‘Come on in then. Let’s have some tea and make a plan.’
Oh God. She sounded like his nanny. But he seemed to quite like being bossed about, and followed her in amiably.
‘Wow. This place is pretty cool.’ He looked around the hut and flopped down on the cream linen sofa, putting his feet up on the arm and his hands behind his head. She restrained herself from telling him to take off his shoes. She couldn’t quite believe it. Here she was, rustling up tea for the enfant terrible of the literary scene. Unlike her, he’d had reviews in all the broadsheets, heralding him as the new Raymond Chandler with his whip-smart dialogue and intricate plotting. As well as being in the broadsheets he was in the tabloids too. He was the new best friend of actors and pop stars. There were queues of fangirls at his book signings. The Liam Gallagher of books, they called him, because he went out and partied hard with his groupies afterwards and had got into several fights on his tour. Though he looked angelic at the moment.
As she laid out scones, raspberry jam and rich, yellow clotted cream she was surprised by his appreciation.
‘This looks amazing. Thank you so much. I’m starving,’ he said.
‘It’s a proper Devon cream tea. Which means you have to put the cream on first.’
He looked at her. ‘But of course,’ he smiled, and she felt herself melt a little.
‘Feet off the sofa,’ she said, unable to stop herself swiping at his baseball boots and putting a plate down on the table in front of him. ‘Shall I be mother?’
‘Must you?’ he asked, sitting up. ‘I’d much rather you were just yourself.’
He was flirting with her. Cheeks pink, Caroline poured the tea and reminded herself that she was actually old enough to be his mother. She cleared her throat.
‘So. Why has Calypso sent you here?’
‘Writer’s block, I guess.’ He laughed, spooning up a dollop of clotted cream. ‘I’m stuck. Convinced I can’t write for toffee. Terrified I’m going to have to give back my advance.’
‘Good old imposter syndrome.’ Caroline waved her scone in the air. ‘It’s all part of the process, darling. If you think you’re a genius, that’s the time to start worrying. You have to think you’re rubbish in order to write better. There’s no other way round it, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh.’ He frowned. ‘So do you ever feel like you’re rubbish?’
‘Every time. Usually after about twenty thousand words, when I realise I’ve got another eighty to go and no plot.’ She laughed. ‘Why do you think writers are drunks, historically? Look at Hemingway. Look at Fitzgerald. Look at Chandler. And here’s the thing.’ She leaned forward. ‘It’s not supposed to be easy.’
‘Oh.’ He bit into his scone. ‘Oh my God, this is so good. I’ve never had a cream tea before.’
‘What?’
‘They don’t really serve them in the backstreets of Stockport.’
Caroline laughed. He was funny. Charming. Self-deprecating. Not the arrogant brat the press had made out.
‘Well, fill your boots,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have had one. A moment on the lips …’
He flicked a glance over at her. ‘You look all right to me.’
She blushed again.
‘Anyway,’ she said briskly, changing the subject. ‘You’ve got to silence the voice in your head that tells you you’re no good. You wrote the fastest-selling paperback of last year. That wasn’t a fluke. You’re a jolly good writer.’
‘Oh.’ Radar looked pleased. ‘Did you read it, then?’
‘In one day. It’s terrific. You’re a natural. You can always tell by the rhythm if people can really write. You pick the reader up and carry them along effortlessly.’
‘Thank you.’ He cleared his throat, awkward. ‘Sorry, but I’ve never—’
Caroline laughed. ‘Read one of mine? I wouldn’t expect you to have. Don’t worry at all.’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Thank you for the advice. But what are we going to do? I’m booked in here for a fortnight.’
There was silence for a moment. Caroline summed the situation up. She didn’t want to send him packing. He’d made her laugh. Brought out something maternal in her. And something else a little sweeter.
‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘you could sleep in the back room. It’s more of a cupboard, really, but it’s got a single bed in it.’
‘That’d be wicked. I won’t disturb you. You won’t know I’m here.’
She pointed at him.
‘You’re to write two thousand words a day while you’re here. No loud music and no mess. No smoking.’
‘I’m as pure as the driven snow, me. Don’t believe what you read in the press.’ He widened his eyes.
He was making her flustered. Caroline Talbot was never flustered.
‘Let’s have a gin and tonic,’ she said.
He tutted. ‘Calypso said no drink.’
‘Bollocks to that,’ said Caroline, who’d brought her own bottle of Tanqueray, her preferred writing tipple, knowing full well her agent’s draconian ways.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Turns out you’re the rebel, not me. I wouldn’t have dared.’
Three drinks later and they were getting on famously. Caroline heated up the crab cakes chilling in the fridge before they forgot to eat and got too drunk.
‘This is more than I’ve eaten in weeks,’ said Radar. She could believe it. He was skinny as a rake.
When they’d finished, he offered to wash up, then made her a cup of tea.
‘I make the best brew. And this will stop you having a hangover, guaranteed.’
They sat side by side with their mugs on the steps outside, and he asked her for more advice.
‘Tell the story you want to tell,’ Caroline urged him. ‘Don’t worry that it might not be as good as your first. You’ve got a team that will make sure it’s up to scratch. They won’t let you go out there with your pants down.’
He laughed at that. ‘Well, that’s easy for you to say. How many have you written?’
‘Thirty this year. If I get it done.’ Caroline made a face.
‘Is that why you’re here?’
‘I want to take my heroine in a new direction and I don’t think my editor is going to be happy.’
‘What about your readers, though? Will they be happy? Surely they’re the ones who count?’
‘I don’t know …’
‘You literally just told me to write the story I want to tell.’ He turned and looked at her, raising his eyebrows. ‘You should listen to your own advice.’
Caroline sighed. ‘That’s not always how it works. Not when you’ve got a franchise. Tuesday is a career girl. They won’t want her married off.’
He drained the last of his tea, thoughtful, then set his mug down on the step.
‘Why don’t you do two endings, then?’
‘What?’
He shrugged. ‘The reader can choose whichever they prefer. Tuesday goes off into the sunset. Or Tuesday chooses her career. That way everyone’s happy.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why not do something no one’s expecting? Be disruptive. It won’t affect the quality of your writing.’
‘No …’
‘Try it. Try it while we’re here. What have you got to lose?’ He leaned into her and she could smell him. Petrichor. That’s what it was. The heady scent of rain on warm tarmac. ‘Don’t get stuck in your ways. Take a risk.’
She shut her eyes for a moment, breathing him in, knowing that whenever she smelled that smell in future she would picture him. ‘Thank you, Radar,’ she said, eventually. ‘It’s a brilliant idea. I’m going to try it.’
‘Well, you’ve inspired me, so it’s the least I can do.’
They smiled at each other. Caroline found herself blushing yet again as she met the deep grey of his eyes. And as their gazes locked, she suddenly realised something.
‘The bloody manipulative old fox!’ she said.
‘Eh?’
‘This
was no accident,’ she told him. ‘We’ve been set up.’
Shrewd Calypso. She knew her clients so well. The old hand versus the new kid on the block, offering each other their wisdom.
Radar gave a mischievous chuckle, leaning back against the wall of the hut and crossing his arms. ‘Right. Well. We’re going to have to get our revenge, then, aren’t we?’
‘How are we going to do that?’
‘The bloody paps have been on my back ever since the book came out. So let’s give them something to write about. What do you reckon?’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘We’ll tip ’em off. Tell them that two chart-topping writers are shacked up on the beach together. They’ll be here like a shot.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yeah. Especially if we can get J. K. Rowling to make it a threesome.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t reckon it will do our sales any harm. And, let’s face it, someone else will tip them off if we don’t.’
‘But would anyone believe it? You and me?’
He looked at her, that grey gaze sweeping her up and down. ‘Why wouldn’t they?’ he said softly.
The next morning, Caroline piled her blonde curls on top of her head, put on her glitziest leopard-print kaftan and a swipe of red lipstick. Not bad, she thought, checking herself out in the mirror. She might be carrying a few extra pounds but she could still pull it out of the bag. Radar grinned at her. He was in cut-off shorts and a Trainspotting t-shirt.
‘Come on, then, darling.’ He took her hand, and they opened the door to the hut and stepped outside into the sunshine. They feigned surprise at the cluster of photographers who had set themselves up on the beach outside.
‘Got anything to say about this?’ shouted one of them.
‘It’s an interesting new chapter,’ drawled Caroline, snaking her arm around Radar’s neck and resting her head on his shoulder.
‘It’s a twist I didn’t see coming,’ said Radar, planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek.
‘But is it happy ever after?’ shouted another.
They weren’t going to be drawn any longer.
‘We’d be grateful if you’d leave us alone now,’ said Radar. ‘We’ve both got work to do.’
They posed for a few more photographs then stepped back inside the hut and closed the door. For a moment they collapsed onto each other, laughing.
‘They totally fell for it,’ wheezed Radar.
‘I know. Imagine!’
He stopped laughing and looked at her for a moment. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I am.’
His hand was still on her arm. She didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t fair of him to tease her. She stepped away from the heat of his fingers.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll do coffee and scrambled eggs. Then it’s straight down to it. You don’t get lunch until you’ve written a thousand words.’
‘Bloody hell,’ grumbled Radar. ‘It’s like boot camp.’
‘It certainly is.’
‘I bet you won’t let me have a beer either, will you?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Not until six.’
The day passed in a blur. The two of them sat opposite each other, fingers racing over their keyboards, sustained by jugs of agua fresca and chocolate chip cookies. By evening, they had each written over three thousand words and could see the road ahead.
‘I’d never have done this without you,’ said Radar. ‘I’d’ve sat here with my head in my hands, bellyaching.’
‘Well, you’ve helped me too. Tuesday’s mistress of the big house by the loch and it feels like the right place for her. I’m going to leave her there, then create a new character, for a new series. Someone a little older and wiser.’
‘There’s definitely magic in this air,’ he said, looking outside to the late afternoon sun dancing on the waves, strewing golden beads of light across the water.
Caroline shut her laptop lid. ‘Calypso’s a clever old bird.’
They sat there in companionable silence, both relishing the satisfaction of a hard day’s work combined with the prospect of a pleasant evening ahead. The hut was filled with a soft light, and the sea air danced in through the door.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,’ said Caroline.
Radar walked over to the kitchen and peered into the fridge. ‘Pasties and baked beans do you? I can just about manage that without burning it.’
‘Perfect,’ said Caroline, thinking that truth really was stranger than fiction. In her wildest dreams she would never have imagined wild boy Radar Mulligan cooking dinner for her.
You couldn’t make it up.
RETREAT RECIPES
There isn’t a writer I know who doesn’t take themselves off for a few days from time to time for some uninterrupted writing. To wake in the morning and be able to dive straight into work is a real luxury, but it can also be a necessity. Sometimes you need the space to get your head around the plot, work out all the backstories, untangle all the complications and find a path through to the end. Getting away from it all is the only answer, although it’s not always that easy.
But even more than a writing retreat, I often long for a reading retreat. Even though it’s part of my job to keep up with all the latest bestsellers, there never seems to be time to do them justice. The thought of having nothing else to worry about for a whole week, and then to lie in the sun with a book – with perhaps the occasional dip in the sea when it gets too warm – seems like paradise.
I’m sure it’s not just writers who long for that indulgence. We all have books tucked away we haven’t read yet, or old favourites we long to return to. And juggling work and family and everyday life means we usually only get time for a paragraph or two before our eyes find themselves closing.
And to really lose yourself between the pages, it’s vital not to be troubled by the day-to-day minutiae, or to have to worry about what to cook, so the fridge must be well stocked. Clever Calypso, to provide such toothsome indulgence for Caroline and Radar!
Agua fresca
This is perfect to make in the morning and keep in a jug to sip at all day long.
MAKES 6 GLASSES
¼ small watermelon (about 450g of flesh)
200g fresh raspberries
Juice of 2 limes
1 litre chilled water
2 tsp honey, or to taste (optional)
6 fresh mint sprigs
Roughly chop the watermelon flesh and add to a food processor along with the raspberries and lime juice. Pour in the water and whizz until pulverised. This makes a refreshingly tart drink, but if you prefer it sweeter add a little honey when whizzing. Strain through a fine sieve into a jug, discarding the pulp. Add a sprig of mint to your glass before pouring.
Crostini
Crostini are ideal to serve with dips and pâtés. This recipe is super-quick and easy and makes the perfect base for the toppings that follow. All of these are perfect for that time of day when everyone is a little peckish but it’s not quite time for lunch. Ideal with a little bottle of beer or a splash of white wine – day time drinking is allowed at the seaside, after all.
MAKES 30–40 CROSTINI
1 baguette
Olive oil
Preheat the oven to 190ºC/fan 170°C/gas mark 5. Cut the baguette into very thin slices. Place them in a baking tray and drizzle liberally with olive oil then bake for 10 minutes, turning once, until they are lightly toasted. Keep a sharp eye on them as they can go from golden brown to burnt very quickly!
The crostini will keep in a tin for a couple of days, but if you make any of the following they will disappear pretty quickly.
Smoked mackerel pâté
This is the archetypal minimum effort, maximum impact creation. I always forget about it, and then when I remember and make it I’m amazed all over again at how delicious it is. It is very rich, though, so don’t spoil your lunch!
SERVES 4 TO GO WITH DRINKS
4 mackerel fillets (about 300g), skins removed
/> 1 × 180g tub cream cheese
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 tsp horseradish or dash of Tabasco sauce
Cayenne pepper
Baby cornichons
Use a fork to break up the mackerel flesh. Put in a food processor with the cream cheese, the lemon zest and juice and the horseradish. Whizz until smooth. You might need to scrape down the sides halfway through. Put into a bowl, smooth over the top, add a sprinkling of cayenne pepper and an extra squeeze of lemon juice. Serve on brown toast, topped with the halved baby cornichons.
Spicy garlicky olive oil
My great friend Alice taught me this trick: a spicy garlicky oil for making hummus or baba ghanoush (see below). By heating the oil first then turning it off and letting the garlic and spices infuse there is less danger of them burning, and the flavours really develop.
2 tbsp olive oil
2 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp fennel seeds
Strips of lemon peel
1 tsp sea salt
Heat the oil in a heavy-bottomed pan then turn off the heat. Add the garlic, spices, lemon peel and salt, and leave in the oil for a couple of hours to infuse.
Hummus
What is it about hummus that inspires such passion? Its ingredients are very unprepossessing, nor does it look particularly appetising, but it’s always received with rapturous delight and devoured within seconds. And it’s the easiest thing to make if people turn up unexpectedly – always keep a tin of chickpeas on the shelf.
SERVES 4 TO GO WITH DRINKS
1 × 400g tin chickpeas, drained
1 quantity Spicy Garlicky Olive Oil (see here)
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp tahini
1 tbsp pine kernels, lightly toasted
1 tbsp chopped coriander
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Put the chickpeas in a food processor with the infused oil, lemon zest and juice, olive oil and tahini. Whizz to a smooth paste. Taste and season with salt and pepper, and add a little extra olive oil if the mixture is too dry. Serve in a bowl, garnished with a few lightly toasted pine kernels and some fresh coriander.
A Day at the Beach Hut Page 6