Christmas Gifts at the Beach Cafe

by Lucy Diamond

  ‘You, too.’

  After a brief stop in Betty’s grocery shop for dog food, and a similar plea for Betty to listen out for any lost-dog stories, Bella and I trudged back to the café, where we were greeted with rapturous joy by the children and markedly less enthusiasm by Ruth. ‘She can be our Christmas dog,’ Hugo said, fussing over her affectionately. ‘Can’t you, Bella?’

  ‘Then thee can live with us!’ Thea decided.

  Ruth gave rather a short laugh. ‘Well, let’s see if she survives the night first. Aunty Evie doesn’t have a great track record with pets, after all.’

  The children’s eyes swivelled to me with great interest. Unfortunately I had absolutely no idea what she was on about. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Mr Woffles?’ she said, and I noticed her fists clench briefly by her sides.

  I shook my head, still blank. ‘Mr . . . Woffles?’ I repeated. Had Ruth lost the plot?

  ‘My hamster. Who you let escape, and who was never found again. Remember?’

  Oh God. That bloody hamster. I couldn’t even remember the actual incident, but Ruth had dredged up the crime so many times over the years that I’d never be able to forget the guilt. I’d be lying on my deathbed in years to come and she’d lean over me and inform me in a hiss that I still wasn’t forgiven. ‘Ahh,’ I said, trying not to roll my eyes. ‘Yes. Well, that was a long time ago, wasn’t it? I think I’m a bit more responsible these days.’ Get over it, Ruth, I thought, then turned to the children. ‘Anyway, Bella’s owner might turn up at any minute, but until they do, we’re going to look after her. She’s a bit wet, so I’ll find an old towel to dry her off, and then you guys can help me give her some tea, okay?’

  Bella licked my hand as if she could understand everything I said, and I felt a tug of longing inside. Mustn’t get too attached, I ordered myself, as I hung up my damp coat. Not your dog, Evie. Besides, dogs and cafés weren’t exactly a great match, were they? I’d have Health and Safety shutting me down within five minutes, if we tried to keep any animals on the premises.

  As I went in search of a towel, I could hear Hugo gently trying to teach Bella to give him a paw, and Thea squeaking with giggles. Even Isabelle seemed to have got over her initial trepidation and was starting to coo over our surprise guest, from a safe distance.

  I smiled to myself to hear them. However long we got to share Bella’s company, she had certainly cheered up the children. Now all I had to do was find a way to make Ruth smile, too, and we might just have ourselves a merry little Christmas.

  Chapter Five

  Ruth

  When Ruth checked her phone that evening, she had two new texts. She didn’t bother reading the first, as it was yet another inspirational quotation from some Buddhist guru or other sent by Louise. (Her twin had taken to sending her these frequently, in the misguided view that they would help. They didn’t. Ever.) The second was from her mum: Everything all right? Hope you had a good journey and everyone excited about Xmas. Love, Mum and Dad.

  Ruth gave a short laugh to herself. Was everything all right? No, she thought, switching off the phone and lying down in the narrow single bed to the soundtrack of heavy rain beating against the window. Everything was definitely not all right. This is what happened when you relinquished control and let somebody else organize the most special week of the year: complete and utter chaos.

  She thought back to her last few Christmases, all orchestrated with crisp military precision: her Ocado Christmas Eve order, booked back in October; presents all bought and wrapped by the first of November; the tree up on the second Saturday of December and not a moment before, tastefully decorated with white fairy lights and silver baubles only; and the pantry and fridge groaning with a wide range of home-baked goods and savoury delights. The hub of Christmas was her laptop: one spreadsheet for gifts and cards; another for her baking schedule and the ingredients required; another entitled ‘Miscellaneous Tasks’, which ran the whole gamut from (1) have the chimney swept through to (17) arrange the floristry order, and ending with (43) iron the Christmas tablecloth.

  Her highlight of Christmas was often not the day itself, which tended to lurch into outbreaks of mayhem, however tightly she tried to control her children’s sugar intake and the speed of her in-laws’ alcohol consumption. No, her festive peak was always the annual drinks party that she and Tim would host for their friends and neighbours on the 23rd (no children allowed). There would be soft flickering candlelight, a table laden with delicious canapés on silver platters, ice buckets chilling the champagne, and spiced mulled wine for those who preferred something warming. And each year she would glance around at all those smiling faces and graciously accept the many compliments about her home, her dress, the food, until she felt, just for a short while, as if everything in her small world was perfect.

  Not this year, obviously. The drinks-party tradition had juddered to an abrupt halt, along with all those other couple-based rituals and routines that had been the cornerstones of her married life. Now Tim was in the arms of Amanda with a stupid smile on his face, and she was out here in the wilds of Cornwall, miles from civilization and her former life. An image flashed into her mind of herself in a cocktail dress, pearls around her neck gleaming softly in the candlelight, asking her friends, ‘More champagne?’

  Tears dripped onto her pillow. No champagne and crostini around here, unfortunately. Sausage, chips and beans seemed to be Evie’s idea of dinner for five. Oh, and a tin of Pedigree Chum for the lost mongrel, which now had its sandy paws tucked well under the table. Honestly! What was it about her sister that attracted waifs and strays, in both human and canine form? Why did she always have to get involved? And now, of course, Ruth had the children pestering her for a mutt of their own, and Hugo seemed to think he was the next Barbara Woodhouse with his dog-training techniques and, oh, she was never going to hear the end of it.

  And, to add insult to injury, Evie had rolled her eyes about Mr Woffles, as if she couldn’t care less. It made you wonder how some people slept at night, it really did.

  Still, it had been a treat – that short hour or so when Evie had gone off with the children in the afternoon and she’d been able to relax with a magazine and a slice of very good Christmas cake, no doubt baked by Ed’s capable hands. For a brief interlude she had lost herself in a marzipan coma of bliss, free of worries or care – almost as if she were on holiday.

  She gave a wry smile in the darkness. With three young children, you were never truly on holiday, not like the olden days, when a holiday was a luxurious cocoon far from real life. Nowadays real life just came along, too, with all its racket and car sickness and bickering.

  But the children seemed happier, she reminded herself. After the sullen and often whingey journey they’d suffered down to Cornwall, Hugo was laughing again for the first time in weeks. Isabelle, who’d been wary of dogs ever since an overenthusiastic Labrador had knocked her off her feet back when she was tiny, had ventured out a hand to pat and stroke Bella that evening, and had even giggled when the dog pressed her head lovingly against Izzy’s leggings. As for Thea . . . well, Thea was irrepressible; she was certainly going to enjoy her Christmas here. Thea could enjoy Christmas in a cardboard box – that was just the kind of person she was.

  Ruth rolled over and pulled the duvet further up her shoulders, remembering all the happy childhood Christmases she’d spent here herself with her parents and sisters. Her Aunty Jo, Mum’s sister, who’d run the café before her tragic and too-early death, had always made it such an exciting time of year, so much fun. The three girls had slept in this very bedroom, whispering and giggling until Jo or their parents had rapped firmly on the door and told them to be quiet. Just as she’d done to her own children that evening, in fact, when it reached nine-thirty and they were still making silly ghost noises and owl hoots, with muffled explosions of laughter.

  She closed her eyes, recalling how she’d woken up in Carrawen one Christmas morning as a girl and discovered ‘reindeer’ prints on the b
each – thanks to Jo, no doubt. Evie was probably already planning to do the same thing for Hugo, Isabelle and Thea, even if Hugo had loftily made it quite clear he was too grown-up for such fairy tales. Actually, the more she thought about it, Evie was very like Jo had been – funny and a bit naughty, and completely different from their more traditional parents. Jo would definitely have brought in a stray dog from the beach, too – no doubt about it.

  She punched the pillow into a more comfortable position and tried to relax her body against the soft mattress. It would be all right, she told herself. She could live off beans and chips for the whole week, if it meant her children were happy this Christmas. And, with that thought, she finally fell asleep.

  Ruth woke up the next morning to a scratching sound at the door, followed by a rather pathetic whimpering. It was six-thirty and still dark, and everyone else seemed to be sleeping.

  ‘You picked me, did you?’ she asked Bella as she opened the door a moment later, pulling on her dressing gown. ‘Decided I was the biggest sucker who’d take you out for a wee? I’m not sure about your canine instincts, mate. I can think of four other people who’d be much happier to see you at this ungodly hour than I am.’

  Bella wagged her tail and gave a small, friendly woof.

  ‘Ssssh, let’s leave them asleep,’ Ruth said, patting the dog and taking her downstairs. Bella’s toenails clicked on the wooden stairs, and Ruth was certain that one of the children would burst out after them any second, disturbed by the sound. They didn’t.

  Downstairs, Bella went straight over to the front door and gave another polite, throaty woof, tail still wagging. ‘I hear you,’ Ruth said. ‘Just let me put on a coat and some boots, okay? Right. Let’s do this.’

  She opened the café door, letting in a freezing draught. The sky was still inky black with silver stars puncturing the darkness. Bella slipped outside gratefully and began clicking her way down the steps to the beach. Ruth, meanwhile, realized she would be locked out if she didn’t find some door keys to take with her and hesitated, glancing around hopefully in search of a bunch. None in sight. Who knew that Evie was so sensible about security?

  Sod it, she’d have to wedge the door open with something instead, then; they’d only be a few minutes. She lifted the heavy, prickly doormat and placed it between the door and the frame, so that it was impossible for the door to slam shut. The last thing she wanted was to be locked out before sunrise in her coat and pyjamas, thank you very much. Then she went outside too, the wintry air shocking her into full wakefulness like a slap around the face. She could smell the briny tang of the sea, and hear it sucking back pebbles as it retreated from the shoreline; the sound of the waves rushing up the beach seemed to be all around.

  ‘Bella?’ she called cautiously into the darkness, wishing she’d thought to bring a torch out with her. It was so dark you could hardly see your hand in front of your face; proper rural blackness, far from the orange-tinged sodium-haze that lightened the sky above Oxford. A crescent moon cast a silvery glint on the tops of the waves as they rushed up the beach. It was low tide, she judged, picturing in her mind’s eye the long slimy lengths of seaweed and newly filled rockpools of hermit crabs and darting blennies. What she couldn’t picture in real life, however, was Bella.

  ‘Bella?’ she called again, louder this time, over the sound of the waves. No answering bark came. How long did it take a dog to pee, for heaven’s sake?

  Ruth suddenly felt very tired and very fed up, and far too old to be doing this. She thought of the parallel universe in which she might have pulled a pillow over her head and ignored Bella when she came scratching at the door. The same parallel universe where she’d now be warm and comfortable, her eyes shut, feeling only the faintest stab of guilt as she heard Evie get up and tend to the dog instead.

  But no. She was here on a beach, before the sun had come up, for heaven’s sake, calling into the freezing darkness for a dog she didn’t want anything to do with. ‘BELLA!’ she shouted, tramping down the steps wearily, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. She couldn’t go back to the café without the wretched hound, she just couldn’t. Imagine the children’s faces if she confessed to having lost their favourite new friend. Imagine if Bella somehow drowned, or went up into the village and was run over or hurt, and it was all Ruth’s fault.

  She quickened her pace and strode across the damp sand, which made a gentle creaking sound beneath her boots. ‘Bella!’ she yelled, then put her forefingers between her lips and whistled shrilly. ‘BELLA!’

  ‘What do you mean, you’ve lost her?’ Hugo’s face was a vision of outrage; he looked as if he genuinely despised her. It was eight in the morning and the others had only just woken up, yawning and bleary-eyed. Evie was wearing an enormous man’s dressing gown – Ed’s, presumably – as she sorted out breakfast in the large café kitchen where they were all gathered.

  Ruth flinched. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said helplessly. ‘She just . . . ran off.’

  ‘Because you thed thee had fleath,’ Thea said hotly, tears springing to her round blue eyes. ‘You hurt her feelingth. Thath why thee ran away. Because of you!’

  Ruth was starting to feel like crying herself. She had tramped up and down the beach, calling and whistling for ages, before her fingers, face and feet had turned completely numb from the cold. Defeated, she’d returned to the café and made herself a coffee to take up to bed, but felt too restless to relax into her book. Her mind kept replaying the sight of Bella’s fluffy tail disappearing out of the door, not to be seen again. Where had she gone?

  The small bay window in her bedroom looked out over the beach and she sat there on the bed until the sun finally began to rise, the sky lightening with streaks of gold and rose-pink. She crept downstairs again, wrapped up warmly and went onto the deck for one last whistle and shout, but the beach revealed itself to be decidedly empty of all life. The dozy mutt had vanished into thin air.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again now, stung by the sight of her children’s glowering faces. ‘It was dark, and I was trying to sort out the door and . . .’ She trailed off. Nobody cared about the door. None of them had said it out loud, but she was sure they were thinking that Daddy wouldn’t have let the dog slip away. They all turned and looked disgustedly away from her, as if she had failed them very badly.

  Apart from Evie, that was. Evie put a fresh cup of coffee in front of Ruth, squeezed her shoulder, and went back to the cooker, where she had just tipped a ladleful of pancake batter into the frying pan. ‘Do you know what I think happened?’ she said. ‘I bet Bella found her way home. The clever old thing sniffed the air and remembered exactly where to go.’

  Hugo’s lip curled in a way that said he wasn’t about to be fobbed off with a stupid baby story, but Isabelle and Thea both brightened visibly. ‘Do you think so?’ Isabelle asked.

  ‘Has thee found her mummy?’ Thea added.

  Evie nodded. ‘I bet she’s back in her cosy little home, right now, chomping down a big breakfast and telling her family all about her seaside sleepover adventure.’

  ‘Dogs can’t talk!’ Thea spluttered.

  ‘Oh, can’t they?’ Evie said, pulling a funny face. ‘Anyway, I’m sure Bella’s fine, but we’ll keep an eye out for her, just in case.’ She poked at the pale, sizzling pancake. ‘Right, who’s the best pancake-flipper out of you lot then?’

  ‘Well, they’ve never actually—’ Ruth began, but Hugo had already leapt to his feet.

  ‘Can I? Can I flip it?’

  ‘Too right you can,’ Evie said.

  Ruth watched in agitation, as Evie allowed Hugo to grip the handle of the frying pan and lift it from the heat. She opened her mouth to remind him to be careful, then bit back the comment and remained in silent agony, trying to remember the first aid for burns that she’d learned as a Girl Guide. Cold running water for ten minutes. When cooled, cover with cling film to prevent infection. Do not remove any clothing stuck to the burn. Here in Carrawen they were so far from th
e nearest A&E unit, it made her head spin. How she wished Evie would hold onto the frying pan as well!

  Evie did not hold onto the frying pan. Instead, she stood back and gave Hugo some very basic instructions: ‘Shuffle the pancake to the edge of the pan – that’s it, perfect. Then you take a deep breath, jerk the pan upwards quite hard . . . and catch the pancake when it falls. Think you can do that?’

  Hugo nodded, his face a mixture of concentration and determination. It was exactly the same expression Tim wore whenever he attempted The Times Saturday crossword. If he had time to even look at a newspaper any more, that was, what with all the shagging he was doing these days.

  ‘Stand back, everyone,’ Evie instructed, rolling up her hand and speaking into it as if it were a megaphone. She put a colander upside down on her head for protection. ‘Go for it, Hugo!’

  Look at him, Ruth thought with a pang, as Hugo stood with the frying pan outstretched before him, arms tensed. It was the sort of moment when she might once have exchanged a proud glance with Tim, and for a split-second she found herself wishing that he could see their son looking so fiercely resolute, like a warrior about to charge into battle. Then she remembered that no, she didn’t wish that all. She was glad Tim was missing out on this moment. It was only what he deserved!

  Hugo took a deep breath, as instructed, then gave the frying pan a sudden, energetic flip that sent the pancake somersaulting up in the air. An excited hush descended as everyone watched the pancake’s flight. Then . . . Plop! Back it fell, folded and skew-whiff into the pan, but a safe landing nonetheless. The look of triumph on Hugo’s face as they all cheered made Ruth’s breath catch at the back of her throat.

  ‘Awesome!’ Evie said, high-fiving him once the pan was safely back on the gas. ‘Are you seriously telling me that was your first-ever flip? No way. You’re a flipping natural, dude!’