Christmas at the Cornish Café

by Phillipa Ashley

‘You’ll have to forgive Cal. He’s had a bit of a shock. He’s just found out he has a little brother.’

  ‘What? Cal?’

  Kit pushes himself off the wall, pulls his coat down.

  ‘Kit claims he’s my brother,’ Cal says, breathing heavily.

  ‘Half-brother, actually,’ Kit corrects him, but I can hardly believe my ears. ‘My name is Kit Bannen, but my full name is Christopher Penwith Bannen, though I rarely use the middle name. We’re related, Cal and I. I’m his brother. That’s my dirty little secret.’

  ‘You’re his brother? I don’t understand. If that’s true, why is it a dirty secret?’ I say.

  Cal sneers. ‘Ignore him, Demi. He’s just being a tosser.’

  ‘Cal!’

  ‘Yes, I know what you’re going to say: Kit’s our guest, although maybe not for much longer judging by tonight’s performance.’ He turns to Kit. ‘You’re not welcome at Kilhallon after this. I’ll refund any advance rent you’ve paid, but you can pack your bags and get off my land tonight.’

  ‘Cal. What’s wrong? I know this must have come as a hell of a shock, but if Kit’s telling the truth about being your brother, why are you reacting like this?’

  ‘He’s telling the truth about that,’ Cal says quietly. ‘Though I wouldn’t believe a word of anything else he tells you.’

  My confusion deepens. ‘Kit? What have you done?’

  ‘I knew you’d never tell her the truth,’ Kit says to Cal, almost too quietly for me to hear.

  Cal stares at him as if he’d like to blast Kit off the face of the planet. ‘You wouldn’t know the truth if it punched you in the face.’

  I grab Cal’s arm, afraid he’ll push Kit up against the wall again. ‘Cal, that’s enough.’

  Kit smiles and brushes himself down. ‘Don’t worry, Demi, I’ll pack my bags and leave as requested. Forget the rent. I won’t be asking for a refund.’

  ‘You must have a refund. I’ll arrange all that, but please, don’t just go off like this. Not without telling me what’s been going on. Why were you fighting?’

  Kit tosses me a regretful smile, as if nothing has happened here tonight. ‘I’m sorry, Demi, but I think I have to leave. I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.’

  He walks off down the alley.

  ‘Wait, Kit!’ I shout.

  ‘Leave him!’ Cal pulls me back and I push him away, though it’s too late. Kit has already disappeared from view into the maze of streets in the fisherman’s quarter. And even if I did run after him, it’s obvious that Cal needs me more and has a lot of explaining to do. He lingers on the cobbles, his shoulders slumped and his face pale.

  ‘Mind telling me what’s been going on?’

  Cal shrugs. ‘You’d have to ask Kit.’

  ‘I can’t! He’s gone because you told him to piss off and almost throttled him, by the look of things. Whatever’s gone on between you, you can’t tell him to go away like that when he’s shared something so incredible with you. And what does he mean, he knew you would never “tell her the truth?” Tell who the truth? Is it something to do with your work? I know something bad happened to you out there. Is that what Kit’s talking about?’

  ‘Demi. Shut up!’

  His shout bounces off the walls.

  ‘Oh, shit, no.’ Cal reaches for me but I stagger back, as if he’d slapped me. ‘Kit’s talking absolute crap. You must believe me. Please.’ I’ve never heard Cal plead before and it makes me sick with worry.

  ‘I believe anything you tell me. I trust you, Cal. Do you think Kit is making that stuff up about being your brother?’

  ‘No. Shit. No, my dad probably spread his seed all over Cornwall. Hey, half the kids from Launceston to Land’s End are probably his.’

  ‘Cal. Please. It must have been such a shock to hear this. Maybe Kit felt rejected by your dad and can’t let it go?’

  ‘He did, but he should have got over it. He has a mother and a stepfather who love him, he has a very comfortable, cosy life.’

  ‘Then why come down here and create trouble now?’

  ‘Because he’s an idiot. Crazy and bitter and angry about my father. Nothing else.’ Cal breathes heavily. He can’t seem to look me in the eye, which makes me angry.

  ‘You don’t trust me, do you? Or you’d tell me what else has gone on. I thought that by now, after all we’ve been through, you’d feel you could be honest with me,’ I tell him.

  His head snaps up. ‘Look, I know we’re close but we don’t have to share everything, do we? There’s absolutely nothing to tell.’ His voice drips sarcasm that makes me feel mad and hurt. ‘You don’t tell me everything, do you, Demi?’

  ‘I try to.’

  ‘Do you?’ he repeats.

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ My voice trails off, thinking of my visit to Mawgan’s earlier in the year and her making me promise not to tell Cal.

  ‘Then believe me that there’s nothing more to discuss, or share, or talk about. My father got Kit’s mother pregnant and then tried to forget all about it and pretend that Kit didn’t exist. Perhaps, understandably, he’s a little bit hurt about that. Well, boo hoo. We all have problems. He may be my brother but he’s also a tosser who came back when he thought the business was doing well to piss in the pot and enjoy some kind of twisted revenge. And now he’s sodding off back to London, so we can all get some peace. End of. Right?’

  The last word is so loud it makes me jump.

  Cal breathes hard. Then he shoves both hands through his hair and lets out a cry. ‘Screw Kit Bannen. I knew he was bloody trouble from the moment I laid eyes on him!’

  I’m trembling but also fired up with fury at the way Cal has spoken to me; he has shouted at me and thrown back my offers of help in my face. ‘You are impossible,’ I say quietly. ‘Totally impossible. I’m glad I never moved in with you.’

  ‘And I’m glad too, because I can have my own space to be as much of a bastard as I choose now without you trying to cure me of it all the time.’ He shoves his hands through his hair again and groans. ‘Demi! Demi. Oh shit, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘How did you mean it, then? I thought you wanted me to move into the farmhouse?’

  ‘I do … but you pushed me into saying that. I was upset. Bloody Bannen! He’s a fucking disaster. I do want you to move in.’

  ‘I can’t move in with you. You don’t even know where you are, Cal. You’re not even ready to live with yourself yet, let alone share your life with anybody else.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘Hellooo, darling, how the devil are you and Mitch this morning?’ Eva Spero trills down my ear first thing the morning after the festival, which I have to say, was the least festive event I’ve ever enjoyed in my life. Stifling a groan, I consider stabbing the off button and blaming the signal in my cottage. I’m hardly in the right frame of mind to chat about business after my sleepless night, but Eva can’t be ignored.

  ‘Fine. Good.’

  ‘Only fine? That doesn’t sound like the Demi I know. Is everything going OK with the cafe? Quiet season, I expect. Calm before the storm. Still can’t tempt you to join me in Brighton?’

  After last night’s events with Cal, I’m dangerously close to saying yes. ‘Thanks, but now I’ve got the place underway, I need to stick with it.’

  ‘Well, your success is my loss, but I’m very happy to hear you’re sticking with it. You need staying power in this business. Spero’s would never have got off the ground if I’d thrown in the towel in the early days. Post-launch is the worst time, darling, especially as you opened at the end of the main season. Still, I trust the pre-Christmas period has kept you busy?’

  ‘Half term was very busy, and we had a Bonfire Night supper and Christmas lunches have kept us very busy.’ Slapping on a cheery voice, I snap out of my gloom and turn into the professional cafe owner again. Eva could be a big help to me, and she’s already done way more for me than I could have expected.

  ‘Great. Stick a
t it. Now, I have some news that should cheer you up no end. Remember we talked about doing a doggy cookbook? Well, my publisher was on the phone last night and they’re very interested in the idea. In fact, they asked if you can come to a meeting in the smoke.’

  ‘Wow. That sounds exciting.’

  ‘It is. But the slight possible spanner in the works is that the editor wants us to go in and meet her on Monday? That’s OK, isn’t it?’

  ‘Monday? We don’t normally open on Monday, but we have Christmas events booked. It’s a very busy time for us now December’s about to start.’

  ‘I know it’s a bore, but if we don’t get the ball rolling pronto, it will be too late. Publishing shuts down for aeons at Christmas. Everyone goes into hibernation until the sun appears again, darling.’

  ‘I suppose the staff could manage without me for a day.’

  ‘Great. Fantastic. It’s at 12.30 in their central London office, which is next to Embankment tube station. I’ll email all the details. I have to go. I’ve got a meeting with Otto and Jamie shortly and, more importantly, Betty needs her walkies on the beach. Byee … see you soon.’

  As usual, trying to stop Eva is like trying to stop that big ball from Indiana Jones from squashing you. It’s easier to go along with it, and this is a huge opportunity. But London? Me going to London to meet an editor of a big publishing house? That’s beyond an opportunity, it’s terrifying.

  And that’s the least of my problems.

  Kit left this morning, refusing to let me refund the rest of his rent or talk about his row with Cal.

  Cal’s nowhere to be seen. He took the Land Rover home while Polly and I drove Jez’s mate’s van. Polly kept asking me if there was something the matter. She thinks it was to do with me seeing my dad again, but she gave up when I refused to speak about it. So now she’s pissed off too.

  Although I was shattered after the festival I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’m back in the cafe today as it’s Saturday and we have some festive lunches and a mums’ and toddlers’ tea party this afternoon.

  It’s no use avoiding Cal, even if I wanted to – we have to speak sometime. During my break, I find him in the stables, rubbing down Dexter. Hanging back just outside the door, I watch him. His sleeves are rolled up and he’s wearing his old riding boots. His forearms are still tanned after his summer outdoors and his muscles tense as he brushes the horse. He clicks his tongue at Dexter, whispering soothing words. The stable is warm after the chilly damp air of the farmyard and smells of leather and hay.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, stepping inside but keeping well back from the stall. I don’t like horses, despite Robyn’s attempts to convert me.

  ‘Mngggg,’ Cal growls, without even stopping. Dexter pulls some hay from a basket while Cal scrapes the brush over his flanks. My upcoming trip has given me a chance to speak to him about a neutral subject and I hope we can move on.

  ‘I just thought you ought to know that I’m going to London on Monday,’ I say.

  He ceases brushing and rests his hand on Dexter’s neck, but doesn’t turn and face me. ‘Monday?’

  ‘Yes. I know it’s short notice, but Eva Spero wants me to meet an editor and it was the only time they could spare. We have a meeting about the doggy cookbook she mentioned to me at the Kilhallon launch event. There’ll be money in it for us.’

  Finally he pays attention to me.

  ‘No, there’ll be money for you, Demi. Anything you earn off this project is one hundred per cent your own. In fact, have you thought of opening your own separate business account? There could be a decent advance for this book, and there might be royalties, and spin-offs, even merchandise. You’ll need a contract drawn up.’

  ‘I know that. Eva’s agent is dealing with it. But rights and merchandise? You think there will be all of that stuff? Eva did mention a line of doggy treats, but that was in the summer and I haven’t had chance to think about it since then. To be honest, I thought she might have decided to forget it all.’

  Especially after I decided to stay here. Just in time I stop myself from saying the words.

  He starts brushing Dexter again, even though the horse’s flank gleams.

  ‘So is there any chance of a lift to Penzance station first thing on Monday? I want to get the first train, but I can get a taxi or ask Polly to run me if you’re busy.’

  ‘’S fine.’ Brush. Brush. Dexter’s coat will wear away in a moment.

  ‘Cal, I hate it when we argue. Last night was very charged and we both said things we didn’t mean. Kit too, I bet.’

  ‘I meant every word I said about Bannen,’ he says, sweeping his brush over Dexter’s back in long, firm strokes that make me long to be stroked by his hands that way. ‘But I will take you to the station.’

  My patience snaps. ‘Forget it. You don’t have to.’

  Dropping the brush on a hay bale, he wheels round. ‘I don’t have to do anything.’

  ‘Neither of us do. Obviously.’

  We square up to each other. My skin bristles and I hate Cal in this moment. But I also love him. I love the way his dark eyes glint with fury. I love the way he smells of hard work and horse, and I love the heat radiating from his body. I love the smear of mud across his cheek that he hasn’t noticed because he’d never dream of looking in a mirror for a second more than he has to. I love the fact that he hasn’t shaved for two days at least. I long to feel the scrape of stubble across my cheek and his mouth on my skin. I hate him and I want him to take me right now in the stable. As long as Dexter is out of reach …

  ‘Six o’clock early enough for you, or will you be having a lie-in?’ he says, daring me to say it is too early (it definitely is), and to ask him more about his row with Kit.

  ‘No. Though half-past five would be even better.’

  ‘Half-five sharp it is then,’ he says. ‘Meet you by the Land Rover.’

  ‘Fine.’

  He picks up the brush again and turns his back on me. I walk out of the stable, hearing the brush brush in my ears, louder than ever, and Dexter snickering in pleasure. I wish I hadn’t agreed to get up at five a.m., I wish Cal would open up to me, and most of all, I wish I was in Dexter’s position.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Cal

  Dexter shuffles restlessly as we walk along the cliff tops and past the engine houses. I rode him out this morning, after I’d dropped Demi at the station, hoping the fresh air would clear my mind. He seems to sense my mood and has been restive and nervy since I tacked him up. Is no one at Kilhallon my friend these days? Have I ballsed up my life – and those of so many others – so much that I deserve it? Isla, Soraya, Esme, Demi …

  My curse echoes off the walls of the engine house and my breath mists the air like Dexter’s. As I urge him to walk on, his hooves ring out on the hard earth. It’s rare to have a frost at Kilhallon, but on this raw early December morning, the grass and bracken are rimmed with frost. Shrivelled leaves and ferns crunch as we walk along.

  Demi and I made it all the way to the station before one of us caved in. Ten miles and neither of us spoke a single word. When we reached the car park, I bought a ticket even though I could have parked for twenty minutes free. She must have known that, but she didn’t say anything. She waited in the car while I went to the machine, wanting to talk to me. She could have gone into the station, but she didn’t.

  So I cracked. I asked her if she was OK and she muttered, ‘Yes, fine.’

  Fine? That one word, ‘fine’, made me even more frustrated. I wanted to kiss her there and then, and a whole lot more. The thought of us making out in the back of the car has driven me wild all day. Not being able to have Demi has only made me want her even more. I can’t blame her for being upset about my reaction after the festival. No matter how shocked I was by Bannen’s ‘revelations’, I shouldn’t have lost control the way I did, or taken things out on Demi.

  Maybe I should have told her what happened months ago, but I can’t. I don’t know what her reaction will b
e. It’s complicated, what happened, but it’s also simple.

  Simply put, Kit was right. I did get involved in something I shouldn’t have in Syria, and indirectly Soraya – and possibly Esme – were lost. Kit Bannen may think he knows what happened out there, but he only has the story second hand. He can’t know what it was like that day, or the decisions I made or how I felt. And yes, I do feel responsible for the events that unfolded. I can’t help it. How do I start to explain that to Demi, who’s never been further than Truro until today? How do I tell her without making excuses for myself? How can I make her understand?

  What’s the point in telling her when she’ll probably be gone soon anyway? This trip to London is bound to remind her of the life she could have, no matter how romantic her notions about running Demelza’s are.

  I mustn’t kid myself that she’s making a success of the place because I was stupid or generous enough to give her a chance. Demi Jones would have overcome any obstacle thrown in her path. I’m only a waymarker on her route to the life she deserves.

  I’m holding her back by asking her to move into the farmhouse. I’m being monumentally selfish, trying to bind her to me more tightly. I won’t ask her again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The high roof arches over me as I step down to the platform at Paddington station. Strangely enough, the roof is as beautiful as a Kilhallon sky in its own way, but it also makes me feel very small. Everyone rushes for the ticket barriers as if they’re racing in a suitcase marathon. I’m a tiny pebble stuck in the sand as the tide of people flows round me.

  It’s my first time in London and I hate to sound like a hick from the sticks, but it’s even more of a shock to the system than I expected. My mood isn’t helped by the lack of sleep I’ve had recently. The broken nights when I’ve lain awake, worrying about my dad and his girlfriend, and about Cal and Kit. I thought my life was on track, with everything going better than I could ever have hoped a year ago. Yet the things that should really matter to me, like family and relationships, are as much of a mess as ever.