The Beach Café

by Lucy Diamond

  I saw Ed’s eyebrows shoot up at this, and he glanced from me to Phoebe in surprise.

  She nodded, looking up at me through her eyelashes. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I don’t mind. Although I hope you realize I’m going to be on your case about phoning your mum . . .’

  ‘I thought you might say that,’ she replied. I could see her weighing everything up, her face impassive as she thought. Then she nodded again. ‘Okay. That’s cool.’

  ‘Yeah? You’ll give her a ring?’ I hadn’t been expecting that.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to tell her where I am,’ she added quickly. ‘Because I’m not going back, ever. But I will let her know I’m okay. Just so she’s not freaking out about it.’

  I gave her another hug. ‘That’s brilliant, Phoebe,’ I said. ‘Really brilliant, and really mature. I think you’re doing the right thing.’

  That evening, while Phoebe was upstairs phoning home, I sat down in the café with a pad of paper and pen. Encouraging Phoebe to reconnect with her mum had reminded me that I wanted to keep in touch with my surrogate boy, Saul, and I soon became engrossed in writing him a long, chatty letter, telling him all about the beach, and the café, and what I’d been doing here. If you’re ever in Cornwall on holiday with your mum or dad, do give them my address, as it would be lovely to see you again, I wrote at the end. I was pretty certain that Matthew would never come down to this part of the country while I was in it – beach holidays weren’t his thing, plus I knew damn well he’d give me a wide berth for fear of any embarrassing emotional scenes that might arise. As for Emily, Saul’s mum, I wasn’t sure what she would think of my letter, but I hoped she’d read between the lines and realize just how fond I was of her fabulous son, and that that would make it all right by her.

  Phoebe came downstairs just as I was signing off Lots of love, Evie, and sat at the table next to me. ‘Well?’ I asked. ‘How did it go?’

  She shrugged. ‘All right.’

  ‘She was pleased to hear from you, though, I bet?’

  She looked very small and young all of a sudden. ‘She started to cry,’ she told me, and her own bottom lip trembled momentarily as if she might burst into tears as well.

  ‘Oh gosh,’ I said, putting an arm around her. ‘She must have been so worried.’

  ‘She kept asking where I was and what I’d been doing, and said she’d been doing her nut she was so worried; that she’d reported me to the police as a missing person, and that I’d been on the news, and everyone had been out looking for me.’ Her face crumpled up. ‘And then she was sort of shouting at me, like she was really angry with me, and then saying sorry, and how much she loved me, and that she wanted me to come home . . .’ She seemed shell-shocked. ‘I didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘Well, she knows you’re all right, that’s the main thing,’ I said. ‘And you can think about everything else in time. How did you leave things at the end of the conversation?’

  I noticed she was fiddling with a scrunched-up tissue in her lap, and my heart gave a twist. She must have had a little sob upstairs on her own, poor thing. ‘She asked me to come back and I said no,’ she replied. ‘And that was when she started crying and saying, “Please, please, please”, and telling me she loved me.’

  ‘That must have been a bit heavy,’ I put in, seeing that her lip was going again.

  ‘And then she asked if I would phone her again in a few days, so that she could make sure I was all right.’

  ‘See, she does care,’ I felt obliged to say. ‘Did you agree to that?’

  She nodded. ‘I had to,’ she mumbled. ‘She was so upset. I’ve never heard her like that.’ She shook her head, lost in thought. ‘I can’t believe there was something about me on telly. How weird is that?’

  My arm was still around her and I gave her a squeeze. ‘You must have known she’d be upset, you running away,’ I said gently. ‘Any mother would be the same. But it’s just because she loves you so much, I’m sure.’

  My mobile started ringing then. ‘Talk of the devil,’ I said, seeing my parents’ number flashing up on the screen. ‘Hi, Mum,’ I said, answering. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Well, I’m fine, darling, but how are you?’ she gushed. ‘Ruth rang to say you were having a dreadful time with the café, that it had all been going horribly wrong, and that you were finding it a terrible struggle . . .’

  Did she now. ‘Mum, it’s fine,’ I tried saying, but she was in full flow, barely pausing for breath.

  ‘Dad and I have been discussing it, and we don’t want you to have a miserable time there this summer, especially if you’ve changed your mind about coming back to start your teaching degree. Which is another thing Ruth told us, so—’

  ‘Mum, listen, it’s really fine,’ I said again, starting to feel exasperated. I ran my finger across my throat as if slitting it, and rolled my eyes at Phoebe, who giggled. She scribbled something on a paper napkin and skipped away. It’s just cos she loves u, she’d written – my own words, parroted back at me.

  I stifled a laugh. ‘What’s so funny?’ Mum demanded. ‘I don’t think this is a laughing matter, Evie!’

  ‘Oh, Mum, stop worrying,’ I said affectionately. ‘Honestly, I’m having a great time. Ruth’s exaggerating, that’s all. She caught me at a busy moment. You and Dad should come down for a visit, when you break up for the summer holidays. See for yourself how well the café’s doing.’

  The funny thing was, I meant every word of it, I wasn’t just fobbing her off with a line. I really was having a good time now that I’d found my feet, and genuinely did want to show the café off to my parents, wanted to prove that I was actually making a success of something for once, despite their doom-laden predictions. I launched into descriptions of our upcoming evening menu, plans for Jamie’s art exhibition, Annie’s cakes and Ed’s all-round brilliance. ‘And we’re bringing in a profit,’ I said proudly. ‘So there’s nothing to worry about. How are you and Dad?’

  As I listened to tales of Dad’s gardening achievements and news about the dog’s latest adventure, my own words about the café kept coming back to me. I’d come a long way in a short time, I realized, feeling a flush of pleasure and pride. And best of all, for the first time in my life I’d found a job and a way of living that I actually felt passionate about.

  ‘Are you still there?’ Mum asked, when I failed to respond properly to whatever domestic bombshell she’d just recounted.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, gazing out of the window and admiring the sunset, which was just like a peach melba, with its golden and raspberry-coloured streaks. ‘I’m still here.’

  I smiled to myself. Still here. I liked the sound of that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next day was Friday, and I was filled with a churning mixture of excitement and nerves about our dinner menu that evening. The order from the cash-and-carry had been delivered, we’d booked two-thirds of the tables, and Annie had promised to pick up some tea-lights and fresh flowers from Wadebridge, but I still had the feeling I’d forgotten something important.

  ‘Have you contacted the local paper?’ Rachel asked. ‘You should invite them along. With a photographer, preferably, to try and drum up some publicity. Get in touch with the local radio station too, see if they’ll give you a mention.’

  ‘Ooh, that’s a good idea,’ I said.

  She grinned. ‘I used to work at a marketing agency, for my sins,’ she confessed. ‘Old habits die hard. I can write up a press release if you want and email it around?’

  ‘Fantastic,’ I said. ‘Thanks, Rachel.’

  Phoebe hadn’t vanished at the crack of dawn today, which I was pleased about. She was making herself useful again, wiping tables and clearing them, and loading and unloading the dishwasher, even wiping down the laminated menus when she ran out of other jobs to do.

  ‘Menus!’ I exclaimed, noticing what she was doing. ‘I need to type one up for tonight.’

  ‘I can d
o that for you,’ she said, overhearing me.

  ‘You should have a break,’ I told her. ‘I haven’t seen you stop moving since we opened up. Go on, take yourself off to the beach with a drink. But thanks,’ I said. ‘You’re a trooper – and you too, Rach. I don’t know what I’d do without you both.’

  Ruth, Tim and the kids came in and, miracle of the year, we weren’t rushed off our feet at the time, so I was able to make a big fuss of them all and let them spend ages choosing their ice creams. I felt a flush of pride as I handed over the cones, and made drinks for Ruth and Tim. I am capable, I am managing, look at me, just like a proper café owner, I thought with a secret smile to myself. I hoped this would get reported back to Mum, after the scaremongering earlier in the week.

  ‘Those cakes look amazing,’ Ruth said, looking longingly at them.

  ‘They are,’ I told her. ‘Annie’s been making them – remember Annie, Jo’s friend? They’re as delicious as they look, and you know what they say . . .’ I winked at her. ‘Nothing has calories when you’re on holiday.’

  She laughed. ‘I wish! But go on then, you’ve twisted my arm. A slice of that chocolate cake, please.’

  ‘Better make that two slices,’ Tim put in. ‘We are on holiday, like you say, and we’ll be back at the gym tomorrow.’

  ‘Wise choice,’ I said. ‘You’ll be glad you made that decision.’

  The children all hugged me when they left – rather stickily, it had to be said, especially Thea, who insisted on kissing me repeatedly with her ice-creamy lips – and I was surprised to realize that I actually felt sorry to see them go.

  ‘I’m down here all summer, so if you fancy coming back for another visit, you’re very welcome,’ I found myself saying. It had been the first time in my life that I’d ever invited Ruth anywhere. ‘Mum and Dad are hopefully going to pop down soon too. I’m not sure what Lou’s plans are for the holidays . . .’

  ‘One more kiss, Aunty Weevie,’ Thea demanded, turning her chocolatey face up in my direction. I obliged, feeling quite a lot of the chocolate transfer itself to me in a rather wet and smeary fashion.

  ‘Hope I can see you again before too long, anyway,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ Ruth agreed. ‘You are lucky, living here, Evie. I’m almost envious!’

  I loved that ‘almost’, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to be fully envious. ‘I am lucky,’ I agreed. ‘I’m having a really good time here now.’

  She dabbed briskly at my face with a Wet Wipe, as if I were one of her children. ‘Oh dear, sorry. Thea is the muckiest child on this planet.’

  ‘Aunty Evie,’ Isabelle said shyly, pressing herself against me. ‘I want to have my own café at the seaside when I’m a grown-up lady, just like you.’

  I gave her a squeeze. ‘That would be wonderful,’ I said, having a flashback to saying exactly the same thing to Jo, when I’d been around Izzy’s age. ‘We could be neighbours, couldn’t we?’

  Her eyes shone. ‘Yes!’

  They trooped off, with lots of waving and kiss-blowing, and I felt a warmth spread through me. For once, it had been as if Ruth and I were actually on an equal footing, rather than her looking down on me from her position on high as the ‘success story’ patronizing the ‘screw-up’. There she had been with her family in my café, and nothing – absolutely nothing – had gone wrong. Her kids had liked coming in to see Aunty Evie, just as I’d always liked coming to see Jo. There was a nice symmetry about it, a continuity that pleased me. When I’m a grown-up lady, just like you, Isabelle had said, and for once I did feel grown-up, as if I’d passed some kind of test, after all the black-sheep years.

  ‘How adorable,’ Rachel said, smiling at me as Isabelle darted back for one last beaming wave through the window. ‘And how cool, having an aunty who has her own beach café. Much boasting back at school, I reckon.’

  Her words made me glow with pleasure. ‘Do you think?’ I asked. ‘Fancy Isabelle saying she wanted to be like me when she grew up. No one’s ever wanted to be like me – ever.’

  ‘You’re a role model now,’ Rachel teased. ‘Wouldn’t you say, Pheebs?’

  ‘A total role model,’ Phoebe smiled, then she launched into the Jungle Book song. ‘It’s true-ooh-ooh, we wanna be like you-ooh-ooh . . .’

  I elbowed her, laughing. ‘Enough! Stop it,’ I said, secretly loving every minute of it though. A role model! I would treasure Isabelle’s remark for a long, long time, I knew that already. Being looked up to by my niece felt like the nicest compliment I’d had in ages.

  That afternoon, once we’d closed the café and Rachel had left, Phoebe helped me cover the tables with some sweet red-and-white gingham tablecloths that I’d bought from the cash-and-carry, and then we dissected the bunches of flowers Annie had dropped off, making lots of smaller posies with just one or two flowers and some leaves, and putting them into stem vases. After that, I printed off the menus, set the tables with cutlery and tea-lights, hung some fairy lights around the counter and threaded another string along the balcony that enclosed the deck. Then I ran to get changed into a plain black shift-dress and bung on some make-up.

  ‘What else do you want me to do?’ Phoebe asked.

  I smiled at her – my loyal, tireless new assistant. ‘Phoebe, you don’t have to do anything, love,’ I said. ‘You’ve worked your butt off all day. You can have your dinner here, as one of the guests, if you want. God knows you’ve earned it, all the work you’ve done.’

  Her face darkened. ‘I want to help,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Of course I do!’ I told her. ‘I’m just saying, you don’t have to. Don’t feel you have to slave all day because you’ve stayed here a couple of nights.’ I looked at her, standing there mulishly with her arms crossed over her chest. ‘But if you really want to help—’

  ‘I said I did, didn’t I?’

  ‘Then I’ll give you some tables to waitress. That would be brilliant.’ I wasn’t sure why she was being so tetchy all of a sudden, when she’d been so eager to please for the rest of the day. I put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she muttered. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t want to be a burden.’

  ‘You’re not a burden,’ I told her.

  ‘It’s been really kind of you letting me stay, but—’

  ‘But what?’ Then I got it, why she was being so uptight. ‘Look, if you’re worried I’m going to chuck you out on a whim, don’t be – because I’m not. All right? You can stay all weekend, and if you pitch in and help, that’s brilliant and I’ll appreciate it. But you know that you can’t stay with me forever, so – ’ I broke off. It was difficult, finding the right words. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or push her away, but at the same time I needed to be upfront and lay out the facts. ‘So you need to start thinking ahead, making plans,’ I told her. I softened, seeing the panicked look that appeared on her face. ‘I’ll help you, whether you decide to stay in Cornwall, or go home, but you’ve got to make some decisions. You can’t just be on the run forever.’

  She hung her head and said nothing.

  ‘What’s happening about school, for instance?’ I asked. ‘I don’t even know how old you are, Phoebe. Are you going to stay on in education, or look for work, or claim benefits, or—’

  ‘I don’t know!’ she cried. ‘I don’t know, all right?’

  Just at that moment, Ed walked in and, with a sob, Phoebe ran past him and out through the door. I let out a groan. ‘Aarrrgh,’ I said, running my hands through my hair. ‘I think I just handled that really badly.’

  ‘What’s going on? What’s the story with her, anyway?’ he asked.

  I explained briefly, feeling wretched and useless. ‘And now she’s flounced off again, and . . .’ I sighed. ‘I know she’s not my responsibility, but I just want her to be all right. She’s so young. Too young to be living on her own down here. I wish she could sort things out at home, but . . .’

 
He glanced up at the wall clock and I followed his gaze. It was twenty to seven, and we’d be opening up before long. ‘Leave her be,’ he said. ‘We’ve got too much to do here to start chasing around after her.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’

  ‘But nothing,’ he said gently. ‘Look, you’ve been really kind to her. You’ve been more generous than lots of people would have been in your position. She knows that. She also knows that what you said is right, that she does have to make some decisions and sort herself out. So put her out of your mind for now, and let’s focus on tonight. This is a big night for us. We need to be on top form if we’re going to make this work.’

  I nodded. He was right. ‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘The clock’s ticking. Have a deep breath, and let’s get started.’

  The first customers to arrive, just after seven o’clock, were Annie, Martha and Jamie, and as I ushered them in, I saw the café through their eyes, and felt a huge rush of pride. The tables looked so smart with their tablecloths and flower-filled vases, and the candles and fairy lights lent the room a soft, pretty glow. ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ Annie said, hugging me. ‘Jo would have loved what you’ve done, Evie.’

  ‘It’s great,’ Martha smiled. ‘Really posh – like a restaurant!’

  I winked at her. ‘It’ll be even posher with some paintings on the walls, right, Jamie?’

  He grinned. ‘None posher,’ he said. ‘By the way, is it all right if we have the show next Tuesday evening?’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ I said. ‘Will that give you enough time to invite everyone you want?’

  ‘Yeah, plenty,’ he said. ‘Thanks again, Evie. I can’t wait.’

  I showed them to their table and gave them some menus, and then the next group of people arrived, and then the next. Rachel and I were soon busy taking orders, serving drinks and bringing out the starters. We were running as a BYO, so people had brought along their own bottles of wine for which we charged a small corkage fee. Soon the wine was flowing, the room was filling up and there was a pleasant buzz of conversation and low laughter, and the clink and scrape of cutlery.