The Beach Cafe (26 page)

I turned off the PC when my brain started to ache, and sloped off upstairs, to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning and trying not to weep into the pillow.

I must have dropped off eventually, because I woke with yet another roaring hangover, feeling as if I was about to expire any second, with a raging thirst and a pounding head. The events of the night before tumbled into my mind one after another, resulting in a crescendo of despair. Hurrah – Jamie’s party!

Oo-er – shagging Ed!

Oh shit – turned out he was a lying, violent, bankrupt crook.

Uggghh – I had the worst hangover ever and felt like never getting up again.

‘It’s great to be alive,’ I croaked sarcastically and shut my eyes, hoping I’d completely imagined the later events of the night before. But I hadn’t, had I? Not even my own evil imagination could punish me so viciously with such a God-awful twist of events. What was worse, I realized with a groan, was that I was going to have to confront Ed with what I’d found out. How could I not? How could I pretend everything was normal?

Oh, fabulous. Today was already a complete write-off and I’d only been awake two minutes.

Somehow or other I forced myself into the shower, where I scrubbed fiercely at my skin as if I could scrub off my memories of the way Ed had touched me, the way his body had felt against mine. Nope, it wasn’t working. In fact, just thinking of those things only made me feel even more gutted that our fledgling relationship had collapsed so quickly. Oh, Ed . . . Why did you have to turn out so
bad
? I thought wretchedly. Especially when I’d thought you were so damn good, too.

I couldn’t stomach any breakfast. Had no enthusiasm whatsoever for the thought of dishing up food and drinks all day. Had no enthusiasm for anything, come to think of it, other than returning to the solace of my bed and staying there for several months. I looked pale and pasty and rough as old boots. For the first time ever, I seriously considered not opening up the café at all, just hanging up the ‘Closed’ sign and shutting everyone out.

Then I imagined Jo’s look of disappointment if I did such a thing. Remembered the nice words everyone had said about the café last night. Remembered that, at the end of the day, I was a businesswoman and I just had to view this as an unfortunate business experience. Forget romance, forget lovey-dovey nonsense. It was all a load of cobblers – and high time I realized as much. And I’d done nothing wrong in this mess; it was Ed who’d tried to pull the wool over my eyes. I would hold my head high, tell him to sling his hook, and take on one of my chef applicants in his place.

‘Just an unfortunate business experience,’ I muttered to myself as I went to switch on the coffee machine. Happened to everyone. I’d get over it in time. Eventually.

Then I froze. The two aprons were there on the counter, the ones Ed and I had worn the night before. Mr – what had I called him? – Cocktober, that was it, I remembered with a grimace. It didn’t seem all that funny any more. In fact, it made me want to cry. I snatched them up and stuffed them into the washing machine in the kitchen, out of my sight.

‘Morning, gorgeous!’

I heard Ed’s voice and his footsteps, and stiffened. How I wished I hadn’t found out all that stuff last night. If I’d still been in the dark about his past I could have called back, ‘Morning, handsome!’ or something equally light-hearted and flirty right then; we could have had a smooch and a fumble right here in the kitchen, smiled into each other’s eyes, felt happy and smitten, and probably ragingly horny too.

Instead, I felt hollow. There was an ache inside me, and not just from my hangover toxins. He should have told me, I thought miserably. He shouldn’t have played me for a fool.

‘Morning,’ I said quietly, pushing shut the washing-machine door. Deep breath, Evie. Might as well get this over with.

He stopped in the doorway when he saw my face. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concerned.

I shook my head. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Not really. Ed—’

‘If this is about me not staying, I’m so sorry,’ he interrupted. ‘I felt horrible, walking off last night. I’ve only got another week dog-sitting, and after that I’ll be able—’

‘No,’ I said, cutting him off. ‘It’s not that.’

There was an awkward silence then. ‘Oh,’ he said, confused. ‘Well, what’s up? You’re not regretting what we did, are you?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Well . . . no. I don’t regret having sex with you, anyway.’

He flinched as if he didn’t like my turn of phrase. Tough. The gloves were off now. ‘Evie, you seem really cold. What’s going on? I don’t understand.’

I folded my arms across my chest. ‘I don’t understand either, Ed Gray,’ I said, spitting his name out. ‘I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about your
wife
, and about your restaurant going bust, and you facing assault charges. I don’t understand that at all.’

There was a terrible, throbbing silence when I’d finished speaking. He looked aghast, and my heart sank a little bit further. So it was true, then. Even though I’d seen all the damning news articles and photos of him online with my own eyes, there was still a tiny piece of me that had hoped it wasn’t really true. Wrong again, Evie.

‘How did you . . . I mean, when did you . . .’ His voice trailed away, and he hung his head. I’d never seen him so unsure of himself, so broken-looking. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said after a moment.

‘Really,’ I said flatly. ‘The thing is, Ed, I don’t know
what
to think.’ I took a deep breath, hating this conversation already. ‘I liked you. I really did. I thought you were a good person. But now I’ve seen all that stuff online, I—’

He looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

Now it was my turn to be hesitant, as I saw the defensive, almost angry light in his eyes. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went to check my emails,’ I began, deciding not to add in the bit about wanting to write a gooey, gossipy email about him. ‘My friend, Amber, had emailed me saying she’d seen something about you in the papers, and . . .’

He was bristling now, his jaw set, his body tense as if he was about to fly into a rage. ‘Oh, right, let me guess, you decided to do some detective work, did you? Did a spot of googling and found out some juicy titbits?’ He slammed a fist down on the worktop, and I stepped back, remembering the assault allegations and feeling jumpy. ‘Well, that’s great. Really glad you did that. Made your mind up about me now, have you? It’s all there in black and white, so it must be true.’

‘Stop shouting at me,’ I said. ‘And yes, all right, I did look you up. And it’s lucky I did! Were you going to tell me any of that stuff, or were you just going to keep stringing me along like an idiot?’

There was silence for a moment. I was starting to think he was going to agree that, yes, he
had
been planning to string me along like an idiot, when he shook his head. ‘What’s the point?’ he muttered bitterly. ‘What’s the fucking point?’

He stormed towards the door and I stared at him, my brain catching up a second later. ‘Wait – what are you doing?’ I called after him. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Where do you think?’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘I can’t stay here if you believe all that stuff.’ He stopped at the door and looked at me, his eyes cold, as if he hated me. ‘I quit.’

And with that, he walked out of the café, while I was left gawping after him, my mouth open in shock. Right. Okay. So what now? Had I just lost my chef as well as everything else?

I put a hand to my face, reeling. Well, it looked like I had. And really, what else had I expected? Him to say,
Oops, yes, you got me, but it doesn’t change anything, does it?
It wasn’t exactly a surprise, him leaping on the defensive and making a quick exit. I would have done too, if someone had just rumbled me as a violent, lying criminal.

I felt a twist inside, though, as those words came into my head. Because I still couldn’t quite apply them to Ed in any real sense. He didn’t seem like a bad guy. He had always been so lovely.
Yeah, but he didn’t actually deny any of it, did he?
my brain pointed out helpfully.
Didn’t seem in a hurry to give his side of the story. Talk about shifty. Talk about acting guilty!

I let out a groan and went to make myself an espresso. A triple one. I needed something to jerk me out of myself, to shock my body into remembering that it was awake and needed to function properly. One thing was for sure: with the argument hanging over me, and no chef on the premises, it was going to be one long mutha of a day.

The door opened and I turned hopefully. Was Ed walking back in to make amends, to explain?

No. It was Rachel and Leah, both looking annoyingly cheerful and hangover-free. Damn. ‘Morning,’ I said, trying to hide my disappointment.

‘Hi, Evie,’ they chorused.

I found myself glancing quickly at the counter, my guilty conscience suddenly nagging that I might have left a pair of knickers on it, or there might be a smear of . . . well, you know. Dried fluids. It looked clean enough, but I would make sure to give it a surreptitious scrub-down when I got the chance.

‘Um, coffee?’ I said, remembering my manners.

I made us all drinks, then showed Leah the ropes. ‘I don’t think Ed’s going to come in today, so I’ll ring a temp agency, see if we can get someone to cover for him,’ I said, making this up as I went along. ‘But I may have to step into the kitchen to do the lunches if not, okay? Rachel will look after you, though, so let’s see how we go.’

Let’s blag it as usual, in other words
, I thought grimly to myself. Although hanging out in the kitchen on my own did have a certain appeal, I had to admit. Not half as much appeal as Ed being there, doing the cheffing, but at least I wouldn’t have to wear my serving-the-public face all day. At least I could keep my head down and stay behind the scenes. Mind you, it did mean I would have to do all the cooking, I realized a split-second later. I wasn’t sure I could stomach the smell of frying eggs and bacon, without vomiting everywhere.

I didn’t have any luck with the three temp agencies I tried. ‘Might be able to get you something tomorrow,’ was the best offer I had.

‘Yes, please,’ I said wearily, although privately I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. Surely Ed would come back and we could sort things out?

The sound of the café door opening interrupted my thoughts, and I left the office quickly, hoping it was Ed, reappearing purely thanks to the force of my telepathy.
I didn’t mean what I said. Sorry to walk out on you. The least I can do is explain . . .

It wasn’t Ed. Still, it was the next best thing at least – Phoebe. She came in on her own, looking rather uncertain. She was wearing a khaki vest-top with a denim skirt and purple sequinned Converse on her feet; all clothes I didn’t recognize. Her parents must have brought them for her.

‘Hi,’ I said hurrying over. ‘Are you okay? I’m so glad you came in; I would have hated you to disappear back to London without a proper goodbye.’ I hugged her tightly, feeling emotional about the thought of her going. Her hair was glossy and smooth, and she smelled clean and perfumed. All traces of the beach bum had gone; this was a city girl who’d come in today.

‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘We’ve had a chat. Things are . . . cool.’

‘You’re sure? I hope I didn’t put my foot in it yesterday,’ I said. ‘I just . . . I just didn’t want them to have a go at you. But I’m sorry if I made things tricky.’

‘It’s okay,’ she said, and then a dimple flashed in her cheek as she smiled. ‘I kind of liked it, actually, you having a pop at them. It was well cool.’

‘Oh Gawd,’ I groaned. ‘I didn’t mean to have a pop, I just wanted to stick up for you.’ I shrugged. ‘I think you’re worth sticking up for, Pheebs, that’s all.’

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘And thanks for everything else too. I really liked staying here with you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ I told her. ‘I loved having you.’ I could feel myself welling up; I’d never been any good at goodbyes. ‘And listen, keep in touch, yeah? If you need a job when you’ve done your A-levels next summer, and fancy some time in Cornwall, you know where I am. You’re always welcome.’

She threw her arms around me in another hug, and I felt a massive lump in my throat. ‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice muffled in my shoulder.

‘Take care of yourself,’ I said, my voice cracking on the words.

Rachel came over and said her goodbyes too, and then Phoebe put her head into the kitchen. ‘Oh! Where’s Ed?’ she asked in surprise. ‘Isn’t he here today?’

I forced a bright smile on my face. ‘Not working today,’ I said casually. ‘I’ll tell him you said goodbye.’
If I ever see him again, that is.

We waved Phoebe off, and I slunk into the kitchen, making myself a large cup of tea and wishing things didn’t have to change. My whole life had been constant change in the last few months – it was exhausting.

‘Two bacon rolls, Evie,’ Rachel said just then, bustling in and sticking an order sheet on the spike. ‘One white, one brown.’

I blinked away the tears that had been lurking in the corners of my eyes. ‘Coming up!’ I said, whacking on the grill, peeling some rashers from the packet, and trying to stop myself thinking about Phoebe and Ed, and everything else that was making me feel sad.

The thing was – as the rational part of my mind insisted on pointing out pedantically – the thing was, I was always going to find out about Ed’s dodgy past sometime. It wasn’t something that anyone could hide forever. And maybe, despite how horrible things felt now, maybe it was all for the best. I’d found out, I was dealing with it, the shock and misery would wear off at some point and we’d all move on. Better to know now than before I fell any deeper in love with him, right?

‘One bacon-and-egg roll on white, two wholemeal toast to go,’ Leah said, coming in just then with another order.

‘One cheese-and-ham toastie on white to go,’ Rachel added, two seconds later.

Okay. I was now officially too busy to think about Ed – or anything else – any more. And that was a good thing. I made the orders on automatic pilot, trying not to gag, and, wonder of wonders, they actually looked edible and I didn’t set the kitchen on fire or anything awful. I wasn’t going to be able to manage any new pasties – I knew my limits – but we had some left over from yesterday and that would just have to do.