The Café at Seashell Cove_A heart-warming laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Karen Clarke

  ‘True.’ Her smile was accompanied by a gentle prod at my shin. ‘I couldn’t cope with that sort of intensity.’

  ‘Most women would love some intensity like that.’

  ‘Including you?’

  I half laughed, but the truth was, I didn’t know. Nothing like it had ever happened to me before. It didn’t feel wrong, I knew that much. It was lovely knowing someone was willing to go the extra mile – or hundreds of miles, in Adam’s case.

  Eager to change the subject, I said, ‘I was going to pop into the café when I was done here,’ even though I hadn’t planned to. I still hadn’t fully processed everything that had happened that morning, and wanted to avoid Mum and Dad for a bit longer. I knew they’d be anxious to reassure themselves that they hadn’t done the wrong thing by revealing their true feelings, and I wasn’t ready to face them when mine were still such a tangle. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about last night.’

  ‘That’s why we’re here, actually.’ Meg looked at Tilly as if for confirmation before continuing, and Tilly gave a little nod. ‘We’re staging an intervention.’

  ‘What?’ I stared at Meg, half wondering what product she used to make her hair so impossibly shiny. ‘I don’t think a few glasses of wine on an empty stomach warrants an intervention.’

  ‘I’m sure Danny Fleetwood would agree with you.’ Seeing Tilly’s saucy pout, I went hot all over. ‘And it’s not that sort of intervention,’ she said, before I could produce a coherent response.

  She plucked my pad from my lap and started flicking through it. ‘These are great,’ she said, showing Meg. ‘Can I have the one of the cat washing its face?’

  ‘If you want.’ I stroked a strand of hair off my cheek. ‘It’s not very good.’

  ‘You have to stop that.’ Meg wagged a mum-like finger. ‘Making out you’re not very good, when you quite clearly are.’

  ‘I’d pay for one,’ agreed Tilly. ‘Top dollar.’

  Not knowing how to handle their compliments, I said, ‘Look, what’s this about?’

  Tilly put down the pad and knelt up, tugging her phone from the pocket of her jeans. ‘We were looking up all the qualities you need to be a successful event planner.’

  It was the last thing I’d expected her to say, and I felt a cold plunge of dread. ‘And?’

  Still on her knees, she read aloud from her screen. ‘Good interpersonal and people skills.’

  ‘I like talking to people. If I’m in the mood.’ People I actually like. Thinking back, there hadn’t been too many of those during my time at Five Star.

  ‘Creative.’

  ‘I’m definitely creative.’

  Meg held up a finger. ‘Listen, Cassie, it’s important.’

  I folded over and ran my fingers through the sand between my feet. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Tech savvy,’ Tilly continued, in a schoolmarm voice. ‘Flexible, good organisational skills, great eye for details, natural leader, enthusiastic and passionate about your role.’

  ‘OK, I get it.’ I straightened, brushing sand from my hands, wondering whether the hurt I felt was written all over my face. ‘You’re saying I’m none of those things.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Tilly held up a finger, and carried on reading. ‘Event coordinating is one of the top ten most stressful professions, up there with being a fire fighter or pilot. For the second consecutive year it’s been ranked number five, behind police officer.’

  ‘That’s just silly,’ I said.

  Meg laid a hand on my knee, the jewels in her engagement ring winking in the sun. ‘Last night, you looked terrified,’ she said. ‘Even though it was going really well. And when you were telling us about your job the first day we saw you at the café, you got this sort of glazed expression – like you were trying to remember what it was you actually liked about it.’

  ‘We didn’t see it at first,’ Tilly said, sitting back. ‘It just felt like something was off.’ I could feel perspiration gathering on my brow. ‘Then, last night, when you were in the garden – those things you said, about being fired from your job. You looked relieved.’

  ‘That’s rubbish, I was gutted—’

  ‘It all made sense,’ Meg broke in, her hand cupping my knee. ‘All this time, you’ve been trying to be something you’re not, and wearing yourself out in the process by the look of it.’

  I jerked away from her touch. ‘Sounds like you’ve been having a good old bitch about me behind my back.’

  Meg’s face fell. ‘Oh, Cassie, we’d never do that. We’re worried about you.’

  ‘We don’t think you should take that job in London.’ Tilly gave me her steadiest look. ‘It won’t make you happy.’

  Tears formed in my eyes, and I tilted my head back so they wouldn’t see. ‘I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all. We all say stuff when we’re drunk.’

  ‘Yeah, stuff we usually mean,’ said Tilly. ‘Are you saying you didn’t get fired?’

  ‘No, but that doesn’t mean I’m glad about it.’ Blinking furiously, I began stuffing my things back into my bag.

  ‘Do you love your job?’ Tilly pushed.

  ‘You can learn to love something, if you do it long enough.’ I was talking in Nina’s quotes again.

  ‘You can learn to get used to it,’ Tilly countered. ‘Not the same thing.’

  ‘Do the same thing, day after day, year after year, and good things will come your way. And they have.’ I was becoming high-pitched in the face of Tilly’s unnatural scepticism. ‘There’s a job in London I wouldn’t have dreamed could be mine a couple of months ago.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you have to take it.’

  I stood up, lungs tight. ‘Look, you think you know me, but you don’t,’ I said, striving to stay calm. ‘We haven’t seen each other for years. You’ve no idea how I feel about anything.’

  ‘We do, because we’ve got eyes and ears, and it’s obvious that something’s not right.’ Meg’s voice was gentle.

  ‘Mum and Dad don’t see it.’ I realised too late that my words were a sort of admission, and dumped myself back on the rock.

  ‘Parents often see what they want to.’ Tilly’s smile stayed in place but her entire face looked troubled, and I felt as if I’d jumped into icy water.

  ‘If they knew I’d been fired…’ I gulped back tears, and Meg raised her eyebrows just a fraction, like someone encouraging a toddler to tell the truth. ‘They’d be so disappointed,’ I blurted. ‘They love having a daughter they can boast about, and, to be honest, I liked being that daughter. Even if things weren’t always as exciting as I made out.’ I swiped a hand over my face. ‘I worked so bloody hard, I was certain Carlotta – that was my boss – would eventually promote me, and I’d be able to move out of my flat – which was tiny, by the way, because it was all I could afford – and buy somewhere more glamorous. And maybe I’d get an assistant and be able to cut down on my hours a bit, but it didn’t happen because I was so tired all the time that I messed up a couple of jobs. But Mum and Dad are so proud of me, I couldn’t bear to let them down and tell them the truth, especially after Rob had announced he was back for good.’ The words tore in my throat. ‘I still can’t.’

  ‘Oh, Cassie.’ Meg sounded on the verge of tears. ‘If they’d known, they’d have understood, and asked you to come home straight away.’

  My head shook, fiercely. ‘They’ve always stuck to their policy of non-interference, you know what they’re like,’ I said. ‘And I didn’t want to come home. I mean, I did – I really missed this place at times – but not because I had no choice.’

  Tilly’s mouth turned down. ‘They wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.’

  ‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘At least, not any more. I was worried about becoming my own boss, and not having any money, but now I’ve been offered this amazing job and I’d be mad to turn it down.’ I was gabbling, in my effort to make them see it through my eyes. ‘I’ll be in charge this time, so I can set my own hours, and I can put into place everything I’
ve learnt.’

  ‘I s’pose.’ Meg looked doubtful.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Tilly. ‘It might be even more stressful than working for a horrible boss.’

  ‘I’ll have an assistant,’ I said, because that seemed like the most important part. ‘It’ll be like The Devil Wears Prada.’

  ‘What, you being a bitch?’ Tilly’s frown cut a line between her brows. ‘We can’t make you change your mind, but I’m telling you, Cassie, you’ve got a future here if you want it.’

  ‘Not one where I can earn fifty thousand a year.’

  ‘Good point.’ Meg was making an effort to match my tone. ‘I’d do the job for that salary.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Tilly scoffed. ‘Sam wouldn’t want you to.’

  Meg scooped up a handful of sand and threw it in Tilly’s lap. ‘He would if it stopped his mum sending links to possible wedding venues.’

  ‘I could do that,’ I said, my mood miraculously lifting. ‘If you don’t mind selling your grandmother to pay for it.’

  ‘When do you have to go?’ Tilly’s question had an air of resignation.

  ‘Soon,’ I said. ‘I’ll need to travel to London next week to talk to Grace Dewsbury.’

  Tilly’s face cleared. ‘Hey, there’s a barbecue at the Smugglers Inn on Saturday afternoon. We should do our routine there.’

  ‘Yes!’ Meg punched the air with both hands. ‘We’re long overdue a Legal Mystics reunion.’

  ‘Oh god.’ I buried my face in my hands. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘We can,’ said Tilly, pulling my hands away. I was relieved to see her smiling. ‘And we will.’

  ‘I’m not sure the world is ready for my vocals.’

  ‘No, but I reckon the locals are.’ Meg’s eyes danced. ‘They loved us the first time round.’

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ I said. ‘They could forgive us when we were teenagers.’

  Meg was already jigging her shoulders and humming the tune we’d belted out.

  ‘I’ve still got my outfit.’ Tilly gave an impish grin. ‘I found it when I was packing to come back from Canada. Even those awful trainers. I’ve no idea why I took them with me.’

  ‘I’ve kept mine too,’ Meg confessed. ‘I can just about fit into the combat trousers.’ Seeing our quizzical looks she said airily, ‘I might have tried them on.’

  ‘I bet mine are still in my wardrobe,’ I said. ‘I’ll check when I get home.’

  We exchanged little smiles, a feeling of warm relief flowing between us, and I was suddenly overcome with gratitude that they’d cared enough to find me and tell me how they felt – even if I didn’t agree. For a moment we gazed at the sea, which the breeze had tossed into white-capped peaks, and a feeling of peace descended.

  ‘I suppose I ought to get back to work,’ Meg said, but didn’t move.

  ‘Just five more minutes.’ Tilly reached for her jacket and bundled it into a pillow. ‘Let’s lie down like we used to and imagine we’re sixteen again.’

  ‘That’ll be a bit of a stretch,’ said Meg, but she shuffled onto her back, lacing her hands behind her head, and I slipped between her and Tilly, resting my head on my bag as I stared at the sky. It was so big, and blue, and vast, that my worries shrank instantly. A couple of seabirds dipped and turned, caught on a current of air, and distant childish squeals took me back to all the happy times I’d spent on this beach.

  ‘What would you say to your sixteen-year-old self?’ said Tilly, lazily.

  Meg shifted, lowering her arm so it brushed against mine. ‘I’d say, cutting your own hair’s a big mistake.’ We snorted, remembering the time she’d tried to layer it to look like Rachel’s from Friends, only it kept on getting shorter.

  ‘You looked like Austin Powers in the end,’ I said, giggling.

  ‘Hey, it wasn’t that short!’

  ‘I’d tell myself to leave my eyebrows alone,’ said Tilly. ‘I spent a year looking permanently surprised and no one told me.’

  ‘That’s because all the girls looked the same,’ I said. ‘Apart from me.’

  ‘You were trying to start a new trend.’ Meg’s shoulder bumped mine. ‘Strong, bushy brows.’

  ‘I was way ahead of my time.’

  Tilly’s voice held a trace of laughter when she said, ‘So what would you say, Cassie?’

  Her hand nudged mine and I caught hold of it, pushing my fingers through Meg’s on the other side, feeling warmth spreading across my chest. ‘That’s easy,’ I said. ‘I’d tell myself to never lose touch with my friends.’

  Chapter Thirty

  I arrived at The Brook, nerves jumping, to find the car park was full. Unwilling to leave Sir Lancelot on the road outside, I parked by the kerb, hoping someone might be about to leave.

  I’d vastly overestimated how long it would take to get to Kingsbridge and was half an hour early, but figured sitting in the car was better than sitting at home with Mum and Dad. I’d avoided the café in the end, after waving off Meg and Tilly, and stayed on the beach until the breeze picked up and the sun went in, then wandered home, head swirling with seismic thoughts. Once there, I’d distracted myself by making a list of the commissions I’d accepted, and organising a time frame in which to complete them. Grace might want me to start work right away, but I intended to honour them all – even if it meant painting or drawing right through the night.

  Adam had texted at three thirty to say he was on his way back, and when Mum and Dad returned home I’d stayed upstairs, getting ready.

  ‘You look lovely,’ Mum had gushed when I came down, self-conscious in a stretchy, metal-grey dress with long sleeves and cut-out shoulders. ‘Your boobs are coming back.’

  ‘It’s all the cake I’ve been putting away.’ I’d discreetly made sure my rash was covered and subdued the itching with a liberal coating of antiseptic cream, disguising the smell with some of Mum’s ‘Evening in Paris’ perfume.

  ‘You look like your mum,’ Dad had said, nodding to their honeymoon picture on the wall with a whimsical smile on his face. ‘Except for your purple hair.’

  ‘It’s Plumberry,’ I’d said, checking myself in the mirror to make sure the loose curls I’d fashioned hadn’t dropped out already. I was pleased to see that the eyeliner I’d applied had made my eyes look bigger.

  Sensing Mum was about to ask me something I wouldn’t be able to answer, I’d made my escape, certain I’d spotted Dad unbuttoning his shirt before I even made it out of the door.

  Sighing, I checked my phone to see if there was an update from Adam, wishing we were at the stage where I felt comfortable calling him, but there was nothing. Maybe he was here already. I scanned the car park again, but couldn’t see his Alfa.

  At least the restaurant looked like the sort of place he’d feel at home in. The building had an attractive, honey-stone exterior and a low, thatched roof with fairy lights strung around the edges. It used to be a pub, according to TripAdvisor, and overlooked a brook at the back, hence its name. I’d had a quick peek on the website to see whether Danny’s name appeared, but although there were plenty of flattering references to the quality of the food, the chef wasn’t mentioned by name.

  I wondered whether to drive around and come back, but, on a wave of recklessness, decided to text Nina instead.

  Might be working with Grace Dewsbury!!

  I deleted the exclamation marks. They weren’t really me. Or Nina. Worried she’ll ask C for a reference X

  Her reply was instant:

  Thought you were going it alone??!!!! Am jealous, would love to work with G. Ask her to contact me, I’ll lie through my teeth, tell her you were an asset (jokes) x

  Jokes? And what was with all the punctuation marks? I wondered whether she’d been drinking, but knew she kept a tight rein on her alcohol intake, because of work. Another text pinged in:

  Jokes, about lying, I mean. You WERE an asset, even if C didn’t think so, moody cow ha ha. PT just proposed, bit squiffy on champers, we’re going to elope on New Y
ear’s Eve!!!!!!

  Definitely drunk. Which meant, when she’d sobered up, she might tell Carlotta, and Carlotta might contact Grace.

  Don’t worry, won’t tell C. Everyone deserves a second chance to be an events manager – said no one, ever!!! HAHAHAHA!!!!

  It sounded almost as if Nina wasn’t enjoying her job, though she’d never once given that impression when we’d worked together.

  Why didn’t C like me? Might as well take advantage of her inebriated state. Never did find out! XX

  Probably saw you as a threat – all those hours you put in, you crazy cow!!! You should have legged it ages ago, you’ll fly now, Cazzzie, I’m jealous as fuck (s’cuse my language) HUGS XXX

  She might be drunk, but Nina wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t truly believe it.

  Thanks and CONGRATULATIONS!!! I texted back, carried away on a soaring sense of hope. Let me know if you’d like me to plan your wedding :) XX

  Lifting my head, I saw that the car park had miraculously emptied and swung Sir Lancelot into the nearest bay.

  It was almost eight o’clock. Outside, the sky was smudged with gold and lilac, and a tiny moon had risen above a row of conifers, reminding me of Danny’s message in the sand. I rubbed my finger between my eyebrows to erase the image, but another instantly replaced it: his face coming closer to mine, his lips slightly parted, his eyes hazy with lust…

  I shouldered the car door open and almost fell out, taking a few deep breaths that did nothing to steady my pulse. Tucking my bag underneath my arm, I adopted what I hoped was the stance of a successful woman, before walking round to the entrance. Hopefully, no one noticed me stumble on the gravel.

  Inside was warm and softly lit, all nooks and beams, and gleaming cutlery set on soft white napkins, but I was surprised to see that all the tables were empty, considering it was a Friday night and the place had a good reputation.

  ‘I’m supposed to be meeting Adam Conway,’ I said to the waistcoated waiter approaching with a smiling welcome, holding my breath in case there’d been a mistake and the restaurant was closed for a private party that hadn’t yet materialised.