The Beach Café

by Lucy Diamond

  Then I got the fear. Shit! Had I said anything awful about her in front of him? Probably, knowing my big mouth. Almost certainly in fact. Oh Gawd . . .

  ‘Come and meet Verity,’ Jamie was saying, putting an arm around Betty as she reached him. ‘Verity, this is my mum, Betty. And, Mum, guess what, Verity’s just bought one of my paintings.’

  My mouth was hanging open and I quickly snapped it shut. Jamie had sold a painting! That was wonderful. But oh, my goodness . . . I was still reeling from the Betty bombshell. How come I hadn’t been told about this? How come Jamie was so sweet and normal, when his mum was such an old witch?

  Florence had appeared in front of me, and I blinked. Come on, Evie. Pull yourself together.

  ‘I’m having a lovely time,’ she said, twinkling at me. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me, dear. I’ve met some very friendly people and I’ve even bought one of the little canvases as a present to myself.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said warmly. ‘I’m really glad. So it’s turned out to be a good birthday, then?’

  ‘Oh, it has,’ she replied. ‘A very good birthday. And I had some wonderful news earlier from my son too, when he phoned – he’s going to be back in the UK soon, working on a new documentary. I can’t wait to see him.’

  ‘Oh, that’s fab,’ I said. Her eyes were moist with emotion, bless her, and it made me feel sniffly just looking at her. ‘I’m so pleased, Florence.’

  ‘He couldn’t believe it when I told him I was going out to an art exhibition tonight,’ she giggled. ‘He said, “Really, Mum? Good for you!” ’ She grinned. ‘I’m so glad you asked me along this evening. I’d have been twiddling my thumbs and feeling miserable, if I’d stayed in at home.’

  ‘Well, I’m really glad you came,’ I told her. ‘And do spread the word about our girls’ night in, won’t you? Invite anyone you want to. The more the merrier, I say.’

  I broke off then, because I could see Betty approaching us. She looked uncharacteristically nervous, her face florid, her lipsticked mouth in a tense, puckered circle. ‘Have you got a minute?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Florence, would you excuse us?’

  Betty and I stepped to one side, away from the throng. She cleared her throat self-consciously and fiddled with one of her Pat-Butcheresque earrings. ‘I want to say thank you,’ she began quietly. ‘Thank you for giving my Jay a chance. He’s absolutely over the moon with all this. Over the moon.’

  I was – there is no other word for it – gobsmacked. Utterly gobsmacked. Betty . . . being nice. Betty . . . saying thank you! Had the body-snatchers had a day trip to Carrawen Bay recently? Was this really a Cyborg in front of me, wearing the lurid dress and lippy?

  I realized I was staring. ‘It’s my pleasure,’ I told her quickly. ‘He’s a lovely lad, and his paintings are great. He deserves a break.’

  She was twisting her hands now, looking incredibly uncomfortable. There was a sheen of sweat on her face. ‘The other thing is: I’m sorry. I . . .’ She was struggling to force the words out. ‘I’ve been a bit unfair on you. Misjudged you. And . . .’

  Oh, my word. Weirder and weirder. Had that really been a ‘sorry’ as well as a ‘thank you’ she’d squeezed out from that cat’s bum of a mouth? I half-expected lightning to strike the café, like some biblical end-of-world scenario.

  ‘And I’m sorry,’ she said again.

  Bloody hell. Bloody HELL! I thought I might fall over with the shock. Was there something hallucinogenic in the wine that meant I was imagining this conversation? She was looking so awkward that I took pity on her. ‘No hard feelings,’ I said, once I’d got my breath back from this unexpected turn of events.

  ‘I was very fond of your aunt,’ she went on. ‘Very sad to see her go. And when you came in, I thought you were going to muck it all up and . . .’ She shook her head, her eyes down. I had never seen her so humble. Meek, even. Evil Betty – meek! ‘Well, I was wrong. I got you wrong. What you’ve done for Jamie, what you’ve done for the café, it’s really good.’

  ‘Thanks, Betty,’ I said, still somewhat dazed. ‘I appreciate that.’ Then, to lighten things up a bit – the atmosphere between us had become very sombre, very confessional – I added, ‘Right! Well, I reckon we both deserve a drink after that, wouldn’t you say?’ and poured us each a large slosh of wine. ‘Cheers,’ I said, clinking mine against hers. ‘To Jamie – and to a great night.’

  ‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘I’m so proud of him, I can’t tell you. Just so proud.’

  The evening was getting stranger by the minute, but I was enjoying myself. And having Betty, my former nemesis, on side could only be a good thing, couldn’t it?

  By nine o’clock four of Jamie’s paintings had been sold, and he’d had praise and compliments coming out of his ears. Someone had even expressed an interest in commissioning him to paint a mural in their bathroom. To say he was jubilant was a massive understatement. I was jubilant, too. The whole night had been a roaring success. Everyone seemed to have enjoyed themselves, and I had mingled my little socks off, meeting lots of friendly locals, who all kept telling me how proud Jo would have been of me, and how wonderful it was to see the café doing so well. I had invited lots of women to the café’s inaugural ‘girls’ night in’ too, including (after my fifth glass of wine) Betty, the village matriarch herself. Who would have predicted that at the start of the evening?

  Ed, Annie, Martha, Jamie and my new mate Betty helped me clear the empty glasses and plates, then said goodbye and went home. All except Ed, that was. We looked at each other in a strange, self-conscious silence and I felt myself blush.

  ‘Fancy a stroll on the beach?’ he asked, after a moment, grabbing one of the half-empty wine bottles that had been left. ‘It’s a beautiful evening.’

  It was a beautiful evening – the sky aflame with red and scarlet, the air still warm, with just the faintest of breezes. And Ed was looking every bit as gorgeous too, I thought to myself.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Oh yes.’ Then I said ‘Yes’ a third time for good measure and laughed.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then,’ he said, and held out his hand.

  I took it. And we walked down to the beach together.

  ‘I loved it this evening,’ he said, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about us holding hands. I, on the other hand, could hardly breathe for the excited, tingly feelings that were running through my whole body. We are holding hands, I kept saying in my head. I am holding hands with Ed. What does this mean? Has he stopped brooding about his ex? What is going to happen?

  ‘What was that?’ I said, trying to shut out the giddy voice in my mind. ‘You loved the evening? Oh, so did I. Wasn’t it great? All those people. And Jamie’s face! He looked so happy.’

  ‘He did,’ he said. ‘It all came together perfectly, didn’t it?’ He squeezed my hand, then suddenly stopped walking and gestured towards the dune on our right. ‘Okay, this looks a good spot. Let’s sit here.’

  I was so enjoying the walking hand-in-hand thing that I almost protested at having to stop, but managed to avoid blurting out anything stupid. ‘Good idea,’ I said, trying to sound casual.

  We sat down in the cool, gritty sand, with the dune behind us. A breeze whispered through the hard, spiky grass that grew there, and the rushing of the waves on the shore sounded dream-like and hypnotic. The sky was getting darker by the minute, and I could see the first faint spangles of starlight emerging. How I loved living by the beach, I thought happily. I couldn’t imagine being back in a city again now.

  Ed poured us each a glass of wine and we clinked them together. ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Cheers to the café, and to you too, Evie. You’re what makes it something really special.’

  ‘Oh, Ed,’ I said, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. ‘I don’t know about that . . .’

  ‘Well, I do,’ he said. ‘You were the one who made tonight happen, who brought everybody together. You were just . . . sparkling tonight.’
/>   I blushed and opened my mouth to say something self-deprecating, but he was still talking.

  ‘I’ve been down here for – what? – six weeks now, and that was the first time I’ve really been aware of the community, all the links between people. And they all enjoyed it too, you could tell.’

  ‘I loved seeing so many villagers coming in,’ I agreed. ‘They were so friendly, weren’t they? It made me feel part of the bay, like I belonged here. And so many of them talked to me about Jo, too – my aunt who used to run the café. I kept getting the feeling that she was there as well, somehow, looking down on us, and raising a glass to everyone probably.’

  The bottle was between us, wedged into the sand, and he moved it to his far side, so that he could edge closer to me. ‘Listen, about what happened the other night,’ he began. ‘I’m sorry I pounced on you like that, but . . .’

  I cringed. He was sorry. That was not what I wanted to hear. ‘Oh God, don’t start that again,’ I said, my words tumbling out in embarrassment. ‘I know it was a mistake, I know you didn’t mean to, and probably wish you hadn’t, but—’

  ‘The thing was,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t a mistake.’ And before I could say anything else, he’d turned towards me, taken my face in his hands and was kissing me.

  I kissed him back. He wrapped his arms around me and we kissed and kissed, and it felt amazing – every bit as brilliant as it had in the kitchen. It felt right, like we belonged together, like it had been written in the stars that this should happen. Was happening. Was still happening . . .

  He broke off and smiled at me. The sky was a deep, dark blue around us, but I could see the softness in his eyes, and felt utterly melty inside, my nerve endings all a-tremble. Whoa. He was a good kisser. A fantastic kisser.

  ‘You’re a fantastic kisser,’ I said, feeling drunk and dizzied, unable to stop the words coming out all by themselves.

  He laughed. ‘You’re not bad yourself,’ he replied. He traced a finger down the side of my face, and every cell of me seemed to quiver.

  ‘Okay, so is this the part where you say that we shouldn’t be kissing any more, because of that rebound thing? And then I start talking about balls, and embarrass myself, and it all goes awkward and weird?’ I forced a little laugh but my heart was racing painfully. I genuinely needed to know.

  He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This is the bit where I tell you that I’m falling in love with you.’

  I laughed, then. I know this wasn’t an appropriate response, but it caught me so off-guard that it was more a reflex reaction out of embarrassment. Besides, his words sounded like something from a film.

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ he scolded. ‘You’re not supposed to laugh!’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I just . . .’ I smiled at him. ‘Go on, say it again, and I promise I won’t laugh next time.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘God, you make things difficult sometimes. All right. I’ll say it again.’ He cupped my face with one hand and looked deep into my eyes. ‘Evie Flynn, I’m falling in love with you,’ he said.

  This time I didn’t laugh. A shiver went through me, followed by a deep yearning instead. ‘Ed,’ I said, recklessness coursing through me as I made a decision there and then. ‘Shall we go back to mine?’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I’m not going to tell you exactly what happened next. Not all of it anyway. Some things have to be kept private, right? But I will just say that events became so passionate and urgent once we’d got back inside the café, that before I knew it the main counter ended up being christened in a rather special way. Evie Flynn, you hussy, I thought to myself as our clothes were hurled across the café floor. There was a split-second where the sensible part of my brain flashed up the query: Is this too soon? Are we rushing into things? Should we do the hand-holding and kissing for a while longer before we actually get naked?

  The lusty part of my brain dismissed such nonsense immediately. Oh, shut up! I can’t wait a second longer. I fancy this man like crazy. And I . . . oooh . . .

  So. Ahem. Yes. Hot, frantic, juicy sex on the counter was the order of the day. (Today’s special . . .) And it was good. Seriously good. I can also confirm that my dreamy imaginings of his caveman noise weren’t too far off the mark. Oh, and that the bacon sandwiches he made us afterwards were the finest I’d ever eaten, even if I did get the giggles seeing him stark-bollock-naked apart from his chef ’s apron.

  He brandished the spatula at me when he heard me giggling. ‘Hot fat on the genitals is no laughing matter,’ he said sternly.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘but I can’t take you seriously when your bum’s hanging out the back like that, with the apron strings dangling between your cheeks.’ I giggled again. ‘It’s a good look, though, really. Straight out of a dodgy calendar.’

  He struck a pose. ‘What do you think, Mr October?’

  ‘Mr Cocktober, more like,’ I said childishly, laughing at my own crap joke. I pulled on an apron myself and did a matching stupid pose – hand on hip, looking over one shoulder flirtily and putting a finger to my lips. ‘Miss Aug-arse-t,’ I said demurely.

  ‘Like it,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Like it very much actually.’

  We sat munching our bacon sarnies in one of the booths, his arm around me, me snuggled against him. I wasn’t sure which was tastier: the bacon or him. ‘So . . .’ I began, then stopped myself. I was just about to do that classic post-coital confessional thing, where you start telling each other secrets and intimate stuff, but at the last second I wasn’t sure whether Ed would be game. Maybe we didn’t know each other well enough yet, despite having shagged each other in a mad frenzy minutes earlier. I didn’t want to break the spell we’d just woven by giving him the third degree now.

  ‘So,’ he replied. He swallowed the last of his sandwich and gave me a squeeze. ‘I guess I’d better get back. The poor dog will be wondering what I’m doing.’

  I felt my shoulders sag with disappointment. I’d forgotten about the dog. I’d kind of assumed that Ed would stay over the whole night, that we’d cuddle up in my bed and hopefully have sex again – maybe slower and more tender this time, gazing into each other’s eyes, watching each other’s reactions. Obviously he had different ideas. Oka-a-a-ay.

  I’m falling in love with you, he’d said up on the dunes, and the words stung as I recalled them now. Had it just been a line to get my kit off? And now that he’d realized what an easy lay I was, he was going to sod off back to his place? Great – that really seemed the sort of behaviour of someone in love. Looked like I should have held out and kept us at the kissing stage for longer after all, rather than throwing caution to the wind, and my clothes to the floor.

  Bollocks.

  ‘Right,’ I said, trying to sound like I wasn’t bothered. I got up quickly so that his arm jerked away from me. ‘Yep.’ I busied myself with the plates, standing so that he couldn’t see my bare bottom, and wishing I was wearing something more substantial than this ridiculous apron get-up. I felt very drunk, very tired and very naked and just wanted him to go all of a sudden. ‘I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

  He stared at me. ‘Wait, Evie, why are you being so prickly?’ he said, clutching at my arm.

  Him grabbing me like that made my fingers slip on the plates, and in the next instant they’d shattered on the tiled floor with a horrible crash. I felt like crying. This was all going wrong.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I muttered under my breath, feeling the worst mood ever brewing.

  ‘I wish I could stay, honestly,’ he said, still holding my arm. ‘Really. I’m not about one-night stands, that isn’t me. I really like you, Evie. I thought we had something good going and I’d love to . . . see what happens next.’

  ‘What happens next is I’ve got to sweep up these broken plates before we cut our bare feet on them,’ I said grumpily, still not looking at him. There was a pause and I felt a horrible black stew of bitterness churning around inside me. Then I raised my eyes to him. Mayb
e I was being unfair. He did look sincere, I acknowledged begrudgingly. ‘Sorry,’ I said after a moment. ‘I’m just knackered and . . .’ I shrugged, looking away again and feeling vulnerable. I didn’t want to come across as needy and clinging, I wanted to be super-cool and in control. This was not easy. ‘I just thought you were going to stay,’ I said gruffly in the end.

  ‘I’d love to stay,’ he said. ‘Evie, I would, but . . . Another time, yeah?’ He reached up and touched my face, and my insides did that gooey, dissolving thing again.

  I nodded, feeling slightly better. ‘Another time,’ I agreed. I was looking forward to it already.

  Once we’d swept up and he’d gone (after a lovely, lingering kiss in the doorway), I went upstairs to bed, but I was so wired with what had just happened that sleep seemed impossible. My mind seemed to have reverted into teenagerhood and kept repeating Oh my God! over and over again, interspersed with I shagged Ed – it was amazing!

  It was difficult to stop myself from texting Amber to tell her. I so badly wanted to! But it was two in the morning, and I knew she slept with her mobile near her bed, so I’d wake her up, and then she’d probably be so monstrously pissed off with me that she wouldn’t be properly excited on my behalf. That was not a good end result for anyone.

  I’d email her instead, I decided, throwing off the covers and padding downstairs. I’d send her a long juicy message and get it all out of my system, thus hopefully short-circuiting the Oh my God! loop still rebounding around my head. And then I would sleep. Hopefully, with another disgustingly dirty dream about Ed to entertain me between now and when my alarm went off.

  I switched on the PC and made myself a hot chocolate while I waited for it to start up. I opened my email account and was just about to hit the New Message option when something in the in-box caught my eye. An email from Amber – with ‘Ed’ as the subject matter. Ooh! Coincidence or what? Had she somehow telepathically picked up our shagging exploits?