The Cornish Cream Tea Summer

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, when they had loaded the last of the scones onto the cooling rack.

  ‘Why? I’ve had fun.’ He had chocolate smudged across his cheek, his hair was dusted with flour and his fingers were stained blue from the blueberries they’d used in the muffins.

  ‘You have toiled over my baking when you should have left hours ago. You didn’t need to stay. I should have done it myself or faced the consequences. But,’ she added, ‘I am very grateful. Everything looks and tastes amazing, and you have made my life so much easier, perhaps even saved my job. I—’

  Sam’s fingers brushed her jaw and he tilted her chin up. ‘I did this because I wanted to, because I was the one who turned up here and disrupted your plans in the first place. I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t want to be here.’

  ‘Then you are an amazing man.’

  He laughed softly. ‘It’s time I left, and you went to bed.’ He dropped his hand, shrugged on his coat and walked past the sleeping dogs.

  She followed him to the door. ‘Thank you for today.’ She reached up to wipe the chocolate from his cheek. Sam put his hand over hers.

  ‘Sweet dreams, Delilah.’ He bent his head and brushed his lips gently against hers. Sparks rushed through her; his touch was warm and soft and electrifying all at once. It only lasted a moment, and then he was gone. But she had caught a glimpse of his expression before he had turned away from her, his face lit by the pool of the outside light. She had seen tenderness and desire, and not a whisper of remorse. She shut the door, pressed her head against the frosted glass, and tried to slow her racing heart.

  The Bodmin Moor location was wild and barren, a complete contrast to the coastal village and the cliffs. There were no acres of blue ocean, only miles of green; scrubland and fields, the first signs of spring dotting the landscape with fresh, bright colours. It was beautiful in an entirely different way and, even with her lingering hangover, Lila was looking forward to the day ahead.

  She parked the old Volvo and Claude directed her to Gertie’s new spot, still nestled next to the catering tent, but at the back of the sprawl of lorries and trailers, so that the windscreen gave her a view of rolling hills and a sky peppered with clouds. She settled Marmite in the driver’s seat and carefully refilled the tins and display stands with the cakes and pastries she had made with Sam the night before.

  She got the custard Danishes out of their box, and had a flashback to Sam standing at the kitchen counter, stirring the custard while she read him the instructions from Charlie’s recipe book in her fake Irish accent. He had tried to keep his concentration, but a smile had tugged at his lips until he’d given up, started laughing and put a blob of custard on her nose. When she’d feigned outrage, he’d laughed even harder, the sound filling Charlie’s kitchen and Lila’s heart.

  She wondered how soon he would appear, what his schedule was like for the day, and then chastised herself. She couldn’t fall for Sam – that was the one, pressing thought she’d woken with, far too early and with a hammer pounding a rhythm behind her eyes. She was here to work. To look after Gertie and make Charlie proud. And all of this was temporary anyway. Soon it would be gone, and she’d have to go back to real life.

  But when crew members came onto the bus and commented on how crunchy the arancini were, or that the sausage rolls were particularly herby, Lila had to resist telling them that it was because Sam had made them. It felt like a secret; as if every baked item had a little extra magic in it. She remembered one of Uncle Hal’s sayings, one that had made her cringe when Charlie had first told her, but now made complete sense: They were made with love and extra calories. Those bakes held all her memories of the previous day and, try as she might, she couldn’t help returning to them, to the way he’d said goodbye, the power of that one, brief kiss.

  Em appeared on the bus, navy Puffa jacket zipped up to her neck. ‘Everything OK, Lila? You’ve got all you need?’

  ‘Yup. I’m all set up. Lovely view this time, too.’

  ‘Good, good.’ She tapped her hand on the back of the nearest seat, hovering as if she had something else to say.

  ‘Can I get you a coffee or a tea? Help yourself to any nibbles.’

  ‘A latte would be lovely,’ Em said. ‘Thanks. Have you seen Keeley recently? She seemed OK to you?’

  Lila paused. It was unlike Em to discuss members of the cast; she was always so focused on her role, managing the catering squad to within an inch of its life. ‘I saw her on Friday,’ Lila said. ‘She seemed fine.’

  ‘That’s good. You’re close, aren’t you?’

  ‘Starting to be,’ Lila admitted, frothing the milk for Em’s drink. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Em frowned. ‘A couple of guys in the tent said she’d been sharp with them – rude, even, which is so unlike her. And it’s not as if we don’t expect that. Cast members can be very … intense.’ Lila could tell she was being tactful. ‘But this is such a good-natured shoot, and Keeley’s always been so sweet, and generous with her time.’

  ‘I’ll talk to her,’ Lila said, ‘as soon as I see her. I’ll check everything’s OK.’ She handed Em her coffee and put a custard Danish into a bag for her.

  ‘Thanks, Lila. You’re a star.’

  When she was alone, Lila pondered Em’s words. Keeley had come back from Derbyshire a fortnight ago with a spring in her step. She had been so excited that Lila had been given the Miss Trevelyan role on the back of Gregor interrupting their rehearsal, and hadn’t shown any signs of the tearfulness that Lila had seen on the beach that night. But she was a good actress: perhaps there was something wrong and – most of the time, at least – she was hiding it well.

  The day was a quiet one, and Lila had a lot of time to rearrange her stock and try out some new coffee ideas, mixing various roasts with almond milk, adding vanilla essence and cinnamon syrup. She started to create a fresh, more versatile coffee menu, and then watched as everyone filed past Gertie to get to the catering tent for their hot lunch, her stomach flipping as she noticed Sam’s sandy hair in the crowd. She knew their fixed breaks were short and precious, and that he was unlikely to have time to visit the bus as well, but at the last moment he stepped aside and jumped on board, distractingly handsome in his white shirt and breeches.

  ‘I can’t stay,’ he said, ‘but I wanted to check you were OK.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Lila replied, discovering that any embarrassment at her drunkenness was obliterated by the joy of seeing him. ‘Bit headachy, but it’s my own fault. And the bakes are especially good today. You’ve got a busy schedule?’

  ‘Yep.’ Sam stole a halloumi bite from a cake stand. ‘Lots of scenes with Toby. He’s got another commitment for the rest of the week, so this day was always going to be a bit of a nightmare.’

  ‘You didn’t think you should have told me that when you were covered in flour in my kitchen at midnight? Oh Sam, you must be exhausted.’

  ‘I’m grand. Honestly. I’ll try and see you later, OK?’ He turned to go, then noticed the empty mugs, syrup bottles and scrawled notes covering the tables. ‘What’s all this?’

  ‘Coffee planning,’ she said proudly. ‘I’m going to make Gertie’s menu even more desirable.’

  ‘Oh? I think there are a lot of desirable things about the Cornish Cream Tea Bus as it is.’ He squeezed her hand and hurried off the bus.

  Lila closed her eyes. She couldn’t fall for him. She couldn’t. But her flush of pleasure at his final words suggested her heart might not be prepared to listen to her head.

  The light was fading, and by the time Lila sneaked out, large, fat raindrops were splattering against Gertie’s windows. She knew it wouldn’t be enough to delay the shoot, and when she got to the set, the moor was lit up like a crime scene, tall lighting rigs spotlighting Sam and Toby, both resplendent in full period dress, facing off against each other.

  A key thread of Estelle’s storyline was the two brothers and their differing opinions, and the way that both Estelle’s
presence and Aria’s character Marianne came between them. This scene looked as if it was an implosion – or explosion – of all that tension.

  Lila tiptoed to the edge of the cluster of people watching the action, and folded her arms against the cold.

  ‘It’s unthinkable, Robert,’ Toby was saying, his hands expressive, his dark hair twisting in the wind. ‘There is no money for the house. Not if we want to get this new venture off the ground. We must take our chances while we can.’

  ‘And what about good sense? Propriety?’ Sam, as Robert, fired back. ‘What about thinking things through for a change? You know why we’re here, with this shell of a house our only hope, why we’re unwelcome in London. Have you learned nothing, brother?’ He clapped a hand to Toby’s shoulder, his voice softening. ‘We can never go back. I’ve come to accept it, but surely we should learn from it? Take our chances, yes. But only when we can be more certain of the outcome.’

  Toby flung Sam’s arm off forcefully. The rain was silvery flecks under the bold white light. ‘You don’t understand. This is what will make our fortune. If you knew what I know—’

  ‘Then no doubt I would have walked away long before now.’

  ‘When did you become so staid?’

  ‘When I realized that one of us had to be, and it was never going to be you.’ Sam jabbed his finger at Toby’s chest, his eyes ablaze with anger. Lila held her breath. She was gripped, but she also had a creeping sense of dread, torn between watching them and running away before she heard it play out. She hadn’t seen this particular script, so she hadn’t been forewarned, and this drama, set centuries in the past, suddenly felt far too close to home.

  ‘Robert,’ Toby’s tone was jovial, coaxing. ‘Come now, you don’t mean that—’

  ‘I mean every word. No good can come of what you’re doing. Those moments when you’re not thinking? When you’re carried away on the possibility of what could be? That’s when disaster happens. I’ve seen you burn too many bridges. How can I – how can anyone – trust you, when you behave like this?’ He took a deep breath, his handsome face flashing with pain. ‘Sooner or later you’ll hurt someone you truly care about, someone you love, and you’ll lose them for ever.’

  Lila swallowed, backing away as Gregor shouted, ‘Cut!’ and there was a smattering of applause. ‘Very good,’ the director said. ‘Very emotional. Now I want to try it again, but this time with …’ The words were lost to Lila as they began to reset the scene and she hurried back to Gertie.

  There was nobody waiting for her, no one needing a coffee or a scone at eight in the evening, and she gave Marmite a distracted stroke and flopped into a seat. She had cleared away the detritus from her coffee planning, had felt such a sense of achievement at the new drinks menu she had put together. But now, none of that seemed to matter.

  All of Sam’s – Robert’s – words had hit home. She knew it was fiction, a drama that was supposed to delight and unnerve and yank at the heartstrings, but it suddenly seemed to echo her own situation. And with Sam’s character being the sensible one, too. How many bridges had Lila burnt? She didn’t want to start counting for fear of never getting to the end. And those last words: Sooner or later, it’ll be someone you truly care about, someone you love, and you’ll lose them for ever.

  She rubbed her hands over her eyes. She had explained to Charlie what had happened between her and Clara and, after hinting at it that night at the beach party, and with their friendship firmly established, she had since told Keeley the whole story too. But her real feelings about the way it had ended, the finality of it and the devastation of losing her friend – she had kept those shut up inside. It seemed easier to pretend to others that it didn’t matter: that way she might start to believe it, too.

  She was spontaneous and impulsive and, sometimes, she knew, infuriating. When things went wrong, she bounced back. She took what was coming and moved on. But with Clara, it was different. She couldn’t forget her friend’s claims that she was irresponsible, selfish, a bad friend. That she was always flitting from one job, or one boy, to the next, avoiding anything that came close to commitment or responsibility. She couldn’t be trusted – that was what Clara had said at the end. That’s why she hadn’t wanted her to work at her gala in the first place.

  Being here, on Estelle, was throwing all that into sharp focus. Charlie putting her in charge of the bus, Keeley’s friendship, and Sam. Sam, who set her pulse racing, who made her want to design a separate, delicious coffee just for him. But her time in Cornwall hadn’t been without mistakes: committing the Cornish Cream Tea Bus to this job without Charlie’s permission; leaving the set early; almost losing Marmite. Had Clara been right? Lila didn’t want to believe it, but she wasn’t convinced that any of her actions had proved her friend wrong.

  She tugged her phone out of her pocket and, taking a deep breath, opened WhatsApp. She reread Charlie’s latest update from America, and looked again at Daniel’s recent message. He’d sent her a photo of an impressive, eco-friendly coffee machine at his course. Hope you and Gertie are having fun. Thought you might like to see this!! Dx

  Lila had been touched that he’d thought of her.

  Then there was her thread with Clara. One that scrolled up and up and up as they’d swapped funny anecdotes, moaned about work, sent holiday snaps and links to restaurant websites, planned nights and days out, either just the two of them or with Clara’s boyfriend, Glen. There was a whole stream of photos of unicorn tattoos as they discussed which one to get, the excitement at their ridiculous plan obvious in the exchange. Years of friendship that Lila had taken for granted.

  But then, at the bottom, after messages from Lila pleading with Clara to see her, to pick up the phone when she called, to at least let her know she was OK, was the one response Clara had sent. It had been as Lila was heading to the tube, in a daze after their argument on the street. Her phone had pinged and Lila had jumped on it, hoping it was an apology, forgiveness, a plea to return. But, when Lila had swiped open her phone, she had seen that it wasn’t any of those things.

  The tears started to fall as she read it again, even though she knew exactly what it said, more ingrained in her mind than her one line as Miss Trevelyan.

  I will never forgive you, Delilah.

  It was over. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said that to Charlie and Keeley, when she’d mentioned it briefly to Sam, brushing it aside as if it was just one of those things, a life lesson to be learned. From Clara’s point of view, their friendship had ended.

  But Lila missed her so much. She wanted to prove to her that she could be trusted, that she could be responsible and committed, that friends and family could open their hearts to her and she would guard them, treasure them, not do anything to betray them. She wanted, so badly, to get her friend back. She just had no idea where to start.

  Chapter Seven

  Lila didn’t wait for Sam that night. The moment Em gave her the knock that filming was over, she locked up Gertie, took Marmite in her arms and hurried to her car. Amanda had let herself into Charlie’s and left a pile of fresh bakes in the kitchen, and Lila collected Jasper and spent an evening on the sofa watching mindless TV, keeping the dogs close, unable to escape the fresh waves of sadness and guilt. She felt additionally guilty that she hadn’t waited for Sam, sending him a brief, vague text saying she had to leave.

  She woke the following morning feeling worse than she had the previous day, the scene between Henry and Robert Bramerton bringing everything back to her, as if the argument with Clara had happened hours, rather than months, ago.

  The day was brisk and breezy, the backstage village bubbling with the usual noise and laughter, and Lila kept her head down and sneaked onto Gertie, switching on the coffee machine, fairy lights and oven. Everything was familiar and comforting, but she wished, for the first time since she’d gone off on her American adventure, that Charlie was with her.

  Lila was glad when Keeley appeared on the bus, distracting her from her
thoughts, and hugged her with a little too much enthusiasm.

  ‘It feels like ages since we last spoke,’ Keeley told her. ‘How are you? What do you think of bleak old Bodmin Moor?’

  Lila smiled, relieved. There was nothing off about her that she could see. ‘It’s beautiful, so different from the coast. It’ll be perfect in Estelle. How are you? Busy?’

  Keeley’s smile faltered, something flickering behind her eyes, but she nodded. ‘So busy. And it’s nonstop now until the end of the shoot. You’d think with me only being the ghost I’d have a lot more time to myself.’

  ‘Yes, but the show is named after your ghost, Keeley.’ Lila turned to the coffee machine, loaded a portafilter with coffee, and poured milk into the jug to froth. She was going to add vanilla essence to Keeley’s latte, to see what she thought. ‘Didn’t you realize it would be this hectic when you signed up? Surely you had the schedule months ago?’

  Keeley collected Marmite and sat down with the dog on her lap. ‘Of course I did. I knew all this, and at the time I couldn’t have been more thrilled. This was – is – my big break! Thousands of women would kill to get this role.’ She stroked Marmite’s ears and sneezed three times.

  ‘But?’ Lila asked softly, bringing over Keeley’s drink and sitting opposite her. ‘You can’t tell me that sentence doesn’t have a “but”.’

  Keeley gave her a wan smile. ‘But it’s so hard.’ Her voice cracked on the last word.

  Lila reached a hand across the table. ‘Tell me. If you have time?’

  Keeley sniffed loudly, and nodded. ‘Everyone is so kind and attentive, they’re always making sure I’m OK, sheltering me from the rain with big umbrellas, eight hundred costume checks a day. The filming itself, I love. I do love acting, and I’m used to the waiting, the repetition, the cold. I don’t mind any of those things, and nights like the one we had at the equinox, taking Gertie down to the beach – I’m here for those, even if they involve tequila.’ They swapped a smile, and Keeley continued. ‘But the rest of the time, I can’t breathe. People are fussing over me constantly, and it’s so well intentioned, which makes me feel like a bitch for hating it, but it’s as if I’m trapped. I thought the weekend with Jordan would help, that it would be refreshing, but it just made me realize what I’m missing back home. I hoped it would get easier – that I would get used to it.’