The Christmas Cafe at Seashell Cove: The perfect laugh-out-loud Christmas romance

by Karen Clarke

  ‘I’m sure you have.’

  ‘Don’t be smutty.’ She smiled through a blush.

  ‘I suppose he “completes you”.’ I put on my best moony voice, recalling the line from Jerry Maguire – which I’d secretly loved despite pretending it was lame.

  ‘Ugh.’ Cassie rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t need completing, thank you very much. I suppose we do complement each other, though.’

  ‘You do,’ I agreed. ‘Like Meg and Nathan.’

  ‘Exactly. And I bet when you get to know Rufus better, you’ll find you’ve more in common with him than you think.’ She glanced at her watch, before I could ask her what she meant. ‘I’m meeting a new artist in a minute. She’s going to display her work here.’

  ‘Hopefully her paintings will go down better than the last lot,’ I said, wondering why Ted was standing around scratching his head, instead of getting on with laying the floorboards.

  ‘That wasn’t my fault,’ said Cassie. ‘He’d promised me something poignant from his latest collection, which I thought would be more studies of the local coastline, then cried when I said they weren’t right. I felt sorry for him.’

  ‘I don’t think Seashell Cove was ready for abstract pictures of old ladies’ hands.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone is.’

  ‘You got a mixed batch here,’ Ted’s voice broke in.

  ‘Sorry?’

  Cassie gave me a sympathetic smile and backed into the café mouthing ‘Good luck.’

  ‘What do you mean, a mixed batch?’

  ‘Half of them are a different shade to the rest.’ He pointed to where he’d laid some of the boards out in a row. ‘It’s not obvious at first, but when you look more closely you can tell.’

  I tilted my head for a better look, then moved across the room and studied them from a different angle. With light from the windows flooding across the wood, there was no getting away from it. Half of the boards were a subtly darker shade, and while it might not be noticeable once the tables and chairs were in, I would know.

  ‘They’ll have to go back,’ I said, heart sinking. This was the last thing I needed.

  ‘So, you don’t want me to put them down?’ A look of annoyance crossed his moon-like face. ‘I already had to switch jobs around because of the leak.’

  I sensed it wasn’t the right moment to point out that the leak hadn’t been my fault. ‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll pay you for coming out.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said, slightly mollified. ‘That’ll be eighty quid, plus my petrol expenses.’

  ‘Petrol expenses? You’ve only come from Kingsbridge.’

  ‘I charge twenty pence per mile.’

  I rummaged in my back pocket. ‘Here, I’ve got four quid in change.’

  ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’ He practically snatched the coins I was holding out. ‘I’ve got a business to run, you know.’

  ‘So have I,’ I said to his departing back, even though it wasn’t strictly true. And now I was eighty-four pounds down and didn’t have change for a cup of coffee, never mind a slice of the rich, fruity Christmas cake I’d spotted on the counter. I’d left my wallet in my rucksack in the car, and couldn’t be bothered to fetch it.

  Sighing, I called the flooring company to explain, and after arranging for the boards to be returned and a fresh batch delivered, I stared around for a while, realising there was nothing more I could do.

  Leaving, I heard Gwen regaling a customer with a tale about how, when she’d lived in London, she’d seen the Queen in disguise outside Marylebone Station. ‘Carryin’ a shoppin’ bag, she was, wiv one of ’er Corgis inside.’ Jerry was hanging on her every word, blinking more than was natural.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Cassie caught me at the door, glancing back at a woman with mink-grey hair smoothed back from her face, holding a crate of framed pictures.

  ‘Are they any good?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know, I haven’t looked yet.’ She grabbed my arm and lowered her voice. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Wrong floorboards, would you believe?’ I said, trying to keep the alarm from my voice. ‘I’ve ordered some new ones.’ Cassie bit her lip, eyes darting over my face. Her cheeks were deeply flushed, but it was warm in the café, and her sweater was a bit on the chunky side. ‘What is it?’

  She looked from side to side, like a cartoon spy. ‘I know Gwen’s already asked you, but the room will be ready in time for the party, won’t it?’

  A smile twitched at my lips. ‘Are you worried it won’t be done before Mummy and Daddy get back, and they’ll tell you off and send you to your room?’

  Instead of grinning, and possibly punching me, she said, ‘No, no, it’s not that.’ Another glance behind her. The arty woman had put down her crate and was pointedly looking over.

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘It’s just…’ Cassie bit down on her bottom lip, as if to stop any more words bouncing out.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I want to make an announcement, that’s all.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘No, not now.’ She slapped my hand. ‘At the Christmas party.’

  ‘Oh?’ I zipped up my jacket and looked at her more closely. She was almost vibrating. ‘What sort of announcement?’

  I could see her fighting to hold back, but she was terrible at keeping secrets these days – a legacy of not being honest for years, about her life in London. She’d only recently confessed to her parents about how stressed she’d been in her job, because she hadn’t wanted to upset them. ‘It’s…’ She dipped her eyes, to where her hand was resting on her belly.

  ‘Ohhhh,’ I said, realisation dawning, even as she snatched her hand away. ‘You’re—’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ she hissed, darting a look towards the counter, but Gwen was still in full flow, the words ‘’is nibs, the Prince of Wales, blew me a kiss, but I told ’im I was married,’ carrying over, followed by a blast of laughter. ‘No one knows, but Danny and me,’ Cassie whispered, eyes glowing like lamps. ‘We wanted to wait until it had been twelve weeks, which it will be on Christmas Eve.’

  ‘Oh, Cassie, I’m so happy for you.’ I felt oddly choked as her words distilled in my mind. I wanted to hug or kiss her, or pick her up and spin her round – something to mark the occasion – but it would have been a giveaway. We already looked odd, huddled by the door, talking in hushed voices. ‘To be honest, I can’t believe you’ve kept it to yourself this long.’

  ‘I really wanted to tell you and Meg, but thought it might be tempting fate,’ she said, the words spilling out. ‘I actually didn’t know myself for ages, even though I’ve been feeling sick every evening. I thought it was Nan’s cooking, now she’s gone vegan and keeps sticking hemp in everything.’

  ‘I didn’t even know you wanted kids.’ I felt an odd little pang again – the sense of being excluded from something good; something that only happened to other people.

  ‘I didn’t either, but being around my nephew… let’s just say, we’d already decided we were happy to let nature take its course.’

  ‘Ew.’

  Cassie giggled. ‘He is really cute. The baby, I mean. I’ve bought him a little elf outfit for Christmas and can’t wait to see him in it.’ She’d become an auntie two months ago, and was relishing her new role, which had been something of a revelation. At school, Meg had been the one hankering after marriage and babies, while Cassie couldn’t wait to escape and fulfil her get-rich ambitions, yet Meg was the one now focused on work, and ‘not ready’ to start a family. ‘Do you know when it’s due?’

  ‘Sometime next June,’ said Cassie. ‘Promise you won’t say anything?’

  ‘Cross my heart.’ I had to make do with grabbing her hand and giving it a tight squeeze. Catching a raised eyebrow from the artist, I guessed she thought we were having a lovers’ tryst. ‘I suppose it’s a good way to let everyone know at once.’

  ‘And the perfect Christ
mas gift for Mum and Dad.’ She groaned. ‘I’ve no idea what to get them.’

  ‘At least you’ve the option of producing a piece of original artwork,’ I said. ‘I’ve no clue what to buy mine.’

  ‘I could do one of my cartoon sketches of them if you like.’

  ‘Oh, Cassie, they’d love that,’ I said, wondering why I hadn’t thought to ask before.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Maitland.’ The artist gave an imperious click of her fingers. ‘I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘Oops, I’d better go.’ Cassie grazed my cheek with her lips. ‘Thanks, Tilly-willy.’

  ‘Don’t ever call me that again.’

  Outside, I zipped up my jacket to ward off the cold as I walked to my car; a beetle-black Kia Picanto, which Dad had bought for my thirtieth birthday, even though I’d been perfectly happy borrowing Mum’s car, especially as she rarely drove any more.

  In the driver’s seat, I sat for a moment, thinking about Cassie’s bombshell, and how lit up she’d looked, and something I couldn’t name started rising beneath my skin.

  ‘Oh, get a grip,’ I ordered myself, and without knowing I’d intended to go there, I started driving to the leisure centre in Kingsbridge, mentally checking I had my bag in the boot. There was only one way to shake off whatever it was I was feeling, and that was by going for a swim.

  Chapter Nine

  In the pool there was nothing to think about but getting from one end to the other, arms scything through the water, my breathing carefully controlled the way I’d been taught by my swimming coach, Mr Mellor, all those years ago. He’d prided himself on spotting early potential and had been convinced I was an Olympic medallist in the making. The trouble was, I lacked a competitive streak. That particular personality trait had been passed straight from Dad to Bridget, who’d had enough for us both, while I took after Dad’s mum, a woman who’d firmly believed in putting off until tomorrow – or even next week – what you could do today.

  ‘Such a waste,’ Mr Mellor would say, shaking his grizzled head when I refused to enter some race or other, but I swam purely for pleasure, for the feeling of being truly myself, and I preferred swimming in the sea. In Vancouver, I’d ignored the pool at home during the long dry summers, and swum in the ocean nearly every day.

  ‘Shame you don’t apply that sort of dedication to getting a proper job,’ Bridget had groused on her first visit. She’d been busily pursuing her career in London by then, and hadn’t been remotely tempted to relocate to Canada with us. ‘You could be running your own corporation by now.’

  After twenty quick lengths, I paused for breath, rubbing water from my stinging eyes. I knew chlorine was necessary in public pools, but hated its effects on my skin. The pool wasn’t busy, and I almost shot out of the water when a man’s voice said, ‘I’d have thought you’d had enough of swimming, after yesterday.’

  My watery eyes travelled up a set of hairy shins and muscly thighs, over a pair of black swimming shorts, across a flat stomach, up a toned, tanned chest, and landed on Seth Donovan’s grinning face. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing.’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I pushed back my dripping hair, glad my costume was the sensible, black one-piece with the racer-back that I kept in the car – until I remembered he’d already seen me naked. ‘I was swimming.’

  ‘So I gathered.’ I wondered how long he’d been watching me. ‘I didn’t realise it was you at first, you were going so fast it was hard to see your face.’

  Hoisting myself up, I rested my elbows on the side, goosebumps rippling up my arms. ‘I like to push myself.’

  ‘Impressive.’ He dropped down, so he was sitting with his legs dangling in the water, hands gripping the sides, his thigh close to my elbow. ‘To be honest, I’m not a strong swimmer, and Jack isn’t either – as far as I know – so I thought I’d get him some refresher lessons as we’re going to be living by the sea.’

  ‘Better late than never,’ I quipped, not meaning to sound judgemental.

  Seth’s mouth pursed. ‘I know, I should have thought of it sooner.’ His expression clouded. ‘I just didn’t think—’

  ‘Hey, I was kidding.’ I shot a hand out to his knee where it rested for a moment before I snatched it away. ‘Is he OK about it? I mean, after yesterday, he might not be too keen on being in the water again.’

  ‘I thought about that,’ he said, a touch defensively. ‘But I figured it was like getting back in the saddle when you’ve been thrown off the horse. If you don’t do it right away, you could end up with a phobia. Plus, unlike horse riding, being a good swimmer’s kind of essential for survival.’

  He was giving me that meaningful look again, and keen to divert him from thanking me once more, I said, ‘Not worried about being spotted?’

  His lips hitched into a smile. ‘I reckon I need to get over myself, and stop thinking I’m going to be mobbed.’ He glanced around the pool, which was empty apart from a pair of middle-aged women in full make-up with bone-dry hair, doing a sedate breaststroke side by side while chatting. ‘I shouldn’t think anyone here gives much of a sh— monkeys who I am.’

  I returned his smile, and realised with a little shock that I was pleased to see him, even though we’d parted just hours ago. ‘Where is Jack?’ I said.

  Seth’s face froze, as if he thought I suspected him of leaving Jack at the cottage. ‘He told me to wait out here, while he got changed.’ He looked over his shoulder towards the shower area. ‘Ah, here he is!’ He shot to his feet, rubbing his hands, his voice and smile pitched slightly too bright – like a children’s entertainer unsure of his audience’s mood.

  ‘Hi, Jack!’ I threw him a little wave as he approached. He looked vulnerable and undernourished in his drawstring swimming shorts, his skin so white it was almost translucent. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Say hi to Tilly,’ said Seth, ruffling the boy’s hair a bit too vigorously.

  ‘Hi,’ Jack said brightly, his gaze shyly ducking away from mine as he stepped to the edge of the pool, shivering slightly. He gazed at the water with a mix of anticipation and terror he was clearly trying to hide.

  ‘It’s shallow here, so you’ll be fine,’ said Seth, still in that unnaturally jolly voice. It struck me that he didn’t know how to be around his own child. Jack had been taken care of by someone other than the parent he was now with, and instead of Seth being himself, he was trying to be some fictional version of a ‘Dad’ – hearty and encouraging – and it wasn’t working. No doubt Jack sensed his dad was out of his depth, just as Romy, though younger, sensed Bridget trying too hard to be the perfect mum and played up to it.

  Seth and my sister were going to get on like a house on fire, I realised. They already had tons in common.

  As if making up his mind, Jack pinched his nostrils together, screwed his eyes shut and jumped, creating an almighty splash that made one of the women shriek and dive for the side, as if she’d spotted a shark.

  Noting Seth lowering himself into the water, she nudged her friend, and the two of them began primping their hair and rearranging their cleavages. Meanwhile, Jack surfaced once, blew out water, then sank back down again.

  ‘Jack!’ Seth spun round, up to his waist in water, an expression of naked panic on his face. As he inhaled, preparing to dive down, I instinctively touched his shoulder.

  ‘Wait,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ He blinked at me in confusion.

  ‘He’ll come up in his own time.’ I spoke with a conviction I couldn’t explain. ‘He’s either trying to prove something, or provoke a reaction,’ I said. I remembered a boy of around the same age in a pool on holiday once, doing something similar in an attempt to win the approval of his dad; a strutting macho type in budgie smugglers, who’d talked to anyone who would listen about how he used to dive to sunken ships for a living, until his wife made him give it up.

  ‘Or, he could be lying at the bottom, about to be sucked into the drain, or have held his breath so long
he’s lost consciousness, or… or…’ Seth was pawing the water, as if he could part it and see more clearly, when Jack burst upwards, gasping for air, shaking water from his hair as he treaded water.

  ‘See?’ I murmured, but my heart was pounding and I felt a little bit queasy. What if I’d been wrong? I shouldn’t be stopping Seth from doing what came naturally.

  ‘See?’ Jack echoed, though he couldn’t have heard me, lobbing the word in his dad’s direction. ‘I can hold my breath for ages underwater.’ The defiance was unmistakable and somehow moving. ‘I counted up to twenty.’

  ‘Well done, Jack, I’m proud of you.’ Seth looked pale beneath his tan as he walked towards Jack through the water, the muscles rippling in his back and shoulders. The two women were spellbound, as if watching an unexpectedly good movie – or an exceptionally good-looking, half-naked man they suspected might be famous. ‘Do you want me to race you?’ he said.

  Jack’s face brightened momentarily, then, ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘You’ll let me win on purpose.’

  ‘No way.’ Seth flicked water at him, and I could tell he was trying his best to sound relaxed and cool. Jack shook his head, water dripping off his chin as he slid a look at me and away again.

  ‘I could show you how to do butterfly stroke, if you like,’ I offered.

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘Isn’t that for girls?’

  ‘Not really.’ I was starting to shiver. I disliked being in water if I wasn’t moving – unless it was outside in the sunshine. ‘Men swim the butterfly at the Olympics.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He flipped over like a duck, legs wavering out of the water as he did a handstand. When he came back up, rubbing his eyes, hair flattened, the women applauded and a smile flickered over his face.

  ‘They’re advertising for an instructor, you should apply,’ Seth said to me, his eyes fixed on Jack. ‘I saw it when we came in. You’d be great at it.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘It’s not a proper job though, is it?’

  ‘Who cares?’ He gave me a baffled look and, flustered, I dipped my face in the water to cool it down.