Christmas at the Beach Café: A Novella

by Diamond, Lucy

  ‘And then must have snuck round here yesterday and been peeping through the window,’ Amber said, stopping laughing abruptly. ‘What a tosser. Sorry, Evie.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry you’re having to put up with this kind of shit when you just wanted to be left in peace.’

  ‘What’s all the noise about?’ Jake asked, coming in just then.

  Ed pulled a women! face at him. ‘Honestly, mate? I haven’t got the faintest.’

  Surprise surprise, the trains were all up the spout with the heavy snowfall and, from the horror stories on the local radio station, the roads weren’t much better. For the time being, it seemed our guests were going to be staying a little while longer. Still, now that Jake and I had had our chat and called a temporary truce, this wasn’t the terrible news it might have been twenty-four hours ago, I consoled myself.

  There was nothing for it but to join the rest of the village and have an almighty snowball fight on the beach. All the kids were out there in big coats, hats and scarves, screaming with delight as they hurled snowballs at their parents and each other, and I spotted lots of people I knew – Jamie, Martha, Seb, Carl, Saffron, Lindsey and her kids . . . It felt like the most excellent party.

  At the far end of the beach, a huge snowman was being patted into shape, while a couple of enterprising dads built snow barricades for the snowball hurlers to duck behind when necessary. There were even a few people sledging down the steepest sand dune, shrieking in excitement. The whoops and screams rang out into the cold snowy sky, the soft thuds of snowballs meeting their targets a constant soundtrack.

  The other constant soundtrack was nosey people asking, ‘Was that really you in the Daily Star today?’ ‘Someone told me you were in the Star.’ ‘Was that you in the Daily Star?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ I replied each time, my smile becoming slightly more frozen with every enquiry. How many people in Carrawen actually read the bloody Daily Star, anyway? It felt like the whole village had seen the photos.

  To my relief though, everyone was sympathetic to Amber’s plight (‘I could tell that David Maguire was a bastard,’ Mags said to her, eyes glinting. ‘Knew it as soon as I saw his hair’) and laughed it off with us. All the same, I was sorely regretting my glamour shoot. Never again, I vowed, however much Amber tried to tell me it would be a good idea.

  A little while later, a sudden hush fell across the beach. I was chasing Ed when I noticed the strange change in atmosphere. Lots of people had stopped snowballing and were pointing and staring at an unfamiliar man in completely inappropriate shoes, who was slithering down the beach path towards us. An unfamiliar man, moreover, who appeared to be carrying a camera bag. Aha. Rumbled.

  ‘I bet that’s him, the photographer,’ I said to Amber, nudging her. ‘Look!’

  ‘Must be,’ said Ed. ‘I’ve never seen him round here before.’

  Amber’s lip curled. ‘Come back for more, has he?’ she said. ‘What a creep.’

  Jake glanced at her, then at me. Then, without saying a word, he rolled a massive snowball and lobbed it in a high arc. We all watched as it landed right at the feet of the stranger with a splat.

  ‘Shot!’ a couple of people called out approvingly. There was even a ripple of applause.

  The photographer had been concentrating on his slow, unsteady route down to the beach but looked up in surprise at the unexpected missile. His face blanched the colour of the snow as he realized that almost everyone was staring accusingly at him across the beach. Then the spell broke and it was as if we’d all received a silent cue, ordering us to roll a snowball and chuck it at him immediately.

  ‘Get out of it!’ screeched Lindsey, catching him right on the shoulder with a well-aimed throw. ‘And you’re not welcome in my pub again, neither.’

  ‘Go on, scram!’ bawled Betty, whopping him on the chest with another huge snowball. ‘We don’t want you causing trouble for our village. Hop it!’

  Within seconds, it was open season on the poor sod. It felt as if everyone was pelting him with an absolute barrage of snowballs and insults that carried brilliantly through the cold, crisp air.

  ‘Tabloid scum!’

  ‘Get back to the gutter where you belong!’

  ‘Leave our girls alone!’

  Splat! Splat! Splat!

  Knowing he was beaten, the photographer turned and ran, slithering back up the path precariously in his shiny shoes without a backward glance. I actually felt quite sorry for him, especially when he slipped and fell into a snowdrift and everyone jeered and hooted with laughter.

  I turned and looked at Amber, whose eyes were bright. There was more colour in her cheeks than I’d seen in days. ‘Now that’s what I call a masterclass in dealing with the paparazzi,’ she said. ‘Brilliant!’

  ‘And did you hear that “Leave our girls alone”?’ I asked, slipping my arm through hers. ‘I love that. Totally warmed the cockles of my heart.’

  Lindsey marched over in her leopardskin wellies and hugged me, then Amber. ‘If he comes back round here, we’ll see him off,’ she assured us. ‘And any others that chance their luck in Carrawen, too. Nasty little shitbags, the lot of them.’

  ‘Thank you,’Amber said. ‘Very much.’ She grinned. ‘Well, I know where to send the next bloke who annoys me, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ I agreed.

  Chapter Seven

  Later on, when we were snowballed out, with virtually no feeling left in our extremities, Ed, Amber, Jake and I tramped back inside the café and turned the heating up to its maximum. We peeled off our wet clothes and draped them over all the radiators in the flat, then Ed got to work whizzing up some spicy vegetable soup for lunch, while I made everyone huge mugs of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and grated chocolate on top.

  After lunch, I was at the sink, washing the soup pan, when I saw through the window that a silver Golf was crawling down the snow-covered road from the village towards the café. Paranoid that it was going to be another reporter, I wiped the steam from the window so as to get a better look . . . just as the car lost control and made an inelegant skid all the way into the café’s back yard. The Golf missed my Panda by inches, but crunched straight into the small wall of the brick enclosure that housed the bins, making sizable crumples in the bonnet.

  ‘Oh shit,’ I said. ‘Someone’s just crashed into – ’

  Then I stopped, recognizing the car. And stared, recognizing the people in the front seats. ‘No way,’ I murmured. ‘I’m losing the plot now.’

  ‘What’s up? What was that bang?’ Amber asked, coming to see. Then she gasped. ‘Is that your parents?’

  ‘Looks like it,’ I said, still staring. What were they doing here?

  ‘I didn’t know they were coming to stay,’ Amber said, puzzled.

  ‘Neither did I,’ I replied. ‘God knows what they’re up to. I only spoke to my mum last night and she didn’t say anything about coming down. Why on earth would they drive through snow blizzards from Oxford just days before Christmas, unless . . . ?’ Oh no. Now I was panicking. ‘Unless something terrible has happened,’ I said, with a gulp.

  I shoved on my wellies again – ugh, they were still wet and cold at the bottom – and pulled on my coat, dimly remembering all those texts that had come through on my phone earlier: Mum, Louise, Ruth. I’d been in such a rush to get out in the snow that I had forgotten to even look at them. Maybe the texts weren’t all bare-bum-related scoldings, as I’d assumed.

  I dashed out the back door and slithered down the steps into the yard, desperate to find out what was going on.

  ‘Hi!’ I cried anxiously. My dad was already out of the car, inspecting the newly corrugated appearance of his bonnet, while my mum was opening the passenger door, a squirming Monty in her arms. ‘Is everything okay? I wasn’t expecting to see you.’

  My mum beamed and waved. ‘Surprise!’ she called gaily.

  Well, I was surprised all right. ‘Are you – what – I don�
��t understand,’ I confessed.

  My dad gave me a hug. ‘Hello, love,’ he said. ‘Will you look at that. We got all the way here, no problem – last ten yards, crash. Bloody typical, that is. Never mind, though. We’re here now.’

  ‘Yep,’ I said, still none the wiser. ‘You certainly are.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Mum said. ‘You just sounded so down last night on the phone. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being lonely at Christmas without the family, so it was rather a spur of the moment decision. I thought, I won’t ring, she’ll only get in a flap about food and whatnot – so we’ve just brought everything with us. Bedding and pillows, as well as our Christmas cake and an extra turkey, oh, and a trifle, although it might be all over the inside of the boot now, after that little crash. I did tell your father to go slow on that bend, but would he listen?’

  I tuned out, not listening either. My brain couldn’t cope. Yes, okay, I probably had sounded a bit flat when she’d phoned again last night, but that was only because I was kind of drained after the laptop incident and my resulting conversation with Jake, not because I wanted my parents to turn up on our doorstep. Hello! Newsflash! I wanted fewer people here in the flat, not more!

  ‘I did text!’ she added, as if that made it all right. ‘And Louise said she would too.’

  I didn’t explain that I hadn’t looked at any more texts after Betty’s shocker. The less she knew about my little appearance in the tabloid press, the better. ‘So you’re planning to be here until . . .’ I said numbly as she gave me a perfumed kiss.

  ‘Well, Boxing Day probably. I said to Ruth we’d do presents with them and Lou that evening. That way I get to see all of my girls – perfect!’

  ‘Right,’ I said, trying to pull myself together. ‘Um . . . Well, you’d better come in, then. Let me carry something for you.’

  Ed, Amber and Jake were all peering out the back door by now, looking as confused as I felt. ‘Hello,’ Ed said. ‘What a nice surprise. I’ll just get some boots on, and I’ll give you a hand.’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Amber said, earning herself a double thumbs up from Dad.

  ‘You read my mind, love,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t quite believe you made it here,’ I said, following my mum round to the boot. ‘It sounded like the roads were going to be awful from the local news we heard.’

  ‘They were fine all the way to Wadebridge,’ Mum replied breezily, putting Monty down so he could wee into the snow. ‘Lot of fuss about nothing, if you ask me. The roads to Carrawen were slightly more hairy but your dad just took it slowly. And here we are!’

  Here they were. And there went my last hopes for a quiet romantic Christmas. Ever since I’d broken that glass angel at the start of the month, it felt as if everything had gone wrong. ‘Great,’ I said, with an attempt at enthusiasm.

  ‘There we go,’ Mum said, passing us various bags and boxes to carry. ‘Oh, it’s so lovely to be here again. And a white Christmas too! What more could you ask for?’

  The snow was still falling in thick soft flurries, but we weren’t going to starve, at least. Not with the enormous Christmas cake my mum produced, the cream-filled chocolate log Louise had donated, the turkey, the bag of King Edwards, the jar of cranberry jelly and a tin of Mum’s finest sugar-sprinkled shortbread. (The trifle was sadly the worse for wear as predicted.)

  ‘Oh, it does look pretty in here,’ Mum said, as she carried a box of presents up to the flat and started unpacking them under the tree in the living room. Then she noticed Jake’s sleeping bag on the sofa and the contents of his rucksack scattered in a two-metre radius around it. ‘Ahh,’ she said in the next breath. ‘They’re staying here too, then?’

  ‘They are,’ I confirmed. ‘Just until the snow melts anyway, whenever that’s going to be.’

  Her face fell. ‘I didn’t think to check – I thought you were going to be on your own.’

  ‘I did too,’ I replied. ‘It’s been one surprise guest after another recently.’

  Her eyes met mine. ‘Do you have room for us as well? I’m sorry. If I’d known you already had a house full, we wouldn’t have come. It’s just I thought – ’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You and Dad can have the spare room. Jake’s on the sofa, and I’m sure I can borrow a camp bed from someone for Amber.’

  ‘Oh dear. Oh Evie. I thought this was a good idea, but now I can see that I’m just making things more complicated.’ She bit her lip. ‘Sorry, love. My plan was to sweep in and do all the work for you, not create even more.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said, not very convincingly.

  She sat back on her heels and sighed. ‘If I’m honest, I’m here for selfish reasons too,’ she admitted, fiddling with the silver ribbon of the present nearest to her. ‘The first Christmas without Jo . . . I thought that coming here might make me feel as if I was closer to her.’ She reached over and squeezed my hand. ‘Sorry. I’ve been in a tizz about it for weeks, wishing I could see her again. She loved Christmas so much, she’s been on my mind even more than usual lately.’ She hung her head. ‘I should have asked you first though, rather than turning up like this.’

  I hugged her, and suddenly my irritation trickled away. Jo had been on my mind a lot lately, too. Of course Mum had wanted to come here. The only real surprise was that she hadn’t arrived sooner. ‘I’m glad you came, then,’ I said. ‘We can raise a toast to her together on Christmas Day, can’t we?’

  Her eyes were moist as we broke apart. ‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely just being here, you know, and seeing all her decorations up in the café.’ Then she frowned and peered at the tree. ‘I don’t see your glass angel anywhere,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘Have you put it somewhere special?’

  ‘Ahh,’ I said. ‘There’s actually a bit of bad news about the angel, Mum . . .’

  ‘I hope this is okay,’ I said to Ed in a quiet voice as we lay in bed that evening, my head on his chest, his arm around me. ‘My parents rocking up uninvited, I mean. Sorry. It’s not exactly how I imagined Christmas turning out this year.’

  ‘Nor me,’ he said, yawning. ‘Now all we need is for my parents and your sisters to appear as well, and we’ll have the full set.’

  I shuddered. ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘I think I’d run away.’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll come too.’

  I listened to the steady thud of his heart. ‘I hope Jake and Amber are okay in there together,’ I whispered. We had borrowed a camp bed from Lindsey, and Amber was now in the living room with Jake. When she heard about the situation, Lindsey had promptly offered her own spare room to one of them, but both Amber and Jake had assured us that they were completely fine about sharing. ‘They’re getting on well, aren’t they? They were gone ages this afternoon. I was starting to think we might have to put some more mistletoe up.’

  ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Jake’s not really up for a relationship right now. He’s in a bit of a mess to be honest. Mind you, he said talking to you had helped.’ He stroked my hair. ‘I’m glad you two sorted out your differences.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said. There was an understatement if ever I heard one.

  ‘He’s offered to help me sort through all the paperwork for the divorce,’ Ed said. ‘He studied Law at uni. Hasn’t done anything with it since, mind, but he probably knows more than I do about these things.’

  I felt a rush of pleasure to hear that Jake was doing something positive in his relationship with Ed at last, rather than let jealousy take it over. ‘That’s nice,’ I said, smiling into the darkness. ‘Maybe he’s advising Amber on how to sue this Maguire moron, then. Because I swear they’re up to something, even if they’re not about to start snogging under the mistletoe. Didn’t you notice they kept going off and whispering together today? And they went off for that long walk this afternoon. They’re hatching some kind of plot, I’m telling you.’

  The snow finally stopped falling on Christmas Eve but the trains were still
chaotic and the roads even worse. ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ Amber said to me, as she tuned into the travel news at breakfast. ‘But I reckon you’re stuck with us until Boxing Day now.’

  I smiled. I had long since given up on the idea of ‘the perfect Christmas’. It only existed in magazines, I had decided. But we had good company and several tonnes of food. We’d still have a great day. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It’s fine for you to stay. As long as you promise to be on my team for charades tomorrow, that is.’

  Jake was equally apologetic about spoiling our quiet Christmas and offered to cook a Thai noodle dish for everyone that evening. ‘It’s the least I can do,’ he said, still rather shame-faced about his earlier behaviour. ‘Amber and I will go on a booze run later too, so that we’re well stocked up.’

  ‘Thanks Jake,’ I said. ‘Sounds good to me.’ Besides, I reminded myself, once the snow had gone, Ed and I would have all the time in the world to be romantic in splendid isolation. We could wait.

  Just then the doorbell rang. Oh no. Who now? I was starting to associate that sound with yet another uninvited guest arriving, and found myself meanly crossing my fingers that it wasn’t Ruth this time. Luckily it was the postman who’d valiantly braved it through the snow to bring us our last delivery before Christmas – including another huge pile of cards and a flat rectangular parcel that just had to be the calendar.

  I nearly kissed him in relief but managed to restrain myself and presented him instead with a mince pie from the huge batch that had just come out of the oven. ‘Thank you. Merry Christmas!’ I said, waving him off, then scurried upstairs to the flat where I locked myself in the bathroom so that I could open the parcel in secret. Privacy was in short supply, what with all our extra guests.