‘Shouldn’t you have left for your daughter’s by now? It’s Christmas Eve. You’ll want to spend it with your new grandson.’
‘I am. My daughter and her partner and the baby are on their way to my place. I told them what had happened and they suggested it. I presume we’re opening the cafe tomorrow for everyone?’
We exchange amazed glances. Cal shrugs.
‘What? Have I said something amusing again?’
‘No. In fact we were discussing the arrangement when you came in,’ Cal says.
‘Good. My Fiona’s partner is a school chef, and he says he’ll help us and they’re bringing their food over. Now all we have to worry about is feeding the five thousand with five loaves and two fishes.’
Polly has lost me now. ‘Um … I don’t know what you mean. There’s no fish in the freezer, but we’ve plenty of frozen loaves,’ I reply, not wanting to upset her after she’s given up her Christmas to cook for everyone.
Cal makes a choking sound, which is meant to be laughter. Polly shakes her head and plants her hands on her hips. ‘Give me strength. Come on, you two, let’s get our sleeves rolled up and get going. It’s Christmas tomorrow.’
I’ve no idea what Polly was on about with the fish and loaves, but she’s stopped mentioning them now and joined me in the cafe kitchen. It’s a good job we’d already bought a turkey that was far too large for Cal and me, and that Polly and her family had done likewise. With the help of a couple of other joints from our freezers, and supplies we had left in the cafe, we should be able to eke out our stores to feed everyone.
The families have all brought what food they’d managed to salvage too. We went round the cottages before lunch, asking who wanted to join in the Christmas lunch at Demelza’s and, to my surprise, everyone has said ‘yes,’ even the single girls, who turn out to be overseas students. I thought they’d be way too cool to join in, preferring to spend the day on their phones and tablets.
So it’s all hands to the pump in the kitchens. The kids are laying the tables, while everyone else – too many, to be honest – ‘helps’ prepare the veg, make cranberry sauce and all the trimmings, ready for tomorrow.
In the end, with people getting under each other’s feet, I decide to organise a rota so that there’s at least some order. Polly’s son-in-law will be here soon. Mitch has been locked in the farmhouse because he’d freak out with so much activity going on and we don’t want him running off again.
Rachel looks ready to drop, but she turns out to be a dab hand at napkin folding so she’s sitting at the big table showing the children how to make swans from the serviettes.
My dad walks in with Cal, carrying a crate of beer.
‘I’ll take that, thanks, Mr Jones,’ says Cal.
‘Please, call me Gary. Your cafe is really something, Demi.’
‘I’m only the manager. Cal owns it.’
‘Demi first had the idea for it and she designed it, project managed the build and manages the whole business,’ Cal says.
My father looks around him. ‘Well, you should be proud. You always did what you wanted. No stopping you when you sank your teeth into something.’ I know he’s thinking of my running away. ‘I’m not surprised. If your mum could see it, she’d be so proud too.’
‘But she can’t.’ I say briskly. ‘Do you mind giving me a hand with peeling the veg?’
With a frown of confusion, he follows me into the kitchen.
‘Sure.’ He looks around him. ‘Your mum would be happy about how you turned out. I mean it.’
‘Don’t go there, Dad. Don’t try and make it OK. Let’s just leave it. It’s the only way I can cope, for now.’ I don’t want shaky hands while I set to work on the potatoes.
‘OK. If that’s what you want.’
‘I do.’ I soften my tone and hand him a veg peeler from the rack. ‘Now, could you please start peeling those spuds?’
CHAPTER FORTY
Christmas Day, morning
‘Happy Christmas.’
My eyes open on a man in a Santa hat and nothing else. Cal stands by the side of the bed, holding a parcel. It looks like he wrapped it in the dark while wearing mittens.
I sit bolt upright on the pillows. ‘What time is it? We have to start cooking the turkeys.’
‘Relax. Polly’s son-in-law has already put them in the cafe and farmhouse ovens.’
I slump back on the pillows and frown. ‘You haven’t got any clothes on.’
‘Glad you finally noticed.’ He waggles the parcel and I try not to be too impressed by what waggles underneath it. ‘I have Christmas dinner to cook for eighteen people.’
‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ he says. ‘If you don’t like it I can take it back. It doesn’t matter.’
‘I do like it. I will like it.’
‘Why the long face, then?’
I swallow hard. ‘I haven’t had any Christmas presents for a long time. I’m not used to having them.’
Cal flashes me a sexy smile. ‘Take your time, but can you budge over so I can get into bed. I’m freezing my rocks off out here.’
And very nice rocks they are, I think as I rip off the paper like Mitch will later when he gets his new dog bed. I pull out some smooth fabric.
‘It’s a Christmas apron.’ Laughing, I unroll it and see that it has my name embroidered across the top.
‘Try it on,’ he says.
Aware that I’m naked, I get out of bed into the chilly Christmas morning air and slip the apron on.
Cal sits back, his hands behind his head. ‘Let’s have a twirl, then.’
As I turn slowly round, knowing he can see my bare bottom, he lets out an ‘ohhh’ of approval. ‘Another bum Christmas present, never mind,’ he says, but the look in his eyes, a slow-burning intensity, tells me how he really feels. A glow has kindled under my skin and deep inside me. I’m beginning to feel that everyone can look after themselves today.
‘Oh, it looks as if someone’s left something in the pockets,’ he says.
I dig out a small package from the apron pocket. It’s a smallish oblong blue box. When I flip the lid, a beautiful bracelet nestles on a white silk interior. It’s made up of tiny silver shells and starfish, interspaced with freshwater pearls that remind me of the colours of Kilhallon Cove on a still summer’s day.
Before I came to Kilhallon, I’d become good at not crying when things were bad. I’d had no reason to cry when things were good, but Kilhallon has ruined me.
‘You don’t like it?’ Cal says, probably spotting my bottom lip trembling.
‘I don’t like it. I love it. It’s … it’s dreamy. I can’t believe it’s mine.’
His eyes light up with pleasure, though mine are misty. ‘Good. I liked the colours. Robyn made it to my specific instructions before she left for Oz.’
A tear escapes and runs down my face.
‘Bloody hell. Anyone would think I’d given you the sack!’ he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me back into bed on top of him. ‘You’d better take that off. We don’t have to cook Christmas dinner quite yet.’
Against all the odds, dinner is ready. To loud ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ we carry the turkeys to the table. Polly and her family, and Will and Emma and their girls, follow us with the vegetables, gravy, cranberry sauce, roast potatoes – everything that a traditional meal should have and probably more. When our other ‘normal’ paying guests heard about the feast, they all chipped in and donated some of their wine, chocolates and other goodies.
We’ve had a few tears in the kitchens and there are more now as lunch is served. There are lots of brave faces while the crackers are pulled and cheesy jokes shared. Some of our guests will be out of their homes for weeks, even months, and they must be devastated, but for a few hours I hope we can give them a Christmas to enjoy and some fun times for the children.
After lunch, the little kids – and some of the big ones – point and gasp as our secret ‘Santa’ strides in, carrying a sack. The tiny one who asked
about the cockerel has one finger stuck up his nose and the other pointing at Santa.
His dad crouches down by him and murmurs in his ear, ‘Oh, look. It’s one of Santa’s helpers.’
‘Ho ho ho.’
‘No, it’s not. It’s just the man who owns the holiday park,’ Max chirps up and everyone laughs.
Undeterred, ‘Santa’ hands out presents to the kids and even Max seems mildly impressed by his gift, a new game for his console.
‘Where did these come from? They must have cost a fortune,’ I whisper as Cal strips off his Santa costume in the staff cubby hole.
‘Local traders donated some of the presents. Emma collected them while we were busy yesterday and she and Will also paid for some extra gifts.’
‘Wow.’
‘They’re loaded, apparently. He owns a chain of climbing-equipment shops. They also gave me a very generous donation for the flood hardship appeal and offered all the families a break at his place in the Lake District if and when they want it.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘Google him,’ says Cal. ‘You’ll see. He has an MBE for his work with the mountain rescue up there.’
We start to clear up. Some of the kids and adults play games. A couple of Twister mats have been produced, and, to my amazement, a tipsy Polly joins in.
‘Come on!’ I say as she falls in a heap with an ‘oof’.
Slowly she sits up. ‘I’ve gone all funny after that. I think I’d better call it a day and make myself a cup of tea.’
She wobbles towards the kitchen, making me worry about health and safety, but in few seconds, I find myself spread-eagled on the slippery Twister mat with Cal and one of the mums, shaking with laughter, far too full of turkey and Christmas pudding and in danger of collapsing at any moment.
Darkness falls outside and people begin to wander back to their own accommodation.
Max’s mum, the one from my cottage, clutches the hand of her daughter who’s still wearing her party hat, while the little cockerel boy dozes on his dad’s shoulder.
‘I didn’t think, after what’s happened, that we could possibly enjoy today. In fact, I think today has been one of the best Christmas Days we’ve ever had. Thanks, love.’
‘Thank you, Demi,’ says her daughter.
I crouch down and hug the little girl. ‘All the best,’ I say. ‘Stay as long as you like.’
‘My cousin’s coming for us tomorrow. But I’ll never forget this,’ her mum says. Max is engrossed in his computer game, but does manage a mumbled ‘thank you’.
‘Kids, eh?’ the mum says and they head to my cottage, still laughing and chattering about the party and the hens. At least they’ve been able to forget their troubles for a few hours. I’m happy about that.
Now it’s eight o’clock and only Polly and her family, me, Cal, my dad and Rachel are left in the cafe. Even Will, Emma and the twins have gone to watch a Disney film on their TV.
Rachel rests her stockinged feet on the farmhouse settle in the cafe, rubbing her bump. Dad brings some dirty glasses into the kitchen where I’m reloading the dishwasher yet again.
‘Rachel’s done in so we’d better get her home, but I’ll come back to help clear up.’
‘Thanks but there’s no need. It’s almost done.’
‘OK. If you’re sure?’
‘Yes. You can use the sitting room at the farmhouse if you like. It’s not bedtime yet and the new Bond film is on soon.’
‘Thanks, but Rachel’s shattered and I’ll probably keep her company. We’ve not had much sleep over the past few days.’
‘When will you be back in your place, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. Weeks, possibly. I hope it’s before the baby arrives.’ He hesitates. ‘I wish I’d got you a present.’
‘I’ve managed without one for years, Dad. I can cope now. Ouch, I didn’t mean it to sound like that, but I don’t need gifts from you. You always made sure I was fed and had what I needed for school, even during the worst times, it just wasn’t the material stuff I needed.’
‘I know that.’
‘Have you heard from Kyle?’ I ask. ‘You said he was in the army and on a tour of duty.’
‘He’s been at a UK base but their regiment is in Cyprus at the moment and won’t be back until spring. He’s been to our old house, but not to the new one – good job he can’t come back for Christmas now we’re flooded out. He asked me where you were in an email last week and I told him you were well and working at Kilhallon, but that we weren’t speaking still.’
All I can do is nod.
‘When he’s back on leave, why don’t you come and see him, if we’re in our place by then? You can see the baby too.’
I swallow a lump in my throat. ‘Yeah. I might do that. I’ll definitely think about it. I’d like to see Kyle again even though we were never close. And the baby too.’
‘OK.’ He touches my arm. ‘If you don’t want to or it’s too soon, that’s fine. I am sorry. For everything. Give me another chance. Give us another chance. People can change, and it helps that I’m off the booze now.’
‘I noticed you stuck to the fizzy apple juice with your lunch.’
‘I thought drowning my sorrows even more than I already did would help me after your mum died. It blocked out the guilt and pain for a while and then it only made things worse. It was tough and I won’t say I wouldn’t love a drink right now, but I’ve been sober for three years. Rachel’s helped me.’
‘Has she?’
‘Yes. It must be hard for you to see me with her. She’s older than she looks, if that makes things any easier for you.’
I shrug. I still don’t know how I feel about hearing any of this. Warm, fuzzy feelings are going to take a while, if they ever come, but I do want to see Kyle, and the baby. Especially the baby for some reason, maybe because she represents a fresh start for all of us.
‘I’d never try to replace your mother, I swear it, but I’ve been so lonely and lost. You left, your brother went. I’m sorry, how many times do I have to say that I’ve changed? People can change, Demi.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
He blows out a breath of relief, but he hasn’t realised that I mean I can change too. I can try to meet him, if not halfway then somewhere along a path that leads us much closer together.
‘Demi?’ he says, touching my arm briefly.
‘I know you’ve changed. It might take me longer but Mum would want us to try so I will. Just give me time, OK?’
He nods. ‘I can definitely give you that.’
Cal pokes his head around the door. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Fine,’ we both say in unison and he smiles.
‘Then let’s lock up here and go back to the house.’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Much later, I walk into the sitting room, staring at my phone. ‘Oh my God!’
‘What’s happened now?’ Cal leans forward in on the sofa, a frown on his face.
‘Nothing bad. The opposite, in fact. It’s from the editor I met in London.’
‘That’s a relief.’ Cal sinks back and picks up his whisky glass again. ‘But I thought people in publishing don’t work on Christmas Day.’
‘Apparently they do if they really, really want you. I’m joking, this message came into my inbox a couple of days ago, I haven’t had time to check it while we’ve been dealing with the floods. Eva texted me earlier to wish me Happy Christmas and to see how I was, but I think she was checking to see if I’d seen the note. She was worried I’d been scared off the whole idea or thought it was a crap deal. How can £20,000 be a crap deal?’
‘Congratulations. You deserve it.’ He pats the sofa next to him. ‘Now sit down here and relax. I mixed you a whisky and a drop of water. It’s the last of my dad’s special malt, but I thought, if not now, then when?’
‘Thanks.’
Abandoning my phone, I curl up next to him, though I can’t quite believe what I’ve read. Cal slips his arm around me an
d I snuggle against his warm body, enjoying the texture of his sweater against my cheek and the solidity of his chest behind me. We sit in silence, sipping the whisky. I’m no big fan but must admit this glass tastes pretty good: earthy and comforting but with a fiery edge, like the man holding me. Flames dance and crackle in the hearth and the aromas of woodsmoke and whisky are mellow and soothing. We’re finally alone and together, Cal and I. Life is good. Far from perfect, but if it was perfect, what point would there be in living? There are new challenges ahead for me, and for Cal, for the people we love and for Kilhallon in the New Year and the years to come. And as I imagine those years, I see myself here with him. So …
‘Cal?’
‘Hmm.’
‘I’ve been thinking …’
‘Always dangerous,’ he murmurs.
I twist around and put down my glass. ‘You always say that when I have an idea. Be serious for a minute.’
‘OK.’ He assumes a stern expression, abandons his glass and folds his arms, which only enhances his biceps and makes it even harder to concentrate. Amber flecks of firelight reflect in his dark brown eyes.
‘This advance. It’s not a massive amount. I mean, it is a massive amount of money to me, but I want to invest it in the cafe. You took a big risk in putting up the money for the building and conversion, especially when you didn’t have much to spare and didn’t even know we’d be able to keep Kilhallon at all. But now I’d like to have a small stake in my own business. It makes financial sense. It’s an idea, isn’t it?’
‘An idea? You know how I love your ideas …’ He drops his arms, his expression genuinely serious now, which is doing seriously mushy things to my insides. ‘It’s your money, you can do whatever you want with it, but don’t ever think you have to repay me or owe me anything. You’ve got where you are completely by your own efforts. I played no part in it.’
I put my arms around him, loving the feel of the rough wool of his sweater under my fingertips. ‘None at all?’
Christmas at the Cornish Café Page 26
