[Escape 01.0] Escape for the Summer

by Ruth Saberton

  All eyes were on Gemma. The cameras too. She suddenly felt as hot as Cal looked.

  “Oh my God!” squealed Emily. “It’s Ginormous Gemma! What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I’m bringing Cal a cake,” Gemma said. Or rather she tried to. In reality she sounded as though she’d been inhaling helium. Turning to Cal, she added, “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I thought this cake might make up for it? Like an apology?”

  For a split second Cal hesitated. His gaze rested on the cake and his eyes when they met hers momentarily lit up. Gemma’s heart lifted. She’d known he’d like it!

  But the moment was very short-lived and her hopes were soon dashed when Cal’s top lipped curled in distaste and he shrugged.

  “Mike, if you believe every crazy fan who turns up here claiming to know me, it’s going to take a bloody long time to film this show,” he said coldly. “Of course I haven’t been in a bakery. I’ve been trying to shift the weight, remember?”

  Mike regarded him through narrowed eyes. “So you weren’t there at all? You didn’t meet this girl?”

  Cal rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Does she look like the sort of person I’d spend time with? When I could be hanging out with Gorgeous here?” He put his arm around Emily and drew her against his side. “Besides, do you really think I’d eat a cake that a fan has baked? I’d have to be mad: it could have anything in it.”

  Emily gloated across at Gemma.

  “She’s had a thing about Cal for ages,” she told Mike. “The last time we met she was busy telling everyone how unfair it was he has to lose weight. She was off on one saying it was mean!” She sniggered. “God, Gemma, I can’t believe you’ve come all the way to Rock just on the off chance of finding Cal. That’s crazy! “

  Gemma’s face was a big Edam of humiliation. She waited for Cal to say something, to man up a bit and admit that actually he had been in the bakery and Gemma wasn’t crazy, just a bit impulsive maybe; but he kept his mouth firmly shut. He couldn’t look at her though. The tips of his trainers were suddenly extremely fascinating to him. Gemma didn’t think she’d ever been so let down in her life. To her, Cal’s feet looked like they were made of clay.

  “At least you’ve made it onto Cal’s show after all,” sniggered Emily over her shoulder as she jogged through the gates. “The fat girl who thought she’d bring her hero a cake. Priceless!”

  There was a horrible tight knot in Gemma’s throat. Standing back, still clutching her cake to her chest, she watched as they all traipsed past. Callum didn’t even glance back. So much for all that crap about understanding how she felt. It was just a line and, like an idiot, she’d fallen for it.

  Gemma drove slowly back into Rock. This was for two reasons: her vision was blurred with tears of humiliation and the town was absolutely heaving. Tourists thronged the streets and packed the cafés as everyone sought to enjoy the glorious weather. RIBs zoomed up and down the estuary, frilling the water with lace-like foam while seagulls enjoyed a spot of parkour on the rooftops and dive-bombed children for their ice creams. Skinny women in skimpy bikinis waited on the pontoon for tanned guys in board shorts to collect them in their speedboats. Everyone was having a wonderful day at the seaside. Everyone, that was, apart from Gemma.

  She sat in the car blinking back tears. Her idea, which had seemed so brilliant at the time, had turned out to be flawed to say the least. Of course Cal was never going to want her on his show. Why would he want Ginormous Gemma when there were lots of little stick-thin girls like Emily clamouring to be noticed? The Emilys of the world were much more camera friendly and looked wonderful on Callum’s arm. If he had Gemma on his arm her sheer weight would probably dislocate it.

  The cake sat on the front seat. It was her best friend and her worst enemy all rolled into one. Right at that moment Gemma wanted nothing more than to rip off the lid and break off a huge chunk, cram it into her mouth and munch and munch and munch. The sweet sponge, gooey jam and cream would taste so good that while she was eating it the humiliation of being denied by Cal and mocked by Emily wouldn’t matter at all. Her hand stole to the lid and hovered there for a moment. Go on! urged the Diet Devil. One slice won’t hurt!

  The Diet Devil was probably right: one slice wouldn’t hurt. The problem was that Gemma knew she wouldn’t stop at one slice. Or two. Or even three. No, she would gobble the entire cake until she felt bloated and sick not just from the carbs but also from the overwhelming self-loathing. Gemma was probably halfway to being bulimic, she decided woefully: she had mastered the binging to perfection; it was the purging part she hadn’t got round to. Ignoring the cake was going to be impossible. There was no way Gemma would have a minute’s peace while it was anywhere near her. Taking it back for the girls wasn’t a good idea either. She’d have good intentions of sharing it, but once they’d started one slice wouldn’t be enough for Gemma. And even if she threw it in the bin she knew it would only be a matter of time before she was rooting around to dig it out again.

  So her options were to either scoff the lot now or get rid of the cake. There was no middle ground here. She started to prise open the lid but Emily’s mocking words, “the fat girl who thought she’d bring her hero a cake”, echoed in her ears. If she carried on like this, TV work or no TV work, than “the fat girl” was all she’d ever be. Maybe this move to Rock for the summer wasn’t going to be so much about her career as making a few life changes? And the first one was going to be not eating that cake.

  But for this to happen she had to get rid of it fast. Gemma knew the perfect way; not only was it effective, but it was also satisfyingly symbolic.

  Fired up with enthusiasm, she drove back down the hill and to the small car park by the water’s edge. Clutching the cake tightly, Gemma marched down Rock Road as fast as her chafing legs could carry her. She was going to throw the cake into the sea and she knew the very place, just off the pontoon and out into the estuary. Gemma had read several books on cosmic ordering and was convinced that this would signify to the universe just how serious she was about throwing away her old bad ways and embracing the new. She was going to lob that cake out into the water and not so much as a crumb would pass her lips.

  Unfortunately for Gemma, Fate decided to flick her a V-sign at this point: the tide was miles out. She stood by the lifeboat station, which was packed thanks to some kind of charity fundraiser, and wanted to scream. That was the end of that bright idea. If Gemma could throw the cake into the water at low tide, the Olympic hammer-throwing coach would probably sign her on the spot. For a moment she dithered as to what to do. Maybe she could eat it and then be good afterwards? Polishing off the cake would be the last greedy thing she would do!

  “Oh! What a wonderful cake! Is that for our fundraiser?” Almost before Gemma registered what was happening, an elderly woman had taken the Tupperware container from her and was gazing at the cake in awe.

  Gemma had been in such a frenzy to get herself to the pontoon before she guzzled the cake that she hadn’t noticed she was standing in the middle of the RNLI fundraiser and practically on the cake stall. She must have an inner homing beacon when it came to cake. She held out her Tupperware container and smiled. If this wasn’t Fate then she didn’t know what was.

  “It’s all yours,” she said.

  “Thanks, my love! That looks delicious, doesn’t it, Dee?”

  Another woman, in her early fifties and dressed in Crocs and Boden, had materialised and was now peering into the cake box.

  “My goodness, yes that’s beautiful! Where did you buy that?”

  “I made it myself,” Gemma told her.

  “Goodness!” Dee looked impressed. “Then you’re very talented, my dear – and I should know because I own a bakery here: Rock Cakes. If this tastes as good as it looks then I’ve got some serious competition.”

  Gemma laughed. “It’s just a hobby, although I am unemployed at the moment. Maybe it’s time I set up a business!”

  Dee looked at her thoughtfull
y. “I think you should come and work for me rather than be a rival. Pop up one afternoon when you’re not busy and we’ll have a chat.”

  “Seriously?” Gemma could hardly believe that somebody was being nice to her. In fact, better than nice. They genuinely liked her cake.

  Dee nodded. “Seriously. The season’s here and I could do with some help. Only part time, mind! And it all depends on whether or not I like this cake.”

  Gemma had no qualms on this score. She had yet to bake anything that wasn’t delicious. As she wandered back to the car a smile danced across her lips and something very odd happened: the pressing urge to eat had totally vanished.

  And what was even odder? Cal’s rejection and Emily’s cruel words didn’t hurt nearly as much as they had a few minutes before. Maybe she should visit Rock Cakes. After all, apart from several stone, what did she have to lose?

  Chapter 20

  It may have been only a week since her arrival in Rock, but already Andi’s life was starting to move to a different rhythm. Each morning she woke up at six; but unlike in London, where her eyelids had been glued together and she’d practically had to mainline coffee in order to function, here with sunlight streaming through the faded curtains and the sounds of birdsong rather than traffic, she sprang out of bed.

  Angel – a heavy sleeper at the best of times, and an even heavier one lately, as she was rarely arriving home before the small hours – continued to snooze. Andi suspected that there was a man involved somewhere. Angel’s designer clothes and bags were certainly getting a good airing, but her sister was keeping her cards very close to her chest. Even Gemma wasn’t privy to Angel’s secret. Not that Gemma was around a huge amount either, having found herself part-time work in town. Her sister claimed to be doing beauty treatments for Russians, which explained the money suddenly filling her purse but not the late hours or the sparkle in Angel’s eyes. Whoever this mystery man was, he was he was certainly agreeing with her sister. Gemma said kindly that they should be pleased that Angel was having fun, but Andi worried exactly what kind of “fun” her sister was having.

  “He must be loaded, whoever he is, otherwise why else would Angel keep him away from the caravan?” Gemma had pointed out with faultless logic. She was probably right, but Andi would have felt a whole lot better knowing whom her sister was with. Rich or poor, it really didn’t matter; all she cared about was that Angel was happy and safe.

  After she’d eaten her breakfast and dressed in a floaty summer dress and DM sandals, Andi walked the mile into town before turning up Rock Road towards Ocean View. Unlike her previous scurry to the Tube, head down against the rain and eyes firmly fixed on the pavement, here she loved every step of her commute. The lane leading from Trendaway Farm was leafy and green, with high banks foaming with cow parsley and starred with buttercups. Swathes of pink campion trembled in the breeze and daisies tumbled drunkenly over dry-stone walls. Once the route began the descent into Rock, this greenery thinned out as the road dropped away and instead a breathtaking moving picture opened out before her, like a Bruegel come to life. The town was splattered with umbrellas outside cafés and slow-moving supercars, the estuary clotted with boats and shimmering in the morning light. Further out to sea, white horses tossed their foamy manes and pranced across the deep blue water. By the time she reached Ocean View Andi felt more alive after thirty minutes of walking than she’d felt in years of London life. Dr Johnson, with his “tired of London, tired of life” nonsense, had clearly never visited Cornwall.

  Yes, life in Rock agreed with her, Andi decided as she stomped up the steep path to Simon’s house. The constant tramping up and down hills was like having a free multigym and already she was feeling so much fitter. She thought she looked healthier too. The sunshine had tanned her skin and brought out a dusting of cinnamon freckles across her nose. With her red hair and pale skin Andi knew she’d never achieve the Tangoed hue her sister favoured (not naturally, anyway), but at least she looked a little less like a lost member of the Twilight cast. She was sleeping really well too, probably from a mixture of the fresh salty air, hard work and the sheer relief of no longer having to stress about Zoe or Tom.

  Andi paused halfway up the path to catch her breath and admire the glittering sweep of estuary below. She was still upset about losing her job and would have loved to find a way to clear her name, but strangely the whole affair no longer stung quite so much. Yes, Safe T Net had been her baby and she couldn’t bear the idea that PMB believed she’d cheated a colleague, but none of this felt quite as much like the end of the world as it had a couple of weeks ago. Working for Simon, who was funny and driven and insisted on her sitting in the garden to work as much as possible, was doing her the world of good.

  To be honest Andi could still hardly believe her luck at finding such a fantastic job. When Simon had phoned a couple of days after Jonty had introduced her, Andi’s heart had been in her mouth. What if he didn’t want her or think she was good enough? Or what if Hart Frozer had somehow managed to smear her name with her past employers and ruin any chance of a good reference? As it turned out, Simon had been thrilled with what he’d discovered about her and unable to believe his good fortune that such an experienced accountant was on hand. Within an hour of his phone call Andi was up at Ocean View and on a week’s trial. Once Mel, Si’s friendly and very chatty wife, had made coffee and insisted she ate a saffron bun, Andi was ensconced in the office and working her way through a massive pile of folders. Good Lord, how on earth did Simon manage to run such a successful business empire? She’d never seen such chaos in her life; it looked as though he just threw everything up in the air and let it settle. There was no order whatsoever and for a second she’d been overwhelmed. Then her inner neat freak had rocked up and Andi had got stuck in. By the time Si returned from swimming with his boys, pink-eyed with chlorine and looking frazzled, Andi had already organised his office and made a start on the paperwork. After that, Si said, there was no way he was letting her go. Jonty was right: she was exactly what he needed.

  Andi smiled when she thought about Jonty. She’d bumped into him a couple of times over the past few days and his cheerful grin and easy conversation made him somebody very comfortable to be around. He tended to spend most of his time working on his boat, “channelling my inner 007” as he laughingly described it, or doing chores around the property. When he was indoors he was either chatting with his sister in the kitchen or entertaining his nephews. Andi was struck by how relaxed he was with them yet how much the boys respected him. Uncle Jonty was certainly a big hit and something of a hero to the children. Yesterday he’d taken his nephews wakeboarding on Simon’s RIB and the excitement had been contagious. Even though she knew she’d probably look revolting in tight rubber Andi had found herself wishing she could join in.

  “I’m useless,” Simon had said ruefully, “but Jonty’s an amazing waterskier. You’ll have to get him to take you out sometime.”

  Andi had laughed. “I’d be rubbish. I think I’ll stick to figures!”

  Simon had pulled a face. “That’s what I said, but nobody listens to me. Just accept it; Jonty will have you in a wetsuit before you know it.”

  Leaving her to it, he’d gone to join his family on the water. Andi had sat down to her work, but the office overlooked the estuary and she’d been distracted several times by the sight of the RIB hurtling along with small wetsuited figures trailing behind the foaming wake. It had looked like great fun. She’d felt pleased that Ocean View was a family home again, complete with laughter and sand and salty swimming costumes. The chatter and merriment of Simon’s family filled the echoing space left by her parents...

  Andi had worked on the Pasties Drekly accounts until the late afternoon. A couple of times she’d seen the RIB blast by again, the final time towing a wetsuited man who leapt through the air with the natural grace and ease of a salmon returning upstream. That had to be Jonty then, equally at home on the wakeboard as he was behind the wheel of the RIB. She’d watche
d for a moment, admiring his agility, before getting back to her figures. On their return the family had brought fish and chips home for supper. Insisting she left the office and joined them, Jonty had shared his portion with her. He’d peeled his wetsuit down to his waist, revealing a muscular stomach and strong shoulders that were tanned and broad from hours on the water. Droplets of water had glimmered on his eyelashes, all starry from the water, and a wide grin had split his face as he’d recounted the day’s adventures. Mel had shooed all the soggy men outside to stop them dripping on the floor, so Andi had sat with Jonty and the boys by the pool, where they’d munched hot salty chips and dangled their legs in the cool water. They’d chatted easily about everything under the sun and she’d returned to the caravan feeling contented and full with food – and with another odd feeling that she couldn’t quite identify.

  It was only much later on that she’d finally realised that this odd sensation was happiness.

  It was great to have a friend with no agenda, she decided this morning as she let herself into Ocean View. Jonty hadn’t told her much about himself and Andi respected his desire to keep personal things private. After all, nobody understood better than her how some things were better not talked about. The ugly business with Tom was still an open wound and one she had no desire to prod. Even though he’d never mentioned it again, Andi had gleaned from cryptic comments made by Mel and Simon that Jonty was getting over a break-up, and she totally appreciated that he’d rather not discuss it. He certainly hadn’t broached it with her, but then again she’d kept her past pretty much under wraps too.

  “Morning!” called Mel over her shoulder when Andi entered the kitchen. Standing at the Aga, Mel was busy frying bacon while her children and the family dog watched and drooled. “I’m just making breakfast. Would you like some?”

  Andi shook her head. Checking her watch she saw that it was already half past eight. “I’m good, thanks. I’ll go through to the office and make a start.”