Summer at the Cornish Cafe

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘It’s hard to imagine this in its heyday, isn’t it?’ he says gloomily.

  ‘I suppose the market began to change and families wanted to travel to Spain and Greece for their hols,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, but it was doing OK, apparently, until my father took over the business. I think he had other distractions …’

  Cal grimaces at the ruined mess. I wonder if the distractions he’s talking about were his dad’s affairs with various women. Polly may moan but she also loves to have someone to gossip to, not that I believe all of what she says.

  ‘Dad didn’t put enough time and money into keeping the place smart and we started to get lots of complaints. Now, I want to make the whole park self-sufficient and eco-friendly, install a ground source heat pump and use local materials from local craftspeople. I don’t want an ocean of static vans, or a club with bingo or karaoke or any of that crap. I want people to be able to have campfires and I thought of having yurts in the wood down there.’

  The field slopes away gently towards the sea past a small thicket of trees. Mitch skirts the hedges and marks his territory on a stile in the corner. Cal pushes the arrow-shaped gate open and I follow him, pulling up the zip of the jacket as the wind gusts in from the sea. We’re into the second half of May now but today, it feels like March.

  ‘I’ve been looking at yurts too,’ I say.

  He cheers up at last. ‘Great minds think alike. So you think they would work too?’

  ‘Yes. I think we should try half a dozen to start with and I agree about the wood as a good site for them. You don’t want too many. The type of people who rent them are looking for individuality and tranquility. The back to nature thing. But they want to do it in comfort and style, with running water, loos and proper beds.’

  He smiles. ‘You have been doing your research.’

  I shrug, but feel very happy that he agrees with me. ‘I also thought we could use bric-a-brac from the house for some of the cottages and the yurts but make sure people had iPod docks and super-fast broadband too.’

  ‘Great idea … but do you really think we could re-use stuff from the house? Some of it’s been there for donkey’s years.’

  ‘Oh, I think we could find enough. If it has a clean and polish, it’d look great.’

  ‘You really believe in this project, don’t you?’ Cal sounds amazed.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Maybe because no one else seems to. Luke and Uncle Rory told me they think it will be a “huge challenge” and Polly just thinks I’m mad.’

  ‘No, she just worries about you.’

  By his expression, I can see he’s surprised to hear me defending Polly. ‘She’s not such an ogre when you get to know her,’ I qualify.

  ‘No … but I’m still glad someone is with me on this. I want you to believe in it like I do: I want you to believe that we can transform it and change it. Not like Polly who thinks I’m off my rocker or soon will be: you’re young, you’ve not been destroyed by life yet. I want you to believe in it in case I stop believing and I want you to scream at me and tell me when I get cynical and moody.’

  ‘You? Moody and cynical? Never … Besides, even you can change.’

  I meant the comment as a joke but Cal takes it seriously. ‘Maybe you have too much faith in me,’ he murmurs.

  ‘I’m willing to take the risk.’

  So many emotions pass over his face at once, as fast as clouds racing over the sea. Pleasure, confusion, pain. I don’t think I’ll ever fathom him out.

  Cal made me breakfast when we came back to the farmhouse kitchen. We sit at the table, discussing his plans for the business while eating bacon sandwiches. Polly keeps rolling her eyes when she thinks Cal isn’t listening as he shows me the yurts he plans to order, which do look very cool even if I’ve already tasted the ‘charms of sleeping under a canopy of stars’.

  The ground source heat pump holds about as much interest for me as watching Polly gutting a fish, but I could listen to Cal’s voice all day. Sharing his plans and being asked for my opinion feels good, even if I don’t totally buy his comments about me stopping him from being cynical. I’m not sure anyone could do that.

  Polly bustles off, muttering about having ‘real work to do’, while Cal surfs the internet. While finishing my breakfast, I pretend to be interested in one of his Green Living magazines but I risk a sneaky look at him when I dare. I like the way his eyebrows meet together when he frowns – and incidentally, they could do with a trim at the barber’s – and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he manages a smile. In fact he has more lines on his face than you’d expect for someone who’s only nine years older than I am. I suppose that grooming and sun care weren’t top of his list of priorities recently.

  I lick a trail of brown sauce from my fingers, while Cal tucks into his bacon bap. His eyes are the same colour as the sauce, I think, and wish I hadn’t because I can’t help giggling.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ he asks.

  ‘Nutthin.’

  ‘Yes there is. You’re laughing at me? Is there some way I eat a sandwich that you find hilarious?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘You were. Come on, tell me.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  He leans forward with his chin on his hand, his gaze fixed on me until I have to look away. ‘Come on, tell me what you’re thinking.’

  ‘You so do not want to know.’

  ‘I do.’

  He sits back and folds his arms.

  ‘OK. You asked for it. I was thinking about the way you sound,’ I say.

  ‘How do I sound, Demi?’

  ‘I don’t know? Posh. A bit like Prince Harry.’

  He gasps in horror. ‘I hope not!’

  ‘Well, maybe not that posh. Maybe more like the BBC presenters when they’re trying to sound less posh than they really are.

  He folds his arms. ‘So you’re a linguistic expert, are you?’

  ‘I told you, I’ve had a lot of time to um … observe people.’

  ‘Do you spend a lot of time observing me?’

  Instantly, my face is on fire, a blush that creeps down my neck. Anyone would think he was flirting with me and I’m not sure I like it. It’s confusing, because Cal can’t possibly have feelings for me while he’s still in love with Princess Isla. He must be taking the piss. ‘Of course I don’t,’ I say, getting up from the table. ‘Get a life.’

  ‘Hello, Cal.’ A voice interrupts our conversation.

  Cal’s face lights up at the sight of Robyn who’s just walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Hi, Demi.’ Robyn smiles at me from under her slanting fringe and plonks herself down on a kitchen chair. ‘I hope Cal isn’t working you too hard.’

  He tuts. ‘As you can see, I was bullying Demi into eating some breakfast; breakfast which I cooked, I might add.’

  ‘You let Cal cook the breakfast?’ She winces, ignoring him.

  ‘It was OK for a beginner. I’ve plenty of other things to get on with if you want to chat.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need to go. In fact, I was hoping to see you,’ says Robyn, clasping her hands nervously so that I wonder what’s coming. ‘I hope you don’t mind and please say “no” if you don’t want to but … Cal might have told you that my friend Emma is organising a charity ball at the country club on Saturday night. It’s in aid of homeless people – oh, I’ve put my foot in it again, haven’t I? Luke says I could win an Olympic medal for tactlessness.’ She fires an imaginary gun at her head.

  I have to smile. ‘No, you haven’t upset me and I’ve heard about the ball from Cal and Polly. He’s even got his outfit ready,’ I say risking a reference to the tux.

  Cal wrinkles his nose, to show how happy he is about attending. ‘I still haven’t decided if I’m going or not.’

  ‘You’d better do!’ Robyn squeals.

  Cal smiles at her.

  ‘I hate you sometimes,’ she says then turns to me. ‘He’s im
possible, isn’t he?’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  She laughs. ‘Well, the thing is … my friend, Emma, sent me a panicky email this morning because half of the serving staff at the club have gone down with a horrible stomach bug, you know the full works, throwing up and the other thing.’

  ‘Eww.’

  Cal has returned to his laptop, or at least is pretending to.

  ‘We-ell,’ Robyn goes on, drumming the toes of her boots nervously on the kitchen tiles. ‘It can be a nightmare trying to get waiting staff down here at the best of times especially at short notice like this and you’re very experienced at catering and I told Emma all about you and she was really excited and so I thought …’

  Cal closes the lid of his laptop. ‘I hope you’re not trying to poach Demi from me?’

  ‘Only if she wants the extra work. The club is willing to pay extra if she can help out because it is very short notice.’ She looks at me, pleadingly. ‘Cal is coming to the ball anyway and I thought he could give you a lift?’

  ‘Demi has enough to do. She’ll want the night off,’ he says shortly, beginning to annoy me.

  ‘I don’t mind. I’m not tired and I could do with the extra cash.’

  Cal is stunned into silence.

  Robyn grins. ‘Great! You’d be doing the club and the charity a massive favour. If they can’t get enough staff, they might even have to call the event off.’

  ‘As a favour for you and Emma, of course I’ll do it.’

  ‘Thanks sooo much.’

  She hugs me. I’m not used to people invading my personal space apart from Mitch. It’s been so long since anyone hugged me. Nana Jones must have been the last one.

  Cal stays silent. He’s not a huggy person either, though I think Robyn could get away with it.

  ‘I think Cal is pissed off with me,’ she says, not sounding the least bit bothered.

  He gets up from the table. ‘No, I’m not. Demi can do what she wants. I’m not her keeper.’

  ‘Oh, tetchy.’ Robyn laughs and turns her attention to me. ‘I’ll call you with more details or I can ping you an email. Thanks, I won’t forget it. Cal, would you like to look at my horse, Roxy? I think she’s picked up a stone or something on the way here.’

  So they leave me, because no matter what Robyn said, she and Cal do want to talk without me being around. I’m cool with that; I’m a stranger to them and I really do have a lot of work to get on with. I may have a new home but I don’t belong here, not yet and not for a long time.

  That was hours ago. The afternoon sun burns the back of my neck as I help Cal clear out some of the rubbish from the other staff cottages. Now I know what he meant about having to turn my hand to anything, but I like working out in the fresh air for a change. He carries a roll of carpet on his shoulders and hoists it into the skip, breathing heavily. When I sling a broken pine chair on top of the carpet, dust flies into the air, making me cough. Cal stands back. His faded navy T-shirt has a damp upturned triangle on his back and holes under the arms. His knackered old jeans show off a pair of muscular thighs and calves that end in a pair of battered desert boots.

  ‘You look hot.’ The words pop out before I realise how they sound.

  He slants a look at me and does the raised-eyebrow thing.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that!’ I insist, heat rising to my cheeks. ‘I meant that it’s baking out here, isn’t it? Shall we have a Coke?’

  His gaze lingers on me until my whole body sizzles. Then he lets me off the hook. ‘Actually, I’d much rather have a beer.’

  The deep shade of the kitchen does nothing to cool me down, in fact the shadows only seem to make Cal look even more smouldering. He leans his bottom against the worktop while I pull two cans from the fridge, and hand the beer to him. His hands are dirty; he hasn’t shaved – again – and to be honest, he needs a shower, but I find my body doing tingly things that make me want to squirm. Unable to meet his look, I keep my eyes on the kitchen floor. Little clods of earth dot the tiles from his muddy builders’ boots. I’ve never noticed how big his feet are before.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve ruined your clean floor.’

  I shrug and risk a quick glance at him. He must think I’m pissed off about the floor, when really I’m only pissed off at how turned on I am. ‘I’ll forgive you.’

  ‘No. It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up.’

  ‘S’alright,’ I say, desperately trying to get a grip of myself. ‘How do you think the work’s going?’

  ‘Well, I’m glad we’ve nearly finished clearing out the cottages, which is a rubbish job but it needed doing. Some of that stuff dates from way before I was born and the fact that the crows have clearly had a party in one of the houses hasn’t helped. I’ve asked Tom Fallon to give me a hand. He needs the work and you have enough to do, planning out my business empire.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’ I’m finding it impossible not to focus on the dark springy hair in the open ‘V’ of his T-shirt or the tantalising glimpses of nut-brown skin under the frayed knee of his Levis. I pour myself a glass of water and feign an interest in the farmyard for a few seconds.

  ‘Demi? Are you OK? You’re not really annoyed about the floor, are you?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m furious. You should lick it clean for me.’

  A smile tugs at the edge of his mouth. ‘I’m not sure my tongue could cope.’

  ‘I’m sure it can.’ Worrying I might leap on him at any moment and even more furious with myself, I gulp down the water and change the subject.

  ‘Um. When do the builders start work properly?’

  ‘Next week, I hope, now the scaffolding’s up. They’d better do. I want the work finished at least in time for the tail-end of the holiday season. The property agency wants to start advertising the cottages.’

  ‘Already?’

  ‘The sooner the better. This place needs to start earning its money.’

  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and his knuckles glisten. ‘You don’t have to help out at this bloody charity do on Saturday night if you don’t want to, you know.’

  I’m surprised but happy at his concern for me. ‘I don’t mind. It’ll make a change.’

  ‘If you need the extra money, I can sort something out for you.’

  ‘I don’t need a hand out and you said yourself, the estate needs to pay its way. You’re not made of money.’

  ‘I don’t want you to feel obliged to Robyn.’

  ‘I want to do it. It could be a laugh.’

  He blows out a breath. ‘I doubt it, the country club people will keep you busy all night. I’m not sure they deserve you waiting on them.’

  ‘And you do?’

  He finishes the beer and puts the can on the table. ‘Point taken.’

  ‘I can handle a few old fogies and snobs if that’s what you mean, and I used to enjoy serving the customers in the cafe. This won’t be much different.’

  ‘Well, I recommend you don’t chuck the drinks over them,’ he says with a grin.

  ‘I don’t do that normally!’

  He pretends to reel in a fish.

  ‘Robyn’s right. You are impossible.’

  ‘I try, but seriously, be careful people round here don’t walk all over you, Demi.’

  I’m grateful for his help and the job and place of my own but I want to try and make my own way if I can. The fact that Cal has so much financial power over my life, however well intended it is, makes me feel as if that’s all I ever can be: his employee, even though I’ve no intention of ever becoming anything else.

  ‘How did you end up sleeping on the streets?’ he asks out of the blue.

  When I turn back from the bin, he’s watching me intently from those lovely saucy eyes. I dump a dirty cup and plate left from Polly’s coffee break into the washing-up bowl. I could use the dishwasher but I need something to occupy me.

  ‘I haven’t asked the details until now and you don’t have to tell me anything.’

 
I turn to him with soapy hands. Drips slash onto the tiles, in tiny little pools.

  He hands me the tea towel. ‘I’m sorry for poking my big nose into your private business.’

  ‘It’s not that big.’

  He frowns. ‘What?’

  ‘Your nose. It’s kind of average, as noses go.’ Unlike the rest of him, which is so far above the average of all the men I’ve known, that it’s almost a joke.

  He rubs the nose in question, leaving a dirty mark on the end. ‘I should keep it out from where it’s not wanted.’

  ‘If you really want to know, my dad and I never really got on that well. I don’t know why. He didn’t hit me or anything but he always seemed disappointed in me somehow. Then, when Mum died, he lost interest in me completely. My nan said he was suffering from depression but he’d certainly never have admitted it. He made sure I had money for school stuff but he took no interest in what I did.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  I shrug. ‘Not your problem. Not your fault. Probably mine, in fact. My nan passed away when I was sixteen and that coincided with Dad finding a girlfriend.’

  ‘Ah. You didn’t hit it off?’

  ‘You could say that. She was way younger than him, not loads older than me, and there wasn’t room for us both in the same house, so I left.’

  ‘Have you seen your dad since? Does he have any idea where you are now?’

  ‘I don’t want to see him or her again, so don’t try and persuade me to.’

  ‘I won’t … but does he even know you’re OK? He’d want to know that much, take it from me. I never noticed how ill my dad was, I was so focused on my work with other people. Luckily I was here when he passed away.’

  ‘Dad knows I’m OK, or at least he did. I called him from Sheila’s because she nagged me too, but we ended up having another row. There’s no way I’m going back to him. He has his own life now with his new partner.’

  ‘You can’t blame him for needing someone.’

  ‘I don’t but I don’t have to like her, do I?’

  ‘No.’

  I sigh. ‘You’re right. I can’t blame Dad for everything. I wasn’t easy to live with and I got into trouble at school after Mum died. I was doing GNVQs in tourism and food tech … I told you I could cook.’