Summer at the Cornish Cafe

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘I don’t know. Admin problems? Leaves on the line? Happy birthday, by the way.’

  Uncle Rory downs the rest of his whisky and dumps the glass on a table. ‘It’s not a matter for levity, boy. We haven’t heard from you for months. For all we knew, you might have been dead.’

  ‘As you can see, I’m not.’

  ‘Don’t joke! You know damn well what I mean. We thought you’d decided to stay in the Middle East for good.’

  ‘I almost did,’ I say, with half an eye on Isla, watching me from a few feet away, still dumbstruck and even more beautiful than she looked in that newspaper article. She’s let her blonde hair grow and it’s been cut in a style that manages to be both classy and damn sexy.

  ‘How long have you known you were coming home?’ Rory asks.

  ‘A few days.’

  His face is almost purple. ‘Then why didn’t you call us? We’ve hardly heard from you in the past two years.’

  Isla has abandoned her glass and is hugging herself as if she’s freezing cold. Under the light tan, which I presume she picked up on her last shoot in Cannes, she’s pale as the moon on the sea.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say more to Isla than my uncle. ‘I’ve been … tied up and I couldn’t get away from work that easily.’ I swallow hard. ‘It’s been … complicated.’

  ‘Too tied up or complicated to phone us or email?’ Luke asks, an edge creeping into his voice. I can’t blame him.

  ‘Why didn’t you phone or text, if only to say you were on your way home?’ Isla’s voice cuts through the air, more London than in my imagination, yet still with the Cornish lilt. Everyone else may as well be on Mars.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ I repeat, knowing I can never un-complicate it or tell anyone the real truth. ‘I’ve only been in the UK for a few hours and I did call you.’ With a smile, I switch the focus back to Isla. ‘I tried to call you on the train here but your phone was dead.’

  She smiles back, apologetically. ‘Oh … I’m sorry. I’ve changed my phone and my number while you’ve been away. I had to; a fan got hold of it and started stalking me.’

  ‘A fan?’

  ‘Isla’s a celebrity now.’ Her mother glares at me like Medusa, obviously hoping to turn me to stone while her dad takes refuge in his champagne glass. He always was a man of few words and he’s lost for them now. ‘She’s an award-winning TV and film producer, you know,’ Mrs Channing adds.

  ‘I know that. I read about the last one in the newspaper. Congratulations.’

  ‘So you had time to read the papers?’ Isla remarks. She wrinkles her nose like she used to when she was trying not to cry. Like she did when I left her at the station the night I left Cornwall.

  ‘Actually I did email you on my way down on the train,’ I go on, refusing to let Isla off the hook.

  ‘Oh, Cal. I haven’t even looked at my emails since yesterday. We’ve all been completely tied up here all day, organising the party … and Luke forbade me to do any work this weekend, didn’t you?’

  ‘Forbade you?’

  ‘I forbade myself.’

  She puts her glass down on the table but it’s my hands shaking now as I walk towards her. A huge wave of memories thunders towards me and I pull her into my arms. I’m swept away by the sight and smell and feel of her. She is fragile, delicate, a porcelain figure, always way out of my league. Instinct stirs responses I can’t stop and don’t want to, even in the middle of company. I press her against me and her hands seek my spine through my shirt as if she wants to double check I’m real, not a phantom. I inhale her perfume. It’s a new one, sharper and more sophisticated than the scents she used to wear, or is that my imagination?

  ‘You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this.’ I breathe the words into her hair, which smells even better than I remember it.

  ‘Cal …’

  Her whisper pushes me away, then I realise that her hands are also pushing me away from her too. No. I won’t let her go yet. I could lift her off her feet if I wanted to, and carry her out of here in a second but she is controlling this moment; this moment I’ve hungered and thirsted for so long. There’s deep pain in her eyes and the realisation smacks me in the chest. ‘Isla?’

  ‘I’m sorry but things have changed.’ Her voice cracks with emotion and it’s all I can do to hold it together.

  Changed? Yeah, I guess. You look even hotter than ever, if that’s possible. You smell wonderful too. I want to say the words out loud but something stops me. Instead I lift my hand to her cheek and feel the soft skin under my fingertips.

  She smiles and then flinches away from my hand. ‘Please. Not here. Not now.’

  Everyone is looking at us; we’re the dancers in the middle of a circle that no one dares to join.

  ‘Aren’t you going to congratulate the happy couple?’ Mrs Channing, Isla’s mother, speaks.

  ‘What happy couple? I thought this was a birthday party? Is there something I’m missing here?’ I make my tone light but my stomach churns with foreboding.

  ‘It is a birthday party but we’ve just heard some more good news. Isla and Luke have announced they’re getting engaged. Isn’t that wonderful news?’ her mother trills.

  ‘Engaged?’ Shock constricts my throat muscles. ‘You mean engaged to be married?’

  Isla laughs lightly. ‘Well, there isn’t going to be a wedding yet. Not for a while.’

  ‘But probably this year. Definitely early next year,’ Luke cuts in, with an expression on his face I don’t recognise.

  ‘We haven’t set a date yet, these things take a lot of organising and I’m so busy with work.’ Isla glances at Luke for confirmation.

  Robyn links her arm with mine. ‘They told us just before you came in, Cal. Isn’t it an amazing day? Dad’s birthday, the engagement and you coming home …’

  Robyn beams. I don’t think she or anyone realises how much I felt for Isla. Before I went away, we didn’t really have a formal relationship. It was definitely on–off and no one considered it serious. Isla obviously didn’t. But the past few months have made me realise that I did. I’ve been in denial about how much I felt for her and I’d resolved to tell her when I came home, if I came home.

  My uncle pats Luke on the back. He seems as proud as if Luke were his own flesh and blood, not the son of his former business partner. Rory always had a soft spot for Luke but now there’s clearly a bond between them that wasn’t there when I went away. It’s as if Luke is Rory’s son now.

  ‘Aren’t you thrilled for them?’ Mrs Channing’s voice cuts through me and she gives me a calculating glance.

  ‘Oh yes. Thrilled.’ I echo her because I can’t formulate my own thoughts any more. I can’t even think straight.

  ‘Cal, darling, I’ll fetch you a whisky.’ Robyn scuttles off.

  I glance to Isla, clutching her glass so tightly it could shatter any second but Luke’s arm is around my back.

  He clears his throat nervously. He knows I fancied Isla, and that we dated for a while before I left but not how much I really felt for her. ‘Hey, mate, it’s great to have you home. Joking apart, I was worried that you might have decided to stay out there.’

  ‘I thought the same myself, a few times.’ My smile hides an instinct to lash out like a wounded animal. Anyone will tell you my social veneer was never thick, but now it’s paper thin and rubbed to nothing in places. My time in the Middle East has shown me the worst of human nature, including my own. It was a mistake to turn up like this, an even bigger one to come home and expect to find everything as I left it.

  ‘Cal?’ Isla’s voice is soft, reminding me that these are the people I love and miss, whose company I longed for, but now I’m here, now I know how much things have changed, I’d rather face the warzone I came from.

  Ignoring Isla temporarily, I search Luke’s face, interrogate him. ‘How long have you two been together?’

  ‘A good few months now.’ His tone is overly casual, his smile over bright. ‘Come through to the sitting roo
m. Have a drink. We’ll talk.’

  ‘No. No, I … thanks for the offer, mate, but I need to get home to Kilhallon Park.’

  ‘Wait, Cal! Surely you’re going to tell us where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing lately?’

  The answer to Isla’s question is so complicated, and yet so simple, that my brain literally hurts. The blood pulses in my temple, a tight band seems to crush my skull.

  ‘Not now, I’m tired … and I don’t want to spoil your party with my boring stories. Plus, I really should go and see how Polly is. I left a message on her phone but I haven’t heard back from her yet. I hope she’s been OK while I’ve been out of contact.’

  Luke flashes me a sympathetic smile. ‘Polly’s fine but you obviously wouldn’t expect her to cope with managing the whole place on her own, with no money coming in since just before you left, after your father passed away. Rory and I did what we could to keep things from falling into complete rack and ruin but we didn’t want to take over.’

  I smile at Luke and his arm tightens around Isla’s waist. The sight of him with her is like a jagged knife sawing through my guts.

  ‘I can see that. Congratulations,’ I say and walk out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Demi!’

  I wake to find someone shaking me, gently but firmly. Mitch barks but in a way that says ‘friend’ not ‘foe’. Warm fingers grip my shoulder.

  Sheila’s plump face comes into focus. ‘You’re bloody freezing, love! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Umm …’ I cringe inwardly, embarrassed at being found sleeping in the doorway of a chip shop.

  ‘I’d been hoping to see you again but not like this. I wouldn’t have known you were here but one of the fishermen mentioned he’d seen a girl and her dog sleeping rough when he brought some prawns round first thing. You silly girl, how long have you been sleeping out here for? I thought you told me you could stay at your friend’s parents’ while they were on holiday?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve only been here since last night. My mate’s mum and dad came home early so I had to leave.’

  ‘Then you should have come to me. You can stay in the loft room again until you’re sorted and I don’t care what Mawgan Cade says. She can throw us all out, if she wants,’ Sheila declares with a defiant look.

  ‘That’s lovely of you but there’s no way I’m going to make any more trouble for you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t care. Someone should do something about the Cades. I’m going to find a new cafe, away from them, the money-grabbing buggers …’ Her tone softens. ‘Oh my lovely, I’m so sorry you’ve ended up here. Can’t the council find you somewhere to stay?’

  ‘It takes time and there are families who need homes a lot more than me. Besides, there aren’t many places that would take Mitch. I haven’t made things easy for myself.’

  ‘You’ve had a rough start to life, that’s for sure. What about jobs?’

  ‘I tried the Job Centre and applied for a couple of catering jobs but it’s early days yet.’

  Slowly, the feeling returns to my limbs. The early morning sea mist has seeped through my clothes and I’m sure someone used the doorway as a toilet during the night. I hope that’s not why my sleeping bag is so damp.

  ‘Well, you bloody well can’t stay here. I daren’t have you back to work at the cafe but I’ve heard about something on the grapevine that might suit you. It comes with accommodation.’

  I stand up, wincing at the pins and needles in my feet. ‘Really?’

  ‘Don’t get too excited. It might not come to anything and it was only a word from a friend. She works at a caravan site.’

  ‘A caravan site? Er … that sounds interesting, but if there’s work going?’

  She grimaces. ‘It’s in the back of beyond, which is why I shouldn’t get too excited, but you never know. Come to the cafe for a bit of breakfast before we open. I don’t care if Mawgan Cade sees you. I’ll throw something over her myself if she says anything.’

  At the mention of breakfast, Mitch jumps to his paws. I gather up my sleeping bag and my rucksack and follow Sheila. I lied to her. There is no friend or parents’ house. There never was. I’ve been sleeping rough for the past three days since the run-in with Mawgan. Since I left home after a falling out with my dad and his new partner, and had to leave my previous job, I’ve never been in one place long enough – not even a shop doorway – to make long-term friends, and definitely not ones with room to put me and Mitch up. As for the housing office, I want to try and find my own live-in job first. There are hundreds of people who need council accommodation a lot more than I do.

  Sheila slaps a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me and refills my mug of coffee. ‘Here you are. Get that down you.’

  Mitch has already demolished a bowl of Chum and is snoring in a patch of early morning sun.

  The smell of crispy bacon fills my nostrils. ‘You’ve got to open in an hour. I should go when I’ve had this.’

  ‘Not until I know you won’t be on the streets.’

  ‘Have you got the number of this friend with the caravan site?’

  She scribbles on an order slip. ‘Here it is. It’s called Kilhallon Holiday Park.’

  ‘Never heard of it? Where is it?’

  Sheila grins as I lick a trail of egg yolk from the corner of my mouth.

  ‘Around five miles out of town on the coast road. Like I said, I’m not sure the job will suit you but any port in a storm, as they say, and I’ve heard they’re looking for a live-in worker.’

  ‘What about Mitch?’

  ‘It’s in the country, so they might be more accommodating of him. Polly’s lived there for years and I expect she’ll tell you more. All I know so far is that the owner of the place has decided to re-launch the park and needs someone to help out fast so I guess that means they want someone cheap too. So don’t let them exploit you.’ Sheila wipes her hands on some kitchen paper.

  ‘I won’t. Can I use your laptop and do a bit of research on it? Then I can call this Polly woman when they open. If the job’s not advertised yet, I want to get in there first before anyone else.’

  ‘Course you can but don’t get your hopes up. Kilhallon Park may not be what it was.’ She smiles.

  ‘They haven’t seen me yet, have they? I could be exactly what they need.’

  She shakes her head and laughs. ‘Good luck. You and Mitch … and by the way, don’t take this the wrong way, but do you want to have a shower and freshen up, first?’

  With my damp hair wrapped in one of Sheila’s fluffy towels, I put down the phone. Mr Penwith must be really keen for staff because Polly Tregothnan said he’d meet me this afternoon in St Trenyan. She asked for some details so I gave my address as the Beach Hut and said that Sheila had to let me go for ‘financial reasons’ but was happy to give me a reference.

  Not that Polly listened much, she was too busy barking at me and telling me ‘not to be late as Mr Penwith was a busy man’ and ‘had I written down the name of the chain coffee bar he’d meet me at because young people these days never listened to anything in her experience.’ She claimed to be his PA but she sounded more like his mother, to be honest.

  Sheila says Polly can be a ‘bit of a Tartar’, whatever the hell that is, but also reckons Polly has a ‘heart of gold’ which probably means she’s even scarier than she sounded on the phone. I also decided not to mention Mitch at this stage of our conversation.

  After I left the cafe, with an extra bacon butty wrapped in foil and some pouches of food for Mitch, I hung around town looking for waitressing job ads in the cafe windows but in all honesty I liked the sound of working at a holiday park far more. There ought to be more opportunities, despite what Sheila said about not getting my hopes up.

  The meeting is scheduled for twelve-thirty so by twelve-fifteen, I’ve already bagged a table outside a big name coffee bar, and I’m pretending to read the newspaper. However, I don’t think I’ve taken in a single word my stomach is churning so much.
Half-past twelve comes and goes, and my hands are smudged with the newsprint. It’s now almost quarter to one and I push the paper away, nerves taking over my brain completely. I glance up the street for the umpteenth time, my heart banging away every time any lone bloke approaches the cafe. I don’t even know how old Mr Penwith is. He could be anything from thirty to seventy.

  The woman who’s clearing the tables comes over to me. ‘Are you going to buy anything?’

  ‘Yeah but I’m just waiting for a … colleague.’

  She raises an eyebrow.

  ‘He should be here soon,’ I say firmly.

  ‘Course he will be.’ She shrugs and goes to clear the neighbouring tables.

  It’s ten to one now, and there’s still no sign of Mr Penwith. Has he changed his mind? Has he already got someone else? Has word of the frappuccino incident already spread beyond St Trenyan? Do Mawgan Cade’s tentacles reach as far as Kilhallon park?

  I laugh out loud, but it’s only nerves and my heart sinks again.

  ‘He isn’t coming,’ I say to Mitch, who dozes in a pool of sunlight.

  Wait. A man has caught my eye. He’s hanging about outside the Shell Shop on the opposite side of the street but he’s watching the cafe and frowning. He wears jeans and a white shirt and a jacket: smart casual. He’s not seventy, that’s for sure. He checks his watch, seems to make a decision and weaves between the queuing cars to my side of the street.

  Slowing his pace, he walks up to the outside tables and glances around him. Oh my God, surely he can’t be Mr Penwith?

  Yet by the way he scans the customers, it has to be.

  I jump up. ‘Mr Penwith?’

  He looks at me, his tanned forehead creases and his eyes flicker to Mitch. ‘Don’t I know you?’ he says.

  ‘Oh God, yes … and I’ve seen you. You were at the cafe when I … That was a one-off, of course. I don’t usually chuck stuff over customers … I mean, that’s not how I usually behave when I’m working …’