Christmas at the Cornish Café

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Cal!’ I have to hit him, but he grabs my wrist, gently, and wrestles me back onto the sofa. He pulls me onto his lap and gently teases my hair out of the collar of my jumper. My scalp tingles and desire swirls low in my belly. Warmth spreads all over my body. I know he’s trying to distract me, but I don’t mind. It’s such a relief to be so close again.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he says seriously. ‘I’ll be back before you even miss me.’

  ‘Why would I miss you?’ I tease, gazing into those deep dark eyes. ‘I’m far too busy to miss you. In fact I can probably get loads done without you here thumping about and distracting me.’

  He strokes my thigh. ‘There hasn’t been enough distraction for either of us lately.’

  ‘You think?’ My skin heats deliciously.

  ‘I know.’ Gently pushing me off his lap, he locks the door of the study and draws the heavy curtains. Soon, the magazine and his impromptu trip to London are forgotten in a kiss that turns my limbs liquid. My concerns about him can wait for now. They won’t go away, but I’m going to make sure I forget them for a little while.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A week later, Robyn takes Cal to the station so that we can use the Land Rover while he’s away in London. He’s staying with an old uni friend, a doctor who volunteers with the charity in London, to save money on hotels. It’s the first time he’s left Kilhallon since I came to work here. I’ve spent hundreds of nights on my own and slept on the streets, but it still seems strange for Cal not to be around.

  Even though Demelza’s is closed today, Polly, Shamia, Nina and I meet in the building at lunchtime to firm up our plans for the pop-up Demelza’s at the Harbour Lights Festival launch in just over two and half weeks, on the last Friday in November. We tried to work out how much stock we’ll need so we don’t run out halfway through the evening, or worse, have waste left over. Polly suggested we borrow Jez’s mate’s van for the evening. I think she’s getting into the idea of the festival and has started reminiscing about the days when Cal’s mum was on the committee. I’m not sure she would have done that if Cal had been here.

  Tuesday is my chance to call into St Trenyan to do some shopping and have lunch with Tamsin at Sheila’s Beach Hut where I used to work. It’s great to chat to Sheila and see how she is, and to be waited on for a change. Knowing Cal will be home tomorrow, I spend this evening with Robyn and Andi at the Tinner’s, playing pool in the bar and just chilling out. Despite my work and friends, I do miss Cal and I can’t deny it. I had a text from him on Monday afternoon telling me he arrived safely at Paddington and a quick phone call before I went to bed. He sounds like he’s been busy catching up with old friends and colleagues, although I wouldn’t say he sounds happy. Cal’s not one for sending lots of OTT messages and I’m sure he can look after himself.

  Finally, it’s Wednesday afternoon and I have to admit that today has crawled by. Cal texted me to say his train arrives at Penzance at 9.30 and that he is looking forward to seeing me. I had a lazy morning, did some little jobs in the cafe then came home to my cottage and wrote a piece for the cafe blog. Maybe it’s the weather – it’s been dreary and damp all the time Cal’s been away – but despite trying to concentrate, I can’t settle to anything properly. Even Mitch is getting the twitches. Outside, darkness has fallen and it’s still four hours until I need to set out for Penzance. I feed Mitch and reheat some leftover pasta bake for myself to eat in front of my tiny TV.

  ‘This is no good, Mitch, I can’t sit around in here any longer. Tell you what? Shall we go and hang some of the Christmas decorations at the cafe?’

  I shipped the decorations down to the cafe this morning and was going to wait until tomorrow and ask Nina or Shamia and Polly to give me a hand with them before we opened, but now’s as good a time as any. Making the cafe look Christmassy will be a nice way to pass the time before I have to leave for the station. Mitch trots after me as I plunge into the mist and trudge down to the cafe. It’s thickened a little as night has drawn in and is cold and damp on my face. I haven’t bothered with a torch – it’s not far and I know my way almost as well as Mitch, but I’m still glad to reach the doors and switch on the lights.

  Soon, I realise that I should have brought the step ladder for hanging the festive-themed bunting I bought at the St Trenyan Christmas market. I’m going to need help. However, I can manage most of the jobs myself and I start up my ‘Christmas Mix’ on the iPad.

  What else would I choose but ‘Christmas Wrapping’ by the Waitresses, an oldie but goodie that’s my all-time-top festive tune. The empty cafe makes a natural theatre and singing along to these old favourites lifts my mood despite the gloomy evening outside. Mitch lies in a corner, chewing a toy, as I unpack the decorations from the box.

  I decide less is more, opting for a few strategically placed festive decorations in natural colours. The fresh holly and mistletoe sprigs will be boosted by some lush faux-fir and berry garlands, which I think complement the beamed interior of the barn better than over-the-top tinsel and dancing Santas. Not that I’m against all the festive glitz and shiny stuff, but I can go to town on twinkly decorations in the cottage and farmhouse if Cal doesn’t scream too loudly. Even if he does, I don’t care. Polly told me she likes to go the whole hog from December the 1st in her own place and that Cal’s mum always had a real tree, with a collection of family ornaments on it that go way back.

  From feeling low earlier, I now can’t stop grinning.

  Christmas is coming up fast and this year I’ll be spending it in a proper home, not on a friend’s sofa or, like last year, in a shop doorway. Polly’s going to spend a couple of days with her family, so Cal and I will able to chill out at Kilhallon House, tucking into turkey and all the trimmings. We can open our presents – well, he can open the present I’ll get him, when I’ve decided what it is. I don’t actually expect anything from him. Then we can drink and eat and shag ourselves into oblivion for the rest of the day. I hope the guests don’t need us for anything, because we’re bound to be too knackered from all the stuffing and sex to do anything.

  The fiddle intro to ‘Fairytale of New York’ bursts into life. Mitch jumps up as I belt out the rude bits and he stares at me while I jog about to ‘Christmas Rapping’ by Kurtis Blow. The cafe is looking quite festive now. I stop back to admire my handiwork, a little out of breath, and then it comes on: ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’. I don’t know who it’s by, it must be half a century old and the scratchy recording sounds like something from a museum. Yet I know every word and sing them softly while Mitch looks at me as if I’m loopy. It’s a very silly tune, but it was Nana Demelza’s favourite. When I was very little, I’d stand on her giant furry-slippered feet and she’d dance around the front room while we sang it.

  It was always obvious to me that Santa Claus was the girl’s dad. How stupid was she not to know her father was snogging her mum?

  ‘Oh, puhleaase,’ I say to Mitch, shaking a bunch of mistletoe in his face and making him yip in surprise.

  He licks my hand and looks up at me with soulful eyes. I drop the mistletoe and hug him. The old song has brought back memories of my mum as well as my nan. They were happy times. Why did they have to go?

  I have Mitch now, and Cal, Polly, Robyn and my friends. I’m way luckier than most, but I can’t help the thick, full feeling in my throat. I wish Mum and Nana Demelza could see me now. I wish …

  Before I burst into tears, I let go of Mitch and get up to rip a paper towel from the roll in the servery.

  ‘Demi?’

  ‘Oh my God!’

  Sharp barks echo round the cafe. Kit stands in the doorway, in a black trench coat like Sherlock’s with a trapper hat pulled over his ears.

  ‘Are you OK? I saw the lights on from my place. I was a bit bored so I wandered down here and heard the music – thought I’d come and see if there was any craic to be had.’

  I feign a laugh although my heart is beating fast from the shock of him walking in with
out me hearing him. ‘I’m not sure my solo karaoke counts as craic.’

  Taking off his hat, he joins me on the other side of the servery counter. ‘I’m sorry I startled you.’ He frowns. ‘You look as if you’ve been crying.’

  ‘No. No, I think I’m going down with a cold.’ I sniff dramatically.

  He raises his eyebrows. ‘Then you should be tucked up in your cottage, not working late here.’

  ‘Decorating the cafe isn’t work and I wanted to pass the time before I collect Cal from the station. I’ll only lie about, watching rubbish telly and necking Lemsips if I’m not here.’ At least part of that statement is true.

  Recognising Kit and now happy with his presence, Mitch wanders back to his corner and his dog chew.

  The music mix kicks in, I have it on a loop. It’s Wham – again.

  Kit puts his hat on a table next to the decorations. ‘Ouch.’

  I groan. ‘Not you too? You’re as bad as Cal.’

  ‘You mean Cal doesn’t like Wham either?’

  ‘He hates this one.’

  He starts to take off his coat. ‘Then we have more than one thing in common. Are you sure I can’t give you a hand here? I can see a spare box of garlands on the table.’

  ‘I need the steps to loop them over the beams and I can’t be bothered to fetch them in the dark.’ Whoops, I hope that doesn’t sound like a girly plea. ‘I mean, I could get the steps if I wanted. I didn’t mean I want you to get them for me.’

  He smiles. ‘I know. The fog’s thick and it’s cold too, I don’t fancy it either, but if I stand on a chair I think I can throw the garlands over the beams without the steps.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t let you do that.’

  ‘Why not? Because I’m a guest? I thought we’d gone past that stage.’ His green eyes twinkle.

  ‘No. Because of health and safety. I don’t want you suing us if you fall off and break your neck.’

  He laughs. ‘Thanks. But I promise I won’t sue, even if I do break something. Which won’t happen. I’ll be very careful.’

  I hesitate. There’s not long until I have to leave for the station, but it would be great to see the place finished and it will save time tomorrow. It won’t do any harm. ‘OK, thanks, but please be careful. It’s a long wait for the paramedics down here and the air ambulance won’t be flying tonight.’

  ‘You’re all heart,’ says Kit and starts taking off his boots. I wonder if there’s a girlfriend – or boyfriend – on the scene, but there can’t be or surely she or he or both would have visited him by now. Maybe he’s come to Kilhallon to escape from a break-up, not only to write his book.

  With the help of a chair and the countertop and bar stools, we manage to loop the garland over the beams with only a few wobbly close shaves. When we stand back and admire our handiwork, we’re both surprisingly out of puff.

  ‘Not bad, eh?’

  ‘No. Who’d have thought hanging Christmas decorations could be such hard work,’ Kit replies. ‘Worth it though. The place looks very festive.’

  He’s right. The greenery might be artificial but it does look fabulous against the reclaimed oak beams. The high-quality decorations were worth every penny from my budget. By the time the tree arrives next week and I’ve added some more holly, and the cafe’s filled with the aromas of my seasonal menu, I think we’ll be rocking Christmas at the cafe.

  Together, we carry the holly in from the buckets outside the rear door. Robyn brought some of it from Bosinney House yesterday, but I hadn’t had the chance to display it yet.

  ‘I saw all the publicity about the film shoot online. That must be good for business,’ Kit says, following me in with the second bucket.

  ‘It already has been. The cottages are fully booked over Christmas and New Year and we’ve had lots of advance bookings for the new season for the yurts too.’

  ‘I’m glad about that. I expect the magazine feature helped too.’ He picks up a stray piece of holly. ‘I bought a copy in the coffee shop down in St Trenyan. Sorry, I don’t always use Demelza’s.’

  ‘I’ll forgive you.’ He hands me the holly and I stick it in one of the old stone cider jars I rescued from the barn this summer.

  ‘What does Cal think of being a celebrity?’ Kit asks as I arrange the sprigs in the jar.

  ‘He doesn’t think of himself as a celebrity. He’s in London at the moment and I expect that feature is the last thing on his mind.’

  ‘Oh really? I have to pop back myself next week to see my publicist. Business trips are a pain, aren’t they? Especially with the traffic.’

  ‘Cal took the train. I don’t think he could face driving into central London.’ I decide not to tell him where Cal’s actually gone. It is none of his business, after all, no matter how friendly he’s become.

  ‘Probably the best idea, especially in this weather. You must miss him, then, being all on your own.’ I’m pretty sure Kit is angling to find out more about my situation with Cal but I won’t be drawn in.

  ‘I haven’t had the chance to miss him. I’m going to decorate the cafe and launch our Christmas menus, then there have been a lot of extra bookings to process since we had the film people here. I need to get online and make the most of the extra publicity. And I’m not alone. I have Polly and Mitch and the staff for company, not to mention the guests.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re too busy to miss your boss.’

  I glance at the big iron clock that says Dreckly on it, a Cornish word meaning sometime later or maybe never. ‘Wow. It’s late. I’d better lock up here and fetch Cal.’

  ‘Do you want a hand closing up?’

  ‘Thanks, but you’ve been a huge help already. The staff will have a big surprise when they get in tomorrow. Be careful on your way back to the cottage,’ I warn.

  ‘I will,’ Kit says. ‘Goodnight then. You take care driving to the station too. It’s a real pea souper out here now.’

  With a wave, he steps outside and the fog swallows him. I scoop up my keys from the serving counter, still wondering about Kit. Apart from being a bit nosy at times – which could be because he’s a writer – he isn’t so bad. He could have flirted with me and made me feel uncomfortable, which was the real reason for my reluctance to let him help, but he was nothing beyond friendly. Cal’s jealousy is just silly.

  ‘Come on then, Mitch.’

  I think I hear a snuffling in the kitchen. I hope he hasn’t nicked any food and the fact he’s wormed his way in there at all is a massive hygiene no-no.

  ‘Mitch! Get out of there!’

  I must have imagined the snuffling noise, or perhaps it was a bird or rabbit in the fog outside, because there’s no Mitch in the kitchen. ‘You’d better not be in the storeroom, you devil,’ I call as I walk deeper into the kitchen area towards the storeroom and staff cubby hole. Both are still locked and the rear exit is also locked. I shut it myself after Kit and I brought in the holly – Mitch was still in the main cafe area then. I’m sure he was. If he’d slipped out while we collected the holly I’m sure we’d have noticed him.

  ‘Mitch? Where the hell are you hiding?’

  I hunt around the whole cafe area, checking under tables although I know there’s nowhere for him to hide in there. I even check under the serving counter again, even though he wasn’t there the last time I looked, thirty seconds ago. Yet he was there half an hour ago, when Kit and I started to hang the garlands. I heard him yipping softly as he dozed, dreaming of rabbits and running along the coast path, nose to the ground, on the trail of doggy scents. I saw him, twitching happily as he dreamed.

  The cafe door squeaks. Is that him?

  It swings open the tiniest crack though there’s barely a breath of wind or the fog wouldn’t be so thick. Yet the door is open, from when Kit left me. Or from when he arrived …

  A tiny shiver runs through me. Mitch must have slipped outside when Kit and I were chatting. I hurry out onto the terrace, expecting to hear a bark, or spot two eyes glowing in the fog, or feel the
rasp of a wet tongue on my hand.

  ‘Mitch!’

  I listen hard, hoping for a clatter of claws or a snuffle, but get nothing. I go back into the cafe and call for him one last time before I head out into the fog to search for him. But all I get is silence: a bigger, emptier silence than I’ve ever heard in the cafe before, as if it’s wrapped in a foggy duvet that muffles all sounds of life.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Polly answers her door in tartan pyjamas and a fleecy dressing gown. Her cottage stands apart, behind Kilhallon House. Made of Cornish granite, it’s sturdy and forbidding – just like Polly can be, unless you know her well. Tonight I need her, because it’s been fifteen minutes since I left the cafe to look for Mitch and I still haven’t found him. I’ll be late meeting Cal’s train at this rate.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you this late, Polly, but have you seen Mitch?’

  She frowns. ‘No. Why would I have?’

  ‘I don’t know … I just … I’m trying not to panic, but I can’t find him. I was at the cafe with Kit a while ago and he must have slipped outside while we were hanging the decorations. I’ve shouted and called to him but there was no answer and then I went back to my place because I was sure he’d be waiting for me, but he wasn’t there and now I wonder if he’s sneaked into the farmhouse for some reason, because you know the back door is always open and he might have smelled something or gone in there and maybe the door shut behind him and –’ I gulp in air ‘– I don’t know where he could have got to!’

  ‘Whoa. Whoa. Steady. Draw breath!’

  I gulp in a huge breath, and another, but I still feel as if I’ve been racing the hundred metres. I have been running, or as close to running as I could get in fog that swirls around me and clings to my clothes.

  ‘Come in out of this mist. It’s freezing.’

  ‘I can’t. I have to go and look for Mitch. He could be anywhere, and in this weather you can’t see more than a few yards. Oh, damn, I have to collect Cal from the station too but I can’t leave Mitch.’