I couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘What’s wrong with it being home-made?’ I retorted, stung.
He held up his hands, wide-eyed, as if I was a dangerous lunatic. ‘All right, calm down! Nothing’s wrong with it,’ he said in the tone of voice that said pretty much everything was wrong with it. Then I had a sudden horrible image of him telling Melissa about the book, and the two of them sniggering. I had to leave the room and have several emergency Advent-calendar chocolates before I said anything else.
‘He doesn’t like me,’ I hissed in the kitchen later, as I sorted through Jo’s recipes, looking for inspiration.
‘Of course he does,’ Ed said. ‘He told me he does.’ Oh yeah? Was that before or after I’d heard his nasty little
‘No offence, but . . .’ dig, I wondered. Or was it never? ‘I wasn’t trying to get rid of him, anyway,’ I muttered. ‘I was only asking what he was up to over Christmas. He just took it the wrong way.’
Ed didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘The thing is, I haven’t seen Jake for ages. Nearly a whole year,’ he said. ‘So I don’t want him to feel he has to dash off a few days after he gets here.’
‘I didn’t say he did.’
‘He is my brother,’ he said, like I needed reminding.
‘I know he is!’ Your brother who’s talking about staying with your ex-wife for Christmas, by the way. Were you aware of that?
‘And I’m really enjoying spending some proper time with him again, so – ’
‘I know!’ I said again. ‘So am I!’ No, I’m not. Not remotely. When is he leaving?
‘So let’s just – ’
‘Whoa, whoa!’ Oh, here he was, popping up right on cue. No doubt he’d been listening behind the door. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, all pretend concern. ‘Trouble in paradise?’
I was very close – this close – to blurting out ‘Up yours’ and storming past him, but decided that I shouldn’t give him the satisfaction. The last thing I wanted was him reporting any of this back to his good friend Melissa. ‘No way,’ I laughed, fakely, instead. (All those years at Drama School had come in handy at last.) ‘Just having a chat about . . . about what to bake next for our book. So many recipes to choose from!’
I met his gaze squarely and refused to look away, even though I could feel hot colour surging in my cheeks. The sooner he was out of here the better.
Chapter Five
We had a civilized, if not particularly chatty, lunch but my mind kept replaying the two awful conversations of the morning. Somehow or other I’d ended up feeling like the villain here – the unwelcoming girlfriend trying to shove her boyfriend’s poor brother out into the cold. Okay, so right at that moment I did feel like shoving him out into the cold, preferably off a cliff while I was at it, but I didn’t think I’d been that obvious about my feelings. And yet now Ed was being off with me, while Jake probably thought he’d scored a hat trick. Think again, pal, I felt like saying, every time I felt his smirky gaze on me. You can just think again.
As we were finishing our lunch, the doorbell rang. Glad of a distraction, I went to open it . . . and forgot my foul temper in the very next instant. Of all the people that might have been standing there, it was the best one of the bunch: Amber. I gave a cry of delight before realizing that she was tear-streaked and wild-eyed, and her bottom lip was decidedly trembly.
‘Oh Evie, I’m so glad to see you,’ she said and burst into floods of tears.
Amber was not the sort of person to cry unless something was seriously, humongously wrong. She also lived in London, over 250 miles away, and wasn’t in the habit of dropping round for a surprise visit. I put my arms around her, shocked. ‘What’s happened? Come in! Oh love, what’s wrong?’
She sobbed into my shoulder for a minute and I managed to catch the words ‘lying bastard’, ‘tabloids’, ‘bollocking from my agent’ and ‘worst day ever’.
‘Don’t you worry,’ I told her, steering her into the café so that I could shut the front door and keep out the freezing wintry air. ‘You’re here now, I’ll look after you. Take your coat off and tell me all about it.’
If ever the Victoria Cross could be presented for good deeds in the name of friendship, Amber should have been awarded it for services above and beyond the cause of duty. She had been completely amazing when I broke up with Matthew six months ago – providing sympathy, pep talks, chocolate and alcohol, and even trekking down to the Beach Café with me to help me get started here. You can bet your life I was going to return the favour now, whatever had happened to her.
‘Sorry to turn up out of the blue like this,’ she said. ‘Oh God, and you’ve got company as well,’ she added, seeing Jake sitting there with Ed.
‘Don’t apologize! You’re welcome here any time, you know that.’ More welcome than Jake was, that was for sure. I took her hand and pulled her forward. ‘Amber, this is Jake, Ed’s brother, just back in the UK from Thailand. Jake, this is my best friend, Amber.’
‘Hi Ed, hi Jake,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Sorry to interrupt your lunch, guys. Listen, if I’ve come at a bad time, then – ’
‘Of course you haven’t,’ I told her firmly.
‘Never,’ Ed said, standing up and giving her a hug. ‘Always good to see you, Amber.’
‘Hi,’ said Jake. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Amber since she’d walked in, and stared as she pulled off her enormous fake-fur hat and shook out her long red hair. Amber was gorgeous, with her pale freckly skin, blue eyes and slender figure, dressed today in a simple black wool dress and a crimson scarf. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he remembered to add, after a moment. Hands off, I wanted to growl at him.
‘Are you hungry? There’s plenty of lunch,’ I said, guiding her into a chair. ‘What can I get you?’
She took a deep breath and forced a smile. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d love a brandy,’ she said. ‘Better make it a large one.’
‘I’ll join you,’ Jake said, all too quickly. ‘Nobody wants to drink alone, do they? And it is Christmas.’
‘Absolutely,’ Ed agreed, but his eyes were concerned. ‘Sure I can’t get you something to eat as well, love? A nice juicy steak sandwich? Or there are plenty of pasties in the freezer I could warm up . . .’
‘I’m not meant to be eating carbs,’ she sighed, then pulled a face. ‘Oh sod it. Who cares any more? Yes, please, Ed, to both. And some cake if you’ve got it. I’ll have the lot.’
Amber and I had always had parallel lame careers, shambling along doing this and that, none of it particularly well. But this year had been a stellar one for us both in work terms – me with the Beach Café, and her with a juicy new role in a prime-time TV series. The last time I’d spoken to her – a fortnight ago, by my reckoning – she’d been enjoying all the freebies, fancy restaurants and five-star events that came with the job . . . and had fallen blissfully in love with her co-star David Maguire.
Ensconced in my cosy beachy bubble, I’d had no idea that things had gone so badly wrong for her recently: that Maguire had turned out to be a cheating love rat, and that she’d been plastered all over the tabloids in various states of distress. After she had eaten a massive lunch and drunk a massive brandy, the two of us went out for a walk on the coastal path and she told me the full sordid truth.
‘Oh God, what a wanker, I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch,’ I told her, putting my arm through hers as we went along. ‘I hate thinking of you going through this on your own. How have you left things with David? Might you get back together, do you think?’
‘No way,’ she said baldly. ‘Not now I know about his other girlfriend. His other pregnant girlfriend.’ She kicked at the grass looking thunderous. ‘The worst thing is, having to face him at work, when everyone knows. When I hate him. When he keeps sliming around trying to make excuses for himself. We’re in loads of scenes together for the next few episodes, and it’s just going to be awful.’
‘Ugh, that is grim,’ I said sympathetically. ‘The last thing you need.’
‘Why do I always pick them, Evie? Why do I always go for the complete arseholes? I’m thirty-three now. When am I going to start recognizing a dickhead when I meet one, instead of falling in love with them every time?’
‘I’ll tell you what you need,’ I said. ‘A good old scream. Go for it. Nobody’s around. Just open your lungs and let rip.’
‘What, here?’
‘Absolutely here. Like this.’ I stopped walking, threw my head back and screamed out all the tension I’d felt ever since Jake had arrived. The wind snatched up my voice and threw it out to sea. ‘Try it. You’ll feel so much better.’
She didn’t hesitate. With clenched fists and a screwed up face, she opened her mouth and let it all out. ‘AAAAAAAAARRGGHHHH!’
Then she grinned. ‘God, that felt good.’
‘I know, right? It’s the most brilliant stress reliever ever. AAAAAAAARRRGGHHHH!’
‘AAAAAARRRGGGGHHH!’
‘AAAAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!’
She started laughing then. ‘Jesus, we’re going to have the men in white coats here any second.’
‘No, we’re not,’ I said. ‘That’s the best bit. We’re completely alone. AAAAAARRRRRGGGHHH!’
I was getting a sore throat now but felt a lot better. The screaming helped, as did the fact that Amber was here so I’d have an ally in the flat.
‘What have you got to scream about anyway?’ she asked, watching my face. ‘I thought you were all lovey-dovey, happy-ever-after down here?’
‘We were,’ I said. We started walking again, seagulls screeching above our heads as they wheeled and dipped. ‘Until his ex-wife started sending friendly Christmas cards, that is, and then Jake showed up, causing trouble.’
‘Hmmm,’ she said. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’ Her phone gave a loud trill just then, making us both jump. She looked at the screen and rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t like the sound of that either,’ she said, switching it off and shoving it back in her coat pocket. ‘Bugger off, world. I’ve come here to get away from you.’
‘Was it David?’
‘Yeah, desperate to explain his total shitness again, no doubt. Like that’s going to work. He’s been ringing round the clock, as have my agent and numerous skanky journalists who’ve mysteriously got my phone number. It’s a bloody nightmare, I’m telling you, splitting up with someone famous. Everyone wants to talk to you about it, and all you feel like doing is crawling back to bed for a year.’
I put my arm through hers again. ‘Well, you can hole up here and stay in bed for as long as you want,’ I told her. ‘Jake’ll be all right dossing on the sofa, you can have the spare room.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t want to get in the way.’
I gave a snort. ‘With a bit of luck, it might make him leave a bit quicker. Fingers crossed . . .’
So that made four of us in the flat, with less than a week to go before Christmas. Not exactly the cosy romantic scenario I’d envisaged, but never mind. It would only be for a few more days, wouldn’t it? Amber assured me that she would be spending Christmas with her parents in Lincolnshire and would be gone long before the big day, while Jake . . . Well, Jake was still being annoyingly elusive about his plans and I daren’t ask about them a second time for fear of him twisting my words again and grassing me up to Ed. I daren’t ask Ed either, who seemed very defensive of his younger brother.
Still, he’d better sort something out before the Advent candle burned much lower, that was all I was saying. Everyone knew that while two was company, three was definitely a crowd – particularly when it came to Christmas. Plus, his bad habits were starting to seriously grate on me – and not just the sly digs and comments he was so fond of making. There was the leaving of dirty pants and socks willy-nilly around the living room, where he was now sleeping. (It was not unusual to settle down on the sofa to watch EastEnders to find that you were leaning against a used pair of boxers that had been abandoned there. Not nice.)
Then there was the never washing up problem. The using gallons of my Aveda shampoo in the shower (on his decidedly ordinary, not in need of pricey organic ingredients, hair). There was also the ‘expensive taste but no money’ issue. He hadn’t paid for a thing while he’d been staying, and while Ed didn’t seem to mind bailing him out time and again, it was really getting on my nerves.
I was also increasingly paranoid about Melissa. I caught Ed and Jake deep in furtive conversation one evening and was sure I’d heard her name mentioned. Then there had been a couple of strange calls – one where a woman asked for Ed and promptly put the phone down when I said he wasn’t in, another where the caller hung up as soon as I answered. And on more than one occasion, I’d walked into a room to find Ed talking, low-voiced, into his mobile, only for him to freeze guiltily, then leave the room to continue the call elsewhere. It had to be her. I knew it was. I also knew that asking him about it would only lead to another row.
I confided in Amber about my worries, but she didn’t seem to take them seriously. ‘Ed? He’s mad about you, don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘Not every bloke is as evil as David.’ When I tried to moan to her about Jake, she couldn’t see the problem there either, as he’d always been nothing but charming to her, the creep. ‘Maybe you misunderstood,’ she said doubtfully after my rant. ‘He seems perfectly sweet to me, I can’t imagine him being rude to anyone.’
Sweet? Ha. I knew what I’d heard, and I hadn’t misunderstood anything. He might have pulled the wool over Amber’s eyes but he certainly wasn’t fooling me.
Still, silver linings and all that: while Jake and Amber were here, I might as well make the most of them, I decided. The next morning, therefore, saw me suggesting quite forcefully that Ed and Jake might like to go surfing. ‘You could make a day of it,’ I said. ‘Go to Trebarwith, take the wetsuits and a flask of soup . . .’
‘Sounds good,’ Amber said with a yawn. Her phone rang just then for the hundredth time and I snatched it up and switched it off.
‘Not you,’ I told her. ‘You’re staying here with me.’
As soon as I’d shooed the men out of the door, I told her my plan for Ed’s Christmas present. I might not be able to give him his favourite clifftop view wrapped up in red shiny paper, but I could give him a beautiful photo of it. Twelve beautiful photos, in fact, of all the things he liked most in the world. ‘I’m going to turn them into a calendar for him,’ I said. ‘ “A Year at the Beach Café.” What do you think?’
‘I think it’s a gorgeous idea,’ she replied. ‘Perfect!’
‘You don’t think giving him a home-made present is . . . lame?’ I asked, unable to rid my mind of Jake’s scornful face.
‘Of course not! It’s much nicer. More personal. More loving-girlfriend-ish.’
I still had my doubts. ‘I bet Melissa always gave him really flash presents,’ I said.
‘Yeah, right before she squirrelled away loads of their restaurant money to her secret lover and nearly got Ed sent to prison on a false assault charge,’ Amber reminded me tartly. ‘ Like he’s ever going to forgive her for that. Look, just forget Melissa, all right? She’s long gone.’
Jake obviously didn’t think so, I thought glumly, but decided not to harp on about it any more. Stuff Jake. Screw Melissa. We had a calendar to make, and it had to be epic.
Armed with seriously strong coffee, I opened the laptop, trying to banish my fears. ‘Right. Let’s do this.’
Amber and I sat on the sofa together and began sifting through photos in search of the best ones. The difficult part would be narrowing them down to just twelve, I soon realized. I’d been snap-happy ever since I’d moved down here, and had masses of shots to choose from: Ed surfing, looking as wild and free and happy as it was possible to look; him laughing open-mouthed with Florence as he flipped burgers at our end-of-summer beach barbecue; fireworks over the bay on Bonfire Night, bright sparkles against the black sky with the smudgy shape of the cliffs and the pale beach just visible below; a richly coloured sunset, the sky
streaked cerise and apricot; a snap I’d taken without Ed realizing, of him crouched down with an arm around Lola the dog, both looking at one another as if in the middle of a very earnest discussion . . .
‘These are all lovely,’ Amber said, smiling as she scrolled through the pictures. ‘This one is perfect for a Valentine-y February image, look.’ She showed me one of Ed and I holding hands and beaming as we walked along the beach together, completely unaware of the photograph being taken.
‘Oh, Rachel took that,’ I told her. ‘She emailed me a load of images when she got back to Australia.’ I gazed at the picture, feeling nostalgic. ‘That was about a week after Ed and I got together.’
‘No wonder your hair’s so tangled,’ Amber teased. ‘You’d probably just had a kneetrembler in a beach hut.’
I swatted her with my notepad. ‘We’re not all dirty slappers like you,’ I told her primly, even though she actually wasn’t far off the truth. ‘Keep your mind on the job.’
‘A s the chef said to the – all right, all right, just kidding!’
It didn’t take us long at all to pull the calendar together once we got started. ‘The only thing that’s missing is a great Christmassy photo for December,’ I mused.
‘I could take one of you in front of the Christmas tree,’ Amber suggested with a wicked grin. ‘You’ve seen the film Calendar Girls, right? We could have you posing with a couple of artfully arranged mince pies.’ She gave a loud wolf-whistle. ‘Fruity!’
I laughed, thinking she was joking. Then I realized she was not joking in the slightest. ‘No way,’ I said. ‘Uh-uh.’
‘Oh go on, it’ll be brilliant. Think how much Ed will love it. Hell-o Miss December!’
I giggled. ‘It would be quite funny,’ I agreed, imagining Ed’s face when he reached that page. ‘And actually . . .’ I paused, remembering a certain conversation we’d had one memorable night in particular. ‘The very first time we got together, we . . . Well, if I do this, it’ll be a bit of a private joke, put it like that. I think he’ll get the reference.’
Christmas at the Beach Café: A Novella Page 4
