The Beach Cafe (30 page)

Tim the chippy wanted to know if I was going to open the café for evening sessions again, and I couldn’t bring myself to look across at Ed, who was hanging around rather self-consciously in the background, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. ‘I’m not sure,’ I admitted honestly. ‘But if we do, Tim, bring your wife along and you can both have dinner on the house, okay? Same goes for all of you. I owe every single one of you. Thank you. You’re all superstars!’

I felt so worn out with such an extraordinary sequence of events – and was so desperate to talk to Ed, moreover – that once the building work was finished, I decided to close the café for the rest of the day. I couldn’t cope with the thought of serving up pasties and ice creams as if nothing had ever happened. By the way Rachel snuggled up to Craig, I didn’t think she minded all that much about having the afternoon off. ‘See you later for our girls’ night,’ I told her, Leah and Wendy as they left.

Francis and his crew packed up, all looking pleased as punch. ‘Wow!’ said Trev the sound man, grinning. ‘That was so cool. Are you sure you didn’t arrange all of that to make for good telly?’

I laughed. ‘As if,’ I said. Then I groaned, realizing belatedly that I hadn’t a scrap of make-up on, and that I hadn’t blow-dried my hair into any kind of sane style earlier that morning. Mmm. Looking foxy for your TV debut there, Evie. ‘In fact,’ I said, gazing down at myself and clocking, too late, the tatty denim shorts and purple T-shirt I was wearing, which were now spattered with plaster dust and bleach, ‘I don’t know if you’ll be able to call it “good telly” when I’m looking such a total minger. Damn! Where’s Hair and Make-up when you need them?’

They all laughed. ‘I’ll scrub up for this evening,’ I vowed and then, suddenly worried that they might feel they’d spent enough time in my café for one day, added, ‘You will be back later, won’t you? For the girls’ night in?’

‘Oh yes,’ Francis said. ‘We’re all looking forward to it. See you later, Evie.’

Then they went, and it was just Ed and me left standing there awkwardly. The café felt very quiet and empty, having been full of so much activity previously. I swallowed. ‘So . . .’ I began, just as he said, ‘Well . . .’ in a similarly self-conscious fashion.

We both laughed, rather nervously, and looked at each other properly for the first time. He was still as gorgeous as ever, I thought, my heart quickening, and I still fancied him every bit as much as I had on that fateful night when we’d slept together. I felt the spark between us, that pulse of desire, as strong as ever and yet – And yet.

I still didn’t know where he’d been, what he’d been doing, I reminded myself. This was the man who’d thrown me into turmoil, who’d made me cry into my pillow the last few nights. Once bitten, twice shy, I thought, dropping my gaze. I wouldn’t let myself be fooled again.

‘Is it very cheeky for me to make us both a coffee?’ he asked, breaking the silence.

‘No,’ I replied, trying to sound breezy and in control of the situation. ‘Although personally I reckon my roof caving in, and being filmed for Channel 4 looking like a dog’s breakfast, calls for something stronger. Want a beer?’

‘You don’t look like a dog’s breakfast, Evie,’ he said. ‘But, yes, I’d love one. Please.’

I took a couple of bottles of San Miguel out of the fridge – yes, all right, it was for reasons of Dutch courage as well – and cracked them both open. Then we sat down at one of the booths opposite each other, bottles on the table. Okay. I was half-expecting some kind of ritual fanfare.
Let the explanations begin!

He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been in London for the last few days,’ he said without preamble. ‘Had some stuff to do – meetings with my solicitor and accountant. And yesterday I was in court, too.’ He looked pained suddenly, raised his eyes to the ceiling and then back to me. His hands were trembling. ‘I don’t blame you for reading that stuff about me online,’ he said shakily. ‘I would have done the same thing. I should just have told you from the start. In fact, I fully intended to tell you everything that night I came round and we ended up getting drunk and kissing each other. But I just . . .’ His head went down. ‘I lost my bottle at the last minute.’

I felt sorry for him, I couldn’t help it. ‘Tell me now,’ I urged. ‘What happened?’

He heaved a huge sigh. ‘It’s a mess,’ he said. ‘But the gist is, I was running Silvers, the restaurant, with my then-wife, Melissa. To start with, we were doing great. Good reviews, busy every weekend, all ticking along perfectly.’ He grimaced. ‘Well, that’s what I thought anyway. Unfortunately, it turned out that Melissa was having an affair with one of our suppliers, and the two of them had hatched a plot to stitch me up.’

I sipped my beer as I listened, keeping my gaze steady on him.

‘She’d always done the books, but what I didn’t know was that she’d begun channelling money to him, overpaying him massively, basically,’ he went on. ‘The thing was, the business was all in my name and I signed all these accounts off. I didn’t bother checking every detail of them because . . . well, I trusted her.’

I nodded. That was fair enough.

‘Then the tax office called the accounts in for an inquiry. They obviously suspected something dodgy was going on,’ he said. ‘Even though she was the one who’d been fraudulent, in the eyes of the law, I was the one who was culpable, because the accounts were in my name.’

‘Shit,’ I said. ‘But couldn’t you just tell them it wasn’t you?’

He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work like that, unfortunately,’ he said. He looked so miserable I wanted to hug him. No, I didn’t, I reminded myself quickly. No hugging. Facts first, before anything else. ‘It all came out, then – that she was having this affair and had been planning to leave me for months.’

I couldn’t help wincing.
Major
betrayal.
Major
stab in the back. ‘Ouch,’ I said quietly. Matthew might have been a pillock, but at least he hadn’t done me over quite so spectacularly. ‘What, and you had to take the rap?’

He pulled a face. ‘I didn’t want to,’ he said. ‘In fact, my solicitor was urging me to bring her into the picture, to grass her up and twist things so that the focus was on her.’

‘Well, yeah, quite right too,’ I said. ‘So why didn’t you?’

‘The thing was,’ he said, looking away, ‘the thing was . . . she told me she was pregnant.’

‘Ahh.’

‘And I couldn’t bear the thought of any child of ours growing up and discovering that we’d had this huge public court case tearing each other to shreds – which is what would have happened.’

‘So you took the rap,’ I said, understanding. It was pretty noble of him, I thought.

He nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Well, I did until I discovered that it wasn’t actually my child she was carrying. That was her first mistake in the whole bloody saga – telling me that the baby was Aidan’s child.
Is
Aidan’s child, rather. She was born two weeks ago. And when I found this out, a couple of months ago, it changed everything. Which is why I went on a bender and punched Aidan in the face.’

It was all falling into place. ‘The assault charge,’ I said, putting the pieces together in my head.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m not proud of it, but . . .’ He took a large swig of beer. ‘Well, all right, I did kind of enjoy smashing him in the face actually. I should have done it a long time ago.’

‘So what happened yesterday in court?’ I asked.

He smiled, but it was a hard smile, and there was bitterness in his eyes. ‘The assault charge was dropped,’ he said, ‘and the fraud conviction overturned. The police have taken Aidan and Melissa in for questioning, and I’m in the clear.’

‘Bloody hell,’ I said, staring at him. ‘What a nightmare.’ No wonder he’d sought refuge down in Cornwall. And no wonder he hadn’t volunteered any of this information to me, either.

‘So I’m sorry I wasn’t exactly forthcoming about myself, but now you know.’ His expression had turned anxious as if he was afraid of my judgement.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said, my voice sounding formal, even to my ears. ‘And what happens now? How much longer have you got dog-sitting and . . . what will you do when your time’s up here?’

‘Well . . .’ He reached over and took my hand. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

I felt fluttery and fizzy inside as his long, strong fingers wrapped themselves around mine. ‘Yes?’ I prompted, my heart going crazy all of a sudden.

‘I’ve come to really love it down here,’ he said, gazing into my eyes. I felt as if the walls of the café had suddenly vanished, that there were only the two of us in the world, looking at each other in that moment. ‘I love working in the café, I really like the people here – I mean, what happened today, it was just amazing. You’d never get that in London.’

I tried to make a joke of it, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. ‘Ah, it was only because they wanted to get on telly,’ I said with a little laugh.

He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Well, yeah, partly, but it was also because of you. Because you’re so special and . . . lovely.’

I blushed, feeling my cheeks flame at his compliment, and at the tenderness of his voice.

‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘I went away to London, and all I could think about was how much I missed this place. How much I missed you. I’ve not been able to think straight or make decisions about the future, with this court case hanging over me. I was scared it might all go wrong, that I might end up charged, even in prison. But now that it’s over, it’s like a fog has cleared. I want to make plans, I want to look ahead again, I want to – ’ He squeezed my hand and it was as if a surge of electricity went through me. ‘I want to be with you.’

I couldn’t help it, I let out a noise that was half a laugh and half a cry, I felt so happy, so emotional about what he was saying to me. ‘I want that too,’ I said. ‘I missed you so much. When you walked out I felt awful, like I’d wrecked everything, like I never really knew you at all. And now you’re back, and I’m so glad you’re back, and . . .’

And then we were kissing and kissing, and I knew that this was it, this was my happy-ever-after. And I felt like that bride on her wedding day once more – as if this was the very best and most perfect day of my life, after all.

Epilogue

Three months later

‘Ssshhh, it’s about to start.’

‘Oh my God! Quick, anyone want another drink?’

‘No, just sit down, and hurry up. Where’s Mum gone? Mum! It’s starting! Get over here now.’

It was a Thursday night at the end of September, and the Golden Fleece was packed out, not a spare seat to be had. Lindsay had set up the big screen, which she usually saved just for England matches, and a huge cheer went up as the Channel 4 ident appeared on it.

‘Here we go!’

‘Now on Channel 4, it’s time for
Dispatches
,’ the continuity woman said smoothly. Somebody whooped. ‘And tonight’s programme is called
Britain: United We Stand?
’

Everyone cheered again, and Ed grinned at me. We were in the pub to watch the documentary that Francis and his team had made, and afterwards, because it was the end of the season, we were throwing a party on the beach to celebrate what an amazing summer we’d had. I’d put the money from Phoebe’s parents towards a buffet, booze and fireworks, and I couldn’t wait.

It had been the best summer of my life. As soon as his mates had returned from their travels and he’d handed back the dog, Ed had moved in with me and had been at my side ever since. I loved him. I absolutely loved him. He made me laugh, he made me happy, and I fancied him more than any man I’d ever met. Those post-coital bacon sandwiches of his were pretty unbeatable too.

With him back in the sack – I mean, saddle – alongside me, we’d pushed the café along together. We contracted out the pasties to Wendy, who made them up at home and delivered batches every day or two; we had branched out into catering for weddings and parties; and we’d splashed out on a new gazebo for the deck area, so that we could run an evening menu every Friday and Saturday night of the summer, whatever the weather. We were going from strength to strength and, after Phoebe’s dad sent one of his colleagues from
The Times
to review the café for the Saturday colour supplement one day in August, we’d been rushed off our feet for the rest of the season.

Ed, on the advice of his solicitor, had pressed for damages following the court case, and we’d recently heard that he was going to be receiving a large sum of cash in February. He’d asked me how I’d feel about him investing money in expanding the café and I’d hesitated initially, remembering what Jo had always said:
Never confuse business with your love life.
But then I’d looked at his earnest, lovely face and I knew that Jo would have been delighted I’d met such a good, good man. ‘That sounds brilliant,’ I’d told him happily.

‘The only thing is,’ he’d said, ‘we might need to have a long, hot holiday while the building work is taking place. I reckon there’d be enough money to go somewhere really amazing for a few weeks. What do you think?’

‘I think – you’re ace,’ I’d replied, throwing my arms around him. ‘You know, I’ve always wanted to go to India . . .’

He’d grinned. ‘Then let’s do it,’ he said. ‘I can never say no to a Goan fish curry.’

In the meantime we were going to take things down a gear at the café, opening at weekends only, and having some time off during the week. Our Thursday ladies’ night was still as popular as ever, and I’d been thinking of starting a photography club one evening in the café too. Ed had been asked if he’d run a cookery course for the villagers and was also teaching me to surf. It was all good.

Meanwhile, onscreen, the programme had begun, with the camera panning around a deserted-looking housing estate. There were smashed windows, litter blew about the pavement, and the small play-park had been vandalized and was covered in graffiti. ‘The politicians and historians tell us that society has broken down,’ went the commentary, ‘that there’s no such thing as community any more, that our population has become insular, man desensitized to fellow man. The original purpose of this documentary was to examine the causes of this so-called broken society, and to look at the effects it has had on us all.’

‘Cheery,’ someone commented, to a ripple of giggles.

‘However,’ the voiceover continued, ‘as we travelled around the country, from inner cities to rural countryside, from industrial centres to holiday destinations’ – a shot flashed up of the bay and everyone let out what can only be described as squeals – ‘we began to question the validity of this original assumption. We began to wonder whether Britain really was quite so broken after all. Our first stop was Bristol, where we visited the area of St Pauls . . .’

The screen showed streets of Georgian and Victorian houses, and I felt my concentration lapse, too jittery to listen properly as the commentary went through a brief history of this part of the city. ‘Yeah, yeah, get to the good bit,’ someone muttered behind me, and I laughed, agreeing entirely.

My phone buzzed with a text from my mum.
Can’t wait to see your café on TV, darling
, it read.
Dad and I watching, and so proud of you. Xxx

I was still getting used to my parents being proud of me. It was a new experience for us all, and one that made me feel warm inside. They’d come to stay in August, and had just radiated pride and happiness from the moment they had stepped into the café. ‘You’re in your element here, just like Jo was,’ Mum had said, more than once, marvelling at all the events we were running, and how brisk trade was. ‘You’re doing so
well
, Evie!’

‘We’re so happy for you,’ Dad had said, hugging me. ‘Well done, love.’

Their words had wrapped around me like the warmest, cosiest blanket. Maybe I was just a big old saddo for still wanting my parents to be proud of me, but damn it, it felt so good. No longer was I the black sheep of the family or a failure. I felt like an equal at last, that I’d found my niche and was thriving. Louise and her family had come to stay for a couple of weekends too, as had Ruth again, and I found myself in the new and rather lovely position of ‘favourite aunty’. Sure, I think the free ice creams had helped swing this honour, but it was still wonderful to feel loved.

I read the text from my mum again, feeling choked up, and showed Amber, who was sitting next to me. ‘Bless her,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m proud too, mate. The girl’s done good.’

‘And so have you,’ I reminded her. ‘Miss New Nurse on
Holby City
! I’m going to be flogging your autograph once you’ve gone, you know.’

She laughed and pretended to scoff, but I could tell she was dead chuffed. After all her millions of auditions and try-outs and bit parts, Amber had finally struck gold with a six-month contract to appear in
Holby City
as the outspoken new ward sister that everyone loved to hate. Her first episode had just gone out and she’d picked up some fab reviews on the back of it. The tabloids and magazines were already queuing up to interview her and, best of all, she was acting with a hot bloke called David, who played one of the male nurses. According to Amber, there was definitely some offscreen chemistry between them and she was crossing her fingers for some steamy games of doctors and nurses in private in the very near future.

Up on the TV, the St Pauls footage had finished, and the pub went silent as we waited to see where the focus of the documentary would be next. ‘Coming up: a piece of Portugal in south London, and why the locals all like to be beside this particular seaside,’ went the commentary. The whole pub cheered once more as there was a two-second flash of the bay onscreen.

The adverts began and there was a rush for the bar. Then I heard familiar Aussie voices, as Rachel and Leah burst into the pub, with Craig and Luke close behind. ‘We haven’t missed it, have we?’ Rachel cried anxiously, glancing up at the telly.

‘Don’t worry, we haven’t been on yet,’ I said, smiling over at her. Craig and Rachel had been happily together ever since he’d appeared in Carrawen, and Leah had met Luke a month ago at a surfing festival in Newquay. By one of those perfect coincidences, they lived about twenty minutes away from each other in Melbourne. It was definitely fate. I was really going to miss Rachel and Leah, my right-hand girls. They were heading off at the weekend for a whistle-stop tour of Europe with their men, having worked tirelessly and cheerfully all summer for us. The café wasn’t going to be the same without them. But all good things had to come to an end, right?

Well, not always. The good thing I’d had with Saul, for example, seemed to be carrying on, with or without Matthew chaperoning us. True to her promise, Emily had brought him to visit me, and I’d almost cried with happiness to see him again. Ed had taken up the reins in the café while I spent a lovely afternoon with Saul, Emily and Dan on the beach, making sandcastles, paddling and teaching Saul to bodysurf. ‘Thank you for this,’ I said to Emily, while Saul and Dan busied themselves digging a ginormous trench down to the sea. ‘I’ve really missed spending time with Saul. He’s just the nicest boy in the world.’

‘Oh, he is, isn’t he?’ Emily replied, smiling, as we watched him chatting to a boy who’d come to help with the digging. ‘He’s been so excited about seeing you again, too. And . . .’ She fiddled with her sunglasses as she tried to find the right words. ‘And it’s nice to get to know you better as well, Evie. Matthew was an idiot, letting you go. And letting me go too, come to that. I can’t think what he sees in this Jasmine woman. She’s got about as much personality as . . . as a tin of magnolia paint. Not a patch on either of us, frankly.’

I’d laughed, liking Emily much more now that she was in laid-back holiday mode. ‘Well, his loss,’ I said. ‘Although I can’t imagine being with Matthew any more, I must say. I don’t think we were right for each other at all.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘But all’s well that ends well, right? Looks like everything’s turned out pretty bloody brilliantly for you since you broke up.’

I smiled and held up crossed fingers. ‘So far so good,’ I said.

Back in the pub, an excited hush fell over everyone as the second part of the programme started. ‘Here we go,’ Ed said, nudging me. Then, to cheers and shouts, the screen showed our bay, the camera panning from one side of the beach to the other. ‘Tucked away in north Cornwall is the small seaside village of Carrawen Bay,’ went the commentary. ‘To the public, it’s an idyllic resort with a pretty beach and thatched cottages. But what about the people who live there all year round? Has the local community been splintered by second-home owners and the hordes of holidaymakers?’

‘Course it hasn’t,’ somebody shouted, and the whole pub laughed.

‘We met the manager of the local café, Evie Flynn, who, as a newcomer to the village herself, is passionate about keeping the Carrawen community alive and kicking,’ the commentary went on. I blushed furiously as an image of me behind the café counter appeared onscreen. Somebody wolf-whistled and I could hardly bring myself to watch, peeping out through my fingers at the TV. ‘By day, Evie serves the holidaymakers their Cornish pasties and cream teas, but in the evenings she has made the café a centre where the villagers can get together. The book group meets here, as does the local band, and Evie also holds a regular “girls’ night in” evening for the women of Carrawen Bay.’ An enormous scream went up as some footage appeared of our Tuesday girls’ night, the one I’d thought couldn’t possibly happen after the roof came down the night before.

‘There’s me!’

‘Look at Wendy!’

‘There’s Flo, looking glam.’

‘And our Nora!’

‘In fact,’ continued the voiceover, ‘on the day we arrived to start filming in Carrawen, there had been a heavy storm and the café had been damaged. And something extraordinary happened.’

Now the screen showed Alec and Jono hard at work on the roof, Tim sawing pieces of wood to fit the ceiling repairs, other people cleaning the floor, Wendy handing out her pasties with a wink and a wiggle . . .

Tears filled my eyes, remembering that day, and I gripped Ed’s hand. He squeezed it tight and gave me a kiss.

‘Who can say Britain is broken, when a whole village comes to help a friend in need?’ asked the voiceover man, and I had to blow my nose, feeling quite overcome. Who indeed?

When the programme finished, I think everyone felt emotional. Carrawen Bay had been on primetime TV – and hadn’t we done well? Hadn’t we shown the world that our village, our community, our people, were all things to be proud of ?

OMG just saw u on TV
came a text from Phoebe.
U R FAMOUS!
I smiled. Phoebe had phoned a few times during the summer, and was doing okay. She’d moved out of her parents’ house for a while to stay with her friend Zoe, but she was loved up with the legendary Will Francis, the hottest seventeen-year-old in Earlsfield, so things weren’t all bad. She was back at college and sounded happy, which was the main thing.

I stood on my chair, feeling tipsy and exultant. ‘Who’s up for a party on the beach?’ I yelled. The cheers in reply almost blasted me off my feet. I grinned. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. Come on, then. To the beach!’

Ed, Amber and I led the way, hand-in-hand, down to the bay, a happy crowd following. The sky was growing darker and the first cool breezes of autumn slipped around us, the light summer evenings already long gone, but the beach was as full of people as if it was a blazing hot afternoon. Craig, Luke and some of the other guys got a bonfire roaring, Elizabeth from the book group popped the first champagne cork, and soon everyone was tucking into hot dogs, spicy pumpkin soup and ginger cake, their faces lit by the golden glow of the fire.

There was Annie, who’d saved enough money from her cake-baking to take herself and Martha away for a holiday abroad, for the first time ever. There was Jamie, who had sold at least twenty of his paintings through the café over the summer and was starting a fine-art degree course at Falmouth in a few weeks. There was Florence, surrounded by a group of new friends, and there was even Seb, who’d got ten straight As in his GCSEs, bless him.

I looked around at all these people I’d got to know and I felt a strong and wonderful sense that I belonged here, with them. This was my home, these were my friends, and there was nowhere on Earth I’d rather be.