, and a woman who worked in a deli in Wadebridge – and invited them all in for an interview the following Monday.

There. I’d done it now. With a bit of luck, one of my interviewees would fit the bill perfectly, and I could let Ed go. Feeling strangely miserable about this, I took myself off to the beach with a big floppy sun hat and a fat novel, trying to put the whole thing out of my mind.
Aaaand relax
, I ordered myself, stretching out on the towel in the sunshine. If only it was that easy.

That evening Phoebe came in tanned and sandy, her hair tangled with salty sea water, and glowing with happiness. She’d bumped into Rachel, it turned out, and the two of them had gone out on a boat with a couple of Rachel’s backpacker mates all day. I had a pang of missing my own friends as she described their exploits, and wished I’d been there too. ‘It was so cool,’ she said. ‘We were diving and snorkelling, and we had a picnic on this deserted bay, just along the coast – I loved it.’ She smiled at me, her eyes sparkling greener than ever, now that her face was so brown. ‘It was the perfect end to my Cornwall adventure.’

My eyebrows shot up. ‘The perfect end . . . You’re going home?’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Talking to you yesterday and Rachel today, it just made my mind up. Friends and family are what it’s all about. And Will Francis too, obvs.’

I laughed. ‘Oh,
obvs
,’ I replied. ‘So, what’s the plan? Have you phoned home? When are you going?’

‘Mum and Dad are coming to get me tomorrow. Both of them.’ She made a sarcastic
wow
face. ‘Both taking time off work, and everything. Even leaving Isaac at home with my gran for the night. Cos I’m
that
important.’

I nudged her. ‘You
are
important, Pheebs. Don’t you forget that, now.’ There was a moment’s silence and I realized just how much I would miss her. Yeah, she’d been prickly and suspicious at first, and yeah, she was melodramatic and overemotional, but she was a sweetheart too – sparky and funny. ‘Oh God, I’m gonna miss you,’ I said, putting an arm around her. ‘And not just because you’re an ace waitress. Come on. If this is your last night with me, I’m going to take you out to dinner. Have a shower and get yourself dolled up. We’re going to the Fleece.’

The following day the café was open again. Annie came in with some lovely new cakes, including a cheesecake with fresh strawberries. Rachel and Ed arrived promptly for work, and I was able to be perfectly cool and professional with Ed, despite images of my X-rated dreams flashing into my head the moment I saw him. Rachel seemed all giggly and excitable for some reason, and at one point I even caught her singing along to a slushy ballad on the radio, as if she were thoroughly loved up herself. It gave me a strange feeling.
Do you think there’s a thing going on between those two?
Phoebe had asked, when we’d seen Ed and Rachel splashing about in the surf together, and I’d dismissed it at the time as being impossible. But she did seem suspiciously chirpy today . . .

No. Surely not. I was imagining things, having delusions like a madwoman.

Phoebe spent the entire morning watching the door, as her parents had arranged to meet her in the café. ‘I’m actually quite looking forward to seeing them again,’ she’d told me in the pub the night before. ‘I know it’s not suddenly going to be like, amazing between us, but . . . you know, I’ve made my point. Things are definitely going to be different. Better.’

‘Pheebs,’ I said to her now, seeing her eyes on the door for the millionth time, ‘I’m sure your mum and dad will be keen to see you, but it’ll take them – what? Five hours to get to Carrawen from London, I reckon. Even with the best will in the world, they won’t be here before this afternoon.’

She grinned. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m just twitchy,’ she said.

At about eleven o’clock Florence, the sweet silver-haired lady who’d been in the week before, appeared. ‘Happy birthday!’ I said, remembering in the nick of time the conversation we’d had last time. ‘What can I get you? Surely you’re going to have a piece of cake on your birthday – my treat?’

Her face creased into a smile. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said. ‘And a pot of tea, please.’

I took it over to her and, as we were fairly quiet, sat down opposite her. ‘How are things?’ I asked her. ‘Have you had a nice week?’

‘Well, it’s been quiet, you know,’ she said, daintily cutting her cake into small pieces. ‘Trying to keep myself busy, but . . .’

‘Not painting the town red, then,’ I said, smiling at her.

‘Not exactly,’ she said, pouring tea into her cup.

‘You know, Florence, I’ve been thinking about what you were saying last time you were in,’ I told her. ‘About feeling a bit lonely because you didn’t really know many people here. Well, the circumstances are slightly different for me, but I do understand how you feel. I’m new to the area too, and miss my old friends.’

She tilted her head expectantly, her eyes bright and bird-like, but said nothing.

‘So I was wondering . . .’ I began, hoping I wasn’t about to say something laughably stupid, ‘about having an open house here in the café one night a week. Women only. Just somewhere that people can come and have a chat and a piece of cake, bring a bottle of wine maybe, and get to know each other. A girls’-night-in sort of thing for whoever fancies it.’ I was about to go on, but she interrupted me.

‘What a lovely idea,’ she said. ‘I’d be all for it. It is beautiful, this part of the world, but there isn’t a huge amount going on in the evening. No bingo, no social club. It’s what the community needs, something like this.’

I could have hugged her. It was exactly what I hoped she’d say. ‘Brilliant,’ I replied. ‘I was thinking maybe this Thursday night for our first get-together. What do you reckon?’

She nodded. ‘Perfect. I’ll look forward to that. Girls’ night, eh?’ She giggled, looking twenty years younger as she did so. ‘Arthur would have loved that – me off on a girls’ night at the age of seventy-two!’

‘You’re as young as you feel,’ I reminded her. ‘Oh, and Florence, if you’re at a loose end tonight, a lad in the village is having an art show here. Seven o’clock. Free wine and nibbles. Might be nice to spend your birthday evening down here?’

She looked delighted. ‘That would be wonderful,’ she said. ‘I’ve been dreading today, spending it without Arthur. My son said he’d phone later on from America, but it’s not the same as actually being with people. I’d love to come along.’

Rachel was clearing tables nearby and strolled over. ‘Hey, Florence,’ she said. ‘I owe you a thank-you. After what you said last week, I plucked up the courage to contact my ex.’

‘Oooh!’ said Florence, pleased. ‘Good for you. And what happened?’

‘We’ve made up,’ she replied, grinning from ear to ear. ‘We had a really long talk last night, and both said sorry. Best of all, he’s coming to Cornwall next week!’

‘Oh, wow!’ I said. ‘That’s fab news.’ So
that
was why she’d been so I’m-in-the-mood-for-lurve. And of course she and Ed
weren’t
having a wild fling, after all. Never believed it for a second anyway.
Obvs
, as Phoebe would say.

‘Splendid,’ Florence agreed. ‘Well done. Now don’t you feel better for taking my advice?’

‘I do,’ Rachel said. ‘I feel so much better.’ She bent down and kissed Florence on the cheek. ‘Thank you. You’re my new life-guru, is that all right?’

‘Oh my!’ Florence said, turning a little pink. ‘I’m not quite sure what one of those is, but I’m happy that you’re happy, Rachel. And I’m glad that he’s seen sense too. Marvellous.’

‘I love a happy ending,’ I said, smiling at both of them. ‘Good on you, Rach.’

‘Thanks,’ she beamed. ‘The world is a better place when you’re in love. Wouldn’t you agree, Ed?’ she called over as he came out of the kitchen.

He shrugged, looking rather bad-tempered. ‘How the hell should I know?’ he muttered, dumping an order on the counter.

Ouch. I found myself wincing, but Rachel merely seemed amused. ‘Oh dear,’ she said in a stage whisper, ‘there’s someone who could do with some of your love-life advice, Florence.’

‘Goodness,’ she said, eyes twinkling. ‘A nice-looking lad like him, you’d have thought he’d have the ladies flocking around him.’

I could feel my cheeks turning red. She was probably right. For all I knew, he might be the number one Carrawen hottie, with girls constantly falling at his feet. And here was me, with my silly great crush on him. ‘I’d better get back to work,’ I said lightly, before we had to talk about it any more.

Phoebe got increasingly excited as we neared midday, but from then onwards she sank further and further into gloom. ‘Where
are
they?’ she kept fretting, every half an hour or so. ‘Why aren’t they here yet?’

‘Pheebs, it’s a long drive, mate,’ Rachel reminded her. ‘Give them a chance. Even if they set off first thing, they’ll have had to stop for lunch and petrol at some point.’

‘It’s true,’ I told her. ‘They could be a while yet. Go and have your lunch break, and put them out of your mind. They’ll be here before too long, I’m sure.’

‘I hope they do turn up soon,’ Rachel said to me as Phoebe reluctantly sloped off. ‘She’s spent all this time being mad with them – I’d hate for them to screw things up, just as she’s come round to making peace.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘She’s going to take it so personally if they arrive really late – she’ll think the worst, that they don’t care, and then they’ll be back to square one.’ I sighed. ‘Come on, Mum and Dad. Don’t let her down now.’

At three o’clock, just as I thought Phoebe was about to burst into tears with every new tick of the clock, in came a well-dressed couple in their forties. The woman had the same high cheekbones and fair hair as Phoebe, only hers was styled in a chic graduated bob. The resemblance was unmistakable, though. She had a brisk, searching manner as she walked in – and then her eyes fell upon Phoebe, who had her arms full of crockery, and she let out a little cry.

‘Oh, darling,’ the woman said, rushing towards Phoebe, who dumped the crockery unseeingly on the nearest table and ran to meet her. ‘Oh, Phoebe!’

There was a tangle of arms, a tight embrace, muffled words of greeting. I could hear one or both of them crying. I had a lump in my throat, and exchanged a watery-eyed look with Rachel.

‘Hello, pickle,’ the man said gruffly, putting his arms around them and kissing the top of Phoebe’s head. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, smart trousers and expensive-looking shoes, and looked completely out of place in my café.

‘This is Evie,’ Phoebe said when they’d all hugged and kissed and exclaimed over one another. She was pink-cheeked and tearful-looking, as if it was all a bit much for her. ‘She let me stay with her. Evie, this is my mum and dad, Maria and Bradley.’

‘Hi,’ I said, but Maria had already invited herself around the counter and hugged me so hard it took my breath away.

‘Thank you,’ she said, squeezing me fiercely. ‘Oh, thank you, Evie. I can never repay you for your kindness.’ She crossed herself quickly. ‘When I think of my little girl out there on the streets at night . . .’ She shook her head and I could see that she was welling up. ‘Thank God for you. Thank God for you!’

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘She’s a lovely girl.’

‘I hope she didn’t give you any trouble,’ Maria said, holding my hand and gazing intensely into my eyes. ‘I hope she didn’t make a nuisance of herself?’

Bloody hell, I thought, slightly stunned at the question. Leave her alone. You’ve only just got her back, don’t go driving her away again. ‘She’s been great,’ I said, glancing over at Phoebe, whose mouth had drooped somewhat, her expression turning hurt. ‘Fantastic. No trouble at all.’

‘We’d like to give you some money for looking after her,’ Bradley said, getting his wallet out of his trouser pocket and pulling out a wedge of notes.

I cringed. ‘Really – no,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘There’s no need at all. She’s been a pleasure. And she’s worked her socks off in here for me, so please, put your money away.’

‘Can I get you guys a drink while you’re here?’ Rachel asked brightly, before an awkward silence could develop.

‘Some coffee would be wonderful,’ Maria said, still with her arm around Phoebe. There was a tiredness visible in her face now that she’d stopped beaming. She must have gone through hell, I thought, with a twist of sympathy. So must he. No wonder they were slightly over the top; I’d have been screaming hysterically, in their shoes. ‘Thanks, hon.’

‘A flat white for me, no sugar,’ Bradley added. ‘Thank you.’