Christmas Gifts at the Beach Cafe

by Lucy Diamond

  Her face fell. ‘Really? That’s a shame.’ I thought for the first time ever she might be about to say something nice about Ed, until she added with a horrified expression, ‘Oh Christ, does that mean you’ll be cooking Christmas dinner?’

  Rude. Barely ten minutes into her stay and she’d already managed to insult me. That might be a record, even for Ruth. ‘Of course I will be,’ I replied with as much haughtiness as I could muster. ‘And it’s going to be the most delicious Christmas dinner ever, just you wait. Don’t worry,’ I added, as she opened her mouth to argue, ‘Mum’s already reminded me five hundred times that I need to cook the turkey all the way through. Nobody will come down with food poisoning on my watch, okay?’

  I wasn’t entirely sure my brave words convinced her. She and I both knew that I could barely toast a slice of bread without setting something on fire. A look of resignation appeared on her face, but I ignored it and chatted to the children about what they were hoping to get for Christmas (an iPod, a bike, an Octonauts’ house, whatever that was), and then there was a heated debate about whether or not Thea would be allowed to watch Doctor Who on Christmas Day. (‘Yeth,’ Thea said emphatically. ‘She won’t understand it,’ said Hugo, in a very Ruth-like way. ‘It’s too scary for a four-year-old,’ Isabelle agreed.)

  As the noise of their voices grew louder, I could see Ruth’s face tightening. ‘Right, kiddoes,’ I said, clapping my hands and smiling brightly. ‘Who wants a game of football before tea? We’ll have the whole beach to ourselves, I bet.’

  The argument stopped at once, as if the word ‘beach’ had magic silencing powers. Even Hugo looked quite cheerful at the suggestion. ‘I’m really good at football,’ he informed me.

  ‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘I bet you’ve never played it in wellies before. Makes it even more fun.’ Turning to Ruth, I realized she would prefer to jab her coffee spoon in her eye than go out and play football. ‘You get to stay here in the warm,’ I told her quickly. ‘The newspaper’s right there. Help yourself to any of the books upstairs, and as much cake as you can manage. Plus there’s gallons of w-i-n-e if you want to start Christmas early.’

  ‘Mummy likes wine,’ said Isabelle, earning herself a sharp look from her mother.

  ‘Don’t we all,’ I said, to save Ruth. Even after the kick-ass latte I’d made her, she looked exhausted. ‘Come on then, you lot, let’s hit the beach. And anyone who kicks the ball into the sea is a silly noodlehead and has to wash up tonight, okay?’

  ‘I don’t want to be a thilly noodlehead,’ Thea giggled.

  ‘I’m sure you won’t be,’ I said. ‘I reckon you’ll be our top goal-scorer. Coats on again! Let’s leave your mum in peace.’

  Was it my imagination, or did Ruth’s lower lip tremble just a fraction as we passed her on the way out? I pretended I hadn’t noticed and hustled the children away. If I knew Ruth, she’d rather die than show any flicker of weakness. I hoped she was okay though. She had always been the ultimate in toughness – a steely, determined person who achieved everything she ever aimed for. And even though we hadn’t always got on brilliantly growing up, she was my sister, and I would be on Team Ruth every time.

  Well. Just as long as she didn’t slag off my cooking too much, that was.

  Chapter Four

  Evie

  Out on the beach the wind was whipping up the waves, tugging at the girls’ ponytails and snatching away our voices. Hugo hoofed the ball up the sand and we all ran after it, shouting wildly.

  ‘Ith tho windy!’ Thea squealed, her coat billowing out like a sail.

  ‘I feel like a bird!’ cried Isabelle, spinning around, arms wide.

  WALLOP went the ball, as Hugo reached it and gave another mighty kick. It flew in our direction, bobbling around on the sand in a gust of wind.

  ‘Come on, girls,’ I yelled, racing towards it. ‘I bet I can get this before you.’

  ‘No, you can’t!’ shrieked Isabelle, sprinting past me. Reaching the ball, she swung her leg back dramatically, kicked the football . . . and then we all burst out laughing as one of her red wellies went soaring up in the air after it.

  ‘Ith flying!’ Thea cried in delight. ‘A flying welly boot!’

  Isabelle looked for a second as if she might cry, standing there, trying to balance on one leg, with one socked foot dangling in mid-air. But then Thea, attempting to copy her big sister, threw one of her wellies off too, and that was enough to make Isabelle splutter with laughter.

  ‘Whoopthy-daithy, Mayonnaithy!’ chortled Thea, thrilled at her own naughtiness.

  ‘Are you lot playing, or what?’ Hugo complained, sprinting to get the ball, which was rolling dangerously close to the first white frills of the waves. Meanwhile I ran to collect the girls’ fallen boots and helped put them back on.

  The ball rescued, we had a kick-around, but Thea was still hell-bent on kicking off her wellies as Isabelle had done and kept ‘accidentally’ losing them. ‘My feet are wet, my feet are wet!’ she laughed, throwing her socks off as well. I had visions of Ruth bollocking me in the ambulance as Thea went down with terrible pneumonia, and I was forced to hoist her on my shoulders, covering her little bare feet with my gloves. ‘And if those come off, too, then you’re just going to have to go back inside and miss out on all the fun,’ I warned.

  For a moment I thought Thea might protest, but then she gave an excited wriggle and I saw her arm shoot out above my head. ‘Look!’ she cried. ‘A doggy wants to play!’

  Everyone watched as a black dog bounded out from the sand dunes, his bright eyes on the football. Even Hugo stopped looking grumpy and smiled. ‘Hey, boy,’ he said, kicking the ball towards the dog.

  Thea’s feet drummed up and down on my chest. ‘He likes it, he likes it!’ she cried happily as the dog chased after the ball with an excited woof, its feathery tail wagging. The ball was too big for the dog to pick up in its mouth, but he nosed it along the sand for a few inches, then turned back expectantly to Hugo and barked again.

  ‘I wonder where the owner is?’ I said, gazing around. ‘I can’t see anyone, can you, Thea?’

  She was watching Hugo kick the ball again, and the dog scrambling after it with great eagerness. ‘Can I get down? Can I kick the ball for the dog?’ she wheedled.

  ‘Okay,’ I decided, ‘if you promise to leave your wellies on now. And keep my gloves on your feet, too, otherwise your mum will have my guts for garters. Is that a deal?’

  It was most definitely a deal, and she clumped off across the sand as soon as I released her, calling ‘Here, doggy! Here, doggy-dog!’

  Isabelle was the only one who was reluctant to join in. She came over to me and pressed herself against my side, looking apprehensive whenever the dog gambolled near us. ‘I think the dog should go back to its owner now,’ she said, when he rushed particularly close, kicking up sand in a sudden change of direction.

  ‘Mmm,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure who he belongs to, though. It’s not a dog I recognize from the village.’ I checked my watch. It was quarter to four and would be getting dark before long. As if to make a point, a few fat raindrops started spattering down on us. ‘Time to go back in!’ I called, waving my arms above my head. ‘Hugo, Thea!’

  They traipsed back to us, their cheeks pink, and the dog trotted behind them, tail still wagging. He followed us all the way to the steps leading up to the café, and I glanced around helplessly, wondering what to do with him. There was still nobody around.

  ‘Can we keep the dog?’ Thea asked hopefully.

  ‘Mum would go mental,’ Hugo said, rolling his eyes.

  ‘Yeah, she’ll cry again, I bet,’ Isabelle said.

  We all looked at the black dog. He was a cross-breed, part-collie and part-retriever at a guess, with soft fluffy ears, a thick rumpled coat and a plumey tail. ‘What are we going to do with you then, eh?’ I said, and he gave a sharp bark, then sat down on his back legs and gazed up at me, eyes bright and intelligent. It looked very much as if he was smiling, as his pink t
ongue lolled out of his mouth. My heart melted just a little bit and I reached down to pat his damp, sandy coat. ‘Let’s have a look at your collar,’ I said, bending down. ‘There’s probably a phone number on here that we can call. Here we are. Bella – oh, it’s a girl dog! Sorry, lovely, fancy us all thinking you were a boy.’

  Bella licked my face, and Thea gave a shriek of delight. ‘Thee licked you!’

  ‘Yes! Try not to scream like that, though, Thea, you might scare her.’ I flipped the brass disc over and found a phone number. By a miracle, I actually had a scrap of paper and an ancient lipstick in my coat pocket, so I copied it down. ‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘Right, Bella, you are allowed in the café for exactly one minute while I telephone your owner, okay? And that’s your lot.’

  We went back inside with much noise and kerfuffle. I hung onto Bella by her collar, but she pulled hard, sniffing around with great interest. Ruth emerged and clapped a hand to her mouth.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m going to call the owner right now. Could you hold Bella for me, while I find my phone?’

  ‘Er . . .’ Ruth was still staring and didn’t move.

  ‘I will,’ Hugo said, taking hold of the collar and crouching next to the dog. He put his arms around her and rested his dark head on her back, which made her wag her tail in great swishes across the floor. Thea, meanwhile, put her face up to Bella, chanting, ‘Lick me! Lick me!’

  I could almost hear the voice in Ruth’s head saying I leave my adorable children with my sister for less than an hour and THIS happens? and hurried past her before she could zap me with death-ray eyes. ‘I’ll be right back,’ I called, in what I hoped was a reassuring voice.

  Unfortunately, although I checked the number on the paper twice in case of lipstick smudgery, it went straight to answerphone when I dialled. Then it occurred to me that it was a landline number, with a code I didn’t recognize, and Bella and her owner might be far from home, visiting Carrawen for Christmas. It could be a while before my recorded message was ever heard.

  Bella looked up at me, ears pricked, as I returned.

  ‘Can we keep her?’ Thea asked hopefully, hopping from foot to foot.

  ‘Of course we can’t,’ Ruth said, tight-lipped.

  Thea pouted. ‘Daddy would let us keep her,’ she muttered, earning herself a glare.

  ‘It’s not our dog,’ I added, keen to ally myself with Ruth. ‘I’d better take Bella up to the pub, to see if anyone there knows who she belongs to.’

  ‘Can we come?’ Hugo asked at once.

  ‘Me, too,’ Thea said. ‘I love pubs. Daddy takes us to the pub thumtimes.’

  Ruth’s eyes turned flinty. ‘I don’t really care what Daddy does,’ she snapped, and the children’s faces all fell like drooping flowers.

  ‘I’ll be twenty minutes or so,’ I promised. ‘And then, when I’m back, I’ll make us all a really delicious tea. Hugo, Isabelle and Thea, why don’t you go up to the flat and see if you can find a DVD you want to watch? I’ve got lots of Christmas ones.’

  Thea hugged Bella and kissed her wetly several times, until Ruth noticed and dragged her away. ‘Thea! Stop it! That stinking creature might have fleas, for all you know. Go and wash your face immediately!’

  Hugo chuckled. ‘Flea-kisser,’ he taunted, and Thea lunged at him with a fist. He dodged away and she tripped over and gave a scream of frustration. Ruth, meanwhile, looked as if she might explode. ‘Come on, Bella,’ I said, dragging the dog away before anything else went wrong. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

  It was raining harder as we walked up the beach and onto the main street. I wished I’d thought to fashion Bella some kind of lead out of a length of washing line or rope, but she was as good as gold on the way, trotting beside me trustingly. ‘You’re a nice dog, aren’t you?’ I said, reaching down to give her a pat as we reached the pub. ‘What a good girl. It’s not your fault you got lost, is it? Don’t take any notice of my sister calling you names, either – she’s a bit stressed. Needs some Cornwall Christmas magic to sort her out.’

  I had taken my rarely used mobile phone with me, just in case Ruth needed to reach me, and I was barely on the high street before it started trilling and vibrating. For a second I thought it would be Ruth, ringing to say she’d had enough, she couldn’t bear the mayhem a moment longer and was packing up to go back to Oxford before any of her children came down with rabies, but then I saw Ed’s name on the screen. ‘Hello,’ I said happily, ducking into the shelter of a shop doorway. ‘How are you? How was the journey?’

  ‘Hello,’ he said, and just the sound of his voice was enough to warm me through, like brandy in my veins. ‘Not bad. A two-Ginsters journey – could have been worse.’

  Since we’d been living in Cornwall, Ed had taken to measuring all journeys by how often he stopped for a pasty. As a chef, you might have expected him to turn his nose up at fast food, but you’d be wrong. His secret guilty pleasure was motorway service-station snacks, and he prided himself on an encyclopaedic knowledge of food outlets on all the major roads between Cornwall and London.

  ‘Great. How’s your mum?’

  He sighed. ‘Not brilliant, to be honest.’

  ‘What do you mean? Is she ill?’

  ‘No, it’s just . . .’ I heard him sigh again. ‘She wasn’t even dressed when I got here at lunchtime. The curtains were shut, the house was a mess . . .’

  ‘Oh no.’ This was worrying news. Victoria had always been so refined and elegant, the house immaculate, whenever we’d visited in the past.

  ‘Yeah. I’m doing my best to cheer her up, but it’s going to be a subdued little Christmas this year, I reckon.’

  My heart went out to him. ‘Oh, Ed,’ I said sadly, wishing I could reach down the phone line for a hug. ‘Sounds like it might be one you’ll just have to grit your teeth and get through this year. Keep reminding each other it’ll be better next time. I’m sure having you there will make a massive difference to her.’ Bella, who was gazing up adoringly at me, gave a short bark as if to hurry the conversation along. ‘That was Bella, by the way. Lost dog. I’m taking her to the pub.’

  ‘Didn’t take you long to replace me.’

  ‘Not like that! We found her on the beach and . . . Anyway, Ruth’s not very happy about the whole thing, but never mind.’

  Despite his sadness, I swear I could hear Ed smiling in his ‘Evie, what are you like?’ way. ‘God, I miss you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about this. Being apart at Christmas, I mean. It seemed a good idea at the time, but . . .’

  I leaned against the doorway. I was standing outside Waveseekers, the surf shop, which had closed up for the winter. The dummies inside were wearing Santa hats with their hoodies and board shorts. ‘I miss you, too,’ I said, aching for him all of a sudden. My whole body missed him when he was away. ‘But I completely understand. I’m just sorry that Victoria’s struggling. You did the right thing going to be with her, though, and I’ll see you in a few days, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’ His voice was so soft I had to press the phone to my ear. ‘Sleep well. Don’t let Ruth get to you. And enjoy your pint with the dog.’

  I smiled. ‘The dog’s buying,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you, Bella? Your round. Oh, she’s wagging her tail – I’m taking that as a yes. I’d better go. Love to your mum. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.’

  I walked up to the pub, a bittersweet mixture of feelings tangling inside my head. Poor Ed, and poor Victoria, suffering the pain of the first Christmas without Michael. I was glad Ed had rung to talk about it, though, especially as he’d sounded a little bit more cheerful by the end of the conversation. I was glad for my sake, too, having been able to reconnect with him. Ed and I spent so much time together, living and working in the same space every day, that I always felt strangely reduced when he wasn’t there: less competent, less sparkly, less interesting. With Ed beside me, I became my funniest and sharpest; the most confident, best version of me. Without him, I turned back to bei
ng the silly little sister, getting tangled up in a dog escapade, to the annoyance of others. Don’t let Ruth get to you, Ed had said. He knew me so well.

  Inside the Golden Fleece, Lindsay, the landlady, was playing Christmas hits and the place was awash with tinsel. I took hold of Bella’s collar again, aware that there were other dogs here, as well as lots of noise and interesting smells. ‘Evie!’ cried Lindsay, spotting me and hurrying over. ‘What can I get you, darling? And where’s that handsome fella of yours?’

  ‘He’s away – and I’m not stopping, either – sorry. I’ve got a lost dog here, which was on the beach earlier. You haven’t had anyone in looking for her, have you?’

  Lindsay shook her head. ‘A lost dog? No, love, not that I’ve heard of.’ With a flick of her wrist she silenced Mariah Carey, who was just warbling to a climax, and the whole pub turned to look. Lindsay loved an audience. ‘Anyone lost a dog?’ she asked, pushing out her bosom.

  ‘This one,’ I added, as every bloke in there was promptly struck dumb by the mesmerizing sight of Lindsay’s plump cleavage. ‘Black cross-breed called Bella. Anyone?’

  Bella gave a little woof at the sound of her name, but we were greeted only by shaking heads and blank looks. Oh. Now what? I’d been so sure Bella’s owner would be here that I hadn’t thought any further than this moment.

  ‘Looks like you just got yourself a new housemate,’ Lindsay said to me with a wink. She came round and gave Bella a fuss. ‘Where’ve you come from then, sweetie? Got yourself lost, eh?’

  Damn. I couldn’t think what else to do. It was dark and I was meant to be conjuring up a delicious meal for my guests, and I really didn’t have time to go traipsing around the village knocking on doors. Bella looked up at Lindsay, then at me, and thumped her tail on the floor. ‘I guess you’re coming back with me then,’ I said, feeling tired again. That five-hour nap earlier clearly hadn’t been long enough. ‘Linds, if anyone comes in asking for her, will you send them down to me?’

  ‘Course I will, darl. And happy Christmas, if I don’t see you before.’