Christmas Gifts at the Beach Cafe

by Lucy Diamond

  My heart boomed, my head a jumble of thoughts and feelings. Then I heard Ed’s heavy tread on the stairs, and knew I had to get the test out of sight before he walked in on this strange tableau. ‘Thanks,’ I mumbled again and dashed out of the room, giddy with what-ifs and maybes. Had that actually just happened? And where had Victoria bought the test anyway? It must have been from Betty’s grocery shop, in which case the gossip would be all round the village before you could say ‘Up the duff’. Not sure who she was – a very well-spoken lady in a good wool coat . . . Oh, really? As in Ed from the café? So the test must be for . . . Mmmm. Fancy that. Very interesting.

  Safely in our bedroom, I turned the test over in my hands, wondering if Victoria could possibly be right. I’d always assumed I’d just know if I was pregnant. Call it maternal instinct, call it the incessant puking that both my sisters had suffered from the word go . . . I thought I’d twig if anything monumental was taking place in my own body. What kind of idiot blundered about obliviously, until their boyfriend’s mum prodded them into action? Their boyfriend’s mum, by the way, who’d been under their roof for less than twenty-four hours. I’d never been the most observant of people, but this was ridiculous.

  I put a hand on my belly. Same as ever: a bit soft and wobbly, but that was because I was shacked up with a chef, rather than anything else. I hadn’t rushed to the loo with morning sickness, like they always did in soap operas. I hadn’t had any weird cravings for soap or coal or chalk. No, I decided, shaking my head. Victoria must be having a senior moment. One faint plus a bit of knackeredness did not necessarily equal impending motherhood.

  I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  Ed put his head around the door at that moment and I shoved the box under the pillow and jumped to my feet, pretending I was straightening the duvet. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked breezily. ‘Mum’s just having a drink, and then we’re going to head off along the cliff path to scatter Dad’s ashes. Do you want to come with us, or would you rather stay here and put your feet up?’

  It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to look at the pillow in a reflex twitch of guilt. Usually I told him my every waking thought – well, apart from what was in his Christmas presents – and it felt weird and treacherous not to let him into the strange and secret moment I’d just shared with his mum. ‘I’ll stay here,’ I said, leaning over to neaten the pile of books on my bedside table so that he couldn’t see my expression. I had the worst poker-face ever. ‘It’s a family thing; you and Victoria should go alone.’

  Besides, I thought, as he kissed me goodbye and went to find his walking boots, I had something else to be getting on with: my own possible ‘family thing’ to investigate. An old lady’s whim to set straight, more like, I told myself, confident that Victoria would be proved wrong, but I might as well find out for sure.

  Chapter Ten

  Evie

  When I woke up on Christmas morning I could hear rain pattering softly against the window and pulled the covers further under my chin. There was a lot on my mind.

  First, the fact that Ruth had come home yesterday with a new radiance about her, following lunch with Robert. Despite my raised-eyebrow hopes for a burgeoning smoochy love affair, she insisted there was nothing untoward about the encounter. ‘Oh no,’ she said with the firmness that only a mother of three and secondary-school teacher could muster. ‘There’s definitely not going to be any kind of holiday romance, or mistletoe-kissing, or whatever it is that your dirty little mind has conjured up. But,’ she went on, as my lower lip slid out in a moue of disappointment, ‘I did have a nice time. With a man. Having just had the first civil conversation with Tim since the summer. So I call that progress, don’t you?’

  ‘I absolutely call that progress,’ I agreed, giving her a hug. The Cornwall magic had done its work, I thought to myself. While you wouldn’t say that Ruth was skipping about the room, full of the joys of life, some of the angry tension had fallen away from her face, and the sharpness had melted from her voice. Mind you, she was pretty cross with Thea, when she caught her swooshing her little fingers through the chocolate buttercream on the just-iced chocolate log; but, you know, Rome wasn’t built in a day. I was glad for Ruth, though, that she’d turned a corner at last. Glad for the whole family.

  The second thing on my mind was the fact that a sprinkling of Cornish magic seemed to have fallen on Ed and Victoria, too, following their ashes-scattering trip along the cliff. There was a new peace about them both, and as we sat and watched Home Alone with the children that evening, for the millionth time, every single one of us was laughing along. Then Ed enlisted Hugo and Isabelle to help rig up a row of special hooks for Christmas stockings in their bedroom, while Thea curled up on Victoria’s lap for a bedtime story. I could tell by the way Victoria hugged all three children goodnight that she’d found some comfort in spending time with them, and I was glad. Of course I was still fully expecting both Ed and Victoria to have ‘a moment’ at some point today, when they were inevitably hit by a pang of loss for Michael, but it sounded as if the ashes-scattering had helped and that they’d had a really lovely goodbye moment, up on the cliff together, with a flask of brandy coffee, just for the hell of it.

  The third, and most important, thing on my mind, was, of course—

  ‘Happy Christmas, Evie.’

  I jumped as Ed rolled over and put his arms around me. I’d been so lost in thought that I hadn’t even noticed him stir. ‘Morning, gorgeous,’ I said, all other thoughts vanishing as I snuggled against him. ‘Merry Christmas.’

  Just then there came an ear-splitting shriek from the next room. ‘HE’S BEEN! FATHER CHRISTMAS HAS BEEN!’

  I wriggled my foot and felt a rustling of paper at the end of the bed. ‘Well, what do you know?’ I said, smiling into the dim early-morning light. ‘Looks like he’s done the rounds. Good old Father Christmas.’ I sat up, feeling too excited to lie still any more, and grabbed the bulging football sock that had mysteriously appeared. God, I loved Christmas! It was far and away the greatest, most joyful and wondrous day of the entire year. How had I ever doubted enjoying this one?

  The volume from the next bedroom was steadily increasing. ‘Captain Barnacles! I got a Captain Barnacles!’

  ‘Oh, cool – a Man United top!’

  ‘Look! Roller skates. Hugo, I got roller skates!’

  There then came the wheezy droning of a mouth-organ at top volume, followed by a strange whizzing sound, which I could only imagine was Isabelle skidding about between the camp beds on her new roller skates.

  Ed laughed. ‘Mum was right. It’s great having the kids here, isn’t it? Brings back all the magic and excitement.’

  My heart gave a thump. ‘Do you think so?’ I asked casually. ‘I mean . . . Yeah. They’re ace, aren’t they?’ I delved into my stocking and pulled out a miniature of Bombay Sapphire and then a decidedly un-miniature Toblerone. ‘Ah, Father Christmas,’ I said with a grin. ‘You know me so well.’

  ‘The perfect Christmas breakfast,’ he said, leaning over to kiss me tenderly, his stubble grazing my lips in a thrillingly sexy way. ‘Talking of breakfast . . . I suspect everyone will be wide awake now. I’ll go and make some coffee.’

  There was a very jolly atmosphere in the kitchen as we set about Christmas breakfast. Not gin and Toblerone after all, but smoked salmon and scrambled eggs for the grown-ups, and bowls of usually-forbidden chocolate cereal for the children. ‘This is really unhealthy and bad for us,’ Isabelle said with glee, pouring herself a second bowlful. ‘And Mummy always says Over my dead body! when we ask for it.’

  ‘Apart from Christmas Day,’ Ruth said, rolling her eyes at me. ‘On Christmas Day we’re all allowed to eat whatever we want.’

  ‘Even all our selection boxes?’ Hugo asked, although I wondered if this might be a case of shutting the stable door when the horse had long since bolted, a trail of chocolate bar wrappers in its wake. I had already picked up two Galaxy wrappers
and a Milky Way from the floor of the children’s room.

  ‘Well, if you want to spend tonight being repeatedly sick, then go for it,’ Ruth advised him. ‘But it’s probably not the cleverest idea.’

  Victoria caught her eye. ‘That takes me back,’ she said with a little smile. ‘Ed, was it you or Jake who proudly ate three Mars Bars for breakfast one Christmas and then couldn’t manage any lunch?’

  ‘Definitely Jake,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘Nothing’s ever kept me away from Christmas lunch before. Now, who’s got space for a pain au chocolat? I’m pretty sure I have.’

  Everyone, it turned out, thought they might be able to squeeze in a teeny-weeny pain au chocolat, which was fortunate, because I’d ordered an industrial-size freezer bag of them, and if any were left over after New Year, we all knew which greedy-guts would end up scoffing the lot.

  ‘Coming right up,’ Ed said, heading off towards the big freezer in the café downstairs.

  ‘I’ll give him a hand,’ I told the others, slipping away after him. Of course it didn’t need two of us to carry the pastries, but there was something I had to do before my head exploded with impatience. I put my hand in my dressing-gown pocket as I hurried downstairs to check that I had what I needed – yes.

  ‘Ed,’ I said, following him into the café kitchen. ‘Wait. I’ve got something for you.’

  He opened his dressing gown, like a dirty old man in a flasher mac. ‘Funnily enough, I’ve got something for you, too,’ he said, pulling me closer.

  I laughed. ‘It’s . . . it’s kind of serious. I’m not sure whether you’re going to like it or not.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Not one of those horrible reindeer jumpers we saw in Padstow, is it?’ he asked.

  I laughed again, although kind of falsely, because I had in fact bought him one of the horrible reindeer jumpers we’d seen in Padstow. It was meant to be a joke, but obviously now he’d said that, I would have to sneak it out from under the tree and put it straight in the charity bag. ‘Of course not,’ I lied unconvincingly. ‘No, it’s . . . it’s this.’

  I handed him the small, slim present I’d wrapped the night before, my heart in my mouth. I could hardly bring myself to look at his face as he gave me a puzzled look and began to open it. Out fell the cling-filmed white stick that said in the test display-window, as clear as day, Pregnant.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ I said apprehensively. ‘Um . . . Daddy.’

  His mouth moved, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. Oh shit. He was horrified. He was distraught. I had ruined Christmas Day and his whole life in one single second. Then he raised his eyes, and I saw that they were wide with shock. Good shock or bad shock? I honestly couldn’t tell. ‘Is this real?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I just found out yesterday. That must have been what all the fainting and tiredness was about.’ He still hadn’t made any kind of comment and my mouth took it upon itself to make an unattractive gulping sound. ‘Say something, will you?’ I blurted out. ‘Are you . . . pleased?’

  ‘Are you kidding me? Evie, I’m . . . I’m bloody ecstatic. After my dad, and everything . . . Oh my God, come here, sweetheart. This is amazing! Are we really having a baby? You’re not winding me up, are you?’

  In the crush of his gorgeous beefy arms, I found myself letting out a little sob of relief. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not winding you up. It’s true. We’re really having a baby.’

  A Beach Café baby! I still couldn’t get my head around it. So much for maternal instinct! So much for ‘just knowing’! I wouldn’t have had the slightest clue, if it hadn’t been for Victoria’s eagle-eye homing in on the truth. And what a fabulous, exciting truth it was, too. I had barely been able to sleep a wink all night, hugging the secret to myself. A Beach Café baby. How lovely was that? How happy would we be, the three of us, a little Beach Café family together? Very happy, I already knew. Very, very, off-the-scale, deliriously happy indeed.

  Although it was early days, obviously. I mustn’t get too ahead of myself. By my rough calculations, I was probably only eight weeks or so along; too early to let slip anything to Ruth’s children yet, just in case. But, all being well, there would be a bouncing baby bundle, come August . . . right slap-bang in the middle of our busiest time. Clearly this baby was already taking after its mother, on the trouble-causing, awkward-beggar front.

  After quite a lot of snogging and shiny-eyed joy in the kitchen, we eventually hauled out the bag of pains au chocolat from the freezer, and Ed lugged it upstairs like a pastry-bearing Santa. Ruth had already switched on the oven, so we slid two full trays in to cook, and soon the kitchen was filled with the delicious scent of warm, buttery pastry. Meanwhile, Ed and I kept exchanging secret grins, like overexcited children. I was so relieved that he’d reacted with such joy; I’d been dreading seeing doubt in his eyes (or, worse, out-and-out horror), but the way he was laughing and joking with everyone made it quite clear that he was delighted with his – and my – surprise Christmas gift.

  A few minutes later, Ed left the room and I assumed he’d gone to hide his ‘present’ safely in our bedroom, away from nosy children, but when he returned he gave me a funny look and banged a ladle on the table for attention. ‘I was going to do this later on, after lunch, but what the hell,’ he said. ‘I’m in such a good mood, I figured there was no time like the present.’ He turned to me and I was taken aback to see an unusually earnest expression on his face. You could even say he looked nervous. ‘Talking of presents . . .’ He held something out to me: the small, square box in dark-blue paper that I’d seen him putting under the tree. ‘Evie,’ he said and my stomach seemed to drop away. ‘This is for you.’

  Oh my goodness. In all the pregnancy drama, I’d managed to completely forget about the excitingly small present glimpsed the day before. A hush descended on the room, the only audible sounds my fingers fumbling to tear open the paper, plus the steady chomp of Hugo working his way through an extra bowl of cereal. Was this seriously what I thought it might be? What I hoped?

  It seemed to take me forever to rip open the wrapping paper. I could have sworn he’d used an extra yard of Sellotape just to torment me. But finally the last shreds of paper fell to the ground and I was left holding a small, black velvet box.

  I heard Ruth’s sharp intake of breath and Isabelle whisper, ‘What is it?’ and then my own breath caught in my throat as I opened the box to see a white-gold diamond solitaire ring inside. ‘Oh wow,’ I said shakily, my heart drumming a tattoo. Don’t get carried away, I ordered myself, not daring to look up at him. This might just be a nice ring. An eternity ring. A bit of bling.

  But then Ed cleared his throat and spoke. ‘Evie,’ he said again. ‘Will you marry me?’

  Silence fell across the kitchen. Even Hugo stopped chomping, with the sudden change of atmosphere. I felt tears brim in my eyes and wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. ‘Yes,’ I told him happily, doing both at once. What a morning this was turning out to be. What a Christmas! ‘Oh yes, Ed. Of course I will. Yes!’

  The room erupted in the most glorious ruckus of cheers and laughter and hugs. Victoria was crying, I was crying, and even Ruth sniffled a bit. Thea announced in her grandest voice, ‘And I can be your BRIDESMAID!’ And Ed and I had a ginormous smooch in front of everyone, until I heard Ruth telling Hugo off for making sick faces. Then I got the giggles and couldn’t stop.

  ‘A Beach Café wedding,’ Victoria said, hugging me again. ‘How absolutely wonderful.’ She looked teary-eyed at Ed, and I could tell she was just about to say she wished Michael could be there, when Ed caught her up in his arms and gave her a squeeze.

  ‘I told Dad yesterday,’ he said. ‘Whispered it on the breeze, when you weren’t listening. He said it was a bloody good idea, and we should all drink gallons of champagne.’ He looked across at me. ‘Or orange juice, of course.’

  This went way over the children’s heads – as he’d intended – but both Victoria and Ruth stiffened immediately, the
ir Mum-radar working at the max. ‘You mean—?’ Victoria gulped.

  ‘Are you saying—?’ Ruth cried.

  ‘He’s saying we’re both really excited about this year,’ I said with a grin. ‘And orange juice is my new champagne.’

  ‘Oh, my darling,’ sobbed Victoria, crying even harder.

  ‘Oh, Evie,’ Ruth exclaimed, hugging me so tightly I could hardly breathe.

  ‘Can we have champagne?’ Hugo asked.

  ‘Can we have more chocolate?’ Thea tried hopefully.

  ‘I’m getting my selection box!’ Isabelle said, and they all ran breathlessly from the room before anyone could tell them not to.

  I looked down at the ring now glinting on my left hand and felt so utterly happy I could hardly bear it. A Beach Café baby and a Beach Café wedding . . . Life didn’t get much more perfect than that. I could already imagine the enormous beach party we’d throw after the wedding ceremony, with fireworks and a barbecue and dancing on the sand.

  Victoria belatedly remembered the pastries in the oven, which were just starting to singe around the edges, and pulled the trays out, while Ed poured glasses of Bucks Fizz for the three of them and orange juice for me. Then he raised his champagne flute in the air.

  ‘To a very memorable Christmas,’ he said. ‘And my beautiful wife-to-be.’

  ‘To the best Christmas ever,’ I echoed, ‘and my extremely handsome and talented husband-to-be.’

  ‘I’ll drink to the pair of you,’ Ruth said, ‘and to happy times ahead.’ Her chin wobbled with a sudden rush of emotion. ‘You’ll be amazing parents, you know. The very best.’