Christmas at the Cornish Café

by Phillipa Ashley

  Cal turns up around eleven o’clock. ‘Hi, I came to see how you were doing and brought some more milk and take-out cups.’

  Wiping my hands, I meet him in the middle of the customer area. ‘Great, thanks.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  I lower my voice. ‘Busy. Very hard work, but exciting.’

  ‘Good. If you need an extra pair of hands, shout up. I’m clearing out the old staff cottages next to yours and I’m going to start repainting them ready for next season.’

  ‘OK. I think we can manage.’

  ‘Well done,’ he says, with a wink. ‘I’ve got the stuff in the Land Rover. Do you want to come and collect it?’

  He knows how busy I am, so I guess he wants to have a word with me away from the film people.

  He opens the tailgate and pulls out a box. ‘That should keep you going for the rest of today and tomorrow, but let me know if you need anything and I’ll nip to the cash and carry.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He hands me the box. ‘Oh … I asked Isla to dinner with us at Kilhallon House tonight after the shoot wraps for the day. She’s looking forward to having more time to talk to you.’

  ‘Dinner with us? Both of us?’

  He smiles. ‘Don’t worry. I’m cooking. I thought you’d need a break after slaving away here all today. You will come over, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Sure. As long as we’re finished here. I need to clear up and get ready for tomorrow before I can leave.’

  ‘I’ll help you clear up.’

  ‘Won’t you be busy doing dinner?’

  ‘Hmm. I suppose so. It could take me some time. I’ll see you around eight-ish, or later, if it’s easier?’

  ‘It’ll be nearer half-past.’

  ‘OK.’

  Cal opens the rear doors to the Land Rover, just as Isla walks onto the terrace. ‘Oh hello, Cal!’

  Her eyes light up and she kisses him on the cheek.

  ‘Isla. Hi.’

  He tries not to sound too excited or happy to see her. I try to be sensible and not look for something that isn’t there. Cal explained to me how he feels for her – and for me – and I mustn’t become fixated on worrying about them.

  Kit Bannen jogs past the cafe on the coast path and waves, then stops, turns and walks onto the terrace. ‘Hello,’ he says with a smile.

  Cal grunts a ‘hi’.

  OK. It looks like I’ll have to make the introductions. ‘Isla. This is Kit Bannen. He’s staying in one of our cottages. He’s a writer.’

  ‘Really? What do you write?’ Isla asks Kit.

  ‘Techno-thrillers,’ Kit replies with a sheepish grin, but Isla seems impressed.

  ‘Wow.’

  Cal’s lips are pressed tightly together, but Kit either hasn’t noticed his disapproval or doesn’t care. I feel embarrassed by Cal’s attitude, to be honest.

  ‘This is a bit cheeky as we’ve never met, but as a writer I wanted to say how brilliant I thought your adaptation of Dark Blue was,’ Kit tells Isla. ‘I’ve read the book, of course, and I thought it was a superb adaptation, the best I’ve ever seen. No wonder it won a BAFTA.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s high praise from a writer. What’s your book about?’

  Is Isla just being polite to Kit? I wonder.

  ‘It’s about a scientist who has to run for her life after discovering a way of producing energy from water. Just about everyone on the planet is looking for her for one reason or another. Don’t worry, I’m not here to ask you to adapt my book, even though that would be fantastic. I couldn’t resist saying congratulations. I’ve a copy of the behind-the-scenes guide in the cottage. I know this might come across as cheesy, but I wondered if you’d sign it?’

  Somehow I don’t need to look at Cal to visualise his expression.

  ‘Of course I’ll sign it.’ Isla’s charming, and I can see she’s used to doing this.

  ‘I’ll pop down later with it. I’d go up and fetch it now, but I’d better have a shower first.’ His crooked apologetic smile is a little like Cal’s. There the resemblance ends, because Cal isn’t smiling at all. I’m not sure why he’s acting so jealous.

  Isla sips her coffee. ‘I’m impressed by you running along the cliffs. This is a rough section of coast path. Known for being tough. Where did you run to?’

  ‘Oh, only as far as the lighthouse,’ Kit says with a breezy wave at the far headland, which is at least three miles away. ‘And you’re right, the terrain is hard going for someone like me, used to the flat streets of London.’

  ‘Which part of London?’

  ‘Hammersmith.’

  She nods. ‘I happen to know it well. In fact, my fiancé and I have a flat there.’

  Cal glances down at his boots, his arms folded.

  ‘You don’t say?’ says Kit in a tone of amazement, though I’d have thought lots of people live in Hammersmith.

  ‘Yes, we live not far from the Highwayman Tavern.’

  Kit gasps. ‘Wow. You’re only five minutes from me. I have a ground-floor flat round the corner from the station, by that funny little tapas bar with the rusty tables outside.’

  ‘Gosh, yes, I know that place. It’s never been open when I’ve walked past, but Luke said he’d seen people sitting outside with sangrias in the summer.’ Isla smiles again, then seems to catch sight of her watch and winces. ‘Ouch. It’s later than I thought. I’m sorry, I’ll have to go back to work, I’m afraid. It would have been great to chat some more.’

  ‘I mustn’t keep you from your work – any of you,’ Kit says, with a charming smile at me and at Cal – who suddenly decides to take an intense interest in the conversation. ‘And I need to have my shower and grind out some words. I’ll bring The Making of Dark Blue down later.’

  ‘OK. We’ll probably take a break for lunch around two, but it depends how the shoot’s going. If we don’t, why not bring the book up to the farmhouse later and leave it for me to sign? I’m sure Cal won’t mind, will you?’

  Cal looks like a bomb about to go off.

  ‘So you two know each other?’ Kit asks, as if he’s amazed.

  ‘Yes, Cal and I are old friends – Demi too,’ says Isla.

  ‘I knew you were from this part of the world. I didn’t know you were good friends with Cal. It’s a small world, huh?’ He directs this at Cal who has a fixed smile on his face though I suspect he’s enjoying the conversation as much as Mitch enjoyed his trip to the vet’s to get the snip.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Cal says, with a long drawn-out sigh. ‘And, sadly, I have to go and get on with my work too. Such a shame we can’t chat some more about the eateries of West London, but maybe another time. See you later,’ he directs this at me and Isla. ‘You too, Kit.’

  Kit smiles and nods. ‘Cal.’

  In that exchange there’s something so charged a spark would blow everything sky high. I’m not sure why Cal has it in for Kit.

  Kit jogs away and once he’s out of hearing, Isla raises an eyebrow to me. ‘Well, if that’s the class of guest you’re getting, you’re doing OK.’

  ‘Depends on your point of view,’ Cal growls.

  I cut in. ‘Kit’s more than a holidaymaker. He’s staying here until Christmas to finish his book.’

  ‘If he’s bothering you, just let me know and I’ll get him to back off,’ Cal directs his comment at Isla.

  ‘He’s not bothering me. He only said hello and asked me to sign his book. He’s a writer, you know what they’re like.’

  ‘No. Actually I don’t. I’m not the creative type, as you both well know, and I really can’t stand around gossiping. I’ll see you later then, at the farmhouse, when you’re finished. Don’t expect haute cuisine, either of you. It’s a casserole so it won’t matter if it’s in the Aga for a longer amount of time.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ says Isla. ‘You’d better go, we don’t want to waste your time with gossip, do we, Demi?’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ I say, surprised but amused by Isla’
s sarcasm. Cal deserves it.

  Jez pops his head around the corner of the cafe. ‘Hey, Demi. Sorry to bother you, but I could do with a hand with preparing the salads for the lunch service.’

  ‘See. I have my work too. Bye.’

  Feeling guilty for abandoning Jez to chat with Cal and Isla, yet secretly longing to stay and hear the rest of their conversation, I follow Jez inside and leave them alone together on the terrace.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Cal

  Damn Bannen. Still, at least Isla didn’t invite him for dinner as well as to sign that bloody book in person. He brought it round earlier, according to Polly, and she’s left it on the dresser for Isla. He’s slipped his business card inside it – I had a look and I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about it. It says: Kit Bannen, Author and Journalist – and includes his office phone and mobile number, of course. I wouldn’t put it past him to hope Isla slips him her card in return.

  She wouldn’t, would she?

  No way.

  Isla arrives before Demi, while I’m checking the garlic and rosemary potatoes aren’t burned. They’re golden brown and the herby scent fills the kitchen. It was my mother’s recipe, but I’ve tried it before and everyone seems to like it so I hope I’m on to a winner. I’m making a classic beef bourguignon from an old Mary Berry cookbook – from when she was famous the first time. The book is dog-eared and was handed down to my mother from my grandmother.

  Isla walks straight through the back door, of course, because she’s virtually family. She’s changed into jeans and a chunky, oversized Arran sweater that hangs off her slender frame.

  ‘Hello. Wow, that smells good,’ she says.

  ‘I hope so. Can you leave the door open a bit. It’s warm in here.’

  ‘Sure.’ There’s pink in her cheeks from a day spent out in the wind. She looks happier than I’ve seen her for a while. Work suits her, obviously, but then it has always suited us both.

  ‘How are you?’ Isla asks while I collect two glasses from the dresser. The book lies next to my mum’s photo.

  I turn to her. ‘Good. Like I said, we’re busy but could be even busier – though it’s all going well.’

  ‘No, not how’s business. How are you?’

  ‘OK. How are you?’

  ‘OK. Do I look OK?’

  What the hell am I supposed to say to that? ‘You look better. Less tired and healthier.’

  She laughs. ‘Ever the charmer. You look good, Cal. The extra weight suits you.’

  I laugh. ‘You always thought I was well fit.’

  ‘Ha ha. Yes, and didn’t you know it, but you do look well.’

  ‘Ditto.’ I say and she smiles and I do. I can say it now, without her telling me off or thinking I’m going to dive on her. These days, I’m more in control; anchored to the bottom like sea kelp, yet able to sway with the tide. I think that means I’m immune to her now. God, I don’t know …

  She sits down at the table. ‘Where’s Demi?’

  ‘She was late finishing up at the cafe. She texted me to say she’ll be here in ten minutes, after she’s changed.’

  ‘She’s done incredibly well with Demelza’s. You both have. I can hardly believe it was the old storage barn, and apparently the first few weeks have gone very well.’

  ‘Yes. She’s worked her guts out for it so she deserves it. Thanks for doing us a favour by using it for the catering.’

  ‘I wasn’t doing anyone a favour. The crew and cast are very happy to have great food and somewhere comfortable to escape. Even my stars were happy.’

  ‘Thanks anyway. I want Demi to succeed. She deserves it after tackling Kilhallon head on, sticking with us through thick and thin and putting up with my moods.’ I can’t hide my smile as I empty the remains of the Côtes du Rhône I used for the casserole into two glasses. ‘She deserves a medal.’

  ‘You really like her, don’t you?’ Isla focuses on me.

  ‘Like her?’ I roll my eyes. ‘Yeah, I like her when she’s not driving me mad.’

  ‘You’re a terrible liar, Cal. I know you too well, remember? I know when you have feelings for someone.’

  ‘For you?’ I keep my tone light.

  ‘For anyone. I can tell how you feel about Demi,’ Isla says. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at each other, and the way you don’t look at each other when you think other people are watching you. You and Demi are an item, aren’t you? Perhaps more than that?’

  I laugh, squirming a little under her scrutiny, but knowing there’s no hiding place any more. Isla moving to London has put space between us, or, perhaps, it’s simply time passing. I don’t know.

  ‘An item? That makes me feel like I’m a parcel … but I guess we are together, sort of, but we’re not making a big thing of it. Demi has her own life, with the cafe, the publicity and new opportunities coming her way.’

  ‘Opportunities which Demi turned down?’

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘Robyn told me that Demi was offered a job at Spero’s in Brighton, but decided to stay here.’

  ‘I tried not to persuade her to stay.’

  ‘Not hard enough, by the look of things.’

  ‘You’d be surprised. I almost drove Demi away. I wanted her to stay but it was selfish of me to keep her here. I still think it was selfish of me and that I won’t keep her long.’

  Isla shakes her head at me. ‘It’s OK to admit you’re in love with her. It’s not a betrayal,’ she says.

  ‘In love?’ I laugh. ‘It’s nothing like that. It’s not that simple …’

  ‘It seems very simple to me. You’ve fallen for Demi but you’re scared to either let go or keep her. Both freak you out in their own ways. You’re scared to show her how you feel, and of losing someone else that you love. ‘

  ‘You give me credit for being more sensitive than I really am.’

  ‘On the contrary, I think you’re way more sensitive than you’d ever admit.’

  ‘I’m a lost cause, then.’

  She puts down her glass and covers my hand with hers, letting it rest there. She’s right: it would feel like a betrayal to admit how much I feel for Demi. It would also feel like a fresh loss to truly move on. My own glass abandoned, I catch her fingers in mine before she can pull them away. I brush my lips over them; it’s such an innocent gesture, chaste compared to the intimacy we once enjoyed together, but it’s all I dare risk. Anything else would be a betrayal of Isla, Luke and Demi. Of my own conscience.

  ‘You’re not lost. Not yet,’ Isla whispers, gently withdrawing her hand. ‘Make a fresh start … I think, perhaps, that it was a mistake to do the shoot here, even to help you and Demi out. I should have stayed in London and found another location.’

  ‘No. You can’t hide away from me. You should come here. I need you to, if only to prove to myself that I can behave normally around you.’

  ‘But it’s not a game, Cal. There’s Demi to consider too. You can’t use me to test your resolve … or mine,’ she adds softly.

  She stands up before I can fully realise the impact of her words and crosses to the open doorway as if she’s about to make a run for it. ‘Oh, look. There’s Demi – and she’s with that writer guy, Kit.’ Isla sounds relieved, but all I feel is annoyed and confused.

  She steps outside and I join her in the yard. Across the car park, the security light on the barn reveals two figures standing close together, talking. ‘Kit’s only a guest,’ I tell her.

  ‘Yes, and he’s staying until Christmas, which seems like a very long time to be only a guest. He looks like a permanent fixture to me, and he seems to like Demi.’

  Kit laughs. Demi laughs the way she does when Mitch does something to amuse her, or a customer pays her a compliment about the food in the cafe – though I don’t think Kit Bannen is talking about her scones, judging from their expressions. I’m not sure I make her laugh like he just has. I don’t praise her enough, and I definitely don’t let her know how good she makes me feel.
Is that because I’m not sure how I feel or because, as Isla says, I’m too afraid to go out on a limb again with any woman?

  ‘Are you sure he’s only a guest?’ Her breath mists the night air as she repeats her theory to me.

  ‘Those potatoes won’t wait any longer. Come on, it’s getting cold, let’s go inside.’

  Demi arrives a few minutes later, smiling and looking hot in denim shorts, woolly tights and a pair of suede ankle boots with cute fringes that I find inexplicably sexy. Her chestnut hair is loose around her shoulders and she joins Isla and me around the table in the sitting room.

  So: I’m having dinner with two beautiful women, both of whom I’ve slept with, both of whom I feel passionately about, yet I don’t have a clue how either of them really feels about me. I don’t know how they feel about each other – are they jealous? Indifferent? Hurt?

  Some men might not care – my father obviously didn’t or he would never have kept on betraying and hurting my mother.

  I haven’t betrayed anyone, yet, so I should be a happy man, but something is niggling me, gnawing at the fringe of my consciousness while we eat and laugh and pretend to be friends, while knowing that ‘friends’ could never describe the relationship between any of us.

  There’s something that they don’t know about me, and can never know, that gnaws at me too, hardly ever stops gnawing at me. In the end, it may eat me up, and make the fact that I’m in love with Demi meaningless.

  I’m in love with Demi.

  Right in the middle of dinner, with a fork halfway to my mouth, I’ve admitted it. Not out loud of course, but to myself – and with Isla here. Isla shares some risqué gossip with Demi about some actor. I love the way Demi’s eyes light up in wonder. I love the way she gasps in amazement at being let into the secrets of a world of glamour and privilege she could never have dreamed of a few months ago. I love her freshness and lust for life; even though she’s had a tough go of it, she isn’t jaded and cynical like me. She showed me that I could make a fresh start and I want it to be with her.

  A lump forms in my throat and I make a sharp exit to the kitchen, on the pretext of fetching another bottle. I need a few moments on my own before I come back, a smile on my face and a tale of my own from our schooldays that makes Isla and Demi laugh. I may be ready to admit my feelings for Demi to myself, but I’m not ready to share them with her. I need time … more time … there are issues I need to resolve before then, things I need to face and come to terms with.