Bonnie’s follow-up text read: Just saw Bea. She’s looking forward to having you back!! The clock is ticking, C. Lots of love, Mum. xx
‘You can’t be a spectre at your own feast.’
Charlie turned and smiled at Reenie. ‘Just checking things down here.’
‘Well, you’ve no time for that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, in case you’ve failed to notice, Charlie, it’s your birthday. We’ve moved past the savouries and you’re needed back upstairs. That’s all there is to it.’
Charlie followed her friend, and as soon as she got to the top deck, the group launched into a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. She stared at the bus-shaped cake complete with windows, and a smiling stick person and dog visible through the windscreen. She laughed so much she took three attempts to blow out the candles.
‘This is incredible,’ she said. ‘Who made it?’
‘We did,’ Amanda and Juliette chorused.
‘And it took hours,’ Amanda groaned. ‘Hours, Charlie. How do you do it?’
‘We have to taste it,’ Charlie said. ‘Where’s a knife? Ooh – hang on, photo first.’ She took several photos of the cake, and then several more with everyone crowded around behind it. Then Jonah insisted on setting up the timer on Charlie’s phone, balancing it precariously on the back of a seat so they could all get in shot.
By the time they sat down to eat the cake, which turned out to be a delicious, light, chocolate sponge, Charlie was wiping tears of mirth off her cheeks.
‘Oh my goodness,’ she said, when she tasted it. ‘Do either of you fancy a job?’
‘Why, is there one going?’ Juliette asked. ‘Here, in Cornwall, on this bus?’
Charlie knew what her friend was asking: whether she was staying in Porthgolow, or whether she was going home. She couldn’t answer her; not yet. ‘This is utterly amazing,’ she said instead. ‘Thank you, Jules and Amanda, thank you all so much for my birthday lunch.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Juliette replied, but her smile had slipped. Charlie would tell her, in a few, short days – days in which they would all be rushed off their feet anyway – what she had decided. She just needed to do a couple of things first.
As cars streamed into the village on Saturday morning, Charlie realized how a few small alterations, a bit of attention to detail, could change everything. There were the new, Victorian-style street lanterns, the hanging baskets outside Myrtle’s shop, the bolder, smarter SeaKing Safaris sign. The pot-holed car park was gone, hidden for ever beneath a layer of smooth, black tarmac. A low railing ran around the edge of the space, and new signs listed the – very reasonable – parking charges. They all helped to make Porthgolow feel up-to-date, welcoming, less faded. They inspired confidence, something the village had been sorely lacking when she arrived.
The weather helped, of course. The cove was holding onto the late August sun, which made the silver water glisten and the sand look thick and inviting. Porthgolow was glowing and, as Charlie peered out of the bus window and watched Myrtle step onto her doorstep and say something to Stella that made her laugh out loud, she realized that, in turn, had made its residents glow.
She picked up the milk-frothing jug, then wiped her hands on a tea towel as it slipped from her grasp. She didn’t know why she was so nervous; she had been running these events the whole summer. But she had come a long way from that first, disastrous fair in Ross-on-Wye, and here she valued everyone’s opinion. They had all, finally, put their faith in her, and had adopted the food markets as their own, but Charlie still felt that swell of responsibility.
But so far, so good.
The beach was humming with activity, the food trucks and ice-cream vans, burger shacks and sushi bars covering it like a swarm of brightly coloured beetles. There was music and laughter, sizzles and smells, and an energy that seemed entirely unique to the Porthgolow food market. Hugh had set up a stand close to the pub, using one of Lawrence’s smallest marquees as his mini beer tent. Charlie watched Benji top a portion of skin-on fries with cheese and wondered when Jonah was going to join him – and what ingredients were in their exclusive Porthgolow burger.
A large family walked past the bus and a young girl, wearing a pink shimmering dress that must have come from the Disney store, raised her fingers in a tentative wave. Charlie waved back and noticed the girl’s attention was focused on the tower of cupcakes she’d put in pride of place in the window. She had perfected the silky red icing and topped them with shining white and silver sugar balls. They matched Gertie’s paintwork, but they also looked celebratory.
She was taking her afternoon teas to the next level, hoping to achieve both rustic charm and a professionalism that would have people talking about her bus beyond Cornwall’s borders. Her ticket machine was set up to print the words: Porthgolow Bank Holiday Food Market, marking it out from the previous events they’d held. This one felt special, and not just because it was three days long, but because it signified an important personal turning point, one that, she hoped, might have a bearing on her entire future. Live life to the full, Charlie, Hal’s voice said, popping into her head. You only get one chance.
And it seemed she wasn’t the only one who’d decided this bank holiday market was special. It was as if they’d opened some floodgates somewhere and couldn’t remember how to shut them. Within half an hour of unlocking the door, the top deck was full, and Charlie spent her time running up and down the stairs, taking orders, filling teapots, and arranging her cream teas in the way she’d practised. She had other items on the menu, but the Cornish cream tea was the most popular, even at half nine in the morning.
She was beyond relieved when, at ten o’clock, Juliette appeared, wearing jeans and a shimmering red T-shirt, her hair swept off her face.
‘It’s like a carnival out there,’ she breathed, her eyes alight. ‘And in here, too.’ She surveyed the kitchen area, which looked less like a carnival and more like a bombsite. ‘Tell me what to do.’
With Juliette, service got easier. Charlie felt less rushed, and they had time to chat to the customers while they worked.
‘We’re from Bristol,’ said a large, burly man wearing an olive green fleece. ‘Shirley looks at that Instagram account every night before bed. You know, Porthgolow Hideaway.’
‘It calms me down,’ she admitted. ‘We have my mum staying with us. She’s in her nineties and it isn’t always easy, but those sunsets, they’re bliss.’
‘They are very special,’ Charlie agreed.
‘As soon as it mentioned this event we thought this was our chance to come and see it in person. We decided to make a weekend of it. Lucky, really, as I think we got the last room.’
‘Whereabouts are you staying?’
‘Porthgolow B&B,’ Shirley said. ‘We had that sunset last night, right in the bedroom window. Though of course we came to stand on the beach, watch it until it was out of sight. I don’t want to go home, but my brother has to get back to work and can only stay with Mum until Sunday.’
‘It’s so lovely that you’ve come,’ Charlie said.
‘It’s a proper slice of magic,’ Shirley’s husband said, and grinned. ‘Exactly what we needed.’
‘You must feel so lucky living here,’ Shirley added. ‘Having that view on your doorstep, the sound of the waves. I can’t imagine anyone ever wanting to leave.’
‘She’s had Rightmove open on her phone most of this morning.’ He laughed gently and rubbed his wife’s shoulder.
Charlie offered to refill their teapot and hurried back to the kitchen. She didn’t admit to the couple that, as she had lain in bed that morning, awake before dawn, Rightmove was what she’d been looking at, too.
She watched out of the window as Jonah corralled a group of people into a straight line next to the jetty, high-fiving them as they waited to board one of the SeaKing RIBs. He was in his element, chatting and gesticulating, no doubt giving his captive audience any number of useful facts.
C
harlie waited for the elevenses rush to fade, and then, when it didn’t, she resigned herself to the fact that her bus was going to be busy until the end of the day. Myrtle was as good as her word, appearing after lunch and installing herself upstairs, clearing tables and bringing down trays of dirty crockery so Juliette could focus on serving and Charlie could stay in the kitchen, plating up and managing her stock.
She kept up her social media posts, her phone pinging as the comments and likes flooded in, the hashtag sending news of their little food market out into the online world, stretching further and further away from the hub of Porthgolow.
Sometimes her phone buzzed with a more personal message. Daniel’s texts were never that long – she had the feeling that, like her, he was full of nervous anticipation about Monday night – but he let her know he’d arrived at his parents’ house and had sent her several updates since then. She, in turn, had sent him a few of her photos of the market, and one of the bus birthday cake, to which he’d replied that she was in trouble for not telling him it was her birthday and she’d better expect some sort of retribution for that when he returned.
She saw Reenie and Frank strolling along the sand, plucking chips from cones, and Lawrence chatting with a group of his friends. He had told Charlie and Juliette the previous evening that he was going to keep an eye out, make sure everyone was safe and happy. Juliette had hugged him and then, when he’d left the room, confided to Charlie that he was a bit high on responsibility after putting up the barrier at Crumbling Cliff. Now, Charlie watched him push his sunglasses onto his head and turn towards the sea, and wondered how many lifeguards did their job while eating ice creams.
‘Hello.’
Charlie felt a glimmer of recognition at the voice, and turned to find Josie smiling at her. Her cheeks immediately started burning.
‘Josie, I—’
‘Look, I know you’re ridiculously busy, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m profiling the food market this weekend. Daniel said that it would be a good time to cover it and that you might be willing to give me an interview to accompany my piece, sometime next week, when you’re quieter.’ Her smile was hesitant.
‘That would be amazing,’ Charlie stammered. ‘And I’m so, so sorry about—’
‘It was the wrong day.’ Josie waved away her apology. ‘I could see that, and honestly, it doesn’t matter. Daniel encouraged me to come back and I’m glad I did. This place is buzzing and it’s getting quite a reputation. I’d love to sit down and chat to you. Give me a call.’ She handed Charlie her card.
‘Thank you, Josie. I appreciate you giving me another chance.’
‘Thank Daniel,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m going to go and get some sushi and maybe one of those burritos. I can’t accurately write about it unless I’ve experienced it to the full, can I?’
Charlie laughed and watched her saunter off the bus, shielding her eyes against the sun. She couldn’t be cross with Daniel for this particular bit of meddling. She was touched that, despite all that had happened when he’d first arranged for the journalist to see her, he had been willing to try again. And a profile of the Porthgolow food market would, without a doubt, be a huge boost to the event and the village.
If she had been heading back to Ross-on-Wye, to Bea and The Café on the Hill, then she would have been leaving with a happy heart. Heavy, too, because she had made so many friends and would miss them terribly, but she would have known that the market was in safe hands, that the village was busy and bubbling with life. But she didn’t have to worry about that, because her enquiry to the estate agent on Rightmove at some ungodly hour of the morning had already had a response.
She’d scanned the message in a one-minute window she’d had while waiting for a new batch of scones to finish warming up. The little terrace house in a road further up the hill from Juliette’s was available for rent and the estate agent would be happy to show her round on Tuesday. She was the first one who had enquired and Charlie had decided, then and there, that as long as it wasn’t falling down the cliff, rife with mould or full of rats, then she and Marmite would take it. She had a couple more loose ends to tie up, and then she could let Juliette, Reenie – and perhaps one other important person – know the good news.
Chapter Thirty
It was Monday, the last day of the bank holiday food market, and Charlie was in her pyjamas and dressing gown at six thirty in the morning, trying to make a coffee and whispering to her Mum on the phone. Marmite, Ray and Benton were watching her eagerly from various vantage points around the kitchen, hoping that as soon as she’d got her coffee she would turn to the important subject of their breakfast.
Her mum had always been an early riser, but this, on a bank holiday, was ridiculous.
‘No, I know, Mum, it’s great news.’
‘Have you told Bea?’
‘I phoned her last night.’
‘And?’
‘She was shocked more than anything. I don’t think she’d ever considered that I might not come back. But she was happy for me, in the end. She wished me well and I’m sure she’ll have no trouble replacing me. And if she’s serious about expanding, it’s not like Gertie is the only bus in the world – though of course she’s the best.’
‘You’re irreplaceable, Charlie, you know that. Gertie too. When are we coming to visit?’
Charlie heard a noise and glanced behind her, but it was just Marmite, who had fallen off the chair when Benton objected to him using his tail as a chew toy.
‘Let me check everything is OK with this house first, then once I’m in of course you and Dad can come and see it. I feel bad not telling Juliette right away, but I’m sure once she knows she’ll be happy to have this place back: just her, Lawrence and the cats.’
‘And when does this event end?’
‘Tonight,’ Charlie said, blinking at her mum’s change of subject. ‘Look, you probably think this is all a bit sudden, a bit rushed, but I know it’s the right thing to do. Now I’ve made up my mind, I just want it to happen straight away.’
‘Of course you do. Grab life by the throat! Let me know as soon as you’ve seen this darling little cottage, won’t you? I’m sure your dad and I could come and help with the decorating, if it needs any once you’re in.’
‘Thanks, Mum. I’d better go. I’ve got loads to do.’ She rang off and poured steaming coffee into her cup. When she turned around she noticed that, despite being sure she had closed it, the kitchen door was ajar.
The sky that morning was peppered with thick, puffy clouds. They were mostly white, but a few towards the horizon were darker, threatening bad weather. Their shadows drifted across the sea and the sand, racing each other, and Charlie felt such a strong rush of love for the view that a lump lodged in her throat.
The bus had only been open for ten minutes when a young couple came on board, holding hands. They chose one of the tables downstairs and the woman shrugged off a suede coat and laid it along the bench beside her.
‘Hello, welcome aboard The Cornish Cream Tea Bus,’ Charlie said. ‘Have a look at the menu and I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.’
‘We already know what we want,’ said the man. ‘Cornish cream tea for two, please.’
‘But could I have a cheese scone instead of fruit?’ the woman asked.
‘Of course; I can do a sweet and savoury selection.’
‘Thank you! Cream and jam seems wrong straight after the breakfast we’ve just had.’
‘Are you on holiday here?’ Charlie asked.
‘Yes, we’re staying up at Crystal Waters.’ The woman took her partner’s hand. ‘It’s our anniversary, so Adam’s treating me. It’s spectacular up there.’
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Charlie said. ‘So well designed, everything perfectly in its place. Daniel Harper’s worked hard to get it exactly as he wants it.’
‘We’ve not met him, I don’t think,’ the woman said. ‘Only the receptionist and a couple of waiters in the res
taurant. We’re booked into the hot tub tonight – have you been? It’s right on the edge of the cliff. I’m worried it might be a bit scary!’
Charlie smiled at the memory. ‘I have been, as it happens. It’s one of the best spots in the whole of Cornwall. And don’t worry; it’s not as terrifying as you think it’s going to be. I’m sure you’ll love it once you’re in there. Let me go and sort out your cream teas.’
She went back to the kitchen, holding the menu over her chest, as if they might be able to see how quickly her heart was pounding beneath her breastbone. She just had today to get through, and then she would see Daniel again. She was already planning their next visit to the hot tub together.
The clouds thickened, darkened and finally dumped their rain on Porthgolow at two o’clock that afternoon. Charlie had known that the day wasn’t going to stay calm, but she hadn’t predicted the force of the downpour. People scattered, rushing inside the various undercover areas, and her bus went from cheerfully busy to ‘no standing room’ in a minute. ‘Bloody hell,’ Juliette said, peering out at the deluge. ‘This wasn’t forecast.’
‘It doesn’t look like it’ll last, though.’ Charlie pointed to the horizon, where blue shone out between gaps in the clouds. ‘Not enough to send everyone away, just enough to steam up the windows.’ She glanced around her but, despite the crush, the windows stayed condensation-free. Pete really was a wizard. Not many vintage Routemasters had state-of-the-art air-temperature control, a fully functioning kitchen and a winch on the front. Maybe Gertie was irreplaceable, after all.
‘Listen,’ Juliette said, keeping her voice to a whisper. ‘I know this probably isn’t the time to be having this conversation, but I can’t let you do this, Char.’
Charlie frowned. ‘Do what? Load up that plate with raspberry scones? Is there something wrong with them? Too much salt?’
‘No,’ Juliette huffed. ‘Of course not! I overheard …’ She stopped. ‘What on earth?’
The Cornish Cream Tea Bus Page 29
