Don't Go Baking My Heart

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘What do you mean, get them to agree? I want the community onside, but I didn’t realise that I needed them to give me permission.’ Charlie frowned. ‘Paul Kerr was the one who suggested the beach would be the best place to park, and the council have agreed to my pitch and given me my trading consent. And as for everyone else, that’s what today is about. Letting the locals know my plans, and telling them about the launch. I’m not sure what else I can do.’

  Daniel slid his phone in his pocket and grinned at her. Charlie couldn’t believe how much it lit up his face. His eyes were no longer suspicious and calculating, but he still looked wolfish; he was still completely sure of himself. ‘What about Myrtle? She’s going to be at the front of the queue on Saturday, is she?’

  Charlie sighed. ‘Not everyone’s convinced yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Once the bus is here, once people can sample what I’m selling, they’ll be smitten.’

  ‘I can almost believe that,’ Daniel said. ‘Still, Porthgolow can be a tough crowd—’

  ‘Says the man who just told me my bus belongs in a fun fair.’

  ‘I’m prepared to defer my judgement.’

  ‘How very gracious of you.’

  Daniel laughed. ‘Fancy a tour of the hotel? I could show you the spa facilities, the restaurant. We have a five-course à la carte menu.’

  ‘Sometimes people just want a bit of stodgy, sugary cake.’

  ‘And sometimes,’ he said, stepping closer, ‘they want something more extravagant. Sometimes they want the best.’

  ‘I am the best.’ Charlie lifted her chin in defiance, and immediately felt stupid. What was this? A pre-boxing-match showdown? She waited for Daniel’s pithy reply but it didn’t come. He looked at her coolly and then turned away.

  ‘I need to get on,’ he called as he walked. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

  ‘Uhm, not at the moment. Thanks.’ She followed him back through the beautiful gardens and into the foyer, where he promptly said goodbye and disappeared through a door behind the reception desk.

  Charlie said goodbye to Lauren and went to find Marmite. As she made her way down the hill, a snoozing puppy in her arms, all in all she felt relieved with the way her visit had gone.

  It was understandable that Daniel was sceptical about the charms of The Cornish Cream Tea Bus; it wasn’t anything like his slice of cliff-top luxury. But he hadn’t turned her away. He’d said her photos were good and he’d followed her on Instagram; he hadn’t discounted coming to the launch on Saturday.

  As she reached the bottom of the hill, eager to see how Juliette had got on, she wondered why Daniel’s approval mattered to her so much. Did she want to show Juliette that he wasn’t as evil as she thought he was, or was it simply that he had been against her bus from the start, and she wanted to prove him wrong? All she knew was that standing close to the edge of the cliff, at the same time as standing close to Daniel, had done nothing for her levels of composure.

  Chapter Eight

  Charlie stood on the end of Porthgolow’s jetty, looking back at the village that, in the last few weeks, had become her home. She didn’t know for how long – Juliette had told her she could stay as long as she liked – but she knew she wasn’t ready to go back to Ross-on-Wye, or her parents’ house. She crouched alongside Marmite, who was peering over the edge of the jetty, and looked at the sea spilling out in every direction. Porthgolow’s quaint, haphazard vista was behind her, Reenie’s yellow hut to her left, Daniel’s shimmering empire at her right side.

  Soon, there would be a new addition to the landscape. She was picking Gertie up later that day. Her Cornish Cream Tea Bus was finished, and she had heard the pride in Pete’s voice when he’d called to tell her it was ready. She couldn’t wait to see it. But Lawrence was working and Juliette had a meeting, and she needed one of them to drive her to the garage, so she would have to be patient.

  She stood up and tugged gently on Marmite’s lead, and a flash of light caught her attention. A short woman was standing in front of the primrose-yellow cottage, long dark hair straggling out behind her. She was holding something, and it was that object that had caught the light. Charlie couldn’t see what it was from this distance, but she found herself raising a hand in greeting. She held her breath, and watched as Reenie’s arm rose into the air, mirroring Charlie’s gesture. Then she turned and, in a moment, had disappeared inside her precarious little house.

  Charlie made her way back to Juliette’s with a spring in her step.

  ‘A wave,’ she said to her friend as they hefted tins of scones and cookies, cakes and doughnuts first into Lawrence’s arms and then their own, and walked out into the fresh air. ‘An actual wave. It reminded me a bit of the perplexed greeting Tom Hanks gives Meg Ryan at the end of Sleepless in Seattle.’

  ‘I think Reenie’s more Castaway than Sleepless,’ Juliette said, grimacing under the weight of her boxes. ‘But a wave’s more than I got. I think she was pretending not to be in when I tried to talk to her the other day, which was a bit harsh considering her place isn’t the easiest to get to. There’s not a path all the way, you have to navigate over rocks, and if it’s damp they can be treacherous.’

  ‘Has anyone ever seen her leave the house?’ Lawrence asked. ‘Seen her in the pub or the shop or anywhere?’

  They reached the bottom of the hill and Lawrence’s question was forgotten as Gertie, in her new, Cornish-Cream-Tea-Bus glory, came into view.

  The three of them paused to gaze at her.

  The day of the grand opening was calm, hardly any wind to whip the waves into a fervour, but the cloud cover was thicker than Charlie would have liked. There was a break over the horizon, where opaque rays spilled out and raced down to meet the sea’s surface. Charlie’s dad called them the fingers of God, though he wasn’t remotely religious. But at this point, with the still, blue water, the cliffs rising up either side, and Gertie, resplendent in her new red coat and gleaming with possibility on the sand, it did seem almost magical.

  ‘Let’s stock her up, then, shall we?’ Lawrence grinned and, despite his boxes, managed to give Hugh, who had appeared at the door of The Seven Stars, a quick wave. ‘Coming to have a look, Hugh?’

  ‘Of course,’ the landlord replied. ‘I’ve held off having coffee so I can sample some of Charlie’s, along with a slice of carrot cake, if there’s any?’

  ‘Carrot cake is here somewhere,’ Charlie said, raising her stack of boxes. ‘Give us ten minutes to set up and I’ll give you the grand tour.’

  ‘I’ll be over dreckly,’ he called.

  She resisted the urge to hug Hugh, and wondered if his enthusiasm would spread through the village. Her chat with Myrtle had been chilly to say the least, and the young woman who had answered the door of the bed and breakfast seemed distracted and uninterested. Charlie had been left sleepless the night before, imagining her and Gertie sitting, deserted, on the beach, while villagers passed by as if she didn’t exist.

  But being here, seeing the bus in situ, and with her arms full of fresh cakes, her worries seemed laughable.

  The inside of Gertie was as impressive as her exterior. As Charlie unlocked the door she was delighted all over again by the transformation. On the lower deck, at the end where customers got on, there were four tables. The benches were padded with red fabric on one side, blue on the other, and the cream tables had elegantly curved edges. The walls had been repainted in fresh, bright cream, and the light from the large windows added to the airy feel.

  Beyond the tables was Charlie’s kitchen. It had a countertop and sink, with a small oven below for heating up scones and sausage rolls, and a fridge for storing perishables. Next to the driver’s cab there was a shiny new coffee machine, with mugs in red and blue stacked up alongside it. The bottoms of the mugs perfectly fitted the cup-holders in the tables, and they had plastic lids that could be used when the bus was moving.

  Around the roof of the lower deck, and again on the upper, were glowing, LED fairy ligh
ts. With wall space at a premium, Charlie had wanted something special for when the days were dull and the sun failed to shine brightly.

  ‘Just beautiful,’ Juliette murmured, as they placed their cake boxes on the counter. Charlie started up the coffee machine, checked the filter was full of beans, ran the tap in the sink and switched the oven on. She still marvelled at how all these mod cons could work on her uncle’s bus as easily as if she was in a house.

  ‘Check upstairs?’ Juliette asked.

  ‘You go,’ Charlie said. ‘I want to make sure everything’s ready here. Can you fill the vases?’ They had bought clutches of red carnations and vibrant cornflowers, perfect for the vases that slotted into the circular cut-outs in the middle of each table. Their primary role was for teapots – the teapots themselves designed specially so they would fit snugly in – but when people didn’t want a whole pot, or wanted coffee or a cold drink, a spray of flowers would brighten up the tables.

  Between them, they had thought of everything. Pete had improved the tiny toilet behind the stairs, had ensured the layout on the top deck – where the majority of customers would sit – had as much seating as possible without it seeming crowded. Marmite had his own crate below the driver’s seat in the cab, so when Charlie brought him on board he wouldn’t stray into the kitchen. An old-style bell-pull had been installed – replacing the more modern buttons – so that guests could get Charlie’s attention from anywhere on the bus.

  She had even got an old-fashioned ticket machine so that customers could go away with a reminder of their visit on board The Cornish Cream Tea Bus. It had been an expensive renovation, but worth every penny. Now all she had to do was make a success of it.

  She began snapping photos, adding them to her Instagram story, all with her custom hashtag: #CornishCre‌amTeaBusLaunch. She arranged the cakes and scones and took photos of them on their stands, snapped an arty shot of the sea out of the windscreen, and another of the row of gleaming mugs stacked on top of the coffee machine. She had two different tea options on her menu: one was simply scones, cream and jam – the traditional Cornish cream tea – and one that was more like a full afternoon tea, with sandwiches to start, mini cakes and puddings, and then the scones to finish.

  ‘Hello?’ a voice called, as she was putting the cheddar and red onion scones in the oven to heat up. ‘Can we come aboard?’

  Charlie recognized the woman, who had platinum hair cinched in waves around her face, from the bed and breakfast. She had obviously been paying more attention than Charlie had thought. She was accompanied by a man whose skin was as dark as hers was pale, his deep brown eyes warm with kindness.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Welcome to The Cornish Cream Tea Bus. Take a seat, either down here, or there’s lots of space upstairs. I’ll come and take your order in a moment.’

  The woman looked around approvingly. ‘I must say, it looks wonderful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlie beamed. ‘I’m very happy with it.’

  ‘Almost puts our dining room to shame,’ the man added, reaching up and pulling on the cord running round the top of the windows. A clear bell sounded, and he laughed even as he apologized. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. I haven’t seen one of these in years.’

  Charlie waved away his apology. ‘It’s very tempting to pull it – I’m going to have to get used to false alarms. Maybe I need a sign explaining what the cord is for.’

  ‘It’s so nostalgic,’ the woman added. ‘What made you want to do this? A café on a bus?’

  Charlie leaned against the counter. ‘The bus was my uncle’s. He ran tours on it, but he died earlier this year. He left me Gertie – the bus – and I’m a baker, so while I was happy to have it, I knew I couldn’t just take over from him. But cakes, afternoon tea … I thought I could combine the two.’

  ‘It’s ingenuous,’ the man said. ‘We went for a traditional style for the B&B, but after four years … well, I wonder if we need some sort of overhaul?’ He looked at his wife. ‘Do something a bit different?’

  She nodded, her smile slipping. ‘We haven’t even introduced ourselves. I’m Stella, and this is Anton. You’re staying with Juliette, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m Charlie. Juliette invited me here for a holiday. This …’ She spread her arms wide, laughing self-consciously. ‘I’m not that great at taking time off, and I can always drive the bus home again. But I thought that, while I’m here, Porthgolow could do with a bit of brightening up.’

  The vigorous nods from Stella and Anton suggested that they agreed with her.

  An hour later and Gertie was a hive of activity. Paul and Amanda had brought Jonah, and their two daughters Flora and Jem, and had commandeered one of the tables downstairs, which meant that every time a new customer appeared, Jonah was able to regale them with facts about the bus – both what Charlie had told him after extensive interrogation, and what he already seemed to have in his young, encyclopaedic mind. Charlie and Juliette tried not to giggle while they frothed cappuccinos and prepared cream teas. Even though it was only half past ten, her signature Cornish cream tea was destined to be the most popular item on the menu.

  ‘You know,’ Juliette whispered, as she filled a stoneware pot with clotted cream and cut a warm fruit scone in half, ‘I was a bit sceptical when you said you wanted this part of the bus to be open to customers, but it’s perfect. You can prepare the teas and chat to people at the same time.’

  ‘And listen to Jonah?’ Charlie said. ‘I wonder if I should pay him to come round with me. He’s certainly livening things up.’

  ‘And then, what you have to realize,’ Jonah was saying to an older couple Charlie had seen a few times in Myrtle’s pop-in, ‘is that the new Routemaster buses in London only started again in 2012, after Boris Johnson held a design competition. This bus is from the Fifties or Sixties.’

  ‘Nineteen sixty-four,’ Charlie called. ‘That’s when this one was made.’

  Jonah beamed, but the couple looked flummoxed by the information overload.

  ‘We’d love a couple of those delicious-looking pastries, please, love,’ the old lady said, pointing to Charlie’s cannoli. They were a mixture of lemon and hazelnut cream.

  Jonah took her change of tack in his stride. ‘Of course, there’s lots of seating upstairs, if you’d prefer that?’

  The man and woman exchanged a glance and decided that yes, they would like to sit upstairs.

  ‘Can I show them, Charlie?’ Jonah asked.

  ‘Of course.’ She handed him a pad and pen. ‘Would you like to find out what drinks they want, too? And whether they want lemon or hazelnut cannoli?’

  ‘No problem!’ he grabbed the notepad, ran back to the stairs and paused, waiting for the older couple to follow him.

  ‘You,’ Juliette said, ‘are shameless. You’re definitely going to have to pay him now.’

  ‘I think Charlie’s got the measure of him perfectly,’ Amanda called, grinning over the top of her latte. Flora, who was six and, as far as Charlie had seen, pretty but incredibly quiet, gave her a sweet smile and hugged her Cabbage Patch doll tighter. Charlie thought they had disappeared in the Eighties, but maybe today was destined to be steeped in nostalgia?

  The rush continued up to lunchtime, and Charlie was delighted every time someone new stepped onto the bus, or a car pulled into the car park and the occupants came aboard, their expressions tentative, as if they weren’t quite sure what they were getting themselves into. She welcomed everyone warmly and told them about her plans for the bus, that it would travel around Cornwall but have Porthgolow as its base.

  She’d watched a few people walk straight past, some of whom she recognized from the village, and Myrtle hadn’t made an appearance, but then she was probably working at the pop-in all day. She tried not to feel too disheartened that not everybody was an immediate fan. She had known, and not just because Daniel had told her, that not all the locals would find Gertie charming or desirable. But this was a marathon, not a spri
nt, and she had time to win them round.

  In a moment of quiet, she responded to some of the comments on her Instagram and Facebook posts saying how great the cakes looked, and asking her how far Porthgolow was from Newquay, or Padstow, or Truro. There seemed to be genuine interest, and Charlie thought that, as she took her Cornish Cream Tea Bus around Cornwall, that would only grow.

  ‘We need more drinks upstairs,’ Juliette said, hurrying into the kitchen. ‘Jonah’s spotted a pod of dolphins, so everyone up there wants to stay longer.’

  ‘Ooh really? Pass me the list and I’ll bring them up to you. Well done, dolphins! Maybe our resident mermaid put them on specially for us?’

  She could hear Juliette laughing all the way up the stairs.

  Charlie was adding frothy milk to two cappuccinos when she heard the familiar tread of shoes hitting the metal plate on the bus’s step. She looked up, ready to greet a new customer, and found herself smiling at Daniel. He was staring at her intently, as if she was the one who’d had a makeover rather than the bus.

  She was suddenly tongue-tied. Everyone had gone upstairs to get a better view of the dolphins, and they were the only two people on the lower deck.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he asked, after what seemed like hours of silence. He was wearing a purple shirt, grey trousers and black shoes, polished to a high shine.

  ‘It’s busy and chaotic,’ she replied. ‘Everything I’d hoped for.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s looking good. I had no idea a bus could … I wasn’t sure how it would work.’

  ‘Do you want me to give you a tour? We don’t have a spa or an à la carte menu, but it’s still pretty special.’

  There were loud ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from upstairs, and Charlie guessed they must be able to see the dolphins clearly.

  Daniel shook his head. ‘Lauren needs me back at the hotel. Another time, maybe. Just thought I’d … check in.’

  ‘Check I wasn’t ruining the atmosphere of Porthgolow, you mean?’