‘Wow.’
‘Maybe I’m making more of it than I should be. But we had finalized everything, even the work schedule. I was waiting for him to sign the contract. It was mine, and then suddenly it wasn’t. I’d turned down a couple of other clients in order to take it on, and then I got this email. His apology was so formal, so cold, especially considering how friendly he’d been at our meeting.’
‘He never gave you a proper explanation?’
Juliette shook her head. ‘And he’s been so … distant since then. He knows what he did was awful, but he won’t try and bridge the gap. And he lives here, but Myrtle never sees him in the shop and he doesn’t drink in here. Everything for his hotel comes from elsewhere. He could promote SeaKing Safaris, do some kind of deal with them for his guests, but he doesn’t. If Porthgolow isn’t good enough for him, then why is he running his hotel here? A place isn’t just its scenery, it’s all the people that make it.’
‘It is,’ Charlie murmured. Now that she’d heard Juliette’s explanation, she was puzzled. Daniel hadn’t given her an easy ride, but other than saying some hurtful things about Gertie before her transformation, he hadn’t been hostile. She wondered why he’d blown so hot and cold towards Juliette, especially when it was clear he valued his hotel and his reputation. It wasn’t her business, but Juliette was her friend, and she hated the thought of someone upsetting her. She would have to try and find out what was going on.
The Newquay Surf Festival at the beginning of June turned out to be a hotbed of cream-tea lovers. At half past three, once the competition had ended for the day, Charlie’s bus was full of athletic men in wetsuits or tight-fitting T-shirts, a few in only swimming shorts and flip-flops. She would have to spend that evening vacuuming the sand out of the bus, but on this occasion it was worth it.
‘Top coffee,’ said a man with mirrored sunglasses perched over his dark hair. ‘Your bus going to be in Newquay often?’
She resisted the urge to say ‘as often as you want’, and instead told him about Porthgolow. ‘I’m organizing a festival on the beach. There will be other food trucks, hopefully a party atmosphere.’
‘Awesome. What’s your Insta? You anything to do with the Porthgolow Hideaway account?’ He pulled his phone out of his pocket.
‘That’s definitely not me, though I’d love to know who’s running it.’ They swapped details, and Charlie resisted the urge to scroll down his grid to see just how many surfing selfies he put up there. Judging by the way all the surfers strutted about with their pecs out, she was fairly hopeful. Charlie waved as he left the bus, Marmite looking at her quizzically from his crate.
‘You wouldn’t understand, puppy,’ she said quietly, as two wetsuit-clad women came down the stairs to pay, their long hair still dripping.
Her customers lingered, all laid-back now the competition was over, and it was after six when she drove Gertie back to Porthgolow.
The sun was kissing the cliffs, and the glass of Crystal Waters shone like an oversized diamond. Charlie thought of Daniel and what Juliette had told her. She wanted to know why he’d dropped her friend so quickly, and with no real explanation. And there was something else that was drawing her to him, something that she hadn’t felt for a long time, not since her relationship with Stuart had been good. But it had been a while, and it was only normal to crave some intimacy. Trust her to have those feelings about the most irritating man she’d encountered in months.
When she and Oliver had parted ways at St Agnes Head, she had told him she would be in touch about her – much smaller – festival. He was fun and friendly, so why couldn’t she conjure up the same level of interest for him as she could for Daniel? Maybe it wasn’t attraction, but an inner competitiveness that didn’t want to see Daniel get the better of her. Perhaps, once she’d outsmarted him, she’d stop thinking about him.
As she hopped down from the bus, she saw Anton push open the door of the B&B, his head down, his dark suit smart, but somehow too severe for the sunshine. The door slammed, echoing in the quiet. Myrtle appeared in the doorway of the pop-in, and their eyes met.
‘Been at the bank, has Anton,’ Myrtle said, as Charlie crossed the road to greet her. She reasoned that any contact with the older woman, however frosty, was a step closer to getting her on side. ‘Bet they’ll be as tight as bleddy always.’
‘Stella and Anton aren’t doing well?’ Charlie asked, dropping her voice.
‘Got some fancy ideas about revamping the B&B, but it isn’t going to compete, is it?’ She gestured towards the cliff. ‘Not with pools and spas and eight-course menus.’
‘Not everyone can afford Crystal Waters,’ Charlie said. ‘Of course there’s room for them both in Porthgolow. I would have thought a cosy, affordable B&B would be busier than the spa, if I’m honest.’
‘Shows what you know,’ Myrtle said, giving her a wry smile. ‘Think your festival’s goin’ to fix it all? Perk this village up till it’s shiny and new as Daniel’s boots?’
Charlie folded her arms. ‘It’s a start. And it’s more than anyone else seems to be doing.’
‘Don’t see the need for it meself. Do what you will, maid. I’m too old to stand in your way.’
It wasn’t the most gracious acceptance Charlie had ever heard, but she was touched, nonetheless. ‘Thank you, Myrtle. I won’t let Porthgolow down, I promise.’
Myrtle’s benevolent expression evaporated, but Charlie couldn’t resist hugging her.
‘Get off,’ she muttered, squirming in Charlie’s embrace. ‘Idiot cheel.’
Charlie released her. ‘Goodbye, Myrtle, see you later!’
‘Make sure you warn ’em all ’bout Crumblin’ Cliff, up above Reenie’s place,’ the old woman called after her. ‘You fill Porthgolow with cars, it’s an accident waitin’ to happen.’
Charlie waved to let Myrtle know she’d heard, and then went back to Juliette’s to get the dust-buster and rid her bus of the surfers’ sand.
Chapter Eleven
Charlie groaned and stretched her legs out, her bare feet sliding along the beach. ‘Oh, this is bliss.’
‘I thought you’d like it.’ Oliver turned on his side so he was looking at her. His blond hair was tousled, less rigid today, and the blue T-shirt showed off his tanned skin.
Charlie put her hand above her eyes, shielding them from the sun. ‘A pub actually on the beach,’ she said. ‘I feel like I’m in Spain.’
The pub in question was a ten-minute drive up the coast road, nestled in a hidden cove only accessible by walking over sand dunes. Its windows were open to the sea, but Charlie and Oliver had taken their drinks and found a spot a little way from the building.
‘They should change the name, though,’ Charlie said. ‘Sea View sounds far too Seventies, and they could have loads of fun with it. Even something cheesy like Seaside Shack would be better. They need to get Juliette on the case.’
‘Your friend from last weekend? The one you’re staying with?’
Charlie nodded. ‘She’s a digital marketer. She’s been so helpful with Gertie.’
‘The Cornish Cream Tea Bus is a great idea, and perfect for this time of year. Have you got many more gigs lined up?’
‘A few. The weekends are packed with events now summer’s here, and there’s a lot I want to do in Porthgolow, too.’ Charlie sat up and rested her elbows on her knees. ‘It needs a new lease of life. At the moment it’s like stepping back in time, and I reckon this festival could give it a boost. I want it to be a weekly event, like a regular market, good enough that people keep coming back. I’ve got a great selection of food trucks booked for the first one, and I can keep improving, making it bigger and better.’
Oliver laughed. It was a lovely laugh, warm and unashamed.
‘What?’ Charlie said, smiling. ‘Why is that so funny?’
‘It’s not. It’s … you.’
‘I’m funny?’
‘Not funny. You’re not …’ He took a deep breath, and waited a beat before con
tinuing. ‘You’re so relentless. After that first time when it all went wrong, I thought I wouldn’t see you again. Or, at least, I didn’t expect to see the bus. But you didn’t give up.’
‘Giving up’s for losers.’ Charlie wrinkled her nose. ‘No, that’s not fair. It depends on the circumstances. But I didn’t give up because I had to do something with my uncle’s bus. I had to honour his memory. And he always told me to live life to the full. You only get one chance, so make the most of it – he was forever saying that to me. If everyone stopped the moment something went wrong, nobody would stick at anything. You told me you had teething problems with The Marauding Mojito?’
‘It wasn’t all plain sailing, which is why I came to help you out. I know what it’s like to feel out of your depth.’
‘And now you’re an old hand. Old and wizened.’ She laughed at her own joke. Oliver looked so fresh-faced she could imagine he had a painting locked away in an attic somewhere. ‘You are over twenty-one, right?’
Oliver gave her an incredulous look. ‘I’m thirty-three.’
‘Ah. Must be all those mojitos. Do they have magic properties?’
‘Of course. I only sell the best.’
‘Clearly I need to hang out with you more, then. See if a bit of your magic will rub off on me.’ She held his gaze, and the atmosphere shifted. His eyes looked almost golden against the sunset. ‘Shall we go for a walk?’ she asked.
‘Sure.’
He helped her up and they took their glasses back to the bar. They strolled towards the water, and Charlie wished she’d brought Marmite with her. He would have loved this wide beach with its flat sand and rippling breakers. But Juliette had insisted on babysitting him, because Marmite had a habit of getting in the middle of everything. Still, he would have been a useful buffer, especially a moment ago when the space between them had felt charged.
Oliver told her about setting up the cocktail stand with his sister and how she’d sold her share to him when her new husband got a job in Hong Kong. ‘I’ve never had ambitions for anything more,’ he admitted, as they rolled up their jeans and took off their shoes and socks. ‘I get to travel, talk to people all day, sell them delicious mojitos and see them happy. It’s a great life.’
‘You don’t want to settle down, then?’ Charlie dipped her foot in the water. It was cold, despite the lingering heat of the day.
‘Not at the moment. But it doesn’t mean that I’m not interested in doing it eventually. I’m just open to seeing what happens, making the most of what’s out there.’
Charlie nodded and stared at the horizon, the glistening water picking up tones of peach and cherry from the sky.
‘How about you?’ Oliver asked, coming to stand next to her. ‘Have you got any idea what you and your bus are going to do after Cornwall?’
‘After Cornwall?’ She still hadn’t had the conversation with Juliette about staying on, about how she and Lawrence really felt about it. But she had the bit between her teeth now, and the thought of driving out of Porthgolow, leaving her plan only half executed, felt like a betrayal. Everyone had been so nice to her – even Myrtle had started to thaw – and she was sure she had it within her power to help them.
‘You can’t live with your friends for ever.’
‘No, I can’t. But … I’ll see how this festival goes. If I do it once and it flops, then at least I’ve tried. Anyway, I’d rather not think about my future career as a nomad, thank you very much. I love Gertie, but I don’t want to end up living on her, even if Pete did make sure one of the benches upstairs folds out into a bed in case I ever get stuck somewhere overnight.’
‘Smart thinking,’ Oliver said, following her deeper into the water. ‘Lots of people do live on buses.’
‘I’m not knocking it. I just don’t think it’s for me. I like my creature comforts, and I like having space.’ She flung her arms in the air and walked backwards, beckoning him deeper. He obliged.
‘Some people would say that living on a bus you have more space than you know what to do with. You could park up somewhere like here, wake up to this view every morning.’ He gestured for Charlie to stop, but she kept going.
‘Porthgolow has amazing views, and you can see the sea from one corner of Juliette’s garden.’
‘But it’s Juliette’s garden, not yours. Stop now, Charlie, you’re too close to the waves.’
Charlie saw the panic on his face, and laughed. ‘I could get my own place in Porthgolow, if this all works out. I could be the Cornish Indiana Jones, bringing life back to the village like at the end of Temple of Doom, when he returns the stone to its rightful place.’
‘Has Porthgolow lost all its children to an ancient evil cult? You’re going to get soaked.’
‘No, but some people are standing in the way of it flourishing. I get that with the locals who’ve lived there a long time. It’s not easy to watch your home change, to have newcomers – emmets – coming in and making decisions about where you live. That’s why I’m trying to include everyone. But …’ She thought about Juliette’s admission, and the way Daniel had argued for and then against her festival idea at the meeting. She couldn’t quite work out his motivations. Was he as protective of his hotel as some people made out? With people like Myrtle taking against it simply because it was a shiny, new building in their traditional village, she could see why he might be. She was certainly protective of Gertie.
‘But what?’ Oliver asked.
‘It doesn’t matter. Most of the villagers have been nothing but—’ Her word turned to a gasp as an ice-cold wave crashed into her back, knocking the breath out of her. She staggered forward, and Oliver caught her before she fell, laughing as he pulled her out of the sea and up the beach.
She was still gasping, still trying to catch her breath, and Oliver was trying very hard to master a serious expression.
‘I told you not to go any further.’
‘Th-the waves didn’t look that big,’ she stuttered.
‘Do you have a towel in your car? I’ve borrowed a mate’s – easier than bringing the Mojito truck – and I don’t think he’s got anything as civilized.’
‘There’s one in the boot.’ She had been using it to dry Marmite down whenever he’d had a dip in the sea, and she didn’t want to get Juliette’s seats wet. ‘God, what an idiot.’ She wiped her face, cold droplets making her shiver as they ran down her back.
‘You got carried away, that’s all.’ Oliver smiled. ‘And it was pretty funny.’
‘Glad I amuse you,’ she said, grinning back. ‘Ugh, everything feels clingy and cold.’
‘You’d best go back and get dry.’
‘I better had.’
‘I’ve had fun this evening,’ he said softly.
‘Me too. Rogue waves aside.’
‘Another time, then?’
‘I’d like that.’ And she would, she realized, as they strolled back to the car park, Charlie’s jeans rubbing with every step. She didn’t feel a burning attraction towards Oliver, but she enjoyed his company, and who knew what would happen as they got to know each other?
‘I’m counting down to the Porthgolow festival,’ he said when they reached her car. ‘I can’t wait to see you in the role of event-organizer extraordinaire.’
‘Hopefully a world away from the first time you found us.’
‘Undoubtedly. Night, then.’ He kissed her on the cheek. He smelt of sandalwood and sunshine.
‘Goodnight, Ollie.’
‘Give my love to Gertie and Marmite.’
‘I will.’ She watched him walk away, his blond hair dancing in the breeze.
‘I need to have a serious talk with you,’ Charlie said the following morning. ‘And ideally it should be with you and Lawrence, but he’s at work already, isn’t he?’
‘It’s just going to get busier from now on, too. I love that he’s found a job he’s happy with, but sometimes it’s hard to get any time together.’ Juliette typed something on her laptop and then put it asi
de, giving her full attention to Charlie. She was wearing a thin summer dressing gown with songbirds all over it that Charlie loved. ‘Anyway, tell me this serious thing, and I can talk to Lawrence about it this evening.’
‘OK.’ Charlie sat down opposite her and stared at her plate. Her toast was covered in Nutella, but she suddenly had no appetite. ‘I’ve been here since April, which is two months – over two months – and you don’t have that much space to begin with, so—’
‘You’re going back home? But what about this Porthgolow festival? All your plans for The Cornish Cream Tea Bus?’ Juliette’s eyes were wide. ‘I was looking forward to having you around, to us doing more together.’
‘So was I,’ Charlie said, relief coursing through her. ‘I wasn’t planning on going home.’
‘You weren’t? So then why—’
‘Because I was worried I’d outstayed my welcome. I love being here, and so does Marmite. And I want to do all those things you said: organize a festival on the beach, take Gertie around Cornwall selling traditional Cornish cream teas. But I don’t want to be merrily enjoying my life here when all the time you and Lawrence are wondering how to come up with a polite way to send me packing.’
‘Oh God, Charlie! That is not how it is at all. We love having you here – I promise. Stay for ever!’
‘For ever?’
‘As long as you want. The summer, at least. I want to be a part of the Porthgolow festival.’
‘You do?’
‘Definitely.’
‘That’s brilliant, Jules. And thank you. You have no idea how much it means that I can stay. I feel so much more positive since I’ve been here with you.’
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