The Bakery at Seashell Cove: A feel-good, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Karen Clarke

  ‘Have you heard from Lydia and Ed?’ I asked Gwen. The café owners were away on holiday in Greece – the first time they’d been abroad since their honeymoon, more than thirty years ago.

  ‘Not since their last postcard, but Cassie’s outside, if you want to ’ave a word.’ Cassie was their daughter, and came in on Mondays to sketch cartoon-style likenesses of customers, who booked in advance because her drawings were so popular. ‘Not now, we’re too busy,’ Gwen added, as if I’d been about to leave. ‘Get the rest of that cake sliced up and give Tamsin an ’and before she blows a gasket, and that goon of a waiter spills somefink on someone.’

  Tamsin, the young waitress, was clearing tables, strands of blonde hair escaping her loosely coiled bun, while Dominic, the café’s latest recruit, eyed her longingly, liquid dribbling from the spout of the teapot he was holding.

  Looking past them, I spotted Cassie on the terrace, her sketchpad on her lap, drawing a woman with full-blown blonde hair and a pout, like Marilyn Monroe.

  Smiling, my spirits rose again when I saw Tilly outside the white picket fence, back from one of her guided walks along the coastal path, chatting to a couple of elderly men in identical safari-style shirts.

  One of the highlights of the past year had been reconnecting with my two best friends from high school, after more than a decade. Cassie had been in London, working for an event planning company, while Tilly had relocated to Vancouver with her parents after school. When Cassie lost her job four months ago, she’d returned to Seashell Cove and was now in demand as an artist, while Tilly was back living in Ivybridge where she’d grown up.

  Our friendship had resumed with surprising ease, the only shadow being Sam, who hadn’t said much but gave the impression he thought Tilly was a bad influence. I guessed it was because she was single, and did what she wanted, and had been mildly scathing about Sam at school, and about relationships in general.

  ‘She still drifting about, living off her parents?’ he’d asked when I told him she was back and had found me at the bakery.

  I’d leapt to her defence, as if we were teenagers again. ‘She’s not drifting about, she’s still into interior design,’ I’d said. ‘She’s really talented, Sam.’

  He’d smiled with his lips closed and his eyebrows raised, to indicate mild disapproval. ‘She can afford to treat it as a hobby though, unlike the rest of us.’

  Sam’s work ethic was one of the things that defined him, and he didn’t approve of parents supporting grown-up children capable of holding down a job. As the first person in his family to go to university and get a degree, he’d supported himself by tutoring maths to struggling students, and he was proud that I’d worked full-time since leaving school, and helped to support my mum when she’d been out of work for a while.

  When he found out I fancied Joey from Friends (my all-time favourite TV show) he’d taken a surprising amount of offence that had nothing to do with looks. ‘Isn’t he the one who’s oversexed, under-educated, and always out of work?’ His teenage crush had been Sporty Spice.

  ‘Looks like Cassie’s sold another painting,’ I said proudly to Gwen, noticing a gap on the wall where Cassie’s artwork hung, alongside some watercolours by an artist she’d recently discovered. ‘She’ll be turning down work at this rate.’

  ‘Making up for lost time.’ Gwen’s raisin-like eyes slid past me to the half-open door leading to the staff area.

  ‘What is it?’ I spun round and saw a black and white cat slope out of the office and settle itself on a purple velvet cushion in the passageway. ‘Shouldn’t Dickens be in the office?’ I turned to see Gwen’s normally thunderous face melt into a slushy smile.

  ‘Aw, me likkle darlin,’ she cooed in an unsettling falsetto. ‘Oo’s mummy’s best likkle boy?’ Fixing her with his remaining eye, Dickens miaowed in response. ‘I wuv you too, my sweetie, and Mummy will get oo some biscuits in a minute.’ It was obvious Dickens was the love of Gwen’s life – not her ex-husband. She’d adopted the one-eyed tomcat after a cat-café day that Cassie had organised, and they’d been inseparable ever since. ‘I like to keep ’im where I can see ’im, out of ’arm’s way,’ she said, as if catnappers lurked around every corner. ‘’E ’ain’t doing no ’arm.’

  ‘You know I’m allergic.’

  ‘You’ll be fine as long as you don’t touch ’im, and you can take an antihistamine.’

  I couldn’t really argue with that, and didn’t bother trying.

  Determined to push my troublesome thoughts away, half-wishing I could rewind to when Tilly had just returned, Sam had recently proposed, and I was still working at the bakery, I switched my attention to the customers flowing in, the scent of sun and sea mingling with the rich aroma of coffee.

  As I took orders and made tea, I tuned out of the conversations going on around me, and lapsed into a daydream where Nathan called in to the bakery to tell me there was a buyer, and not only did the new owner want to resurrect the business, he wanted me to manage it.

  ‘He’ll be very hands off because he lives in the Outer Hebrides, so it’ll be entirely in your hands,’ said imaginary Nathan, trailing his gaze across my face, a scattering of chest hair visible where his shirt buttons had pinged undone. ‘He’s giving you carte blanche to do what you want with the place.’

  ‘Oh my god, Nathan, you don’t know how much that means to me!’ Awash with emotion, I leapt into his outstretched arms and we danced around the bakery kitchen, our eyes locked together, our breathing uneven, our bodies radiating heat. Suddenly, his lips were hungrily exploring mine, and his hands had pressed me against the hard contours of his body…

  A strangled squeak shot out of my mouth.

  Gwen’s head jerked round. ‘Cut yourself?’

  I was holding a teaspoon, so it was highly unlikely, but I could see she was struggling to understand the cause of the noise I’d just made. ‘Spilt some boiling water on my foot,’ I managed, wiggling it for effect. I was close to the hot water dispenser, so it was just about plausible.

  ‘You should wear boots and combats like me.’ She eyed my sensible loafers and the navy, knee-length skirt I wore with my short-sleeved Maitland’s shirt. ‘You’re asking for trouble, coming in half-dressed,’ she said, as if I was in hot pants and flip-flops.

  ‘I don’t suit trousers, and steel toe-capped boots in this weather would make my feet smell.’ I wasn’t focused on what I was saying, the feeling of Nathan’s lips on mine as real as if we’d actually kissed.

  Gwen’s eyes shrank. ‘Go and ’ave your break,’ she said, snatching the teaspoon off me and lobbing it into the sink. ‘TAMSIN!’

  Tamsin scurried behind the counter, her grey eyes round with fright. She still wasn’t sure of Gwen. ‘Sorry.’ She put down a tray rattling with empty coffee cups and plates. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘If you don’t know that by now, there’s no ’ope for you,’ Gwen said, not unkindly, and I left them to it, glad of an excuse to shoot outside and clear the blur of images still crashing around in my head – hair, lips, skin… Nathan’s eyes, his arms… oh god.

  I paused for a second and looked past the tables at the curve of golden sand and clear, shimmering water in the cove below without really taking it in, before checking that Cassie was alone now, at the furthest table. I hurried over and plonked myself on the chair opposite, not caring I was in full sunshine and likely to burn.

  ‘Hi, Meg.’ She smiled up at me, smoothing a strand of her glossy chestnut hair back into her ponytail. It had faded from the purple shade she’d worn when she lived in London. ‘I fancy another iced tea, but am too lazy to go and get one.’ Her smile melted away. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Something weird.’ My limbs felt loose, as though they might detach, and the blood was roaring in my ears. Even my voice sounded strange. ‘I’ve just had a sexy daydream.’

  Chapter Four

  As soon as I’d said it, I wanted to snatch the words back, but it was too late.

  ‘
Well, there’s nothing wrong with that.’ Cassie looked at me as though I’d turned into a Dementor from Harry Potter. ‘Although, hats off to you, if you’re still daydreaming about Sam after… what is it? Fifteen years?’

  ‘I’m not talking about Sam.’ I pushed my fingers through my hair, as if the action might settle my seething thoughts. ‘That’s what’s so awful.’

  ‘What is?’ Shoving her sketchpad aside, Cassie leant forward. ‘I don’t understand.’ Her silver-grey eyes were wide and concerned.

  ‘I know it sounds ridiculous,’ I said. ‘I’m hardly Taylor Swift…’

  ‘What’s Taylor Swift got to do with it?’

  ‘I’m just saying, this sort of thing only happens to people like her.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ Cassie’s eyebrows puckered. ‘Meg, you’re not making any sense.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry, I…’ I took a deep breath. ‘It’s just there’s this man, Nathan Walsh, the agent handling the sale of the bakery. I don’t know if I mentioned him,’ I knew I hadn’t, ‘but he has this way of looking at me, and I keep thinking about him, and when I told him this morning I was getting married—’

  ‘Wait.’ Cassie held up a hand, and I fleetingly registered that the stress-induced eczema she’d had on her return from London had finally healed. ‘He didn’t know until this morning that you were getting married?’

  ‘We’ve only met twice before.’ I squinted and blinked as the sun reflected off the mosaic-topped table between us, and shunted my chair so the parasol offered some shade. ‘I take my engagement ring off when I’m working, so whenever we’ve met I’ve not been wearing it, and the subject didn’t come up, so—’

  ‘Hang on.’ Cassie’s hand went up again. There were pencil smudges on the heel of her palm. ‘You’ve been meeting this man at the bakery?’

  ‘Only on business matters.’ My indignation was somewhat misplaced, considering my fevered daydream moments earlier. ‘Mr Moseley’s brother hired him, so obviously he had to come over and look around the bakery, take photos for the website, that sort of thing, and we sort of clicked and ended up talking. But only about work.’ I was self-justifying, even though there was no judgement on Cassie’s soft, round face, only an eagerness to understand. ‘We didn’t talk about personal stuff; he might have a wife for all I know.’ I hoped he didn’t have a wife. ‘But there was this…’ I paused, not wanting to make it real, but unable to stop now I’d started. ‘This feeling between us, like an undercurrent.’ Heat drenched my face. ‘I can’t explain it.’

  ‘I think I know what you mean.’ A gleam had entered Cassie’s eyes, and I knew she was thinking about her boyfriend. Another highlight of her return had been getting together with Danny Fleetwood, an old crush from our schooldays. He’d gone out of his way to win her over and succeeded, despite some stiff competition from a banker she’d met in London. ‘But Meg, what about Sam?’

  Before I could answer, Tilly appeared, a jug of iced tea in one hand and three glasses in the other. ‘Compliments of Gwen,’ she said, placing them on the table before pulling up a chair. ‘What were you saying about Sam?’ She sat beside me, hunching her narrow shoulders. ‘Tell me about his proposal again, I could do with a chuckle.’

  ‘Don’t be mean,’ I said, grateful for the interruption. ‘The way I told it made it sound a lot less romantic than it was.’

  ‘It couldn’t have been much less romantic.’ She grinned cheekily, unaware of a man at the next table appreciating her long legs. Encased in faded jeans, they seemed to go on forever, and with her covetable cheekbones, crop of dark hair and wide green eyes, she could easily have been a model. ‘At least he got down on one knee,’ she prompted, already chuckling as my mind flashed back to Sam in our hotel room, at eye level with my belly button, holding out a small, satin-padded box.

  ‘It was bad timing,’ I admitted. After squealing ‘YES!’ I’d leaned down for a kiss, just as Sam stood up to relieve pressure on his bad knee, and we’d violently butted heads. Reeling apart, clutching our foreheads in agony, Sam had stubbed his toe on the edge of the bed, and his howls of pain had disturbed a guest in the adjoining room. The man had phoned reception to report an ‘altercation’ and the manager had wanted to call the police, convinced I’d been attacked and was covering for Sam.

  ‘I can just imagine them getting more suspicious the more Sam protested his innocence,’ Tilly said, shaking her head with amusement. ‘Especially when you turned up for breakfast the next morning with a giant lump on your forehead.’

  ‘It’s a good job Sam had one too.’ Cassie – who had only recently heard the story – gave a tentative smile, and I guessed she was trying to gauge whether or not I wanted to bring Tilly in on my revelation.

  ‘Have you thought any more about your hen party?’ Tilly didn’t disguise the ironic emphasis. She hated the idea of ‘organised fun’ and although Sam had suggested I book a long weekend somewhere with his sisters – also to be my bridesmaids – I wasn’t keen. The eldest, Maura, was already planning to buy plastic willies, feather boas, and the obligatory ‘L-plate’, as if she didn’t know me at all. ‘One of my walkers was telling me her daughter’s hen party involved naked butlers.’ Tilly flicked up her eyebrows. ‘One of the aunties got a bit frisky and tried to peek underneath their aprons.’

  ‘I thought they were supposed to be naked.’

  ‘They are, apart from the aprons,’ said Cassie. ‘We organised something similar when I worked at Five Star Events, and the bride ended up in bed with the naked chef.’

  ‘Well, my hen party won’t involve any bare bottoms.’

  ‘Shame,’ said Tilly. ‘So, I take it the answer’s no?’

  ‘I haven’t really thought about it.’ In truth, I’d been hoping now that Cassie and Tilly were back in my life, they’d agree to a low-key meal at The Brook in Kingsbridge, and to resurrecting our karaoke act one last time at the Smugglers Inn, but I knew Sam’s sisters would be upset if there wasn’t a ‘proper’ hen do, and Beverley was keen to come too – she had already mooted the idea of us going glamping.

  ‘That’s if the wedding’s still on.’ As soon as the words shot out of her mouth Cassie pressed her knuckles to her lips. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tilly jolted upright and looked from Cassie to me. ‘What’s she talking about?’

  ‘She’s been daydreaming about another man.’

  ‘Cassie!’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you know I can’t keep secrets any more.’ Cassie had initially kept quiet about being fired from her job in London, and when the truth came out had resolved to be more open in future. ‘And, anyway, it’s only Tilly.’

  ‘When did this happen?’ Tilly looked bemused. ‘We were just talking about your hen party.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ I said, feeling silly. My daydream had lost some of its power since telling Cassie, and I began to wish I’d kept quiet. ‘It’s probably this heat.’ I fanned my face with my hand. ‘It’s woken up my… you know.’ I didn’t want to say libido out loud, but couldn’t think of an alternative.

  ‘This isn’t like you, though,’ said Tilly, an ominous ring to her voice. She sat back, nudging her walking shoes off while Cassie poured tea for us all. ‘You’d better tell me everything.’

  ‘Really, it’s nothing.’ I fidgeted with the hem of my skirt. My knees were already starting to singe.

  ‘You wouldn’t have said anything in the first place, if it was nothing.’

  Before I could speak, Cassie gave Tilly a rundown of the situation, and when she’d finished, Tilly smiled at me kindly. ‘It’s just a crush,’ she said. ‘Happens to the best of us.’

  ‘A crush?’ It sounded so childish. ‘But… why now, when I’m getting married in a few months’ time?’

  Tilly shrugged. ‘When you think about it, it’s the perfect time,’ she said. ‘Maybe subconsciously you’re panicking that Sam’s the only man you’ve ever slept with.’

  ‘He’s not,’ I pr
otested. ‘I told you about Bevan.’

  ‘Ah yes, the weirdo with the curly red chest hair.’ Tilly mimicked a look of horror that made Cassie giggle. ‘But that was years ago, before you got back with Sam, and weren’t you just proving a point because Sam was seeing someone else?’

  I wished I hadn’t told Tilly now, but when she’d come looking for me at the beginning of the year and dragged me out for a drink, she’d wangled out of me everything that had happened since she left – and clearly remembered every word.

  ‘I wasn’t proving a point, well maybe a bit, and it wasn’t just the chest hair that put me off, his head was too big for his body. Plus, he used to say yummy whenever we kissed, and he laughed like this. “Heh, heh, heh, HEH HEEEEH.”’

  As Tilly and Cassie howled with laughter, I decided not to add that it hadn’t felt right being with someone who wasn’t Sam; that even though he’d avoided my calls for days, before finally phoning from halls to confess he’d met someone else, I’d still compared other men to him and found them lacking. Even the thought of kissing someone else had felt like a betrayal, which was why my reaction to Nathan felt doubly shocking.

  Tilly dashed away tears of mirth with her fingertips. ‘Maybe you should have a fling with this guy and get him out of your system,’ she said. ‘It sounds like the feeling’s mutual.’

  The laughter fled Cassie’s face. ‘That’s terrible advice,’ she scolded. ‘You’re not seriously advising Meg to sleep with another man a few months before her wedding?’

  ‘Why not?’ Tilly said again. ‘Better to take the mystery away, don’t you think?’

  ‘If she’s got real feelings for this guy, she should call off the wedding altogether.’ Cassie picked up her pencil and twirled it between her fingers. ‘Honestly, Meg, it wouldn’t be fair to Sam if you cheated on him.’