Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun

by Samantha Tonge

  Such an innocent gesture felt good. Comfortable. One hundred percent right. And—unnervingly—ten times more of a turn-on than getting hands-on, snogging Lucas. Lucas. Oh God. What a mess.

  CHAPTER 14

  How adorable. The first guests on Monday afternoon were the Jones family—meet Shirl, Earl and Pearl. That is a mum and dad with a seven-year-old daughter who had the cutest choochy cheeks and tightest black Afro curls. Big smiles. Thumbs-up. Lots of thanks to reception. Just what we needed. ‘Best of luck with the rebrand, mate,’ Earl said to Tremain, who was personally taking them to their lodge. He and I smiled at each other. We’d barely had time for a chat since Saturday night. Yesterday he’d darted around the resort with a clipboard, helping housekeeping and updating the information folders in each chalet with the week’s activity and entertainment plan, plus Rocky Roadhouse’s new menus. We’d caught each other’s eye occasionally, me getting the tickliest sensation in my stomach.

  I spent most of the day to-ing and fro-ing from Guvnah’s, deep-frying, filling and decorating doughnuts and delivering them back, on site, to Izzy. She’d stayed at the resort, using the second-hand fryer she’d bought. Between us we made a great array, most of them in Tupperware boxes for the week, but some on display. When I’d returned from Guvnah’s last night, Tremain was apparently snowed under, in the office, doing last-minute updates to paperwork. Kensa cornered me. Squeezed my shoulder. Said that to her amazement, since Saturday, Tremain had seemed more cheerful. She’d probed me to see if Tremain had fully explained what happened two years ago I made it clear that he hadn’t. Curious as I was, I didn’t want to trick Kensa into revealing his secret. Tremain had to tell me himself. If he wanted to share, he’d do it in his own time. If not, I could understand how sometimes, despite what counsellors said, the only of coping was to internalise stuff.

  Geoff was already outside, frying onions for his hot dogs. I exited the reception building with Tremain and the Jones family. Oh my, what a savoury, caramelised smell wafted our way.

  Earl patted his generous belly, which slightly overhung the top of his shorts. ‘We didn’t have time to stop off for lunch and don’t really want to wait to make sandwiches.’

  Shirl smiled and peered out from under her black dreadlocks. ‘Guess a burger or a hot dog wouldn’t hurt. After all, we are on holiday.’

  ‘Yay!’ said Pearl and punched the air, looking cute in a mini version of her dad’s red football shirt. Earl took the site map from Tremain. ‘Don’t worry about showing us the way.’ He jerked his head towards the drive. Four cars had pulled up. ‘Looks like you’re in for a busy few hours. We’ll go and suss it out on foot, while we eat, and then come back to pick up our car.’

  Tremain nodded and took me to one side. ‘Everything all set for the disco evening? It kicks off at seven, right?’

  I gave him the thumbs-up.

  We smiled at each other. Both of us cleared our throat. I couldn’t help staring at that little scar above his lip. It reminded me of that scar on his torso. Was that anything to do with the roses on the beach?

  ‘Right. So. Perhaps I’ll see you later,’ he said.

  ‘Why not pop by for a doughnut?’ I forced myself to look away from the lips that had reawakened parts of me on Saturday night. ‘Made by my fair hands. Payment, if you like, for that omelette after our wet day on the beach.’

  ‘About that … we’re good, right.? You … you don’t think I’m some kind of nutter? Roses … yelling on the golf course?’

  I leant forward and kissed his cheek. ‘Nuts are good. You ask Izzy. Our peanut-butter crème doughnut is the top seller.’

  He took my hand and looked down at it, before raising it to his mouth. His kiss sent hot waves of pleasure to places that I’d almost forgotten existed. ‘Thanks, Kate. I don’t think I said that at the time.’ Shyly, he looked up. ‘I’d like to get to know you better, if that’s all right? Guess it takes one nutter to know another.’

  I swallowed. Squeezed his fingers and then grinned. ‘Speak for yourself! I’m one of the most rational, logical people I know.’

  He raised one eyebrow. ‘I don’t know many people who eat omelette between two slices of bread or pour their beer into a wine glass.’

  With mock disapproval, I pulled away my hand. ‘Clearly I am way too sophisticated for you.’

  However, I grinned back at him; felt all fuzzy inside. On closer inspection, those leaf-green eyes had such a depth of colour—shades of pine, moss and seaweed. Whereas Lucas’s charcoal irises seemed more one-dimensional. Oh, my days. Listen to me. What a difference one weekend can make.

  A lightness entered my chest as the realisation dawned on me—impressing Saffron, finding this plus-one for the wedding, now wasn’t as important. Lucas was charming. Broody. Would no doubt be seductive as hell if shirtless and brandishing a scythe. But the appeal was on the surface only. Whereas kissing Tremain had moved the core of me. I wanted to know his past, his present, his regrets, his dreams …

  ‘See you later then—for one of those peanut-butter beauties.’ Consulting his clipboard again, Tremain headed back to the reception building.

  As it happened, there were hardly any doughnuts left and for the next day we’d need to thaw out more trays than planned. Many families arrived at around 3 p.m., in between lunch and dinner, so that when they spotted the doughnut counter it seemed like the perfect snack. Those with a less sweet tooth, stopped at Geoff’s van before checking out their chalet. By the time six o’clock came, in other words cocktail o’clock, there were no doughnuts left decorated with anchors, flags or Rocky Rabbits.

  ‘I see you’ve already taken a dip in the pool, Pearl,’ I said, as she sat in the café-bar, eating the mini pizza doughnuts their mum and dad had ordered with their Mojitos. Her wet hair curled tighter than ever and wet armbands lay on the tiled floor. In her hands, she clutched one of the white Rocky Rabbit cuddly toys. Shirl looked down at her towelling sarong.

  ‘Not the usual outfit I wear when I’m out for a drink. And I don’t think I’ve ever been to a specialised cocktail bar before. Wait until the girls at the office hear about this. They’re all youngsters, out every weekend—this will give me some much-needed street credibility.’

  She grinned and then took a sip. Shirl glanced at her husband. Ooh. Usually customers closed their eyes or made some appreciative noise. Instead she put down her glass and grabbed a mouthful of savoury batter.

  ‘Could have made one of these better myself,’ said a snooty voice from across the room. Mrs Peppard. I turned to see her nose wrinkling as she put down a Chocolate Martini and straightened her tight cerise skirt.

  ‘I’m not sure the cocktails are going down well,’ I said, back at the bar.

  ‘What?’ Izzy stood up. She’d been bent over, having just stacked away some clean coffee cups, ready for tomorrow morning.

  ‘The cocktails—people aren’t raving about them like they do back at home.’

  Izzy showed me her watch. Ten to seven. ‘Shouldn’t you be setting up? And, as for the drinks, I wouldn’t worry—people are probably tired from long journeys. It’ll take them a good night’s sleep to get into full holiday-mode. Chill, my lovely.’

  Perhaps she was right. And Mrs Peppard always was fussy—apart from when it came to Lucas. She never found fault with his food, but last week complained about the wet floor in the swimming pool changing room and even though the resort wasn’t officially open, moaned that the grass outside was too long for her stilettos.

  As for the Joneses, Shirl had said herself that cocktails were a real treat—perhaps she’d never had a Mojito. The first time I ordered a Grey Goose le Fizz, talk about bitter. It tasted like the saltiest lemonade. And never again would I order a Smoker’s Cough. To you that’s Jägermeister with mayonnaise. Gunky or what?

  Mrs Peppard shot me a critical glance, as I passed her table, and pointedly pulled at the collar of her exquisite silk blouse. While her style wasn’t mine, it shouted ‘quality’ from a m
ile off and her blouses reminded me of the detailed vintage pieces I picked up from charity shops. Yet as I exited the café-bar, and entered the open-plan entertainment area, I took stock of my own outfit: a grey fifties jive dress with a slate silk scarf around my neck. Smart enough—even by Mrs Peppard’s standards. Perhaps there was something else about me that she didn’t like.

  ‘Let’s have Michael Jackson to start, babe,’ said Lucas, holding a tea towel. He smiled. ‘I’ve just popped out to wish you luck, and to take a break from making nuggets and burgers.’ He half grimaced. ‘At least children are eating my healthier versions, although I have to hold back on any sauces and garnishes. I’m wondering if I’ll ever use my full set of skills here again.’

  ‘For the moment, I’d just do whatever keeps the customer happy,’ I said. ‘Especially the kids—if they’re smiling, so are their parents.’

  He looked serious for a second. ‘Let’s hope your performance goes as well as—if not better than—my cooking. And if not, well, just remember that despite my overall success, one kid just vomited up on one of my home-made breaded fish goujons.’

  He patted my shoulder and hurried off. I glanced at the reception clock. One minute to seven. A few families sat in the comfortable chairs, holding drinks. Children played cards on the coffee tables, or drank Coke while playing on Nintendos or phones. Kensa passed through and beamed at me. The Joneses came over, carrying their cocktails.

  ‘Right. Great to see everyone here,’ I said, into the mike. ‘Let’s kick off this disco evening with one of my favourite classics … “Can You Feel It” by the Jackson Five!’

  I flicked on my CD player, knowing the exact order of the songs. Hmm. It was way too quiet. That was annoying. I’d set it to exactly the right volume during my soundcheck, earlier in the afternoon. Cheeks flushing, I turned it up. When I faced my audience, phew. No one seemed to have noticed. Someone, probably Kensa, had dimmed the lights. Feet started to twitch. Shirl and Earl swayed in their seats. As I reached the first chorus, the Peppards came over to the lounge area. Mr Peppard seemed oddly interested and for once wasn’t taking refuge behind a newspaper. They sat at the back and stared at me intently. Next up was ‘We Are Family’ by Sister Sledge, followed by ‘Crazy in Love’ by Beyoncé for the teenagers, who were just starting to lose interest.

  Shirl got up with Pearl and danced by their chairs. My chest glowed. Nothing gave me more pleasure at my gigs than watching little ones build their dancing confidence. Usually, like Pearl at the moment, they would start off just sidestepping their feet, one two, one two. But often, by the end of the evening, they’d allow an adult to twirl them around and start creating their own rhythmic hand movements.

  I couldn’t imagine being an only child; having one parent to myself, let alone two. My siblings would have found it lonely, but I had my music and books. Although—and much as I loved having my own flat—I would have missed the giggles and hugs, the inside jokes about Mum, the back-up in the playground if someone teased me about my hand-me-down clothes.

  An hour in and I was getting a great round of applause after each song—apart from the Peppards. Clearly disco wasn’t their thing. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. Lucas brought me over a pint of water.

  ‘You’re doing great,’ he said. ‘Well done. If you get hungry, there’s a couple of those fish goujons by the CD machine.’

  I swallowed. That was sweet. I hoped he’d understand when I backed off from our romance—if you could call it that—which I’d do after tonight’s gig. Even though I had no guarantee of any future with Tremain, the sensations I’d felt, with fingers running through his hair, meant I didn’t care, the thirst in me was so urgent to really start living again—not carrying on some pretend love affair, just to impress an old school friend, who, actually, wasn’t even a friend.

  I devoured one of the goujons, the home-made breadcrumb disintegrating deliciously on my tongue. Then glugged back a mouthful of water. I turned on the CD machine. ‘You Sexy Thing’ by Hot Chocolate came on. Except that my mike wasn’t working. I fiddled with the buttons. Nope.

  ‘I’ll just be a moment, folks,’ I said and tracked the cable back to the wall. Everything looked fine to me. Izzy appeared and took a look. She couldn’t find a problem either. Deep breaths.

  ‘Slight equipment malfunction everyone, but no matter. I have the loudest of voices.’ There was no way I’d let Tremain and Kensa down. Forcing my lips upwards, I turned on the CD again, just turning the volume down.

  ‘Ace voice!’ shouted Earl. What a great guy. The track came to an end and I prepared myself for ‘Shake It Off’ by Taylor Swift—not exactly disco, but a great dance track for all ages. Except that a heavy-metal tune suddenly blared out of the player. Huh? Everyone—even the Joneses—pulled faces and I hurriedly fast-forwarded the music, but that’s all that played for the rest of the CD. I took out the disc. It didn’t look any different. My heart sank. I’d left my other disco mixes back home, while trying to keep my luggage for the holiday to a minimum.

  I turned around to my audience, a quarter of whom had already left.

  ‘What a shambles,’ muttered Mr Peppard as he and his wife stalked past. You’d think, as regular customers, they’d have been more loyal.

  Earl Jones took Pearl off his lap, stood up and came over. ‘Anything I can do to help, love?’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s a mystery. This is one of my most popular CDs. Nothing like this has happened before.’

  ‘Ah well, never mind,’ said Shirl, who came over, carrying Pearl. ‘These things happen. We enjoyed ourselves. My little one adores singing, you know.’

  ‘I’ll give Pearl some tips, before you leave White Rocks. Let her use the mike. We can have fun singing scales.’

  Shirl’s face broke into a smile ‘That’s kind of you. She’d love that. And try not to worry about tonight. I reckon most of us guests are knackered after travelling here today. They’ll probably be grateful for an earlier night than planned.’

  I made my apologies to the guests—none of whom looked grateful as they filed out or headed to the bar. Earl asked reception for a screwdriver, and they eventually found one in the handyman’s cupboard. He insisted on staying behind, as Shirl left to put a very sleepy Pearl to bed. He wanted to take a quick look at the mike. The hand piece was fine, so he dismantled the socket.

  ‘Look.’ He held it out in his chubby hand. ‘The wiring’s messed up. Never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Well, it’s not the newest piece of equipment.’ I sighed, so having wanted tonight to be a roaring success for the Maddocks. ‘Thanks, Earl.’

  He skimmed a hand over his balding head. ‘Chin up. Early days. We enjoyed the evening.’ He handed me the screwdriver and socket and went on his way.

  Yes, but not enough to finish your cocktails, I thought and headed over to their table. I picked up one of the glasses, smelt the liquid inside and shrugged. Perhaps today was just jinxed. At least Tremain hadn’t been around to see the disaster.

  ‘Bad luck,’ said Lucas. ‘Come on. Take the weight of your feet for a moment.’ He led me over to the comfortable chairs and, with our backs to reception, we sat down. ‘I might have some news that will cheer you up.’ He beamed. What a dazzling smile. Such dark, rakish looks but … nope. Nothing. My heart beat steadily. I didn’t long to press myself against that athletic chest. Instead, I imagined being wrapped up in Tremain’s solid embrace. ‘Izzy’s just been speaking to me—about something she forgot to mention when we were out, Saturday night.’

  My brow furrowed.

  ‘She said you were going to a wedding in a couple of weeks and needed a plus-one.’

  Oh … crap. I remember now. I’d been distracted by trying to work out a way to shadow Tremain on Saturday and Izzy had rambled on about mentioning the wedding to Lucas—said she could do it subtly, without letting on that the invite was only because he looked like Poldark. I hadn’t really listened therefore she didn’t know I was having doubts about this dashin
g man.

  ‘Not much fun, is it, going to that sort of event on your own? I’d be happy to oblige. I mean, that’s what friends are for, right? Helping each other out. And by then I could probably do with a break from this place.’

  ‘No! Really! I mean, I couldn’t possibly …’

  He grinned and … oh dear. Actually knelt on the floor before me. He took my hand. ‘Lovely Kate, I would be honoured to accompany you to your friend’s wedding.’ He kissed my fingers.

  What could I say now? Sorry. I’m not going. Because I’ve met someone who makes my heart sing as loudly as my voice?

  ‘Kate?’ said a loud voice from behind me. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. ‘I believe there was some sort of problem with the electrics.’

  I turned around and looked up. Tremain. Face expressionless.

  ‘Catch you later, babe,’ said Lucas with wink. He got to his feet and headed off.

  I stood up. ‘Tremain. It’s not what you think. You see …’

  ‘On my way over I heard disgruntled customers talking—the mike and your CD didn’t work, right?’

  He went to move away, but I put my hand on his shoulder. He shook it off.

  ‘Don’t be like this!’ I said. ‘Lucas … You see tonight I was going to say to him that …’

  Tremain held up his hand. ‘It’s no business of mine, Kate. It’s not as if you and I are a couple. I’m sure Lucas will make the perfect plus-one for this wedding or whatever it is I heard you talking about. Anyone else might be a little … complicated. I hope my antics over the weekend provided you both with a good laugh.’

  ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Put words in my mouth. Push me away.’ I took his hand firmly. ‘And assume things you don’t know anything about.’

  His fingers slid out of mine and forced a laugh. ‘Honestly, Kate. Thanks for helping me through a difficult couple of days but—Well. This is your holiday. I get it. You just want a bit of fun.’