The Beach Café

by Lucy Diamond

  Shuddering, I hurried round to the front of the café. The beach was deserted after the recent storm, and the sea looked furiously grey, bursting over the rocks with great fountains of white, lacy spray. Wooden steps led up to the decking area outside the café, and as I climbed them, the first thing I saw was an old drink carton lying right in the middle of the deck. More rubbish. Brilliant.

  I tutted and picked it up, then noticed that the outdoor chairs had all been left upright during the recent cloudburst and had rain puddles on their seats. Shaking my head crossly, I went around tipping them against the tables so that the water would drain away. God, this wasn’t a good start. I hoped things were better inside.

  I took a deep breath, trying to give Carl and the staff the benefit of the doubt. The drink carton might have been dropped just a minute or so ago after all, by someone leaving the café, or perhaps had been blown there by the wind. The bins . . . Well, it was easy to forget them, I supposed. Hopefully once I had given everyone a reminder, it wouldn’t happen again. No real harm was done.

  I went inside, badly in need of a reviving coffee after my long journey, but winced immediately at the sound of loud reggae blasting out from the kitchen. Jo had always had the radio on – a cute retro radio that she kept perched on the counter. It wasn’t there any more though. (Had it been nicked? I wondered darkly.)

  The café wasn’t busy – an elderly couple sat nursing a pot of tea on a table for two, and a family with two squirming little girls were in the far corner. A petite woman with ash-blonde hair was at the counter and she rolled her eyes when she saw me. ‘Don’t hold your breath for the service,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting here five minutes already. Think he’s having his own private party in there, or something.’

  I felt dismayed, and cross too, at this. ‘Sorry,’ I said, going behind the counter and dumping my bag there. I grabbed an apron from the nail and briskly put it on. ‘What can I get you?’

  The girl goggled in surprise. ‘Oh! Do you work here?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Well, sort of. What would you like?’

  ‘Two white teas, a black coffee, a latte and a Coke, please. And have you got any cakes?’

  It was only then I noticed that the plates where Jo’s magnificent cakes were usually displayed were empty, save for a few stale crumbs. Nice. ‘I’ll find out,’ I said, scribbling down the order. I felt slightly dazed. I hadn’t expected to get stuck in to hands-on café life quite so quickly. ‘Give me a minute,’ I said. Then I went into the kitchen.

  The reggae was even louder in there, making the windows vibrate with the booming bass. Carl had his back to me, stirring something pungent and spicy at the hob, completely oblivious to anything else.

  ‘Carl!’ I said, bristling with annoyance. What was he playing at? And what was he cooking, anyway? It smelled like curry, and I knew that wasn’t something Jo had ever had on the menu. ‘Carl!’ I said again, when he didn’t seem to hear.

  I snapped off the stereo at the wall and the room went quiet. He swung round instantly, and did a double-take as he saw me there.

  ‘What’s up? What’s going on?’ he asked.

  ‘I could ask you the same,’ I replied. My voice sounded snotty and cold, but I didn’t care. ‘There’s a customer out there, said she’s been waiting for five minutes. And the music’s too loud, and I saw a rat outside, and there’s litter everywhere!’ I stopped abruptly as his face darkened. Oops. So much for not going in on the attack.

  ‘Chill out, man,’ he said, waving a hand. ‘It’s all under control.’

  ‘Really,’ I said flatly. ‘That’s not how it looks from here.’ I folded my arms across my chest, feeling my face turn pink. I wasn’t good with confrontation at the best of times. ‘Anyway, can we get these drinks for the customer, please? Oh, and is there any cake?’

  ‘Cake’s all gone,’ he said. ‘Not my thing. What drinks does she want?’

  I rattled off the order, not liking the way he looked at me so sneeringly. ‘I’ll get the Coke,’ I said.

  He turned down the heat under the pan of curry and wiped his hands on his apron. ‘I’ll just do everything else then, shall I?’ he said.

  I stared after him, fuming at his rudeness. ‘Well, that is your job,’ I muttered savagely under my breath. Honestly! How had Jo ever managed to work with such a tosser? Two minutes of being in a confined space with him and I was spitting tacks.

  I stuck my head in the store cupboard, wondering what else I could offer the girl, seeing as there were no cakes. The stock seemed very low, I thought, scratching my head as I gazed around. Back when I had worked there, the cupboard had always been full of boxes of different-flavoured crisps, and cartons and cans of soft drinks, as well as industrial-sized packets of tea, filter coffee, sugar and all Jo’s baking ingredients. Today most of the crisp boxes seemed empty – apart from a few lonely packets of prawn cocktail – and there seemed to have been a flour explosion on the floor. And what had happened to all the soft drinks? I couldn’t see any.

  Thankfully there were still a couple of cans of Coke in the fridge behind the counter, so I took one out. ‘I’m afraid we’re out of cakes, but we have some crisps, if you want those?’ I asked my customer, holding up a pink packet in each hand.

  ‘Um . . .’ Her face fell, and she shook her head. ‘No, don’t worry about it. I’ll get something from the shop up the road, thanks.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, my smile feeling like an ache.

  ‘Two teas, two coffees, one black, one white,’ Carl said, dumping them on the counter. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said, glancing from me to him. She paid and left, and Carl stalked back into the kitchen, where the music started up again, pounding at top volume.

  I stood for a second, wondering what I should do next. What I really wanted was to take my things upstairs to the flat, unpack and have a quick shower to blast away the grubby feeling I always got after a long car journey. But I could already imagine Carl muttering something sarcastic if I slipped away, and didn’t want him to have any reason to have a go at me. No, I needed to stay here, get my hands dirty and show that I meant business.

  I noticed that the old lady had winced as the music came back on and was pulling a face at her companion. Neither of them appreciated it, by the looks of things. I bustled over to their table, with damage limitation in mind. ‘Is everything all right?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, no,’ the lady said apologetically. ‘Could the music be turned down a bit, do you think? We can’t hear each other.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Right away. Can I get you anything else while I’m here?’

  She shook her head. ‘We were hoping to have a cream tea, but it seems to be off the menu. Will you be getting more scones in tomorrow? Only we always treat ourselves every year when we’re down here on holiday, and . . .’

  ‘I’ve just got here today, but I’ll see what I can do,’ I promised her. I’d make the flipping scones myself, if I had to, I vowed. If they’d been coming here on holiday for years, looking forward to a cream tea at Jo’s, it felt crucial they could still have that. The show must go on! bellowed Freddie Mercury in my head.

  I marched into the kitchen and turned down the stereo. ‘It’s really loud out there,’ I said to Carl. ‘A couple of people have complained.’

  He just shrugged. Don’t care. BOTHERED!

  ‘What are you cooking there, anyway?’ I asked. ‘Is this a new dish for the menu?’ It was good that he was taking the initiative, I told myself. Great that he was experimenting.

  ‘I’ve got some mates coming over tonight,’ he replied. ‘Said I’d do them something to eat.’

  I stared at the greenish-brown curry, then up at him. ‘What – here, in the café?’ I asked. ‘But I thought it was always closed after five?’

  Another shrug. What’s it to you? ‘Friday night is poker night,’ he said. ‘I told the lads they could come over here.’

  I pursed my lips.
‘Right. So this curry you’re making – it’s not even to sell, is it? It’s got nothing to do with the business.’

  He gave me a look of disdain. ‘Have you got a problem with that?’

  I ran a hand through my hair. ‘Well, yes, I have actually, Carl. This is work time – you’re meant to be serving here in the café. And I don’t want this place turned into a . . . a gambling den in the evenings, for you and your mates.’ Snotty, snotty, snotty. I sounded like an ice-princess, but I couldn’t stop myself. Was that where all the soft drinks had vanished to? I wondered. Carl’s mates coming round, helping themselves?

  ‘Look, love,’ he said, loading the word with sarcasm. ‘You can’t just waltz in, telling me what to do, giving me the I’m-the-boss line. It’s not been easy here, you know – running out of stock, bills coming in.’ He spread his hands wide, glaring at me. ‘Where were you then, eh?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I—’ I tried, but he was in full flow now, unstoppable.

  ‘Yeah, exactly. You weren’t here. You don’t know the half of it, so don’t start dishing the shit before you’ve got the full story.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘You’re right, I don’t know the full story, but when I come in and see the place in such a state, I can’t help but jump to conclusions.’

  He made a tch noise between his teeth and I took a deep breath.

  ‘Look, let’s start again,’ I said. ‘We’ve got off on the wrong foot, but I’m here now, so let’s try to straighten things out.’

  There was an uneasy silence and for a split-second I thought he was going to tell me to eff off and storm out. Then he nodded. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good,’ I said briskly, trying not to show my relief. ‘Look, it’s quiet at the moment. Why don’t we both grab a coffee and have a chat.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Milk, two sugars for me.’

  Right. So I’d be making them then. It was on the tip of my tongue to say ‘Please’, in the way that my mum had always done when we were kids, but I held it back and went meekly to the coffee machine. ‘Um . . .’ I said helplessly, wondering which button to press. This was a much whizzier model than Jo had had when I’d worked here all those years ago.

  He’d come out behind the counter and was watching me. ‘Christ, can’t you even work a coffee machine?’ he snorted. ‘I’d better show you, if you’re going to be sticking around. Watch and learn, Boss Lady.’

  Gritting my teeth, I stepped to the side while he showed me how to make cappuccinos, americanos and espressos. ‘No problem,’ I said haughtily, although I’d already forgotten half his instructions. I’d swot up with the machine’s manual later on, I promised myself, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of my asking for any more help.

  Just then the dad from the family in the corner appeared at the counter looking really pissed off as he held a plate of half-eaten sandwiches. He had rimless rectangular glasses and a prominent Adam’s apple, and he was wearing a pastel-pink polo shirt. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, his Adam’s apple jerking as he spoke. ‘The ham in these sandwiches – I think it’s off. It smells awful.’

  I peeled back the bread of one of them, noting the measly scrape of margarine and the soggy shreds of lettuce, and held the plate up to my nose. Then I recoiled in disgust. ‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘That smells vile.’ The ham was shiny and bright pink, really nasty, cheap-looking stuff. ‘I think you’re right,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry. Let me make you another.’

  His lips tightened to a bloodless line. ‘The thing is, my daughter’s already eaten half of it,’ he said. ‘And if she comes down with food poisoning, I’m not going to be happy. In fact, I’ll be going straight to the council. I’m really appalled that you could even serve this up in the first place.’ His Adam’s apple was moving so agitatedly now that I felt mesmerized by it. ‘What’s happened to this café? We’ve been coming here for years and always loved the food. But now . . .’

  I felt like crying. I couldn’t look Carl in the eye. Didn’t he have a clue about food hygiene? Even an idiot could see that the ham looked dodgy. ‘I’m really sorry,’ I said again. ‘Let me make you something else. Carl, have we got any more ham?’

  He shook his head. ‘I said, didn’t I, we’ve been running out of stock?’ he muttered, as if that was any excuse.

  ‘Yes, but . . . Look, we’ll talk about this later,’ I hissed, before turning back to the man. But he’d already returned to his wife and kids.

  ‘Don’t eat another mouthful,’ I heard him saying to them. ‘Let’s go and find somewhere else to have tea. This place has gone way downhill.’

  My face burned with shame as they walked out, one of the kids bursting into tears as they went. ‘But I’m hun-greee,’ she sobbed, tears plopping from her big blue eyes. I was just about to bung them the prawn-cocktail crisps – ‘On the house!’ – but by the time I’d snatched up the packets, they’d left.

  Oh God. I felt myself drooping against the counter with dismay. The man was right. The café had gone downhill – worryingly downhill. At this rate, I wouldn’t be able to stop it before it crashed all the way down to rock bottom.

  Chapter Six

  I got the feeling Carl wasn’t very keen on taking orders from me. Even though I tried to be supportive of him that afternoon – asking in a kindly, managerial manner how I could make things better in the café, and what needed doing – he still wasn’t accepting any responsibility for the way he’d let things slide. That was all my fault, he kept implying, for not being around to look after the place. And yeah, you guessed it, it ended up being me who went outside to clean up the car park later that afternoon, keeping a nervous eye out for ratty interlopers, while he sloped off with his vat of curry, to rearrange the wretched poker night for an alternative venue.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Matthew asked when I called him that evening. ‘Have you got Rick Stein worried yet?’

  ‘Ha,’ I said. ‘Not quite. Oh God, it’s been really shit actually,’ I went on, unable to stop myself from breaking into a wail. I poured out my woes: the reaction from Betty when I’d walked into her shop, the litter, the music, the poker night, the ham sandwich, the hundreds of pounds I’d just shelled out at the cash-and-carry to give us any kind of stock. As I reeled them off, the problems all seemed to close in around me like black clouds. What the hell had I got myself into? What kind of fool was I, thinking I could come down here and pick up the reins, just like that?

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Matthew said, when I’d finally finished. ‘What a nightmare.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘It almost makes me want to go back to work for that pervert at Crossland. It’s that bad. I mean, what if the little girl is really ill after eating that revolting ham sandwich? It could be curtains for the café. History. I’ll be sued, and bankrupt, and—’

  ‘Talking of Crossland,’ he interrupted, ignoring my dramatics. ‘Your temp agency rang, wanting to speak to you. I’ve given them your mobile number, they didn’t seem to have it.’

  I pulled a face. There was a reason they didn’t have my mobile number. ‘Oh God, they’re probably ringing up to bollock me for walking out of that other job. Great. Well, that’s something to look forward to.’

  I must have sounded thoroughly miserable because his tone softened. ‘Evie – you don’t have to put yourself through all this, you know. You can just—’

  ‘Sell it, yeah, I know. I’ve been bloody tempted today, believe me.’ I heaved a sigh. ‘I’d better go, anyway. I need to make some scones for tomorrow.’

  ‘You?’ He was laughing now. ‘You, make scones?’

  ‘Yeah, all right,’ I said, feeling defensive. ‘Don’t scoff.’

  ‘I won’t, don’t worry,’ he assured me, still laughing. ‘Not if you’ve baked them, anyway.’

  I laughed as well. ‘Very funny,’ I told him. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you.’

  ‘You too,’ he said.

  I put the phone down, and sank back into the sofa. Jo’s sofa. It still smelled faintl
y of the Issey Miyake perfume she’d always worn, and I felt a pang of missing her as I breathed it in. She’d lived here for years and years – for some of the time with Andrew, a guy with whom she’d had a long and complicated relationship before he’d died of throat cancer a few years ago. They’d had terrible arguments about this place, though; he wanted her to sell up and for them to take on a bigger and fancier restaurant in Newquay together. She hadn’t wanted to. ‘Never confuse business with your love life,’ she’d been fond of saying. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ And she hadn’t.

  Andrew hadn’t been the only one on her case. I’d found out in recent years that my grandparents – Jo’s parents – had always been disapproving of her decision to settle in Cornwall and live the beach life. Back in the day, they’d been keen for her to marry the young vicar from the Hampshire village where Jo and my mum had been brought up, and couldn’t understand it when Jo went off gallivanting around the world instead. Jo and Andrew had never married, and were unable to have children, and therefore Jo had failed in her parents’ eyes. Forget the fact that she was happy, that she had her own successful business, that she was living the life she’d always wanted – that didn’t seem important to them.

  ‘Well, I thought you were brilliant, Jo,’ I said aloud now as I remembered the tight, pinched expression on my grandmother’s face whenever Jo had been discussed. ‘I thought you got it spot on.’

  It was weird being in the flat without her; it didn’t feel right at all. The room I was in, her living room, had the most perfect view overlooking the beach and sea – the sort of view you could never tire of gazing at. She’d painted the walls a warm creamy-white and kept the decor simple and unfussy: a seascape painting over the fireplace, a couple of blue-glass vases and . . . My eyes widened as they fell on a collection of framed photographs above the low whitewashed bookcase. Hey! I recognized those.