Daniel squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sorry. He obviously cared about you.’
Charlie nodded. ‘And I cared about him, too. That’s why I have to make a success of this.’
‘Oh, I’ve no doubt you’ll do that,’ he said softly. ‘Not even my BMW haring down the hill towards you has dented your smile. Are you sure you’re OK?’ He turned her hand over and ran his fingers slowly down her palm, until his fingertips rested on hers.
Charlie swallowed. ‘I’m OK. The shock’s faded.’
‘I really am sorry, Charlie. If I’d hit you …’ He didn’t finish the sentence.
‘It’s fine,’ she mumbled. But it wasn’t fine. She shouldn’t be sitting here with Daniel, letting him twist her thoughts like this, touch her so tenderly when all he’d done up until this point was rile and infuriate her.
She tried to think back to what it had felt like when Oliver had touched her. Had he touched her during their date? She couldn’t remember. And if he had, then she hadn’t responded in the way she was now, to Daniel’s fingertips pressed against hers.
‘I should get going,’ he said, taking his hand away. Charlie’s fingers fizzed, as if mourning their loss. ‘Thank you for the coffee and the scone. Bye, little guy, see you soon.’
He lifted Marmite onto the seat, stood up and stepped out from behind the table, took a moment to brush the crumbs and Yorkipoo fur off his trousers, and then grinned at her. The effect, with the smart suit and the neat hair, a single wave falling over his forehead – along with the lingering memory of his touch – was almost too much.
‘Can I buy a spa voucher?’ she asked impulsively.
‘Of course.’ Daniel took a step towards her. ‘You know, I give a pretty good massage. Let me know when you’re booking in and, if I’m not too busy, I’ll look after you personally. To make up for earlier.’
‘It’s not for me,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s for Juliette and Lawrence. I want to thank them for letting me stay so long, and I figured that if I told her why you bailed on your marketing agreement, she wouldn’t have a reason to be cross with you any more. Are you happy for me to tell her?’
‘Sure.’ He stepped closer. ‘But let me gift it to them, as an apology for what happened. It won’t make up for losing a contract, but you’re right, I should have explained it straight away.’
‘Good.’ Charlie smiled. ‘Glad I could help.’
‘And if you do fancy coming to Crystal Waters one evening, there’s always a spectacular view of the sunset from the hot tub.’
She could feel his breath against her cheek. ‘I thought you were going to give me a massage,’ she whispered.
‘I could give you a massage in the hot tub. We could have champagne to celebrate your first, successful Porthgolow festival. If it is successful.’
‘Of course it’s going to be successful,’ Charlie said, closing down the vision he was creating in her head. The sunset, the hot bubbles around them and the cool bubbles of the champagne, his hands on her skin …
Daniel grinned. ‘I’ll get Juliette’s voucher to you in the next few days. Catch you later, Charlie.’
He turned and, as he left the bus, dinged the bell cord.
Charlie slumped against the counter, her gaze falling on Reenie’s bag of rubbish, still on the bench where Daniel had left it. She had found out why he’d let Juliette down and now she could tell her friend and resolve the animosity between them. He’d been honest with her, and offered up a day at the spa by way of an apology. Charlie should be punching the air with delight at having worked her way under Daniel’s cool exterior. But when she compared it to the way he’d got inside her head, it seemed utterly insignificant.
She’d been on a date with Oliver and was seeing him again at the festival. They were small, tentative steps towards getting back on her emotional feet after Stuart’s betrayal and losing Hal. Ollie seemed safe and kind and comforting. Exactly what she needed. Daniel had got her attention on her very first night in Porthgolow and since then he’d been toying with her feelings. He was the antithesis of safe: the word ‘tentative’ probably wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
She glanced at her hand, tried to recreate the feel of his fingers touching hers, the way it had tingled through her whole body, and then, cursing herself, she put her hands in the sink and ran the hot tap until her flesh went pink.
Chapter Thirteen
It was the day after the summer solstice, and the sun was making its presence known. Charlie stood in the doorway of The Cornish Cream Tea Bus, the smell of red-onion chutney and sausage rolls competing with the fresh sea air. When she had been planning the first Porthgolow festival, she hadn’t paid much attention to the significance of the date, but as she’d brought her cake tins down from Juliette’s house that morning, she’d heard a couple standing on the edge of the beach, muttering loudly about disrespect and sacred time.
She was trying her hardest to make friends, and instead she was being accused of stomping all over a significant celebration. If only they would give her a chance they would see that she was adding to the festivities rather than disregarding them.
And she had to admit that, despite all her worries, her hours of online networking seemed to have paid off. The inaugural Porthgolow food festival didn’t look entirely hopeless. It was bright, colourful and had a buzz to it, and that was before any punters appeared.
The black and green paintwork of The Marauding Mojito gleamed, as did the Mexican burrito stand, painted in a dizzying array of colours that looked like a carnival all on its own. There was a Japanese food van, the scents of its delicate spices wafting across the sand towards her, and a Gourmet Falafels truck that she had encountered at the St Agnes Head Festival. A pastel ice-cream van and Cornish Fudge stall catered for those with a sweet tooth, and along with Oliver’s cocktails and juices, there was an old, corrugated metal Citroën van that had been converted into a coffee stall.
The festival was opening in half an hour and she was missing Benji’s Burgers and, possibly the most important offering, The Travelling Cornish Pasty Shack. She was hoping to win the villagers round with some local fairings – if everything felt completely alien, she wasn’t sure she stood a chance.
Checking Marmite was secured in his crate at the front of the bus, Charlie hopped onto the sand. She greeted everyone, taking short videos to upload to her Instagram stories, all with the hashtag #PorthgolowFoodFest. She had circulated it to her street-food comrades in the run-up to the day, hoping they would use it and help build the online buzz. They all seemed happy to be here, complimenting the view and admiring Charlie’s bus, and there was no hint of annoyance or incredulity that she’d picked the wrong date to run her event.
‘If you need anything, just shout,’ she told a young woman called Megu who was running the Japanese food stand. ‘I’ve advertised the start as eleven, but people could turn up any time.’
‘No worries,’ Megu said. ‘I’ve learnt to be ready as soon as possible. Once people smell the food they’re like vultures, which can only be good.’ She laughed.
‘Very good,’ Charlie said, snapping a photo. She hoped Megu was right, and had a sudden image of the Porthgolow residents descending on the beach like a herd of ravenous zombies.
‘Charlie.’ A hand landed on her arm, and she spun to find Oliver smiling at her. ‘It’s looking great!’
‘Thank you! It all smells so delicious, I’m sure I’ll end up buying something from every stall.’
Oliver tapped his trim stomach. ‘Occupational hazard. It’s a good thing our jobs mean we have to keep moving, or our waistlines would be in trouble.’
‘Looking grand, Charlie,’ Amanda called, crossing the road to join them. ‘Can I nab a coffee before my tour?’
‘Your usual latte? Have you got a full schedule of boats going out today?’
‘As many as the tide allows. We’ve been pushing the festival on our website—’
‘I saw that, thank you,’ Charlie cut in.
�
��And we’re hoping it will bring more customers in our direction at the same time.’
‘I’ll make sure I mention your trips to everyone who comes aboard, and you’ll do the same, won’t you, Ollie?’
‘No problem,’ he said. ‘You launch from the jetty, don’t you?’
‘That’s right. Nice to meet you, Ollie.’
‘You too,’ he said. ‘See you later, Charlie.’
Charlie said goodbye to Oliver and walked with Amanda to the bus.
‘He’s a good-looking chap,’ Amanda said, pushing her wayward curls out of her face and leaning against a table. ‘Where did you cook him up from?’
‘I met him in Ross-on-Wye, actually. At my first, disastrous event, before Gertie looked anything like this. He was kind to me, and it looks like he’s spending the summer in Cornwall, too.’
‘Oh?’ Amanda raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s rather coincidental.’
‘He runs The Marauding Mojito. Cornwall is a prime spot for summer fairs and festivals, so it’s not that surprising he’s ended up here.’ She offered Amanda one of her warm sausage rolls.
‘But maybe there’s more to it,’ Amanda said, cupping her palm under the pastry crumbs and trying to hide a grin. ‘And there’s no harm in a summer fling, is there?’
Charlie thought of her fun evening on the beach with Oliver, and then Daniel inviting her to Crystal Waters for a dip in the hot tub. Was she ready for a fling? It had been over six months since she’d broken up with Stuart, but there was still a dull ache whenever her mind returned to his casual betrayal, how much she’d loved and trusted him, and how quickly he’d shattered everything between them. She wasn’t sure her heart was ready, even for something fun and impermanent.
As Amanda left the bus, Charlie was relieved to see Benji’s Burgers trundle slowly onto the sand, followed shortly afterwards by The Travelling Cornish Pasty Shack. Everyone was here. It was time to open the festival.
An hour later, the beach was a melting pot of some of the most delicious smells that had ever assaulted Charlie’s nose. The sun was high in the sky, the steep landscape of Porthgolow acted as an attractive backdrop, and the sea sparkled ahead of them. It was a perfect day to be outdoors, trying new culinary delights then walking them off along the sand, but still the stand-holders outnumbered the customers.
There was a middle-aged couple Charlie thought she recognized buying falafel wraps, and Juliette’s next-door neighbour was pondering the different fudge flavours, but other than that, everything was quiet.
She felt sick. She had put so much time and energy into organizing this festival, promoting it online, being positive and energetic, and now all these business owners had come to sell their burgers and sushi and delicious Cornish pasties, and there was nobody here to buy them.
When she saw Juliette and Lawrence approaching, she waved manically.
‘Quick!’ she said, ‘go round, buy everything.’
Lawrence whistled, and Juliette turned in a full, slow circle. ‘It looks fantastic, Char,’ she said softly.
‘It’s the first-ever ghost festival. At least it will be remembered for something, but unfortunately it’s not going to be for my Cornish cream teas, which I’ve spent hours making.’
Her friends followed her onto the bus and she gestured forlornly to the cake stands, the miniature slices of raspberry and white-chocolate cake, bus-shaped gingerbread biscuits with red and white icing, and tiny doughnuts filled with cream. Her fruit scones were waiting to go in the oven when customers were ready for them, and mini pots of jam and cream, along with tiny finger sandwiches filled with smoked salmon and cucumber, egg and cress and peppered beef and mustard were sitting in the fridge. It was all going to be wasted.
‘There’s some kind of meeting in the pub,’ Lawrence said, pulling out his phone. ‘I didn’t look properly at the message, but I reckon that’s why none of the locals are here.’ He opened WhatsApp and read it out: ‘Important. Someone lit a solstice bonfire at Crumbling Cliff last night. Meeting at 11.00 in The Seven Stars. We can’t let this sort of vandalism happen.’
‘Who wrote it?’ Once all her food trucks had arrived, Charlie hadn’t even glanced at her messages.
‘Myrtle,’ Juliette said. ‘Crumbling Cliff is dangerous, so I can understand why she’s worried. Nobody should be on the grass between the road and the edge, even if it is the perfect place for a solstice bonfire.’
‘Ugh.’ Charlie rested her elbows on the counter. ‘Maybe I’ve done this all wrong, and now the solstice is paying me back for having my food fest today.’
‘Um, Char,’ Lawrence said, pinching a sausage roll from the plate, ‘how can a day of the year wreak revenge?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘It’s mystical, isn’t it? It has lots of meaning, especially down here, and it’s supposed to be honoured. I heard a couple of villagers muttering about disrespect as I passed them earlier.’
Juliette rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t listen to the naysayers. Some people are against anything new on principle. Once those tantalizing smells reach them, they’ll be down here like a shot. It’s a shame about Hugh, though. I know he was looking forward to coming.’
‘What about Jonah?’ Charlie asked. ‘He can’t have been called to the meeting.’
‘If Myrtle’s in charge, then I bet he can.’ Lawrence wiped his hands down his jeans. ‘But it can’t go on all afternoon. She’s bound to let them out eventually.’
‘In the meantime,’ Charlie said, ‘go and find something to eat. I want to take a photo of you being glamorous festival attendees. I’ll zoom in so nobody can see you’re the only people here.’
‘I want a burrito,’ Juliette said immediately.
‘I’m up for that.’ Lawrence kissed her on the forehead.
Charlie followed them as they walked hand in hand to the Mexican food truck, and took a photo of them being handed their burritos by the owner, George, whose smile was as bright as his multicoloured apron.
She uploaded it to Instagram, Twitter and Facebook, with her hashtag and location tag, and HAPPENING NOW in capital letters.
This couldn’t fail. She couldn’t breeze in to this beautiful, hopeful village with her shiny bus, promise them new life, tackle the doubters, and then deliver absolutely nothing. Myrtle would have a field day. Daniel wouldn’t offer her champagne, but instead would give her a pitying look and say something clever and scathing about how Gertie and Porthgolow didn’t belong together.
As she returned to the bus, Oliver gave her a sympathetic smile, and she forced herself to smile back. She didn’t want sympathy; she wanted success.
She wondered who had gone to Myrtle’s meeting. It seemed like a huge coincidence that it was happening right that moment. She understood the importance of looking after the village, and if people were messing about somewhere dangerous then it needed to be addressed, but did it have to happen that morning?
She had thought Myrtle was beginning to soften towards her. The older woman obviously had some clout in Porthgolow, with most villagers visiting the pop-in on a regular basis. She could drip-feed her opinions and the latest gossip to everyone who walked through the door, and would be trusted more than an over-eager stranger who ran a café on a vintage bus.
Oliver jumped down from his truck and Charlie watched as he struck up a conversation with Megu, resting his arms on the counter of her stall. She could hear Megu’s delicate laughter as she responded to something he said. None of them would come back if it stayed like this all day, not even Oliver.
A comment popped up on her Instagram post and she pounced on it like a hungry wolf. It was from SurfsUpSeb, the man with mirrored sunglasses she’d met at the surfing competition, and read: ‘This happening today? Cool!’ She replied: ‘Come down, bring all your friends!’ and crossed her fingers.
And then a couple appeared at the edge of the beach. They were young, mid-twenties at most, and looked nervous about stepping into the middle of a deserted food festival. Charlie was wondering whether
it would seem too overbearing to go and say hello, when Lawrence bounded over to them and started pointing out the different trucks. The couple smiled and glanced around, and then headed her way.
‘Welcome to The Cornish Cream Tea Bus,’ she beamed, handing them menus. ‘Feel free to pick a table down here, or upstairs, where there are great views over the sea.’
‘We’ll go upstairs, I think,’ the young man said, and the woman nodded her agreement.
‘I’ll be up to take your order in a moment.’
She waited until they had climbed the stairs, then rushed up to the front of the bus. ‘High-five!’ she said to Marmite, but he just tipped his head on one side, so she ruffled his fur instead. She was going to teach him to be a high-fiving dog. If she could make this festival work, then she could do anything she set her mind to.
Half an hour later there was a loud cacophony outside, as if a Harley-Davidson crew were rolling into Porthgolow. Charlie pressed her face against the window and watched as a convoy of cars and vans, some slightly battered, some with colourful decals or paint jobs, drove down the hill and into the car park. People began to emerge, walking across the sand towards the cluster of food trucks.
A familiar man with mirrored sunglasses appeared in the doorway of her bus.
‘Surf’s Up Seb, it’s so lovely to see you.’ She held out her hand.
‘Likewise, Charlie.’ He took her hand and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. He smelt of vanilla and sea salt.
‘I’m so glad you came!’
He gave a laconic shrug. ‘You asked. It looks great. And this place is a gem,’ he said, turning to face the sea. ‘It’s not got the right currents to create a big enough surf for us, which is a shame because the lookout is rosy as hell.’
‘There are boat trips running from the jetty all day.’ He raised an eyebrow and she added, ‘RIBs. They’re fast, fun – it’s exhilarating.’
‘I’ll be sure to check it out.’
‘Go, enjoy – and don’t forget to come back for a coffee!’
The Cornish Cream Tea Bus Page 13
