The Cafe by the Sea

by Jenny Colgan

  “Where are you?”

  “God knows,” said Joel. “Seriously, it’s the end of the earth.”

  He peered out of the window.

  “It’s ten o’clock at night, and it’s broad daylight.”

  “Yeah? That sounds awesome.”

  “Well, it isn’t. I can’t sleep.”

  “What are you doing instead? Work?”

  “Sure,” said Joel, looking at the files on the rickety desk in his room.

  “Can’t you take a walk? Have a look around?”

  “It’s an island. There’s nowhere to go, and it’s a bullshit case, and . . . I dunno. I think I might be ready for another move.”

  “You haven’t . . . you haven’t met anyone?”

  “I’ve told you. I’m not . . . that’s not what I’m about. Work helps me. Work is what I want to do.”

  “There’s a whole world out there, Joel.”

  “Good. Well, I’ll move to Singapore then. Sydney maybe. See some more of it.”

  “Did you try any of those mindfulness exercises?”

  Joel snorted.

  “I’m not your worried well, Phil.”

  Dr. Philippoussis knew better than to try and fix Joel. He just needed to be there to pick up the phone.

  “Okay, Joel. Marsha says hi.”

  Joel nodded, then hung up and pulled his laptop toward him. He considered drawing the curtains, but there was nothing outside except the waves beating gently against the beach, patiently, forever.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Flora had now seen all six members of the island council except for her dad, who she was going to leave to Joel and Colton to tackle. None of it was particularly encouraging, although at least the heavyset vicar had been kind to her and interested in what she was up to. Although that may also have been because she’d taken him a box of jam tarts she’d made that morning.

  It was the oddest thing: it felt like now she’d begun, she couldn’t stop. It was as if she’d shut that side of herself down when she’d moved, as surely as she’d suppressed every other bit of her old life. But the simple act of sifting flour, of chopping in butter and one-handedly cracking eggs actually made her feel closer to her mother, rather than giving her sad memories, and she wished she’d thought of it before.

  Even with the vicar (possibly) won over, though, there was still some pretty bad news for Colton. And, she remembered, tonight they were having dinner. With Joel.

  “What are you so cheerful about?” said Fintan, sitting in front of the fire back at the house, listening to her sing little island songs as she put together a poppyseed cake. He didn’t think she realized she was doing it. He remembered his mum doing it too.

  “Come here, Fintan,” she said. “You’re going to have to step up when I go. You’re obviously massively talented. Let me show you how to make a shepherd’s pie.”

  Fintan frowned.

  “Oh, now it’s my turn to get Mummy’s tuition, is it?”

  Flora turned round, surprised and irritated.

  “What do you mean?”

  Fintan, who’d already had a bitter fight that day with his father about wasting his time on this cheese nonsense, was in no mood to be conciliatory.

  “It was always you, wasn’t it? Always you that Mum had up at the stove. Sending us outside so you could have peace and quiet for your precious exams. Always special little Flora with her mum.”

  The words stung, and tears sprang into Flora’s eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You hardly have to come back here, rubbing it in how much time she spent with you.”

  “That is so unfair,” said Flora, utterly riled. “So unfair. For years everyone has been on at me to come back and do my ‘duty.’ And when I do, I get abuse for it.”

  Fintan shrugged.

  “Well, good for you. I don’t need you to impart your amazing secrets of fricking shepherd’s pie.” He scowled. “I can cook fine. I just didn’t get to learn at Mum’s knee, did I? Out you go, boys.”

  He was mimicking their mother, and Flora wanted to hit him.

  “What are you saying?”

  “What do you think I’m saying? You were always her favorite. You’re the one who got to go away and do whatever you liked. Oh no, Flora’s schoolwork is so important. Oh no, Flora needs new dancing shoes. Oh, Flora’s off to university!”

  The pain on his face was clear. Flora put down the knife she’d taken out for the carrots.

  “You can’t think that. She adored you.”

  “She never saw past Innes and you.”

  “Of course she did.”

  There was a pause.

  “Well, if she did, she never saw me.”

  Flora moved forward.

  “Oh, Fintan. I think she was just . . . She saw the life she had. And she didn’t want it for me; she wanted me to get away, that’s all.”

  There was a horrible silence then, and Flora turned, knowing somehow without knowing that it was her father, that he had come home at exactly the wrong time and had heard what she’d said.

  Her face went a deep pink.

  “Dad! Dad. Hi! I was just . . . I was thinking about making a shepherd’s pie with Fintan.”

  Eck looked at both of them. His face was so tired.

  “Neh, no need, lass,” he said quietly. “Chippy will do us. Don’t want to put you to the trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble!”

  “Is that what you reckon?” he said. Then, with the entire kitchen still in silence, he picked up his newspaper and went and sat by the fire.

  “Right,” said Flora, wiping her hands on a dishcloth and slamming the poppyseed cake in the Aga. She couldn’t make things any better; she was getting out before she made them much worse. “I’m off.”

  “Off where?” said Fintan sulkily.

  “I’m going to the Rock. I’m having dinner with Colton Rogers.”

  Fintan blinked.

  “It’s open?”

  “Nearly. I think they’re having a test run on us.”

  “They’ve got a chef and everything? I’ve heard . . . I’ve heard it’s amazing up there.”

  “It’s beautiful,” said Flora truthfully.

  Fintan stood up.

  “Take me,” he said.

  “You’re not invited,” said Flora.

  “Oh yes, with your posh proper London people, isn’t it? And Americans, of course. You’ll all sit round and quaff champagne and giggle at the rubes who live here. The idiots, as you think of them.”

  “Fintan! Stop it!”

  He threw himself sulkily back into the chair.

  “Don’t worry about me! I’ll just stay here by myself.”

  Flora snapped.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake. Where are all your friends, Fintan? I mean, you’re young, you’re apparently not bad looking. But you just sit in all the time looking at cheese and blaming me. What’s the matter with you?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed,” said Fintan, “my mum died?”

  Eck was ignoring them both.

  Flora moved toward her brother.

  “I know,” she said quietly. “And that’s when I needed my friends more than ever.”

  “Well, mine all moved to the mainland,” said Fintan. “But I couldn’t. Could I?”

  There was a long pause.

  “If you like,” Flora said eventually; Colton had said she could bring someone, “you could come tonight.”

  It hardly made things all right. But she couldn’t leave him here, with their miserable father, the two of them staring at each other.

  Fintan blinked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You could come to dinner, if you like.”

  “Seriously? With Colton Rogers?”

  “With Colton Rogers. And my boss.”

  Fintan didn’t care too much about her boss, but he perked up immediately.

  “You know he invented BlueFare?”

  “I do know that. Te
chie stuff. Blah blah blah. He invented everything.”

  “Wow,” said Fintan.

  He looked down at his clothes.

  “I’ve got nothing to wear.”

  “You must have something.”

  Fintan sighed.

  “I’ve got my funeral suit.”

  “Don’t call it that,” said Flora. “Call it your wedding suit. You bought it for Innes’s wedding, didn’t you?”

  “Oh God, that travesty,” said Innes, banging through the door with Hamish, both completely oblivious to the atmosphere in the room. “God, no. Call it a funeral suit, please.”

  He looked at the stove.

  “Ooh, fantastic, what is it tonight?”

  “Actually, nothing,” said Flora. “Me and Fintan are going out. Sorry.”

  “Can we come?”

  “Nope. But you can take the poppyseed cake out in twenty-seven minutes.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Flora had changed into a sober black dress, which she’d looked at in the mirror and decided made her look utterly washed out, like a Victorian child ghost. She had nothing else, though; she’d have to find something to liven it up a bit.

  In the back of the wardrobe was her mother’s jewelry box. Her mother had never worn any jewelry apart from her wedding ring and one pair of tiny diamond stud earrings she put on at Christmastime, but Flora knew there were a couple of things in there her mother had inherited—they were Flora’s now, she supposed, although she’d probably rather they go to Agot. Mostly she didn’t feel quite strong enough for her mother’s things. She’d have to one day, she knew. Face up to the fact that once a person was gone, they didn’t need the things that had surrounded and defined them.

  Not yet, though. Surely not yet. Well. She’d start small and see how she got on.

  It was just as she remembered from playing with it as a child. A bright peacock-feather brooch, blue and green feathers set in a dulling silver filigree, woven in and out. There was no such thing as a peacock on Mure, so heaven knows where it had come from originally: perhaps some wealthy distant relative in Edinburgh, or one of the cousins who had moved away to Newfoundland or Tennessee, wanting to show off their success.

  Wherever it was from, it was beautiful. Her mother never wore it—she would have seen the colors as too flashy, and she thought it fragile too, and possibly valuable, although Flora didn’t know about that. But what a shame, she thought now, gently lifting it out. What a shame to own something so very beautiful, and to have spent an entire lifetime keeping it for best, a best that never came.

  Her mother and father would go to the town ceilidhs; everyone did, it was part of your job if you lived in Mure. Her father would line up with all the other farmers at the bar and drink local ale and talk about feed prices, while her mother, unusual looking in lipstick, would stand with the other women. Flora couldn’t remember her parents ever going out to dinner, doing anything just to spend time together. She had absolutely no memories of that ever happening at all. So there was never a reason, never an occasion quite good enough for the brooch.

  She picked it up, looking in the mirror, and placed it on the top right-hand side of her dress.

  At first she was worried it would look a little Highland chieftain, but as she inspected herself more closely, she saw that the green of the feathers made her eyes look greener; the blue was just such a pretty color that it drew the eye anyway, and the entire thing lifted the plain dress and made all the difference.

  Smiling cheerfully, she headed into the sitting room. Her father hadn’t moved.

  “Dad, do you . . . do you mind if I borrow Mum’s brooch?”

  He barely glanced around, just waved his hand. Innes and Hamish were standing at the stove, looking confused.

  “Come on, you two,” she said. “Shepherd’s pie. Here. I’ll leave the recipe. Ground beef. Potatoes. Fintan’s cheese. Nothing too tough.”

  “Oh God, look at the pair of you,” said Innes. “You look like the town parade. La-di-dah.”

  “Shut up,” Fintan said.

  “Don’t listen to Innes,” said Flora. “Why are you even listening to him? He’s being a divot.”

  “I’m not a divot!”

  “You’re being a divot, stop it.”

  “You stop it!”

  “Dad!” shouted Fintan. “Everyone’s having a go.”

  “Tell Innes to stop being a divot,” said Flora sulkily.

  “Everyone stop being a divot,” said Eck from behind his paper.

  Innes stuck his tongue out at Flora.

  “Right, we’re out of here,” said Flora. “Good luck with the shepherd’s pie.”

  Hamish turned round as she got to the door.

  “You look nice, Flora,” he said.

  “THANK YOU, HAMISH,” she replied loudly, to make the point.

  Colton had said he’d send the boat to bring them round to the Rock. Flora was excited.

  She and Fintan walked down to the harbor, enjoying the soft light on their backs, past the lush fields where the cows were lying, post-milking. Fintan looked smart in his suit, but nervous, which made Flora slightly irritated, because she didn’t want to appear to be nervous too, even though she was; she felt the need to be playing the grown-up, in-control London employee.

  The evening air was clear and fresh and tasted as clean as a cold glass of water. The sea was like a millpond, reflecting a little stream of white cloud above it across the flat horizon. It was truly very beautiful. Flora felt smugly glad that Joel was visiting now and not in the depths of winter, when the rain swept in and out, to be caught up in a quick, dashing rainbow and a crack in the clouds before descending again. Not that he appeared to have noticed his surroundings at all. The weather could be so changeable, but tonight everything felt quiet and still, and there was a sense of absolute timelessness about the place as they turned in to the main street and the same old colored buildings sloped down toward the harbor wall. Flora counted them off as she used to as a child—purple for the baker’s, yellow for the butcher’s, orange for the doctor’s, blue for fish and chips. Nothing in the pink house, not anymore.

  Bertie Cooper, who was running the boat, was standing by the dockside, his cap off, waiting politely. He thought Flora was absolutely tops, but felt too shy to ask her for a drink, especially if she was cavorting about with posh blokes from out of town, and Colton Rogers of all people. He sighed. Probably for the best.

  “Hello,” he said shyly. “You look nice.”

  Flora smiled, which did make her look prettier. She realized as she did so how long it had been since she’d smiled properly, not business grins or consoling brave smiles when people asked how she was getting on, and not nights-out-with-Kai smiles, when she finally had enough wine to forget about everything that was going on. A proper, happy smile and the unusual sensation of having something to look forward to.

  She had Snapchatted a selfie to her friends, just to make them horrified and amused on her behalf. Kai had gotten back saying that if she slept with Joel he would never speak to her again, ever. Lorna had asked, quite reasonably, if her boss had turned any nicer since he’d arrived, and by the way, if he looked like a moose nobody would ever let him get away with his behavior. Flora smiled to herself yet again. There was, she’d come to realize, absolutely no chance that anything was going to happen between her and her taciturn, self-obsessed boss.

  But that didn’t take anything away from the fact that it was a beautiful evening. They were going to a proper grown-up restaurant. She was accompanied by a handsome man—okay, he was her brother, but who cared about that?—and it was going to be lovely. She stepped lightly into the boat with an unusual air of confidence about her. Perhaps it was the brooch.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Flora enjoyed watching Fintan’s reaction as they approached the Rock. It was even more impressive arriving by sea than by road. The idea of spoiling its idyllic outlook with vast metal structures did seem terribly wrong.

&nb
sp; Although it was still light, the lanterns on the jetty were all lit, and Bertie helped her off the boat with a wide smile.

  Joel and Colton were already in the bar, which was on the right as you entered the grand hall, a roaring fire in the grate although it was scarcely needed that evening, or so Flora and Fintan thought. Both of them were to go through their entire lives with no tolerance for heat at all; anything over 68 degrees tended to bring them out in a nervous rash. Blowy and fresh was their default setting.

  Flora tried her best not to stutter, but she felt a telltale redness rise in her face. Joel had changed his shirt to a soft pale green cotton that contrasted perfectly with his large, dark eyes. He smiled, looking at Fintan with interest, which made Flora feel even more wobbly. She knew Fintan was good looking; the girls at school had always liked both her tall brothers. Innes had the smiling eyes and cheeky ways, Fintan the curly hair and melancholic air.

  Colton was wearing his standard turtleneck, jeans, and sneakers, with wire-rimmed glasses. It was such an aggressively ugly outfit, Flora wondered if he was doing it on purpose, like if you saw someone so horribly dressed, the only possible solution was that they were so rich, they never had to worry about impressing anybody.

  “Hi,” said Flora, trying to sound normal and in fact sounding squeaky. Fintan was staring at Colton Rogers like he was a celebrity, which she supposed he was around here; so little seen, yet so much speculated about. “Um, this is my brother Fintan. You did say to bring someone.”

  “Hi!” said Colton, smiling widely.

  Joel merely gave a little nod, as if he’d expected something like this, and Flora felt a flash of annoyance that of course she couldn’t have a good-looking boyfriend, apparently. She sat down and Colton offered her a glass of champagne. She snuck a quick glance at Joel to check to see if this would be okay, but he couldn’t appear to be less bothered.

  “Yes, please,” she said.

  “Just half a lager,” muttered Fintan, visibly rummaging in his pockets. Flora cursed herself for not having warned him beforehand that he wouldn’t be expected to pay. Colton waved his money away.