I think Demi is screaming. I think Mitch is barking. I know I am drowning.
The water is a steel trap now, crushing my chest, numbing my limbs. I thrash about, knock against something slimy and then hear Demi scream again.
‘Over here!’
Demi stands on the rocks a few yards away, her white dress shining in the moonlight. She is the mermaid luring me into the sea.
‘Grab this!’
She throws a red lifebelt at me. She must have found it by the RNLI hut on the beach. By the sign that warns people about the rip currents and not swimming alone or when you’ve had too much to drink.
‘Go back. You’ll slip …’
My words are engulfed by more water and I slam into the rocks. Pain tears through my legs and arms.
‘Take the bloody lifebelt!’
I swim like a madman towards the red belt, flailing at it, losing it, and finally catch the edge in one hand as another wall of white thunders towards me. I cling to the lifebelt and the wave lifts me up very high.
Demi is on the rocks below me. So close, I could touch her. Only the sharp black teeth are between us. Mitch is next to her, shivering, barking.
‘I’ll pull you in!’
The thunder of surf swallows her shout. A wave hits me again from the side and I’m flying through the water and down onto the rocks.
‘Cal!’
I don’t have time to register the pain of being hurled onto the rocks. All I know is I’m alive and scrambling up slime, while the sea tries to suck me back down. My feet scrabble on seaweed but Demi tugs at the rope, pulling me up the rocks. A wave breaks over her. Mitch goes berserk.
‘Get away from here!’
‘Take my hand. Come on, Cal. The waves – I can’t stand up much longer.’
She’s soaked, her dress, her hair. I can’t lose her, not her and Isla. I think about what I survived in the desert and make one last effort and haul myself out on my belly, while she pulls the rope.
‘Come on! Before we’re both washed away.’
She pulls the lifebelt off me and drags me to my feet. Coughing and spluttering, I stumble over the rocks and onto the beach. Mitch dances around us, hoarse from barking.
‘He’s OK,’ I mumble, as Demi helps me down onto the beach.
‘He climbed out himself. What did you think you were doing?’
‘Trying to save him. What did it look like?’
‘Your leg.’
My shins are soaked in blood.
‘I’ll live. Your dress …’
Is pasted to her body. Every contour, every curve. There’s no hiding place in the moonlight. Her small, tight breasts, her nipples as hard as pebbles, the ‘V’ between her thighs. She shivers and doesn’t stop.
She wraps her arms around herself.
‘What were you thinking of, going in the sea when you were completely wasted! Mitch only went in because of you.’
‘We’re both alive and I was wasted but funnily enough I’m not now. What’s he doing here anyway? I thought Nina was looking after him.’
‘She was – is. He m-must have g-got out. It was your fault he went in the first place, you idiot.’
‘You’re shivering.’
‘I’m f-fine.’
‘No, you’re not.’ I put my arms around her. Her mouth is hot and dry, tastes of salt. Earthy, I’m lost in it, deep, wanting to disappear into her. My hands seek her bottom through the wet silk of the dress. She doesn’t stop me. Mitch barks. Suddenly, from misery, near death and almost certain ruin, everything is going right for me.
With no warning, I fly backwards onto the sand, with Demi towering over me, shrugging my tux over her drenched body.
‘You’re still pissed, Cal. Now grow up and put some clothes on.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Thumps come from above me, the floorboards groan and curses rip through the house. I pop a couple of paracetamol in my mouth and wash them down with some cold black coffee. If my hangover’s bad after last night, I hate to think what Cal’s is like. No, actually, I hope it’s the hangover to end all hangovers, because he deserves it. It was his decision to get lethally pissed, his decision to jump in the sea and almost kill Mitch.
Though I’ve made a piece of toast, I’m not sure I can face it and it falls from my fingers onto the counter as the kitchen door slams back on its hinges.
Cal stands in the doorway, looking like death. I have no sympathy.
‘Have you seen my mobile?’ he growls, stalking over to the sink.
‘Good morning to you too, boss.’
He turns on the tap and sticks his mouth under the stream of water, then grabs a tea towel and wipes his face which is as grey as the dishcloth.
‘Where’s Mitch?’ he asks.
‘Asleep in his basket. I’ve already taken him for a walk. Nina said she’s sooo sorry he got out. About fifty times.’
‘Good,’ he growls. He pulls out the kitchen drawers, rakes through the contents and curses. My head throbs as he slams each one shut.
‘D’you want to tell me what’s happened?’ I say, eventually.
Everything has changed.
‘I need Dave Patterson’s number. It’s in my phone but I can’t find it.’
‘Was it in your jeans pocket?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Then it probably fell out when you ripped off your clothes and decided to go for a swim.’
He rounds on me as if to shout but then hisses instead.
I toy with the toast. ‘Polly might have his number in the little green phone book in the snug.’
He perks up slightly. ‘I hope so.’
‘Is it that urgent? He probably has a hangover after the party like most people.’
‘He’s gone mad, more like. He’s changed his mind about going into partnership with me.’
‘When?’
‘Since last night.’
‘But I thought he was really interested in helping us yesterday.’
Cal scatters a pile of letters and magazines over the table and mutters a curse. ‘He was but he’s sent me an email. He claims he’s had time to think about it overnight and he’s already over committed with one of his other development projects.’
‘I’m sorry. He did seem keen. He even told me he thought the cafe was a good idea and that he thought I’d make a great job of it. He might have been being polite …’
‘I doubt if he was being polite.’ Cal looks at me; for the first time since last night, acknowledging what happened between us. I swallow hard, glance down at the table pretending to shuffle some envelopes in the search for Dave’s number.
‘What about the other people who were interested in backing you?’ I ask.
‘Patterson was the only serious one. The others avoided me like the plague at the party, which was one reason I was so pissed. Someone must have got to them and I think I can guess who it is. Well, they can all go to hell. I won’t be defeated.’
He sweeps a pile of brochures from the table, knocking a mug over. The dregs of his coffee soak the paperwork. Mitch growls from his basket.
He grabs a tea towel to soak up the coffee. ‘I’m sorry, Demi.’
My heart flutters. ‘What for?’
‘The mess. This mess.’ He waves a hand around and then shoves it through the roots of his hair.
‘Am I part of the mess?’
‘No …’
But. He doesn’t say the word but I can feel it, see it in his eyes. The night of the storm was wonderful, hot – nothing has ever come close to it, maybe it never will now. I was consolation for him; I knew that and I thought it was enough for me. It was enough, the other night, me a bit drunk and Cal a lot. It was enough, but this morning, it’s way too little. Which is why I was so angry with him on the beach last night. If he thinks he can simply look at me and I’ll melt whenever it suits him or he needs comfort, he’s so wrong.
He dumps the coffee mug and soggy tea towel in the sink.
‘So what ha
ppens next?’ I ask.
‘I’ll carry on. I won’t be beaten, not by anyone. Somehow I’ll find a way to save Kilhallon but first I’d better start sorting out that bloody tree.’
That’s not what I meant. What I really meant.
Cal knows it. I know it. I think back to what Mawgan said at the party. I hate her and everything she stands for but I also think she’s right: Cal will always love Isla and I’ll always be a distraction and a consolation prize. The question is, can I live with that?
Since the engagement party everything has returned to ‘normal’ at Kilhallon Park, as far as anything is ever normal here. Polly returned from her weekend away, muttering at the extra work the storm has created. Cal has moved into the guest room at the farmhouse and has been busy helping the builders to remove the tree and repair the damaged window and wall. I’ve kept out of his way, there’s tons to do; drying out the bedroom after the storm, working in the kitchen garden and making more plans for the cafe because I have to believe that it will happen, despite our recent setbacks.
July has finally begun, with long warm days and hordes of ‘emmets’, as Polly calls them, packing the beaches and cafes and blocking the narrow lanes around the park. Their accents are from the Midlands, London and further afield – Holland, France and Germany. It’s all good and shows me that, in theory, there’s a strong market for Kilhallon Park and the cafe, even though the main school holidays still haven’t started.
Last week, I went to look at a pop-up ‘bistro’ where they hold sell-out barbecues on the beach once a month in the summer. Nina and Robyn came with me, and took their own vodka, cranberry and grapefruit juice to make Sea Breezes. I love them but I was driving that evening so I stuck to Coke. The restaurant which organises the barbecues cooks from a mobile van and the event was packed out. Next summer, I think, we should hold food nights like this on the cliffs overlooking Kilhallon Cove; the sunsets are amazing. We could have fresh fish and seafood curries and lamb tagines. People would bring their own chairs and plates and wine. The new park has so much potential, if we can get it up and running.
I’ve got so many ideas that I can hardly sleep, at least that’s what I tell myself is keeping me awake during the spate of warm and humid nights we’ve had lately. As for Cal, he’s acted as if nothing ever happened between us, yet for me nothing can ever be the same again.
He pops his head round the door while I’m finishing the washing-up after breakfast.
‘So you know, I’m fixing the broken slates on the roof of your cottage today. I’ll have to paint the ceiling another time.’ His voice is brisk.
‘I can paint it. I used to help Mum with the painting when I was little.’
‘Right. There’s some spare paint in the garage. Help yourself.’
There are bumps and rattles as he sets up the ladder and ties it on to the guttering. I stretch out the washing-up after another baking session so I can watch him from my window. He’s wearing ripped faded jeans and the tattered grey T-shirt, a toolbelt slung around his waist and over his bum. The soap bubbles dry on my hands until a bang from the roof shakes me out of my stupid daydreaming.
I dry my hands on a cloth and walk outside, angry at him and myself but not sure exactly why.
‘Can I help?’
He stops, hammer in his hand. He shakes his head. ‘It’s not a good idea.’
‘Why not? You think I can’t do it because I’m a woman?’
‘I just don’t want you breaking your neck.’
‘But it’s OK for you to break yours? I’d like to help and we can run through the new plans I’ve had for the park.’
He nods. ‘You’ll need gloves. There’s a spare pair in the shed. You go and get them while I find another ladder.’
While he goes to the barn. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, wondering why I’m doing this. To prove a point? What point? I just feel I’ve gone backwards here. Almost having sex with Cal blew away the relationship we had as friends, co-workers, business buddies. I don’t know what place I ever had in Cal’s world but I do know it’s shifted – but where to, I’ve no idea.
He secures the second ladder and holds it while I climb up. I’m OK with heights. Mum was always telling me off about climbing when I was little, but this is different. Having to balance while doing heavy work is much harder than I’d expected. I stand at the top of the ladder as Cal scoots up the other one and stands alongside me.
The sun is hot and I’m grateful for the baseball cap.
He shows me how to lever out the slate with the ripper. ‘Be careful, it comes out with a fair force and you could over balance.’
‘Whoa!’ I wobble and my heart rate goes bananas. Cal’s hand is at my back, steadying me.
‘You were right about the force.’
He keeps his hand there. ‘You’re fine. Now, I’ll show you how to replace it.’
Ten minutes later, I’ve managed to hammer in two new slates. Sweat pours down my back and I’m red hot. The roof catches the full glare of the summer sun and there’s barely a whiff of breeze. I lay the hammer down on the roof and wipe my forehead with the back of the glove.
Cal smiles. ‘Not bad for a first timer.’
‘I know. You see, I told you I could do it.’
‘I always knew you could.’ He’s so close. ‘You can do anything you set your mind to.’
Is it a good idea to snog a man when you’re wobbling on a ladder? I don’t know what to say so it all rushes out.
‘Well, I did have another idea.’
‘Interesting timing but go on.’
‘I had another idea about the yurts. Actually, I got it while we were at Isla’s engagement party.’
He frowns hard. ‘The yurts?’
‘Yes. That do would have cost thousands to put on. What about if we held events like landmark birthday parties, wedding receptions and corporate events in the yurt field at Kilhallon?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that but I like the idea if we ever get the plans passed and the money.’
‘Let’s be optimistic. This could be another revenue stream. The cafe will be licensed for drinks and music and we could have hog roasts. Singing and dancing around the campfires, you know, people love partying in the great outdoors. We still have the cottages for the grannies and people who can’t or won’t do camping. We could have one of those giant tipis for the receptions.’
‘Hmm. You’re right. I guess not everyone wants the whole silver-service thing any more; the hotel and the etiquette.’
‘It’s fine if that’s your thing but if I was getting married, this is the kind of party I’d want …’ Damn, foot in mouth. I focus on the slate again. ‘Anyway, it’s something to think about. We’d need to hire an experienced freelance events planner, of course. That would mean we had the four larger cottages that are under restoration, plus the two small ones that we can spare from the staff accommodation, the yurt colony, camping field and the cafe plus its mobile outlets and events. We need the diversity to bring in revenue at different times of year.’
He smiles. ‘Of course and it’s a great idea. In fact, it seems as if all of the great ideas about Kilhallon have been yours.’
He puts his hand on mine. Glove on glove: not romantic at all yet I feel his skin burning into mine all the same.
‘You know the morning after the engagement party, when I was thumping around the house, I didn’t mean to be …’
‘An arse?’
He smiles. ‘Yes. An arse.’
‘You do remember some of what happened, then?’
‘Some of it? How could I forget it?’
‘You could have fooled me.’
‘I told you I was sober after my drenching. Thanks for pulling me out. I should never have gone in while I was pissed. I put you and Mitch at risk.’
‘You did, but thanks for swimming after him even if it was completely stupid and he got out by himself. It was the thought that counted.’
‘You’re all heart.’
‘I know. That’s why you like me. Because you need someone to remind you that you’re a self-righteous bastard who thinks he’s always right and that the world doesn’t revolve around Cal Penwith.’
‘True. You do know me, you know me too well. So well it hurts. You see too much, make me see too much about myself … Look, give me time, Demi. I’m shit at this stuff.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, you seem to know what you’re doing.’
‘I didn’t mean the roof or the business, actually. I just don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of our situation.’
‘Why would I think that?’ I laugh but I don’t feel happy at all. ‘You don’t have to apologise or feel guilty. I’m a grown-up and I agree, it would be a disaster for us to get involved in that way.’
‘True. I was drunk and not thinking straight. We both got carried away.’
‘It was a silly game.’
‘Yes. And the tree falling on us was probably the best thing that could have happened.’
‘Of course,’ I say.
Every word I say and he agrees with is making me even more miserable even thought I know he’s right. I half-wish I’d never come up here but it’s too late to unsay the words.
‘That didn’t stop me enjoying it. A lot,’ Cal says softly. He looks at me with his deep brown eyes and my stomach flips. Just when I’d given up all hope, he goes and says that. ‘But it still means we shouldn’t repeat it.’
‘I had no intention of repeating it, Cal. Ever.’
‘Hello-ooo!’ Robyn has just ridden into the yard.
I’m not sure who is more relieved to see her, Cal or me. Swallowing back the stupid lump in my throat, I climb down from the roof, realising my hands are shaking. Whether that’s from the adrenaline of being up high, or because I’m tired from manhandling the slates – or something else – I’m not sure.
Cal grunts a ‘Hi’ and starts hammering the final nail in the slate, in time with my thumping heart. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Summer at the Cornish Cafe Page 20
