The Beach Café

by Lucy Diamond

  It had been the best summer of my life. As soon as his mates had returned from their travels and he’d handed back the dog, Ed had moved in with me and had been at my side ever since. I loved him. I absolutely loved him. He made me laugh, he made me happy, and I fancied him more than any man I’d ever met. Those post-coital bacon sandwiches of his were pretty unbeatable too.

  With him back in the sack – I mean, saddle – alongside me, we’d pushed the café along together. We contracted out the pasties to Wendy, who made them up at home and delivered batches every day or two; we had branched out into catering for weddings and parties; and we’d splashed out on a new gazebo for the deck area, so that we could run an evening menu every Friday and Saturday night of the summer, whatever the weather. We were going from strength to strength and, after Phoebe’s dad sent one of his colleagues from The Times to review the café for the Saturday colour supplement one day in August, we’d been rushed off our feet for the rest of the season.

  Ed, on the advice of his solicitor, had pressed for damages following the court case, and we’d recently heard that he was going to be receiving a large sum of cash in February. He’d asked me how I’d feel about him investing money in expanding the café and I’d hesitated initially, remembering what Jo had always said: Never confuse business with your love life. But then I’d looked at his earnest, lovely face and I knew that Jo would have been delighted I’d met such a good, good man. ‘That sounds brilliant,’ I’d told him happily.

  ‘The only thing is,’ he’d said, ‘we might need to have a long, hot holiday while the building work is taking place. I reckon there’d be enough money to go somewhere really amazing for a few weeks. What do you think?’

  ‘I think – you’re ace,’ I’d replied, throwing my arms around him. ‘You know, I’ve always wanted to go to India . . .’

  He’d grinned. ‘Then let’s do it,’ he said. ‘I can never say no to a Goan fish curry.’

  In the meantime we were going to take things down a gear at the café, opening at weekends only, and having some time off during the week. Our Thursday ladies’ night was still as popular as ever, and I’d been thinking of starting a photography club one evening in the café too. Ed had been asked if he’d run a cookery course for the villagers and was also teaching me to surf. It was all good.

  Meanwhile, onscreen, the programme had begun, with the camera panning around a deserted-looking housing estate. There were smashed windows, litter blew about the pavement, and the small play-park had been vandalized and was covered in graffiti. ‘The politicians and historians tell us that society has broken down,’ went the commentary, ‘that there’s no such thing as community any more, that our population has become insular, man desensitized to fellow man. The original purpose of this documentary was to examine the causes of this so-called broken society, and to look at the effects it has had on us all.’

  ‘Cheery,’ someone commented, to a ripple of giggles.

  ‘However,’ the voiceover continued, ‘as we travelled around the country, from inner cities to rural countryside, from industrial centres to holiday destinations’ – a shot flashed up of the bay and everyone let out what can only be described as squeals – ‘we began to question the validity of this original assumption. We began to wonder whether Britain really was quite so broken after all. Our first stop was Bristol, where we visited the area of St Pauls . . .’

  The screen showed streets of Georgian and Victorian houses, and I felt my concentration lapse, too jittery to listen properly as the commentary went through a brief history of this part of the city. ‘Yeah, yeah, get to the good bit,’ someone muttered behind me, and I laughed, agreeing entirely.

  My phone buzzed with a text from my mum. Can’t wait to see your café on TV, darling, it read. Dad and I watching, and so proud of you. Xxx

  I was still getting used to my parents being proud of me. It was a new experience for us all, and one that made me feel warm inside. They’d come to stay in August, and had just radiated pride and happiness from the moment they had stepped into the café. ‘You’re in your element here, just like Jo was,’ Mum had said, more than once, marvelling at all the events we were running, and how brisk trade was. ‘You’re doing so well, Evie!’

  ‘We’re so happy for you,’ Dad had said, hugging me. ‘Well done, love.’

  Their words had wrapped around me like the warmest, cosiest blanket. Maybe I was just a big old saddo for still wanting my parents to be proud of me, but damn it, it felt so good. No longer was I the black sheep of the family or a failure. I felt like an equal at last, that I’d found my niche and was thriving. Louise and her family had come to stay for a couple of weekends too, as had Ruth again, and I found myself in the new and rather lovely position of ‘favourite aunty’. Sure, I think the free ice creams had helped swing this honour, but it was still wonderful to feel loved.

  I read the text from my mum again, feeling choked up, and showed Amber, who was sitting next to me. ‘Bless her,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m proud too, mate. The girl’s done good.’

  ‘And so have you,’ I reminded her. ‘Miss New Nurse on Holby City ! I’m going to be flogging your autograph once you’ve gone, you know.’

  She laughed and pretended to scoff, but I could tell she was dead chuffed. After all her millions of auditions and try-outs and bit parts, Amber had finally struck gold with a six-month contract to appear in Holby City as the outspoken new ward sister that everyone loved to hate. Her first episode had just gone out and she’d picked up some fab reviews on the back of it. The tabloids and magazines were already queuing up to interview her and, best of all, she was acting with a hot bloke called David, who played one of the male nurses. According to Amber, there was definitely some offscreen chemistry between them and she was crossing her fingers for some steamy games of doctors and nurses in private in the very near future.

  Up on the TV, the St Pauls footage had finished, and the pub went silent as we waited to see where the focus of the documentary would be next. ‘Coming up: a piece of Portugal in south London, and why the locals all like to be beside this particular seaside,’ went the commentary. The whole pub cheered once more as there was a two-second flash of the bay onscreen.

  The adverts began and there was a rush for the bar. Then I heard familiar Aussie voices, as Rachel and Leah burst into the pub, with Craig and Luke close behind. ‘We haven’t missed it, have we?’ Rachel cried anxiously, glancing up at the telly.

  ‘Don’t worry, we haven’t been on yet,’ I said, smiling over at her. Craig and Rachel had been happily together ever since he’d appeared in Carrawen, and Leah had met Luke a month ago at a surfing festival in Newquay. By one of those perfect coincidences, they lived about twenty minutes away from each other in Melbourne. It was definitely fate. I was really going to miss Rachel and Leah, my right-hand girls. They were heading off at the weekend for a whistle-stop tour of Europe with their men, having worked tirelessly and cheerfully all summer for us. The café wasn’t going to be the same without them. But all good things had to come to an end, right?

  Well, not always. The good thing I’d had with Saul, for example, seemed to be carrying on, with or without Matthew chaperoning us. True to her promise, Emily had brought him to visit me, and I’d almost cried with happiness to see him again. Ed had taken up the reins in the café while I spent a lovely afternoon with Saul, Emily and Dan on the beach, making sandcastles, paddling and teaching Saul to bodysurf. ‘Thank you for this,’ I said to Emily, while Saul and Dan busied themselves digging a ginormous trench down to the sea. ‘I’ve really missed spending time with Saul. He’s just the nicest boy in the world.’

  ‘Oh, he is, isn’t he?’ Emily replied, smiling, as we watched him chatting to a boy who’d come to help with the digging. ‘He’s been so excited about seeing you again, too. And . . .’ She fiddled with her sunglasses as she tried to find the right words. ‘And it’s nice to get to know you better as well, Evie. Matthew was an idiot, letting you go. And letting me g
o too, come to that. I can’t think what he sees in this Jasmine woman. She’s got about as much personality as . . . as a tin of magnolia paint. Not a patch on either of us, frankly.’

  I’d laughed, liking Emily much more now that she was in laid-back holiday mode. ‘Well, his loss,’ I said. ‘Although I can’t imagine being with Matthew any more, I must say. I don’t think we were right for each other at all.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘But all’s well that ends well, right? Looks like everything’s turned out pretty bloody brilliantly for you since you broke up.’

  I smiled and held up crossed fingers. ‘So far so good,’ I said.

  Back in the pub, an excited hush fell over everyone as the second part of the programme started. ‘Here we go,’ Ed said, nudging me. Then, to cheers and shouts, the screen showed our bay, the camera panning from one side of the beach to the other. ‘Tucked away in north Cornwall is the small seaside village of Carrawen Bay,’ went the commentary. ‘To the public, it’s an idyllic resort with a pretty beach and thatched cottages. But what about the people who live there all year round? Has the local community been splintered by second-home owners and the hordes of holidaymakers?’

  ‘Course it hasn’t,’ somebody shouted, and the whole pub laughed.

  ‘We met the manager of the local café, Evie Flynn, who, as a newcomer to the village herself, is passionate about keeping the Carrawen community alive and kicking,’ the commentary went on. I blushed furiously as an image of me behind the café counter appeared onscreen. Somebody wolf-whistled and I could hardly bring myself to watch, peeping out through my fingers at the TV. ‘By day, Evie serves the holidaymakers their Cornish pasties and cream teas, but in the evenings she has made the café a centre where the villagers can get together. The book group meets here, as does the local band, and Evie also holds a regular “girls’ night in” evening for the women of Carrawen Bay.’ An enormous scream went up as some footage appeared of our Tuesday girls’ night, the one I’d thought couldn’t possibly happen after the roof came down the night before.

  ‘There’s me!’

  ‘Look at Wendy!’

  ‘There’s Flo, looking glam.’

  ‘And our Nora!’

  ‘In fact,’ continued the voiceover, ‘on the day we arrived to start filming in Carrawen, there had been a heavy storm and the café had been damaged. And something extraordinary happened.’

  Now the screen showed Alec and Jono hard at work on the roof, Tim sawing pieces of wood to fit the ceiling repairs, other people cleaning the floor, Wendy handing out her pasties with a wink and a wiggle . . .

  Tears filled my eyes, remembering that day, and I gripped Ed’s hand. He squeezed it tight and gave me a kiss.

  ‘Who can say Britain is broken, when a whole village comes to help a friend in need?’ asked the voiceover man, and I had to blow my nose, feeling quite overcome. Who indeed?

  When the programme finished, I think everyone felt emotional. Carrawen Bay had been on primetime TV – and hadn’t we done well? Hadn’t we shown the world that our village, our community, our people, were all things to be proud of ?

  OMG just saw u on TV came a text from Phoebe. U R FAMOUS! I smiled. Phoebe had phoned a few times during the summer, and was doing okay. She’d moved out of her parents’ house for a while to stay with her friend Zoe, but she was loved up with the legendary Will Francis, the hottest seventeen-year-old in Earlsfield, so things weren’t all bad. She was back at college and sounded happy, which was the main thing.

  I stood on my chair, feeling tipsy and exultant. ‘Who’s up for a party on the beach?’ I yelled. The cheers in reply almost blasted me off my feet. I grinned. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. Come on, then. To the beach!’

  Ed, Amber and I led the way, hand-in-hand, down to the bay, a happy crowd following. The sky was growing darker and the first cool breezes of autumn slipped around us, the light summer evenings already long gone, but the beach was as full of people as if it was a blazing hot afternoon. Craig, Luke and some of the other guys got a bonfire roaring, Elizabeth from the book group popped the first champagne cork, and soon everyone was tucking into hot dogs, spicy pumpkin soup and ginger cake, their faces lit by the golden glow of the fire.

  There was Annie, who’d saved enough money from her cake-baking to take herself and Martha away for a holiday abroad, for the first time ever. There was Jamie, who had sold at least twenty of his paintings through the café over the summer and was starting a fine-art degree course at Falmouth in a few weeks. There was Florence, surrounded by a group of new friends, and there was even Seb, who’d got ten straight As in his GCSEs, bless him.

  I looked around at all these people I’d got to know and I felt a strong and wonderful sense that I belonged here, with them. This was my home, these were my friends, and there was nowhere on Earth I’d rather be.

  ‘Cheers to us all,’ Ed called out, raising his glass in the air. ‘Cheers!’

  ‘CHEERS!’ everyone called back in a joyful roar.

  Ed leaned down and kissed me, and I kissed him back. And I knew that even though I’d just had the best summer of my life, the following autumn and winter and spring were going to be every bit as good, with this man by my side. I couldn’t wait to find out what happened next.

  Lucy Diamond’s five favourite beaches

  Like Evie, I’m a beach bum at heart and can think of nothing better than swimming in the sea or soaking up the rays on the sand. Here are my favourite beaches, and the reasons why:

  Coogee Beach, Sydney, Australia

  I lived a stone’s throw from this beach for three months while I was working in Sydney, and will probably never live anywhere as beautiful again! As well as sunbathing and beach barbecues, I also loved swimming in the open pool carved into the rocks at one side. Oh, and of course, raucous nights at the famous CBH bar too.

  Brighton Beach, Brighton, England

  We lived in Brighton for five years and I have a very soft spot for this beach. Perfect for people-watching, strolling along the prom or whiling away a sunny afternoon at one of the many funky beachside cafés and bars. Fab.

  Haad Rin Beach, Koh Phangan, Thailand

  I stayed in a wooden shack on this beach for a couple of weeks while I was travelling. It was wonderful opening the little shutters every morning and seeing the sea just metres away. I went to one of the legendary Full Moon beach parties there too, dancing till the sun rose. Unforgettable.

  Sennen Cove, Cornwall, England

  My parents went here for their honeymoon and took us back to Sennen for many family holidays when I was growing up. I have happy memories of surfing with my dad, swimming and sandcastle-building. And fish and chips for tea, of course!

  Lyme Regis, Dorset, England

  My husband proposed to me on the Cobb at Lyme Regis and it was one of the most romantic moments of my life. A lovely beach with an old-fashioned seaside feel and lots of character.

  How to make the perfect Cornish Cream Tea

  CLASSIC SCONE RECIPE

  (serves 8)

  350 g self-raising flour

  ¼ tsp salt

  1 tsp baking powder

  85 g butter

  3 tbsp caster sugar

  175 ml milk

  1 beaten egg (to glaze)

  Heat the oven to 220°C/gas mark 7. Mix the flour, salt and baking powder. Cut the butter into cubes then rub in to the flour mixture until it resembles breadcrumbs. Stir in the sugar, then make a well in the mixture.

  Warm the milk then pour it into the dry mix and stir to combine to a dough.

  Sprinkle your work surface and hands with flour, then tip out the dough. Fold it over a few times, then pat into a round approximately 4 cm deep.

  Take a 5 cm cutter and dip it into some flour. Cut four scones from this round, then reshape the remaining mixture to cut another four. Brush the tops with the beaten egg, and put on a baking tray.

  Bake for 10 minutes until risen and golden.

  Serve your sco
nes warm or cold, with butter, clotted cream and jam, plus a pot of tea and your nicest crockery. Sea view preferable but not essential. Enjoy!

  LUCY DIAMOND is the author of several internationally bestselling children’s novels, written under a different name. She lives in Bath with her husband and their three children. The Beach Café is her fifth novel

  By the same author

  Any Way You Want Me

  Over You

  Hens Reunited

  Sweet Temptation

  Acknowledgements

  Huge thanks to Jenny Geras for her editorial input, and to the rest of the team at Pan for being so wonderful – Thalia, Chloe, Ellen, Michelle and Jeremy. Thanks to Simon Trewin at United Agents for helping me develop the original idea, and to Imogen Taylor, who said that all-important first ‘yes’ to this book.

  Finally, my thanks as always to Martin, for the pep talks and support, for the willingness to discuss my characters with me as if they were real people, and for holding the fort so admirably when I went off to Cornwall to research the perfect beach and write about it. Did I tell you I’m planning to set my next novel in the Seychelles?

  First published 2011 by Pan Books

  This electronic edition published 2011 by Pan Books

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited

  Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Basingstoke and Oxford

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-4472-0520-3 EPUB

  Copyright © Lucy Diamond 2011

  The right of Lucy Diamond to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.