The Summerhouse by the Sea

by Jenny Oliver

  Ava sat sipping her coffee, watching as he and Flora giggled in the kitchen like truants. She looked at her watch. It was nine fifty. Rory had said ten o’clock and was currently busy doing something behind the bar. She sat and waited.

  She watched as people shuffled in, as the chess games started, as the wet-haired swimmers took their seats. She’d seen Lola cycle down to the beach earlier, where she was currently stretched out like a cat in the sun, but there was no sign of Tom. She’d sort of pinned her hopes on a last breakfast together.

  ‘OK,’ Rory shouted. And Ava watched as Flora and Everardo started laying out rows of seats inside the café. ‘Up you come.’

  All the regulars had clearly been informed of the event and were straight up there to bagsy the best seats. Max and Emilio had dragged themselves away from the gang on the beach and were sitting on bar stools, Max glancing back repeatedly to where Lola was flirting with the older brother of one of the English boys, and Selena and the other of Emilio’s sister’s friends were laughing hysterically at something on YouTube. His attention was clearly divided.

  Ava winked at Max as she picked up her coffee and walked to the front. He gave her a look as if to say life was very complicated.

  Rory clapped his hands for them all to hurry up.

  ‘Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Thanks for coming to the screening. I’ve no doubt you’re all here to watch an expert film-maker at work, not to try and catch a glimpse of yourselves on the TV,’ he laughed.

  Everyone tittered.

  Ava frowned. He was going to show his film? How had he had time to do his film?

  ‘As you all know,’ Rory went on, ‘my sister is leaving tomorrow.’

  There was a collective ahhh, fully orchestrated by Rory. Ava blushed and sank down into her chair.

  ‘And I didn’t want her to go without a viewing of my – and my son Max’s – latest masterpiece,’ he grinned. Max beamed, taking a bow from his seat.

  Ava was intrigued. She leant forwards, elbow on her knee, chin resting in her hand.

  ‘So without further ado, I give you: Café Estrella – A Star is Reborn,’ he said, pressing play on the laptop and the image springing to life on the TV.

  Ava didn’t know what she’d been expecting. A wobbly documentary charting the café’s refurbishment, with some poignant chats with Flora. Not this. Not a film about all of them. All the bits from when no one thought they were filming. Ava put her hand over her mouth when the opening scene was her doing some stupid funny walk to make Max laugh, the camera wobbling as he snorted with giggles. Flora flouncing her hair and complaining of the camera angle while dropping a pearl of wisdom into the mix. Then a montage of people laughing, big belly laughs. Gael, with his walrus moustache, falling off his seat. Gabriela bashing Rory on the bum to make him gyrate his hips. Someone, probably Emilio, filming Max doing Gangnam Style in the sand. Tom lying back in a chair, eyes shut, waking himself up with a snore and opening one eye to check no one was watching. Igor measuring brandy for the sangria, winking at the camera as he chucked in another slug. The dead tomatoes. The pug on wheels. Max holding up some dubious knitting and making a face. Gabriela giving a thumbs up about Everardo. The unearthing of the churros machine. Ava’s hand on Rosa’s. Flora flirting with Everardo. The ugly bull stencil disappearing beneath white paint. Ava and Tom chatting outside when they were meant to be painting, caught through the window, him looking at her like she lit up the world; Ava, no make-up, face freckled and tanned, red top splattered with paint, looking the happiest she’d ever looked in her life.

  Ava watched with her hand pressed over her mouth. The queues for Rosa’s churros. Rory and Gabriela sweating in the kitchen. Ava on her bicycle. Max learning to drop a ski. The flamenco. Claire. The grapes. The sunset. The party.

  Gabriela and co. out on a pedalo, Igor smoking in the shallows, and Ava and Tom lying on their backs in the surf, a big beaming toothy smile just visible on her face. And then the final shot. Max’s little hand writing in shells on the beach: Our Café Estrella.

  Ava looked up and caught Rory’s eye. He winked.

  She wanted to watch the film again and again.

  This was her life, here.

  Everyone was clapping, Rory simultaneously batting away and lapping up praise at the front.

  ‘You should put it on YouTube,’ Flora shouted.

  ‘That’s the last thing I need,’ Rory called back. ‘Right now, I’ve accepted the position as Flora’s sous chef. Or should I say, Gabriela’s sous chef.’

  Flora rolled her eyes.

  There was another great cheer.

  Ava felt extraordinarily proud.

  Then, all serious, Rory added, ‘Except, yes, I will some day show the film to the wider public. Of course. It’s a bit of fun, but it’s also a part of my portfolio.’

  And Ava sniggered to herself in the back row as he waffled on about his career as a film-maker. She watched Max blow bubbles in his Coca-Cola, Claire hold in a smile as Rory started to give a more technical breakdown, Flora flirt covertly with Everardo, Gabriela glance at the kitchen then at the clock.

  Ava watched and realised that if she did stay, she would be staying for this. She wouldn’t be staying for a man or a relationship, she would be staying for them. She would be staying for this life. This happiness. This freedom.

  Rory took a bow, Max and Claire giving him an exuberant standing ovation.

  She would be staying for her family, she thought. For more than Christmas and birthdays. To see Max grow up. To have a second chance at the type of family that tries to persuade you to stay because you are good enough for them. And they are good enough for you.

  She looked at Rory as he donned his apron, chivvied by Gabriela into the kitchen, leaning back to shake congratulatory hands with Gael and the others.

  This would be their chance, Ava realised, the bubble rising inside her, to break their mother’s legacy. To show that it hadn’t broken them.

  CHAPTER 43

  Ava sat there for an hour. She had eaten her pan con tomate, the toast yesterday’s bread. She had drunk two coffees and sipped her orange juice by the time Tom arrived. She heard the Jeep come down the hill.

  Pushing her chair back, she left the café and jogged up to the car park where she stood waiting in his spot.

  Tom was not looking at the road in front of him as he swung the Jeep round in a manoeuvre that he did every day, his eyes looking towards the café.

  ‘Jesus Christ, STOP!’ Ava shouted, too late to move from where she was standing.

  Tom’s head shot round and he slammed on the brakes. Gravel spat. A cloud of dust mushroomed. The Jeep stopped inches away from her. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he shouted, jumping down from the car.

  ‘I was waiting for you! I didn’t think you were going to run me over.’

  ‘Why were you standing in my spot?’ His arms were raised, his voice incredulous.

  ‘Because I thought it would be cool,’ she shouted back. ‘Now I see that it was less cool than it was meant to be.’

  ‘No kidding. You could have died.’

  ‘Yes. OK.’ Ava straightened her top and brushed her hair from her face. ‘Can we just ignore that bit?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘You’re a vehicle liability.’

  ‘Can we move on?’ she asked.

  He strode over, clearly still annoyed, and leant against the front of his truck. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Ava straightened her top again, nervous. She cleared her throat. ‘I have a business proposition for you.’

  ‘You do?’

  She took a step forwards. ‘It’s actually just a proposition. The business part is mine.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well, businesswise, I think I might set up on my own. I’ve spoken to Peregrine. I’m going to buy and source for him initially, but also build up my own clients. I’ve got the contacts, so,’ she felt her voice stammer slightly with nerves at the prospect of such chan
ge, ‘it should work. I hope. I should have done it years ago. But to do it I’m going to have to travel. And I may need a passenger, you know, at times.’

  Tom pushed himself off the Jeep, his eyes suddenly narrowing with interest. ‘You might?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ava nodded. ‘And a base, but that could be anywhere really. Even maybe here in Spain.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Tom put his hands in his pockets. ‘So this proposition, it means you might stay?’ he asked, expression still uncertain.

  ‘Well,’ Ava started to smile, ‘the staying bit does have some strings attached because, in reality, a beach town is not necessarily the ideal base for setting up this business, but if the other factors were in place, then I think I could make it work.’

  ‘And those other factors,’ Tom asked, ‘I take it they are human factors?’

  ‘They are.’

  Ava was conscious that more people were moving to sit on the side of the café that overlooked the car park. She could see Max’s little face resting on the metal railing as he watched. She shifted from one foot to the other, felt the sun warming her skin. She looked at Tom, jaw dark with stubble, eyes like he hadn’t slept much in a couple of days.

  ‘And what would those factors have to do?’ Tom asked.

  ‘They would have to see that while they had played a part in this decision, they must be aware that they were not the whole part and so must not in any way take the decision for granted or at any point feel or act like they had won.’

  Tom shook his head in disbelief. ‘Is this human factor actually your brother?’

  ‘No!’ Ava said, close enough now that she could bash him on the arm. ‘No, it’s not my brother.’

  She watched as he bit down on the smile spreading across his face, as he glanced away towards the sea and then back to look at her, blue eyes dancing. ‘Well, suppose the human factor was me, and I’m just taking a gamble here in thinking it might be. I would definitely feel that I had won,’ he said. Then he smiled. ‘But not in the sense you’re thinking.’

  ‘You would?’ Ava found herself on the verge of giggling.

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ she said. ‘If indeed the human factor did turn out to be you.’

  Tom looked down at the ground, scuffed the dirt with his foot, then glanced up again. ‘I actually can’t stop myself from smiling.’

  Ava stepped forwards, put her arms round his neck, as close as she could get, and kissed him right on his smile. And as she did, as she felt his hands crush against her back, the dust in the air, the fierce red sun on her skin, the whole café launched into applause, making her life feel like the encore to the movie.

  The ovens are pre-heating, the Prosecco is chilling… and The Sunshine and Biscotti Club is nearly ready to open its doors.

  But the guests have other things on their minds…

  Libby: The Blogger

  Life is Instagram-perfect for food blogger Libby…until she catches her husband cheating just weeks before her Italian cooking club’s grand opening.

  Evie: The Mum

  Eve’s marriage isn’t working, but she’s not dared admit it until now. A trip to Italy to help Libby open The Sunshine and Biscotti Club might be the perfect escape…

  Jessica: In Love with her Best Friend

  Jessica has thrown herself into her work to shut out the memory of the man who never loved her back. The same man who’s just turned up in Tuscany…

  Welcome to Tuscany’s newest baking school – where your biscotti is served with a side of love, laughter and ice-cold limoncello!

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  Copyright

  An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017

  Copyright © Jenny Oliver 2017

  Jenny Oliver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Ebook Edition © May 2017 ISBN: 9780008217969