The Seafront Tearoom

by Vanessa Greene

  “Bit out of the blue I know, but a friend was driving down from Edinburgh and asked if I wanted a lift . . .”

  “It’s OK,” she said, with a smile. “I’m used to surprises.” They walked up the stairs together.

  “Those are new.” He pointed at the black-and-white photos Kat had taken of the seafront ice-cream shops and put in handmade driftwood frames. “Nice.”

  “Thanks. Leo found some of the wood for them. A few things have changed since last time.”

  “Two months is way too long.” He shook his head. “I’ve missed Leo loads and he must’ve grown up so much. Where is he?” He peered down the corridor toward Leo’s room. “Can I say hello? I got him something.” He held up a plastic bag with a wrapped box inside.

  “Sorry, he’s in bed.”

  Jake hit his palm gently against his forehead. “Oh yeah. Of course.”

  “Come through. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Jake sat down on the sofa, running one hand distractedly over the corduroy material on the arm. “So, how’ve you been?”

  “Good,” Kat said, stepping into the kitchen and getting a mug out of the cupboard, flicking the kettle on. “Busy.” She made Jake’s tea on autopilot: milky with two spoonfuls of white sugar.

  Back in the living room she put Jake’s drink down in front of him and joined him on the sofa. “Leo talks about you all the time, you know.”

  “Really? He does?” Jake glowed. He took a sip of tea, not waiting for it to cool. “Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t send any money over this month . . .” He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at his feet. “I’m doing everything I can, but I’m starting from scratch in Edinburgh and there’s a ton of other painting-and-decorating companies. I’m slowly picking up jobs by word of mouth, but—”

  “I understand,” Kat said. “I’m not going to lie, though—it’s hard covering the bills when I’m not working either.”

  “You haven’t found anything?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been interviewing.”

  “You’ll get something. You’ve always been the brains of the operation.”

  “Ha,” she said, and smiled. “Well, hopefully it’ll be soon. You know how it gets here in winter.”

  “Yep,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “Absolutely freezing. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I send money next month.”

  Kat nodded. “OK.”

  “In the meantime, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ve barely seen Leo these past few months, and Mum and Dad are desperate to spend some time with him. They haven’t set eyes on him since their last visit down here, and that was . . .” His words trailed off.

  “When we were still together.”

  “Yes.”

  She remembered the visit clearly. It had been a sunny spring weekend last year. The four of them had taken Leo to the beach, with his kite, and they’d had a picnic on the sand. From the outside it must have looked like the perfect outing.

  “Could I take him back to Edinburgh with me for a couple of weeks—three maybe? Mum and Dad can look after him if and when I get work.”

  “Three weeks?” she said, feeling winded. She hadn’t been apart from Leo for that long since he was born. “But . . . what about nursery, Jake? His routine . . .”

  “Come on, Kat. I’m his dad—these are his grandparents. Isn’t it more important that we spend some proper time with him? We’ll make sure we keep things as normal as possible.”

  She tried to imagine the flat without Leo; his room, empty. The quiet. “I don’t know—”

  “You need to look for a job, to send out résumés—that’s what you keep saying. Don’t tell me you did all that work at uni for nothing. If I had Leo for a few weeks you’d be able to focus on your career.”

  A cough came from Leo’s room, and Kat turned toward the sound. Was it selfish to want to keep him with her? The flat fell silent again.

  Jake spoke up. “We did say we would share looking after him.”

  “You’re right.”

  Jake finished his tea. “Listen, I should be going. I’m staying at a friend’s tonight. I’ll come back in the morning to see him. Think it over?”

  “OK,” Kat said, hoping that in the morning the idea of parting with her son would seem easier. “Let’s talk then.”

  5

  Friday, September 5

  Scarborough, Peasholm Park

  The taxi slowed as it approached the semi-detached house. Over the road, exactly as Adam had described, was a park with a Japanese pagoda, still and mystical in the early evening light.

  “This is it,” Séraphine said to the driver.

  That morning she’d kissed good-bye to her parents and the twins at Bordeaux airport. It felt a world away now.

  She could see a girl in the window—brown hair in a ponytail, her nose pressed up against the glass. Séraphine waved at her. Adam opened the door. “Hi,” he said warmly. She recognized him instantly from their chat on Skype—about thirty, with dark hair, a little scruffy at the front, and brown eyes, dressed in a gray jumper and jeans. He stepped forward and held out his hand for her to shake.

  “I’m Adam.” He shook his head and laughed shyly. “But you already know that. Here, let me take your bag for you.”

  As he took her suitcase from her, she returned his smile. “Thank you.”

  She followed him in. Compared to the entrance hall in her family’s chateau, the house seemed cramped and untidy—coats were piled one on top of another and muddy shoes and Wellingtons dirtied the carpet by the door. Two empty cat baskets and a hamster cage formed a precarious pile beside them.

  “Excuse the chaos,” Adam said. “You’ll get used to it, I hope.”

  “It’s fine, don’t worry,” Séraphine assured him. “You have pets?” she asked, peering at the cages.

  “Not at the moment,” he replied with a smile. “But we do have the occasional short-stay guest. I’m a vet—with a weakness for taking in waifs and strays. I probably should have warned you.”

  “That’s OK, I’m fond of animals.”

  She looked past Adam to the doorway of the living room, where his daughter was standing. She was wearing jeans and a top with a silver star on it, her gaze fixed on Séraphine.

  “This is Zoe,” Adam said, putting his arm around the girl and bringing her out into the hallway. He seemed young to have a daughter of ten. “Zoe, this is Séraphine, who we talked about. She’s going to be staying with us and teaching you some French.”

  “Hi,” Zoe said.

  “Hello,” Séraphine said kindly, bending to her level. “Here, I brought you something,” she said, handing her a present. A notebook with a lock she’d picked out in a market back home.

  “Thanks.” Zoe took hold of it.

  “I have a sister a little younger than you. You look quite alike, actually.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Zoe, how about we show Séraphine up to her room?”

  They climbed the carpeted stairs together. On the walls were photos of Adam, Zoe and a woman who must have been her mother—she had a kind smile, glasses and long dark hair. They reached a small attic room.

  “This is where you’ll be sleeping,” Adam said.

  In the center of the room was a single bed with a worn red rug next to it. A dormer window, with a chair next to it, offered a view of the park. In the corner of the room was a sewing table and a machine that looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years.

  “It’s not much,” Adam said, apologetically.

  “It’s perfect,” Séraphine replied.

  “Take your time unpacking, and then I hope you’ll join us for dinner at about seven?”

  “That would be great.”

  “It’s cottage pie—an English classic.”

&
nbsp; “Sounds delicious. And tomorrow it’s my turn. Something authentically French.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “Do you enjoy cooking?”

  Séraphine felt instantly at ease. “Yes, I love it. Especially baking—pastries and cakes are my specialty.”

  “Did you hear that, Zoe?” Adam said, squeezing his daughter’s shoulder gently. “If we’re nice to Séraphine, perhaps she’ll bake something for us one day.”

  He smiled and turned to head back downstairs.

  Zoe lingered in the doorway of the small room, toying with the bronze door handle.

  “Have you got a picture of your sister?” she asked.

  Séraphine brought up a photo of Mathilde on her phone and showed it to Zoe. “Here she is. Pretty like you. She’s a twin. I have two brothers also.”

  “She doesn’t look much like me,” Zoe said. “Not at all.”

  Séraphine showered, called her parents to let them know she’d arrived safely, and then pinned a couple of photos up on the wall by her bedside table. She dressed in jeans and a cream top, and checked her watch: six thirty—still half an hour till dinner.

  She sat down at the chair by the window. She’d done the hardest thing in leaving, but at the same time she knew she’d been a coward, and it nagged at her. On her phone she scrolled down her contacts and started a new message.

  I’m sorry I left without saying good-bye . . .

  She bit her lip, trying to fight back the tears. It pained her to think of what she’d lost.

  . . . This is difficult for me.

  A moment later, a reply beeped through and her heart leaped.

  I know. I was there once too.

  6

  Saturday, September 6

  South Cliff, Scarborough

  “Auntie Charlie’s here,” Pippa called out into the hallway behind her. Her pale blond hair was up in a ponytail, and Gracie, the newest addition to the family, was strapped to her chest snugly in a sling.

  “Hi, Luke,” Charlie said, kissing her brother-in-law on the cheek and stepping into the Edwardian house, putting her small suitcase down in the hall. She’d packed light for the week’s stay. Thankfully, her boss, keen on Charlie’s tearooms feature idea for the next issue of the magazine, had agreed that she could use the days for research. Charlie had Googled possible places the previous night, some on the coast and others in York and Leeds.

  Pippa’s house was exactly as Charlie remembered it: spotless and tidy, with immaculate cream walls and carpets.

  “Good journey?” Luke asked.

  “Not bad, thanks.” She looked him up and down. “What’s with the suit? It’s Saturday.”

  “I’ve got a big project on. Sorry I can’t stick around but I’m needed in the office today.”

  “Luke works most weekends,” Pippa said. “I’m used to being on my own on Saturdays.”

  “Pip, that’s not tr—” Luke started, shaking his head.

  “Auntie Charrrrlie!” The cry was followed by a stampede as Flo and Jacob rushed down the stairs to greet their aunt with hugs and kisses. She bent down to embrace them back.

  “Wow, you two have got so big,” Charlie said, crouching to take them in. Six-year-old Flo was taller, with long legs in stripy tights and a pinafore dress, and Jacob, who’d recently turned two, was now running around the place rather than tentatively cruising along the furniture as he had been the last time she saw him.

  “They’ve been so looking forward to your visit,” Pippa said. “We made a cake this morning. Didn’t we, you two?”

  “Yes,” Flo said proudly. “A chocolate one.”

  “Sorry, I have to dash,” Luke said, giving his wife and kids a hurried kiss good-bye. “Have a good day. I’ll be back late, so don’t worry about dinner.”

  “OK, sure,” Pippa said. Charlie thought she saw a flicker of frustration on her sister’s face.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Charlie,” Luke added with a polite smile before heading toward the front door. As the door closed, Pippa’s smile returned.

  “Charlie, do you want to come through the kitchen for some cake?”

  “How could I refuse an offer like that?”

  Venus, a sleek Prussian blue cat, snaked her way around Pippa’s legs as she walked, leading them all through to the open-plan kitchen. The room was airy and light, with French doors opening onto tidy grass and a weeping willow. On the fridge and walls were pictures the children had drawn, and the bookshelves were filled with the latest cookery books.

  “Take a seat,” Pippa called over her shoulder while she busied herself taking the cake out the fridge—all without a peep from the baby, who had dropped off in the sling.

  “I got a little something for Gracie,” Charlie said, as the kids buzzed around the cake adding extra decorations. She passed her sister a turquoise gift bag.

  “Thank you.” Pippa took the bag and opened the tissue wrapping inside. “You shouldn’t have.” She pulled out a babygro with a picture of the Cat in the Hat on the front, and matching bootees. Charlie had found the clothes in a boutique in Greenwich Village and immediately fallen in love with them.

  “Mum used to read us the books, do you remember?” she said. “Hopefully Gracie will like them too.”

  “How nice,” Pippa said. She inspected the label. “It’s organic cotton, right?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure,” Charlie said, reading over her shoulder.

  “No, it’s not,” Pippa said flatly. “A lovely thought though. Thank you.” She put the babygro back in the bag and to one side on the counter. “Now, kids, shall we sit down?”

  They crowded around the oak dining table and Pippa poured juice for the children and cut the cake, dishing it out onto plates.

  “How’s it been with Gracie?” Charlie asked.

  “Oh, fine,” Pippa said. “She’s an easy baby, same as the other two. Flo and Jacob are usually off at their music lessons and activities, so I’ve had lots of time with Gracie, the two of us. Mum and baby bonding.” She smiled lovingly at Gracie’s sleeping face.

  “That’s good.”

  “I’m enjoying it. It’s a very pure kind of happiness,” Pippa said. “The one upside to Luke not being around that much.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice, but she brightened quickly and continued:

  “Of course it’s fascinating to see the change in these two now they have a little sister.”

  Jacob was pulling pink decorations off the cake and scooping off icing with his finger. Pippa seemed not to notice.

  “So, Mum mentioned you’re in line for a promotion.”

  “Hopefully,” Charlie replied. “I’m not the only one they’re considering, but my boss thinks I’m in with a good chance.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Pippa said. “You certainly live for your work, don’t you?”

  “I enjoy it, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Yes, of course,” Pippa said innocently. “And you’re so good at it, aren’t you?”

  Charlie waited for it. The inevitable dig. She knew how her sister operated.

  “But don’t forget that other things are important too,” Pippa said, tenderly brushing a hair away from Flo’s face. “Life can pass you by when all you’re thinking about is your job.”

  “I do have a life too, Pip.”

  “No need to get touchy,” Pippa replied.

  “I’m not being touchy.”

  “All I’m saying is, after all that business with Ben . . . I’d have thought maybe you’d want to reassess . . .”

  Flo looked up from her cake, suddenly interested. “Ben?”

  Charlie seethed inside but reminded herself of her vow to be patient. Somehow she managed to reply coolly and calmly:

  “No, Pippa. There is absolutely nothing I want to reassess.”

  The next day, a Sunday, Char
lie left Pippa and Luke’s house and walked into town in bright autumn sunshine, looking for the café her sister had recommended as perfect for her tearoom feature.

  In the middle of the High Street, Katie’s Kitchen was impossible to miss—pink-and-white polka-dot curtains were draped in the front window, with a row of teapots on the sill. Charlie stepped inside. The room buzzed with chatter, and oversized canvases with pictures of teacups adorned the walls. The counter, covered in a plastic tablecloth with a flowered print, was laden with cupcakes and muffins. Next to them was a large birthday cake with a princess on it.

  Charlie spotted an empty table in the corner, and stepped carefully over other customers’ shopping bags to reach it. She picked up the laminated menu and read through the items on offer.

  Eventually a teenage girl with her hair in a high ponytail came over to her table. “What can I get you?” she asked, getting out her notebook and not meeting Charlie’s eyes.

  “I’ll have a blueberry muffin, a slice of gingerbread and . . .” She looked back at the menu. “What flavor are your pink cupcakes?”

  “They’re pink flavor,” the girl said. “Nice, lots of icing.”

  “Oh,” Charlie replied hesitantly. “A chocolate one, please.”

  “That’s a lot of cakes. Are you expecting someone else?” the girl asked, glancing at the empty chair.

  “No,” Charlie said, forcing a smile. “It’s all for me. And a cup of English breakfast tea too. Thank you.”

  As the waitress walked away, Charlie got out her phone and dialed her boss’s number. She had woken up to two voice mail messages asking her to call Jess urgently, something that wasn’t unusual even on the weekend.

  “Hi, Jess, I just got your messages—”

  “Charlie—thanks for calling back. So, the October edition’s just gone to press, and your Big Apple coffee feature looks amazing.”

  “Great,” Charlie said, relieved. She looked up and nodded in acknowledgment as the waitress set down the things she’d ordered on her table.