The Cafe by the Sea

by Jenny Colgan

  He looked out to sea.

  “But I don’t know anyone else who can help out our potentially biggest client.”

  “Seriously?”

  “It’s only for a few weeks—when will the council decide? You can leave after that; that’s what a pop-up means. I just think it would mean a lot to the firm.”

  Bramble came bounding back up, covered in salt and water.

  “Come on,” said Flora. “Let’s walk the Endless.”

  “The what?”

  “The Endless. The beach.” She jumped off the wall. “It’s not really endless.”

  Joel followed her up and over the headland at the bottom of the harbor wall, where the houses petered out. At the crest of the headland, as Bramble hopped about sniffing for rabbits, he stopped.

  The beach ahead went on for miles. The sand was purest white, the pale sea gently lapping at its edge. In the light remnants of the sea fog, you couldn’t see where it ended; it faded into infinity. The world was nothing but this glorious beach, completely and utterly empty, as if nobody else had ever stood there. Bramble made paw prints in the virgin sand.

  It was a combination of absolutely no sleep and a lack of contact with London, but for some reason, it took Joel’s breath away. As if this was the first time he’d looked up. The air felt burstingly fresh in his lungs; the smell of coffee on the salted wind; the breeze ruffling the dog’s hair. He felt . . . he didn’t know what he felt. A kind of strange freedom. Something new.

  He took a step forward.

  “Wow,” he said. “Jesus. It’s like . . . it’s like we’ve discovered it.”

  “You have,” said Flora simply.

  “It’s . . . it’s just . . .”

  He was lost for words. Bramble was cavorting about, leaping high in the air and desperately snuffling around for sticks. Flora went to help him, then turned to look back at Joel, who was still transfixed. She felt strange all of a sudden; she’d been so desperate for this moment—the two of them alone, him talking to her, looking at her, for once. And yet now here he was, and she felt . . . Well. He looked suddenly small, standing on the Endless—almost humbled. She was curious about him: what kept him so locked up, so very tight? Had he lost someone too?

  But those thoughts led her, once more, and always on Mure, to somewhere she didn’t want to be, to the hand to which she’d entrusted her own, the first time she’d walked the Endless and heard the stories: of Vikings, wreckers, fairies . . . all the old, old tales of the isles.

  She screwed her face up. She was so tired of it, running through her head over and over again. So weary.

  Bending over, she found a stick on the ground, the perfect size for throwing. Kicking off her boots and rolling up her jeans, she hurled it as far as she could, then, in the bright clear air of the everlasting morning, ran as fast as she could, side by side with the dog, splashing through the gentle waves. It was the best way she knew to get rid of her thoughts, to chase away the dreams of the night, to escape the clutches of this island and the ridiculous thing that had happened to her. Just run, and never look back.

  The beach unfurled in front of her until she was far out of reach, until she could no longer hear Joel calling after her, and she and Bramble collapsed on the sand, and the dog licked her face anxiously, and she buried her face in his fur until she felt more herself again, and began to wander back along the beach, slowly, out of breath, but somehow fuller, more alive than she’d felt for some time.

  “Sorry about that,” she said as she reached Joel. “Sorry. I just felt a bit of an urge . . .”

  Oddly, Joel had very nearly followed her. Cast off his shoes, run as if he could outrun wolves. He’d come extremely close to trying to catch her up . . . and then grabbing her, pulling her down onto the sand, both breathless, hot, sweating . . .

  He had buried the thought at once. She was a junior employee, and as far as he had a personal life at all, it was never getting remotely near work.

  They looked at each other for a moment. Then Flora caught her breath and straightened up, and they set off again, more sedately now.

  “It’s different in the summer. Mobbed. As teenagers we’d light fires here and get up to all sorts of mischief.”

  “I bet you did.”

  “What was it like where you grew up?”

  There was a pause. Joel looked out over the clear water and sighed. He even considered, for a moment, telling her.

  “It was . . .”

  The treacherous thoughts meandered back into his head. He wondered what that cool, clear skin would feel like. The porcelain whiteness of it, the delicate freckles here and there. He wondered what look she would get in those ocean eyes.

  Then he looked around at the alien landscape. And he thought, why not? He thought: Dr. Philippoussis would approve.

  Because he was tired. Tired of bars and late nights working and stupid office politics and hot girls who wanted to be taken to the best restaurants but refused to eat anything when they got there. Tired of who had the best office, the newest client, the most expensive road bike, the most ridiculous vacations, the hottest table in a nightclub, the coolest apartment, the best-looking girlfriend. It went on and on and he didn’t know how it ended, he never had; he didn’t even know, now that he was here, what it was for. There was a friendly dog, and a windswept girl, and nothing else as far as the eye could see. And he wasn’t just tired from staying up all night. Three A.M. was nothing to him. He had never slept. Never.

  He almost told her.

  Then the damn dog jumped up at him again.

  “BRAMBLE!” shouted Flora. “Oh God, I am so sorry. So sorry. There must be a way of getting the mud off.”

  Bramble was going nuts. Flora eventually got him back under control. She looked sideways at Joel. She had felt . . . what? Something. As if he was on the brink of saying something. But she hadn’t been able to tell what it was. And now, it seemed, the moment had gone.

  They walked on, both of them, talking through the case, and by the time they’d reached the end of the beach and turned round (Joel feeling ridiculously disappointed that it did eventually have an end, a lighthouse manning the headland), the white sky was turning the faintest of blues, promising the most beautiful day ahead.

  And by the time they’d gotten back to where Flora’s boots were, where they’d started, she had, reluctantly, agreed to marshal the troops while Joel went back to London, and to stick to Colton like glue until the council meeting.

  “Breakfast?” she said.

  Joel glanced at his watch. “It’s five A.M. We were still eating four hours ago, and also, by the way, it’s technically the middle of the night.”

  “Okay,” said Flora. “Just a thought.”

  “Would it have to be cheese?”

  “No.”

  Oddly, Joel found he was actually hungry again. Something about the air, he suspected. Normally he controlled his diet the way he controlled every other aspect of his life.

  “Where’s open for breakfast?”

  “Oh, the boys will be up soon. You can come to the farm.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  By the time they’d picked their way up the track to the farm, the boys were indeed up and the place was buzzing. The warmth of the kitchen was delicious after the fresh morning air, the Aga and the fire turning the room cozy and fuggy.

  “Hey,” said Innes, stomping across the floor in worn pajamas and holey socks. He filled the kettle at the sink and stuck it on the stove; only then did he turn round and notice Joel standing there.

  “Who the hell are you?” he said.

  Joel’s coat was slightly damp, as were his expensive shoes and the bottoms of his trousers. His glasses were starting to steam up. For the first time, Flora thought he looked vulnerable.

  “I’m Flora’s boss, Joel Binder,” he said quietly, sticking out his hand.

  “It’s five o’clock in the fricking morning,” said Innes. “What kind of hours do you lawyers work?”


  “Not as hard as farmers,” noted Joel.

  “DADDY?” came a small but definite voice. “MUCH MOST NOISE, DADDY.”

  Everyone stopped as a pair of tiny feet pattered into the kitchen. Her pure white hair all mussed up, one hand rubbing her eye, the other clutching her beloved raccoon, Agot stood barefoot on the flagstone floor, squinting at everyone.

  “WHY NOISE, EV’BODY?” she said fiercely.

  Joel blinked.

  “Why don’t I make everyone a cup of tea?” said Flora quickly. “Good morning, Agot darling.”

  Agot grinned to see her, and ran into her arms.

  “WHO MAN, AUNT FLOWA?”

  “This is Joel,” said Flora awkwardly.

  Joel gave a half smile.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “HI,” said Agot. “ME AGOT.” She turned back to Flora. “BEKFAST?”

  Eck loomed into the kitchen.

  “Dad!” said Flora. “You shouldn’t be getting up for milking!”

  “And how am I supposed to sleep with all of you havering about in here?”

  Eck seemed to take Joel’s presence for granted, and tea was handed around.

  “GRAMPA!” shouted Agot.

  “What is it, bairn?”

  “BEKFAST? SAMWIDGE?”

  Flora smiled. Agot’s favorite thing.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Eck frowned. “You wouldn’t rather have a nice bowl of porridge?”

  “SAMWIDGE!”

  “Okay, okay,” said Flora. “Seeing as I woke everyone up, apparently, Innes, you make coffee—not everyone drinks that horrible tea slop—and I’ll make bacon sandwiches.”

  “YAY!” said Agot. “AN’ MUSIC.”

  Innes turned the radio on to BBC Radio Gael, and Agot started swirling around the floor, her nightie streaming out behind her.

  “You spoil that bairn,” said Eck as Flora went over to pull out the huge old blackened frying pan.

  “I bloody will,” said Innes. “After what she’s been through with me and Eilidh, I’ll spoil her every day.”

  Flora fetched the bacon, simply wrapped in paper, from the cold storage, while Innes brewed coffee: good dark stuff that Flora had found, along with a cafetière, and that most of the farm boys turned their noses up at; they preferred the powdered stuff still. Agot was still dancing, and the big kitchen windows were steaming up with noise and chat and happy music.

  “Oh God,” said Flora suddenly, turning to Joel. “Do you eat bacon?”

  Eck noticed him for the first time.

  “You’re not one of the hands?”

  “Dad, fix your glasses, for God’s sake! Before you try and milk Bramble!”

  “Aooo!” agreed Bramble, lifting his head at the sound of his name.

  “I’m . . . I’m with Flora’s firm,” said Joel. Flora looked closely at him. Was he . . . was he smirking? “And yes, don’t worry, bacon’s fine.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be fine?” said Eck, and Innes told him to shut up.

  Fintan wandered in whistling, with his head up, which was extremely unusual. Innes narrowed his eyes.

  “What are you so cheerful about?”

  “Nothing.” smiled Fintan, filling his cup. “Oh wow, that smells awesome. Make one for me, sis.”

  He grabbed Agot and whirled her round and she screamed and giggled.

  “Good morning, my gorgeous girl.”

  As he turned, he saw Joel.

  “Oh my goodness, did you stay the night?”

  The entire kitchen fell silent.

  “What?” said Eck.

  “YOU HAVE SLEEPOVER?” said Agot.

  Flora went bright red.

  “Of course not!” she said.

  “You know this guy?” said Innes to Fintan. “I thought he was working with Flora.”

  “He is, and shut up,” said Flora.

  “You’re very red, sis,” observed Fintan.

  “SHUT UP, EVERYONE! Just get out and milk the damn cows,” said Flora. “Or you won’t get a sandwich.”

  They all sat down eventually round the huge table. Joel didn’t say very much. Flora thought he was horrified by their rough ways.

  In fact, although he had spent time with plenty of families as a child, he hadn’t gotten to know any of them well. He’d been always passed on—the smart little closed-up boy who wasn’t cute or smiley or friendly or appealing enough ever to be adopted; who was so difficult to reach; who said curious things; who beat the older children in every exam they ever took and every book they ever read.

  By the time Dr. Philippoussis had spotted his obvious fierce intelligence and found him a place in a good school with a sympathetic teacher who provided him with all the books he could read and fed his hunger for study and learning, he was a teenager, and nobody wants a teenage boy around the place, not really. He had won a scholarship to boarding school, and with a sigh of relief, social services had washed its hands of him.

  He found his current situation unnerving. Flora’s family talked so much, yammering away as they grabbed sandwiches and drank endless cups of tea. Joel kept his diet very tightly controlled; he never ate bacon sandwiches, though it had nothing to do with any religion—he’d been brought up by a ragtag of different sects (evangelicals, Baptists, atheists) and had taken nothing from any of it. No, it was because they were made up of carbs and fat, two things he had attempted to banish from his diet forever, to keep himself fit and healthy and one step ahead of the baying pack he somehow always felt right on his heels. He couldn’t have told you who the baying pack was. He just always knew it was there.

  He took a tentative bite of his sandwich. That was another thing he was wary of: Don’t leave your food for a second. Someone would take it. Eat when you could.

  He blinked. This kept happening. He didn’t know anything about catering or running a business. But he knew quite a lot about high-quality food: expensive client dinners, vast amounts of money spent at hot new restaurants. And he could tell one thing: this stuff was miles ahead. Absolutely miles. The bread might have been yesterday’s, toasted, but its astonishing qualities showed through. The crispy, salty bacon; the chipped enamel mugs of strong tea: you could sell this absolutely anywhere. Flora was going to be fine. He looked at her, effortlessly dishing up seconds to a huge, quiet boy who must be yet another brother—how many were there? This, he thought, was where she could absolutely shine.

  And as he watched the laughing, noisy, teasing clan and concentrated on his sandwich while a plethora of incomprehensible conversations about cattle feed and yields and bloody cheese went on over his head, he realized, to his surprise, looking down, that there was a small shape scrambling up onto his lap; Agot had wandered over to him completely unselfconsciously and was crawling up his leg.

  “Agot, get down,” said Flora when she saw her.

  Agot pouted.

  “I YIKE MAN,” she said defiantly, scattering crumbs from her sandwich all over his trousers and the floor.

  “Sorry,” said Innes. “Agot, get down.”

  Joel had frozen. He wasn’t used to children, didn’t have the faintest clue what to do.

  “I’S NOT GET DOWN,” said Agot, offering Joel a piece of her toast.

  “It’s fine,” said Joel, taking the toast and putting it on the table. Everyone else visibly relaxed. Be normal, he told himself. This is completely normal. Families are totally normal. It’s you who’s weird.

  And although it was an unfamiliar sensation, it was not, he realized, at all unpleasant. The child’s chubby little legs kicked out in front of her as she made herself comfortable; she smelled nice too, of toast, and a faintly familiar shampoo, and sleep.

  “AHHH, SAMWIDGE,” she said happily, taking a large bite and causing a spot of grease to land on his now basically ruined trousers. Flora winced, but when she caught Joel’s eye, she realized he was smiling.

  “This is,” he said, “a pretty amazing sandwich.”

  He looked at Fintan.

  “You�
�re going to do this, you know. I really think you are.”

  Fintan blinked.

  “Thanks!”

  Joel glanced at his watch.

  “I have a flight to catch,” he said.

  Flora nodded.

  “I know. And I’d better get to it too. Come on, Agot, let’s go put you back to bed.”

  “I’S NOT TIRED!”

  Joel made to stand up, and Agot immediately flung her arms around his neck.

  “MAN NOT GO!”

  “Sorry,” said Flora. “Agot! Stop that!”

  “NOT GO BED!”

  Joel carefully disentangled Agot’s arms from round his neck and put her down on the floor. Flora watched him, feeling ludicrous at how much she wanted to do exactly what Agot had just done: throw her arms around him and see that gentle look in his eyes.

  No. She didn’t want a gentle look in his eyes. Not at all. She breathed in and out. She had to get a grip. She had to.

  “NO GOING TO BED!”

  No, thought Flora. None of them were.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  After that, things moved with extraordinary speed. Flora had briefly wondered, with a bittersweet pang, whether Joel would come back up to deal with the paperwork, but of course it was far beneath him.

  Within weeks, everything was organized. New equipment arrived every day, along with very stern people from the Food Health and Safety Executive, who inspected everything, demanded changes, and then came back again to check them. Fintan worked day and night to get everything in the dairy regulation and utterly gleaming.

  All of Colton’s old staff were sent over to help, even as he went on a huge recruitment drive in the village, offering decent wages and flexible working hours at the Rock just to get everything moving. Lorna held a competition for the schoolchildren to design a logo; an extremely happy cow standing in a field with the pale sea behind it won the day. Agot scowled furiously when the triumphant child had his photo taken for the Island Times, and refused to appear alongside him, instead hurling herself on the ground and kicking her little boots against the cobblestones.