She shakes her head. ‘No way. Dad has no idea and it definitely won’t be cool with him, trust me. Even if he wasn’t so old-fashioned. Andi isn’t just any girl.’
‘Come on. She’s not a serial killer, is she? Or a Cade?’
Robyn stares at the broken tile and swallows hard. When she does look at me, her pale face has turned a shade whiter.
‘Oh wait …’
‘She’s Mawgan Cade’s younger sister.’
Ah. The goth girl at Sheila’s cafe with the Cades. Oh. Dear. ‘That doesn’t mean she’s like Mawgan or her father.’
‘Oh, she isn’t!’ Robyn springs back into life, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling. ‘Andi is the exact opposite to them. She’s kind, funny, talented … she’s amazing.’
I struggle to square the gloomy goth at the cafe with this description but you know, love and all that. ‘Your dad and Luke get on with the Cades, do they? It’s only Cal and Mawgan who can’t stand each other.’
Robyn slumps back into the chair. ‘I think Luke likes Mawgan though I’ve no idea why: she’s an evil cow and Isla isn’t that keen on her … my dad tolerates the Cades but he has no choice because Mawgan and her father own the building where his office is. If my dad’s Victorian in his attitudes, the Cades are stuck in the Stone Age. They’d probably chuck Andi out and disinherit her if they found out she was gay and wanted to move in with me. I can’t do that to her.’
‘Do you think it would make a difference if your father liked Andi and she wasn’t a Cade?’
‘No. Maybe. I don’t know.’ She sighs heavily. ‘I can’t take the risk. What if Mawgan and her father decided to make trouble for my dad and Luke because of me and Andi?’
‘Surely they wouldn’t do that?’ Even I don’t believe what I’m saying.
‘Get real, Demi.’
‘There has to be something you can do, a way round it. Two people in love should be together. No one should have to live a lie.’
‘This is the real world.’ She pauses. ‘It will kill me that she’s at Isla’s engagement party and I’ll have to pretend we’re just friends …’ Her voice trails off and she changes the subject. ‘Hey, a really great indie band is playing at the college next weekend and Andi and I are staying over at a friend’s place afterwards. Would you like to come to the gig and meet her?’
I want to help. I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider and she’s been so nice to me. On the other hand, I don’t feel totally happy keeping such an important secret from her family or Cal, even if it is Robyn’s business.
‘Have you thought of telling Cal about this?’ I say, feeling desperate. ‘He knows you all way better than me and he might be able to help.’
‘He’s got enough on his plate with the building work and dealing with Isla’s engagement and he still misses his dad badly. He doesn’t need to take on my problems too.’
‘Do you think he’ll ever get over it?’
‘His dad or Isla? I don’t know. He’s always been obsessive and gone to extremes. If he likes you, he’d cut off his arm for you but if you hurt him, he never forgets.’
My stomach churns but Robyn seems unaware of how much her words have affected me.
‘Oh, come on, say you’ll go to the gig and meet Andi. You’ll love her; she’s nothing like the rest of the Cades.’
With a plea like that, how could I refuse? It would be nice to get away from here and make new friends and this is Robyn’s secret to tell, not mine.
‘I’d love to. I’ll ask Cal if I can borrow the Land Rover.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Since Robyn’s visit, I’ve spent the past couple of days clearing out the old park workshop, sorting the stuff into boxes for the tip, the charity shop and recycling. Mitch ‘helped’ by wriggling under the workbench, knocking things over and cocking his leg up against Cal’s mowing machine, which has been brought out of the ‘cafe’ building and up to the workshop. A lot of the old caravan spares and fittings have already gone to the tip but the farmhouse bric-a-brac is a different ball game. I took some of the crockery and tins to my cottage, and sealed up the rest of the pieces in cardboard boxes ready for ‘dressing’ the cottages, when they’re restored.
‘Is this the same place or have I been beamed up to a new workshop?’ Cal asks when he comes in for the lawn mower at the end of my long day of clearing up. Fortunately, I wiped it down before he got here. ‘I hardly recognise it. I never knew we had all this stuff.’
‘Polly says your father couldn’t stand to chuck anything out.’
‘She’s right, but I didn’t see it as a problem when I was young. I liked messing about in here.’
‘Polly asked me to take anything we can’t re-use to the charity shop in St Trenyan but I thought I might list some of it on eBay.’
Cal surveys the workshop. ‘Good idea. I can actually work in here now you’ve tidied up and it seems brighter.’
‘I cleaned the windows.’
‘You’ve done a great job. Do you fancy a takeaway and a beer later?’
‘Um … Thanks but I’m going out tonight.’
‘Oh. OK. That’s fine.’
He seems genuinely disappointed which makes me feel good, even though it probably means nothing. ‘Robyn asked me to go to a gig. It’s Friday night.’
‘Did she? Cool. I’m sure you’ll have a much better time than hanging round here with me and a takeaway.’
Debating this statement, I carry the last box of ‘keeper’ china over to my cottage. I have this idea of using the best stuff for the cafe. I think the mismatched cups and saucers and plates will add a look of retro chic to the place. My ideas have been fermenting since I talked over the cafe proposals with Cal. In fact, I have so many thoughts about it that I can hardly sleep some nights, while I’m planning and researching.
Cal has asked me to do detailed costings for the cafe, and more research into the market. Since that’s involved driving round the best ones, trying out the cream teas and carrot cake on expenses, I don’t mind. Neither has Mitch, I’ve taken him to some of the places with outdoor space and decided to have a dog menu. Now all I need to do is try out some recipes on a willing victim.
I didn’t get in from the gig until two o’clock last night because afterwards we all went over to Nina’s house until really late. Her mum gave us a lift home because she’d been up late with some new born pups. The band weren’t bad considering they’re only a college outfit and I had a much better time than I’d expected. Andi seemed wary of me at first but then she confessed she was embarrassed by Mawgan’s bitchiness at the cafe. She kept apologising for her sister having me sacked but I told her that I was glad, in the end, as I’m much happier now. Andi and Robyn were totally loved-up together. I hardly recognised the pale, downtrodden girl I saw with Mawgan and her father at Sheila’s cafe. I thought about persuading them to come out to their families but now I’m not so sure it’s a good idea, however unfair that seems.
Ignoring my throbbing head, I dragged myself out of bed at half-past seven to practise the dog menu recipes. I could have used the farmhouse kitchen but don’t want to put up with Polly’s snide comments: she thinks I’m barking mad without cooking cakes for dogs. Hey, there you go: A Barking Mad Menu. I can call it that!
‘Have I gone completely nuts since I met Cal Penwith?’
Mitch glances at me briefly and then returns to inspecting his bits. I bet Mary Berry never has to put up with this behaviour from Paul Hollywood. A long time later, every surface of the tiny kitchen is covered in flour, bacon rind, broken egg shells and dirty bowls and pots. I retrieve a tin that smells way better than it looks from the dodgy oven in the cottage.
‘Ow!’ I drop the tin on the worktop and blow at my burned fingers. Now I know why Polly had chucked out these oven gloves for the recycling bank. Mitch drifts into the kitchen and sniffs the meat-scented air.
‘Bacon and chicken layer cake, sir?’ I bob a curtsey but Mitch is unimpressed.
With
the help of two tea towels, I turn the cake onto a plate and cut a piece off, blowing on it to cool it. Mitch nudges my leg. He sniffs at the still warm chunk of sticky ‘cake’ I’ve placed in his bowl. I hope it goes down better than the meat dog cake he turned up his nose at.
He licks the slice of layer cake, then wolfs it down and lifts his head, as if to say ‘and the rest?’ I think it’s a hit so I get started on the gluten and dairy free carrot dog muffins.
By five o’ clock, with the sun shining through the window and the oven having been on almost all day, it’s roasting in the kitchen. A bee buzzes past the open doorway and the sky is the same sapphire blue as Isla’s engagement ring. I changed into my new Primark cut-offs and a tank top before starting the carrot muffins but even so, perspiration trickles down the small of my back. My hair is gathered up in a messy bun – appropriate considering the state of my latest creation – and I know I must be pink from the heat.
‘OK, Mitch, you’ve been very patient today testing all these recipes. Do you fancy a walk? I don’t want you to end up on a fat pets show.’
Mitch peers up from his cool spot on the quarry tiles as if to say. ‘In these temperatures? Are you out of your freakin’ mind?’
‘I’ve got to get out of here, whether you’re coming or not. Come on, let’s walk to the cove and go in the sea. You like that.’
I rattle his collar and lead and wearily he scoops himself up and follows me out of the door. The sun is still high above the inky sea. I love the park at this time of the day; not quite afternoon but not really evening. Mitch runs ahead, cocking his leg against the stiles on our route to the cove. The wash block in the yurt field is coming along, and has plastic sheets covering the roof.
A few walkers amble along the coast path but most have gone back to their cottages and guest houses now. It feels as if Mitch and I are the only ones left at the ends of the earth. From the top of the stile, the view over the Atlantic towards the Far West is to die for. Beyond that, there’s nothing until you reach America and suddenly I feel very small.
I decide to take a closer look at the building I’d like to use for the cafe, turn a corner and spot Cal. He swings a sledgehammer and aims it at the decaying wall of the clubhouse. It’s a sixties building and we’re not keeping it, but I’m amazed he thinks he can demolish it by hand.
Crash. Birds take off, screeching from the roof and even Mitch stops sniffing and looks over to see what the noise is. I walk towards him, wincing every time he wallops the wall. The bricks crumble and pieces fly into the air. Cal is almost obscured by dust but I’m close enough to see the sweat glistening on his bare thighs exposed by his denim cut-offs. He already had a tan from his ‘desert holiday’ as he likes to call it but working outside over the past few months has deepened it. I don’t want to perv over him but I can’t take my eyes off his biceps and his sinewy forearms. The good food, fresh air and hard labour of the past few months have added muscle to his skinny frame, making it lean and mean and sexy.
A crow flaps out of the hedge, croaking, and Mitch barks.
Cal looks straight at me through a haze of dust. My cheeks burn like fire at being caught but I wave at him cheerily. It’s a good job he’s wearing safety goggles so he can’t see just how red I am.
‘Sun’s out, guns out,’ I shout.
He pushes the goggles over his forehead.
‘Wouldn’t it be better to let the builders do this? You look like you were trying to kill someone with that sledgehammer.’
‘Yeah, I feel like it this afternoon.’ The dust settles slowly, sticking to his guns. I feel almost faint with lust but he drops the hammer onto the ground.
‘Why? What’s up?’
He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Hasn’t Polly told you? The planners have turned down the application to develop Kilhallon Park. We’re finished.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘What? They can’t do that!’
‘They can and they have.’
Anger bubbles up inside me. ‘Why? I don’t understand. I thought you said that gaining permission would be a foregone conclusion.’
‘Apparently, there were “a number of objections raised pertaining to noise, increased traffic and the development was injurious to the maintenance of a tranquil, natural environment”.’ He snorts in derision.
‘That sounds like bullshit to me.’
‘It is bullshit.’
‘But there was a bigger, noisier site here years ago and that’s exactly what you don’t want now. You’re trying to create a peaceful place that will bring money and jobs to the area. How can anyone object to you wanting to make things better for everyone locally? What’s wrong with people?’
‘I don’t know but I’m going to find out.’
‘You have to. We can’t give up. You’re not going to, are you?’ I see Cal’s dreams sinking like water into sand. My dreams too. I want Kilhallon to succeed as much as he does.
‘I won’t give up but the problem is that I’ve been clearing the land and getting some foundations done without planning permission but I thought that part would be straightforward. The man I know at the planning office said he couldn’t envisage any major problems and that the outline plans looked like exactly the type of development the area needed.’
‘Then I don’t understand why they were turned down.’
‘There is no reason,’ he mutters.
‘Then why?’
He gives a bitter smile. ‘I have my theories.’
I think – actually, I know – that he means that the delay may have something to do with the Cades, but I’m not sure I want to add fuel to the fire by mentioning their names at this particular moment. He looks pissed off enough without me encouraging him to rant about Mawgan and her father. If it is their doing, though, surely Cal won’t simply give in?
‘What will you do next?’
‘I’ll appeal it, of course, but worst case? I’d have to stop the development and they could make me demolish all or part of the building. Plus it will cost more money to put a case together and present it.’
He picks up the sledgehammer again, winces and stares at his palm. His fingers and hands have white blisters, a couple of them oozing blood.
‘That looks sore.’
‘It’s only a few blisters.’
‘What happened to the builders’ gloves?’
‘I forgot to put them on.’
It’s more than my life’s worth to ask if he might be a bit distracted and not thinking straight. ‘Do you want me to strap them up for you?’
‘No. Thanks, but I want to get this wall down tonight.’
I follow his gaze. One side of the wall is rubble but there’s no way he’s going to take the lot down before dark. The gap has revealed a new view of the sea, however, which is the same blue of the new jeans I bought with my wages. I feel like I’m seeing it through new eyes; the eyes of the families who will come and stay here.
‘Watch out!’
He swings the hammer again and the wall cracks but doesn’t fall.
‘Damn.’
He drops the hammer. Blood streaks his palms. ‘Maybe I had better sort these hands out so I can carry on.’
‘Come over to the farm. I’ll get the first-aid kit.’
Mitch lies on the kitchen tiles, chewing an old nylon bone while Cal sits silently at the kitchen table. I keep my eyes down, concentrating on dabbing the blisters with antiseptic cream. I’d be lying if I said that being inches from him wasn’t doing some crazy things to various bits of me.
I cut some gauze up and find a bandage. ‘It’d be much better to let these have some fresh air and rest them for a few days rather than carrying on.’
‘No chance. I’ve got to finish the job tonight.’
He doesn’t even wince as I wrap some microfibre tape around the blisters and tape it securely. ‘That should help but I still think you’re going to have to rest your hands or they’ll be ripped to shreds.’
/> He smiles. ‘I’ve had worse.’
I make the mistake of looking up and his dark eyes catch mine. I press my finger into the bandage. He winces.
‘I told you. You can try and carry on but if you do, you won’t be able to drive or take a pee, let alone demolish a wall. Let me take a turn or get the builders in.’
‘I can’t afford to get anyone else in and there’s no way I’m letting you do it.’
‘You don’t think I can?’
‘I think you can do anything but you’ll end up with hands like mine in five minutes.’
‘I can get a lot done before that happens.’
So I lasted an hour before my arms felt as if they were on fire and my back was screaming at me to stop. Even with a pair of gardening gloves, my hands are blistered, though they’re nothing to the state of Cal’s. By the time we’d finished, the bandages were a deep pink between the grime. I left my blisters open to the air but his needed redressing.
‘I need a shower. We both do.’ My mouth has run away with my brain. I drop his hand like a blazing coal. ‘That’ll do.’
Cal watches me intently. ‘I’ll take your advice and have a shower. Would you like to stay for dinner?’ he asks.
‘OK. If you’re cooking.’
He waggles his bandaged hands. ‘Sort of.’
‘Don’t get your bandages wet,’ I say.
He glances down and groans.
Later, in my clean shorts and a T-shirt, with my freshly washed mane tamed by a scrunchie, I walk back into the farmhouse.
The smell of onions, chilli and garlic meets my nose before I reach the door.
‘Wow, that is amazing. I totally can’t wait for this. Oh …’
Cal strolls into the kitchen, a white towel knotted low around his hips, hanging perilously low on one side. His happy trail arrows from his navel towards his pelvis, and I’m not sure if I’m imagining the faint shadow of hair at the crease of his thigh or not. But if that towel slips one millimetre lower I’ll be able to see everything. Heat races from my chest to the roots of my hair. I must be as red as a traffic light. My throat is dry, my voice crackly.
Summer at the Cornish Cafe Page 14