Summer at Blue Sands Cove

by Chris Ward

  Grace nodded at her phone. ‘While I have a signal, do you mind if I take a look?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  It only took her a minute to figure it out. She held up her phone for Paul to see, shaking her head in disbelief.

  ‘That lady the other day, the one whose boy wandered off, I thought she looked familiar. Turns out she’s an Instagram influencer.’

  Paul laughed. ‘Really? Isn’t everyone these days? How many followers does she have?’

  ‘Three point four million. Oh, wow. And she posted that picture of us outside the café, and linked it to Google Maps, quoting it as the friendliest café in Cornwall. Who’d have thought it?’

  ‘I guess I’d better go and find a clean apron.’

  Grace stared at the picture. The woman had put it through a filter, turning it into a line drawing of a group of people with their arms around each other’s shoulders, the beach and the cliffs in the background. It was a bit busy, but with a few adjustments….

  ‘I have to go,’ she said, standing up. ‘Seriously, that was the best breakfast I’ve ever had, and you can make it for me whenever you like, but I have something I really need to do on the way back to the café. I’m sorry.’

  Paul just laughed. ‘It’s all good. Don’t tell me, you have to see a man about a dog?’

  ‘Close. A woman about a t-shirt.’

  33

  Hobbies

  Joan had tears in her eyes as she held up the plastic-wrapped t-shirt she had just taken from a box. ‘Oh, Grace. It looks wonderful. I’m not quite sure what I’ll say to Mum about changing the café’s name, but I suppose that’s a relatively minor issue.’

  ‘You need to convince her to stay open first. The rest is easy.’

  Joan was shaking her head. ‘I’d call you a genius, but I saw the monstrosities you came up with before this one, so it’s better just to call you persistent. This, though … this is perfect.’

  Sky blue, it had a group of characters with their arms around each others’ shoulders. Grace had asked Mrs. Oldfield to base her design on the photograph, with a couple of extras thrown in. One character was a surfer, another in a wheelchair. At the front were a young boy and girl, behind them an older couple who could be parents. On the opposite side, Grace had requested a dog be added for good measure.

  Behind the group was an image of the beach, the cliffs on either side, and the sun setting over the horizon. Underneath, in bold lettering: Blue Sands Friendship Café.

  The door pinged and Hedges came striding in, pushing a stack of pasty boxes. As he set the trolley down, he noticed the t-shirt.

  ‘Good morning, girls. Nice threads. Upping the stakes?’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Can I order a set for the family? We’ll wear them at the gala next weekend. Time to pick sides, isn’t it? You think Jason has the mettle to pull it off?’

  Joan laughed. ‘He’s out there now, doing extra laps. He’s not giving up, that’s for sure.’

  Hedges nodded. ‘Get him in one of those t-shirts and the extra drive will do it. Any chance of a honeycomb ice-cream for the road?’

  ‘Did you bring us that extra order?’

  ‘In the van.’

  ‘Then you have a deal.’

  ‘Nice one.’

  Hedges unloaded the pasties and headed back out to the van for more. Grace turned to Joan. ‘How many bookings have we got today?’

  Joan sighed. ‘Forty-three. It’s insane. And since you got Paul to come down at lunchtimes, they’ve been rebooking. Our online reviews are through the roof. I don’t know how you managed it, Graceful. I saw Sophie outside on the way down from Melrose Hill, and she practically put a curse on me. I mean, I know it’s a barbeque pit she has out on the patio up there, but it looks like a cauldron. I’d swear there was something green swirling around in there.’

  ‘It was just luck,’ Grace said.

  ‘Not a chance. You’re luck,’ Joan said. ‘Lucky for all of us.’

  ‘Is it still cool to have the afternoon off?’

  Joan nodded. ‘No problem. Mum’s hired a couple more kids to help out. We’re good. The surf’s going to be flat, though. You’d be better getting a bus down to Newquay if you need to practice for the comp.’

  Grace shook her head. ‘I want to teach Paul to swim,’ she said.

  Joan’s smile dropped. ‘Teach … Paul? Then, he’s not…?’

  Grace gave a disappointed shake of her head. ‘I’m afraid not. He does know who he is, though. He said I could tell you if I swore you to secrecy.’

  Joan glared at Grace. ‘You mean, you have a secret and you didn’t immediately tell me, your best friend? What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s a really big secret.’

  ‘In that case, I forgive you. Make me a coffee—two sugars—and spill.’

  ‘No … way.’ Joan shook her head. ‘Paul’s making that up, surely. I mean, he works in a museum and library, he’s surrounded by fantasy and he has nothing to fill his idle mind. He must be making it all up.’

  ‘Apparently not. I thought it was pretty mad, too.’

  ‘You need proof. I won’t believe you without proof.’

  ‘Well, he wants me to meet his parents, so I guess I can just ask straight out.’ Grace shrugged. ‘I’ll get really drunk, then lean on his dad’s shoulder and say, “Excuse me, are you the Masked Surfer who I hit on the other week?” I reckon that’ll go down great.’

  ‘Don’t forget, this is still Mr. Davis, our old drama teacher.’ Joan suddenly slapped Grace’s knee and gasped. ‘Oh my god. Paul wants you to meet his parents?’

  ‘I suppose I’d only be meeting his mum for the first time, having previously been sick on his dad’s classroom carpet.’

  ‘Oh, I remember that. It was pumping out. It was round school for weeks that they didn’t serve pumpkin soup at school because you ate it all.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I don’t remember that.’

  ‘I did my best to shield you.’

  Grace scowled. ‘I don’t know whether to be heartbroken or thankful.’

  Joan ignored her. ‘You have to meet his parents? That’s like, next stage.’

  ‘Have you met Jason’s?’

  Joan rolled her eyes. ‘We have dinner every Wednesday night. It’s like a family tradition. But, oh man, they’re such nerds. It’s like Jason came out the other side, but they’re still stuck in this geek world. Last week his dad wanted to show me his train set. I thought it would be some big posh thing in the cellar, but no, it was in a box, and we had to clip it together and everything. Then he was like, which locomotive do you want? He said ‘locomotive’, not ‘train’. Who calls them that, apart from train workers and anoraks?’

  ‘Which one did you choose?’

  ‘A blue one called Bessie. I derailed it on the first turn. You can get some real speed going if you double press the joypad button. His dad got annoyed because this bit fell off. I felt guilty, but not so much.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re so happy.’

  ‘Don’t mock me. If Paul isn’t the Masked Surfer, how’d he get such ripped shoulders? I bet it’s from lifting boxes of Games Workshop magazines. Or his collection of stamps.’

  ‘Shut up. I’ll ask him later.’

  ‘A quid says he’s into Dungeons & Dragons.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘You might as well pay up now.’

  Grace smiled. ‘We’ll see.’

  Paul proved to be a false beginner when it came to swimming, although his progress from water-phobia to basic competence wasn’t without its pitfalls. At his first lesson, Grace made him swim in beach shorts because he showed up in Speedos left over from school. And much as she wanted to see what was under the black t-shirt he had brought, he had forgotten to apply any suntan lotion to his fair skin on what was the hottest day of the summer so far, so the session looked like life-saving training as Paul, fully clothed, flapped and thrashed his way through waist-deep water, all wit
h a wide grin on his face, as though he couldn’t be happier.

  At their second lesson, the following day, Paul showed up in a pair of trunks and a swimming t-shirt from J’s Surf Shack. As they thrashed about in the water, Grace noticed the swell getting up. Paul, full of confidence, began to body-surf, while Grace stood and watched with exasperation, wondering if he was really as inept as he had claimed.

  She was standing in the shore break, watching Paul’s floundering legs, when a voice said, ‘Hey.’

  Daniel, behind her, was pushing his board out into the surf. He smiled as she noticed him, then nodded out into the waves.

  ‘Only a couple of days until the gala,’ he said. ‘I heard you’re in the surfing competition. This might be your last chance to practice. What are you doing, anyway?’

  Grace gave an awkward shrug. Daniel hadn’t noticed Paul, but now he came wading out to meet them.

  ‘Hey, Dan.’

  ‘All right, Paul?’

  Grace tried to detect a terseness between them, a note of rivalry, but there was nothing. If not friends, they seemed like amicable acquaintances.

  ‘Good, you?’

  ‘Not often we see you in the sea.’

  Paul smiled. ‘Grace is being kind enough to teach me to swim.’

  Dan pouted. ‘Is that so? About time you learned. Are we going to see you on a board sometime soon?’

  Paul shook his head. ‘Probably not. We’ll see.’

  ‘Well, have a good one. I need to get out to those sets before they blow out. Take it easy. See you later, Grace.’

  As Daniel paddled off into the surf, Grace stared at the water, a ragged mess of thoughts running through her mind.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Grace looked up. Paul was watching her with a smile on his face.

  ‘Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.’

  ‘If you want to quit for the day, I’m happy for you to go out and get some waves. I’ve got something I wanted to do this afternoon, anyway.’

  ‘No, it’s cool, I just feel a little weird.’

  Paul laughed. ‘The old boyfriend meets the new boyfriend kind of thing?’

  Grace looked up. ‘Are you my boyfriend now?’

  Paul just shrugged. ‘If you want me to be.’

  A little breaker suddenly struck her, soaking her up to the neck in froth and spray. Despite the shock of the water, Grace felt a tingle of warmth across her skin.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, meeting Paul’s eyes. ‘I do.’

  His smile was kind and easygoing. ‘Great, then we’re still on for tomorrow? It’s my turn to teach you something.’

  The sun was just setting over the sea. From a viewing spot along the path out to Sharker’s Rock, Joan lifted her glass of wine and turned to Grace.

  ‘To you and me, best friends.’

  Grace smiled and lifted her own glass. ‘Best friends.’

  They drank. Out across the sea, ripples of orange and red flickered in the dying light. A few seagulls glided across the water. Down by the shoreline, a couple of kids were throwing rocks into the sea, while from the promenade, the soft sound of music drifted over to them.

  ‘Mum loved the design,’ Joan said. ‘She said she’s going to call the sign people next week, then register with the council for a change of business name. “The Blue Sands Friendship Café”. It sounds great, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Then she’s not selling?’

  Joan shook her head. ‘Once she found out Sophie planned to turn it into a car park for Gourmet Garden customers, she was dead against it. Obviously, the sudden mass of extra business has helped too. They’re still planning to move, though, so guess who’s the new manager?’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘I’ll need staff, particularly if we get the year-round license I’m planning to apply for. No way I can spend all winter playing trains with Jason’s dad. Are you interested?’

  ‘In playing trains with Jason’s dad? I suppose it depends which locomotive he lets me use.’

  Joan rolled her eyes. ‘In joining the team. I’m prepared to make you a full partner. I have to remind you, though, that winters here can be long and bleak.’

  Grace laughed. ‘I remember them from the first eighteen years of my life. We’d have to drink a lot of wine to make it to the other side.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that. So, what do you say?’

  ‘Let me think about it. If I win the surfing competition on Saturday, I might have to spend my winters in Brazil to prepare for the next World Championships.’

  ‘Oooh, superstar,’ Joan said. ‘Top up?’

  Grace held out her glass. ‘Last one. Paul’s picking me up early tomorrow.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘He’s taking me out somewhere. He told me to wear decent shoes.’

  ‘I bet it’s to a comic book convention.’ Joan took a sip of wine. ‘Or to an antique teapots market.’

  ‘You’re such a cynic. And so what if he’s into comics or antiques? We all have different interests.’

  Joan sighed. ‘Look at you, you’re just gone. Completely. Why don’t you just get married and move into the library together?’

  ‘Because he hasn’t asked me yet.’ Grace slapped herself on the cheeks. ‘Oh my god, did I just say that?’

  ‘You’ve been seeing him, what, two weeks?’

  ‘Three.’

  Joan laughed. ‘You’ve probably passed the current national average for relationship length already. At five weeks, Jason and me are practically antiques.’

  ‘Where does the time go? I’ll be a grandmother before I know it. Oh, speak of the devil….’

  Ethel Dottington was leading Gerald up the path. The pug, reluctant, was dragging at his leash as the old woman tugged him towards a patch of couch grass. From where Grace and Joan sat, the sun’s glare would have been in Ethel’s eyes, and she clearly hadn’t seen them sitting on the verge a little higher up.

  ‘Come on, Gerald,’ she said, urging the dog forward. ‘Let’s empty out that back end.’

  She leaned down and began to pat the dog on the butt. Gerald, clearly aware of what he was supposed to do, squatted down and began to defecate. Grace and Joan exchanged looks, both trying not to laugh.

  ‘Good boy,’ Ethel said. ‘That’s my pretty Gerry. Right, let’s get back before we catch our death.’

  For a moment, Grace thought the old woman meant to just leave the dog’s mess behind, but then, with a deft strike, Ethel stuck out a foot, kicking the lump up and over the edge of the cliff, down on to the beach.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she muttered. ‘A little sticky tonight.’

  She pulled a tissue from her pocket, reached down and wiped her shoe, before tossing the tissue into the grass. Grace and Joan watched, speechless, as Ethel retreated back down the path, tugging a more freely moving Gerald along behind her.

  ‘I can’t believe she just did that,’ Grace said. ‘We should have filmed it.’

  ‘We can still catch her and give her a warning. Well, you can. Go on.’

  Maybe it was the wine talking, or maybe not, but Grace found herself on her feet, stumbling down the path in Ethel’s wake. She reached the old woman just as the path opened out at the top of the beach.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Can I have a word?’

  Ethel turned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I, um, saw you kick your dog’s mess over the top of the cliff. Haven’t you seen the signs?’

  Ethel frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’ she repeated.

  ‘I just watched you. You’re supposed to take it home.’

  Ethel stared at her. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Your dog just took a dump in the grass, and you kicked it over the edge of the cliff. Sometimes kids sit down there.’

  ‘It’s a little dangerous to sit so close to the cliff, isn’t it? I’d hope they have more sense—’

  ‘You’re still not allowed to do it.’

  Ethel’s eyes turned hard. ‘Don’t
you lecture me, young lady. That’s the problem with today’s youth. You think you know everything—’

  ‘I know you’re not allowed to let your dog crap by the side of the cliff path and kick it over the edge of the cliff. It’s disgusting.’

  ‘It’s a natural process. Nature returns to nature.’

  ‘So you admit it.’

  ‘I’m admitting nothing. But there’s nothing wrong with letting your dog do his natural business as long as you don’t leave it for someone to step in.’

  ‘Do you do your natural business in public?’

  ‘How dare you! I’ve a mind to call a constable. And look at you—hardly in a position to tell me what to do, are you? Haven’t you seen the signs?’

  Ethel pointed. Grace turned, looking past the wine glass still in her outstretched hand at the red sign by the side of the path, which read:

  NO GLASS OR BOTTLES ON THE BEACH

  ‘It’s plastic,’ she muttered.

  ‘Why don’t you drop it and we’ll see?’ Ethel said. ‘Are you even old enough to drink?’

  ‘Of course I am!’

  ‘I meant mentally.’ Ethel lifted a finger and turned it in a circle beside her forehead. ‘And people tell me I’m cuckoo.’

  ‘You—’

  Something was pressing against Grace’s ankle. She looked down to see Gerald with his butt pressed up against her, rubbing it back and forth.

  ‘Oh my,’ Ethel said. ‘It looks like we need to get the wormer out again, don’t we?’ Then, looking up at Grace, she added, ‘I do hate the Cornish water. And the pipes in those chalets … right out of Victorian times.’

  Without another word, she tugged Gerald away from Grace’s leg and headed off into the evening. Grace watched her go, feeling like a balloon slowly deflating. Then, with a sigh, she walked dejectedly back up to where Joan was waiting.

  ‘Any luck?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘Busted.’ She held up the glass. These are plastic, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, but the bottle’s not.’

  ‘Oops.’