The Café at Seashell Cove_A heart-warming laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Karen Clarke

  She put down the knife she’d been using. ‘I thought everything was free.’

  ‘What?’ I looked around at the rapidly filling café, with a cold, tight feeling in my stomach. The idea had been for customers to taste the drinks and then order a cup of their favourite and pay in the usual way – Had I put prices on the menu? – but now I noticed people were tasting all the flavours on offer before helping themselves to cake, and not parting with any cash.

  ‘Were they supposed to pay?’ Meg looked a bit panicked, and I tried to remember whether I’d spelt things out – another golden rule of event planning – and they’d just forgotten, or the words had stayed in my head.

  It’s fine, don’t worry,’ I said, twirling my ponytail round my finger as I paced behind the counter, getting in everyone’s way. It didn’t seem right that Mum and Dad were now losing money, but it felt too late to start asking people to cough up. I’d have to cover the cost of the evening out of my own rapidly depleting pocket.

  ‘Mum, are you getting everyone to make a note of their favourite drink so you can stock it in future?’ I said, as she reached past me for another cup.

  She froze, as though she’d spotted a rat. ‘Was I meant to?’

  Oh, help. ‘That was the general idea.’ I’d run her through it when I’d arrived with her change of clothes, even writing down the flavours so that she and Dad could put ticks against each one. I glanced at the pad, which was still sitting by the hot-water dispenser, and mashed my palm against my forehead. ‘How will you know which ones to order, if you don’t know what’s popular?’

  ‘Ah.’ She looked at the packet of tea in her other hand. ‘I thought it was just a novelty thing, not that we were going to be buying any.’

  ‘You won’t be buying all of them,’ I said, going dizzy as Rob spun me round on his way to help Dad, whose face had gone all shiny from the steam. ‘Just the ones that people like the most.’

  ‘Apparently, this one tastes like dishwater.’ She waggled the packet with the expression of a Labrador hoping to please its mistress.

  ‘Oh, Mum.’

  ‘Don’t get cross with your mother,’ Dad scolded, chucking an empty coffee-bean packet in the direction of the bin.

  ‘Don’t throw that away, it has the provenance on the back.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone’s interested in the coffee’s upbringing, they just want to drink it,’ he said, pausing to watch a man pulling a face as he drank. ‘Or not.’ He winked at a wild-eyed pensioner who was asking for another taste of ‘the one like nectar’. ‘She’s already had four of those,’ he said round the side of his hand. ‘She’s completely wired.’

  ‘Dad! Just one taste, like I said, or there won’t be any left for anyone else to try.’ Despair flowed through me, and not even the sight of Tilly’s friendly face, as she approached the counter, could dispel the feeling that I’d made a terrible mistake.

  ‘How’s it going?’ she called, above the rising babble.

  ‘Great!’ I replied with a wave, envying the easy way she greeted people, and how they responded, seeming to light up in her presence. ‘Try some cinnamon and ginger tea.’

  Mum poured her half a cup – far too much for a taste – and Tilly swilled it around her mouth and nodded her approval. ‘I like that,’ she said, when she’d swallowed. ‘Make sure you get some in.’

  ‘Really?’ Mum made a face. ‘It’s quite expensive.’

  ‘Mum! You’re not supposed to say things like that.’

  ‘It’s only Tilly,’ she said. ‘And, anyway, it is too expensive.’

  Resisting the urge to stamp my foot and scream, I somehow arranged my face in an understanding smile, in case someone was thinking they’d like to host a similar event – but better – and wanted to know who’d arranged this one.

  ‘It would be better if it was cocktails,’ said one of the women whose foot I’d almost trodden on earlier. ‘And if there was music,’ added her friend, who’d clearly tasted too many of the stronger coffees, judging by her jittery arm movements.

  ‘They’ve really missed a trick, haven’t they?’ Now one of the other females was joining in, glancing at her watch with a dissatisfied look. ‘Can’t even sit outside, ’cos it’s pissing down.’

  ‘We should go to the Smugglers Inn later on, they’ve got karaoke tonight.’

  I caught Tilly’s sympathetic look, and gave a ‘what can you do?’ shrug, careful to keep smiling even though my head was starting to thump. What I wanted to do was go home. What I needed to do was start networking, but I couldn’t seem to summon the energy.

  ‘Cassie, how do you pronounce this?’ Dad was waving a packet of Himalayan coffee beans at me. ‘Claude reckons it’s Hula,’ he said, winking at a big-bellied man with a huge white beard, who looked like he should be unloading Christmas gifts from a sack.

  I peered at the letters. Huila. ‘Erm, I can’t help you there, I’m afraid,’ I said, wishing he’d asked me something I could answer.

  ‘Cassie, did you order anything decaffeinated?’ Mum tapped my arm. ‘Stop that,’ she said, and I realised I was raking my itchy wrist with my fingernails.

  ‘Sorry, no, I thought I had,’ I said, ‘but if there’s nothing there then… No, sorry.’

  The room was spinning. It was hot and my clothes felt too tight. I headed for the terrace, not caring that it was raining, just desperate to get outside, but was stopped in my tracks by the sound of a Spanish guitar being played with expert precision.

  Around me, the chatter died away, and I turned with everyone else to look for the source of the music. It was Rodney’s Dad, sitting on one of the tables, head lowered over his instrument, the fingers of one hand plucking the strings while the other hand danced gracefully over the frets. His face was curtained by hair, but it was obvious the effects of whatever he’d taken earlier had worn off.

  Astonished out of my panic, I looked at Rob, and saw that he looked as stunned as everyone else. We exchanged relieved smiles, and as the music danced around the café, pulling everyone towards the source like a magnet, some of my tension evaporated.

  Every event needs a ‘wow’ moment that people will remember.

  I looked at the rapt expressions on the faces around me, and knew that this was it. Smiling, I backed to the counter, careering sideways when I came up against something solid.

  A strong pair of arms shot out to catch me just before I hit the floor. ‘Falling for me already?’ said Danny Fleetwood.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I hurried down the ribbon of path to the beach, wrenching my ponytail free of its band so that my hair lashed round my face in the rain-soaked wind.

  ‘Hang on, where are you going?’ called Danny behind me, but I didn’t stop until I was panting on the sand, with nothing but the darkening sky above and the steely glitter of the sea stretched out in front of me.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, as Danny caught up, not sure how to explain that the feel of his hands on my arms as he’d steadied me, combined with the music and heat of the café had sent my emotions into a tailspin. Frantic to escape, I’d mumbled that I had a headache before fleeing.

  ‘I don’t normally have such a dramatic effect on women,’ he said, facing the sea alongside me, not even slightly out of breath. ‘They normally run into my arms, not sprint in the opposite direction.’

  ‘You’re pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?’ Hugging my arms around my waist, I turned to look at his annoyingly perfect profile, wondering exactly how many girlfriends he’d had. ‘Why are you wasting your time trying to “win me over” when you can obviously have your pick?’

  ‘Hey, lighten up.’ Bending his knees so our shoulders were level, he gave me a gentle nudge. ‘I was only joking, Cassie.’

  The collar of his woollen jacket smelt damp and his stubble glistened with raindrops. The rain was falling steadily, flattening our hair to our scalps, but where it didn’t detract from his good looks, the drowned-rat look didn’t flatter my egg-shaped head. />
  ‘Sure you’re OK?’

  Keen to escape his scrutiny, I fixed my gaze ahead as if hypnotised by the waves. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘You seemed a bit tense back there.’

  ‘Of course I was,’ I said, wondering how long he’d been watching me. ‘Events are always nerve-wracking.’

  ‘Even a small one like that?’ He turned, and I glanced over my shoulder at the brightly lit café, where silhouettes of people were bobbing about. Faint guitar music drifted down, faster than before, and I imagined everyone dancing and wished I’d not let my nerves get the better of me. I’d caught a glimpse of Meg’s startled face as I shot past and heard Tilly call my name, but hadn’t looked back.

  ‘There’s more pressure when it’s family,’ I said.

  ‘You want to be careful of that.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Pressure. It can do bad things to a person.’

  What did he know about pressure with his casual approach to work? ‘Pressure produces diamonds,’ I said, citing Carlotta, who’d been as fond of a pointless sound bite as Nina was of inspirational quotes.

  ‘It can also burst a pipe.’ Danny flipped up an eyebrow, and looked as if he was waiting for me to appreciate this startling insight.

  Hoping for a quick exit from the conversation, I said, ‘Thanks for doing the sign for tonight’s event.’ I hadn’t noticed it until I’d arrived at the café. A sandwich board, with the words Taster Session tonight, courtesy of Cassie Maitland. Come and wet your whistle between 7 and 9 p.m. written in swirly script.

  ‘My pleasure. I’ll do one for your cat day too, if you like.’

  ‘How did you know about that?’ I realised as soon as I said it that Nan must have told him.

  ‘Sylvia mentioned it,’ he confirmed. ‘I volunteer at the shelter sometimes, so I called and put in a good word for you.’

  ‘Which good word, when you don’t even know me?’ I couldn’t help making the dig again, thinking how little he really did know.

  His eyes sprang wide with surprise. ‘I said you’d had lots of experience at arranging these sorts of events, and that the cats would be in safe hands.’

  For some reason, while he was speaking, I was imagining us in a soapy embrace in the shower. Chasing the image away I said, ‘I wouldn’t say lots of experience.’

  ‘You don’t have to pretend to be modest.’ I felt the weight of his gaze again. ‘Your parents are obviously proud of you for a reason.’

  They wouldn’t be if they knew I’d been fired. ‘All parents are proud of their children’s achievements.’

  ‘Not true,’ he said. ‘I know plenty who aren’t, and for good reason.’

  ‘Speaking from experience?’

  He was silent for a moment, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. I didn’t want to encourage him, but I was coming across like a bitch.

  ‘My parents are proud,’ he said lightly. ‘But they’re not the type to shout about it.’

  ‘Like mine, you mean?’

  ‘I wasn’t saying that. God you’re touchy.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘I’m really going to have my work cut out, persuading you I’m worth getting to know.’

  I gave a snort. ‘You’re full of it, Danny Fleetwood.’

  ‘If you mean good intentions, then yes, I am. Hopefully, I can convince you of that over a meal tomorrow night.’

  ‘No, thanks, and anyway, I can’t.’ I rubbed my upper arms. My thin, wet blouse was no match for the bracing wind wrinkling the sea into creamy-white peaks. ‘I’ve arranged a games evening at the café.’

  ‘Sounds fun.’ His lips curved into a smile. Why did I keep looking at his lips? ‘I’m lethal at Scrabble.’

  The thought of him coming to the games night made my wrist itch again. ‘Won’t you be working at the restaurant?’

  ‘Night off,’ he said. ‘I could bring my mum.’

  ‘Great.’

  Apparently choosing to ignore my sarcastic tone, he said, ‘What about Thursday? I’ll cook you the best meal you’ve ever had.’

  My heart did a great big bounce. ‘I’ve already told you, you’re wasting your time with me.’

  ‘But you will at least come for a meal?’

  I sighed. ‘I’ve arranged a comedy night on Thursday, at the Smugglers Inn. Andy Farrington. It’s on the website.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the comedy night.’

  I didn’t bother asking how he knew. He clearly knew everything. ‘He’s good,’ I said. ‘He did a big charity gig I was at last year in London.’

  ‘Oh, I know who Andy Farrington is.’

  Confused by Danny’s mischievous tone, I said, ‘Well… good for you.’

  ‘I guess it’ll have to be Friday, then. The meal, I mean.’

  ‘Fine, whatever.’ I puffed the words out on a sigh as I stamped my feet on the sand. My teeth had started to chatter and, before I could object, Danny had removed his jacket and swung it around my shoulders. The lining was warm, and held the scent of him, and – in spite of myself – I snuggled into it.

  ‘Let’s get you back inside before you catch cold,’ he said, turning and leading the way back to the path. ‘Unless you’d like me to walk you home?’ It was almost as if he’d sensed my reluctance to go back into the café.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve got the car,’ I said. ‘Plus, I should really stay for a bit and help my parents clear up.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll manage without you.’

  ‘This wasn’t their idea,’ I said, watching his outline in front of me, pushing along with easy strides while I puffed behind in my slippery-soled black loafers. ‘They’ll be wanting to get off home.’

  He stopped suddenly, halfway up the path. ‘Aren’t they on board with your plan to “boost their business”?’

  Why had he emphasised the words? Had Mum and Dad said something? ‘I’m doing it for their benefit.’

  ‘I didn’t say you weren’t.’ He turned to face me, but I couldn’t read his expression in the failing light. ‘But I got the impression they thought you were here on holiday.’

  For god’s sake. Why did they have to talk about me to everyone?

  ‘But they want to help,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, they want to help, do they?’ I had no idea why my voice had risen an incredulous semitone. ‘I’m the one doing them a favour, not the other way round.’

  The wind had dropped and the silence that fell was a solid wedge between us. Behind him, I noticed that Meg and Tilly had come out onto the terrace and were looking over, their faces a pale blank gleam.

  ‘I guess you’re helping each other,’ Danny said finally, and I switched my gaze back to his shadowy frame. ‘That’s what families do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Families are a pain in the behind.’

  ‘Don’t take your family for granted, Cassie, they’re part of your history, of who you are.’

  Ashamed of my snappy tone, I said, ‘I suppose so. It’s just… ’ I looked at my shoes, which were covered in sand.

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘It’s hard work, that’s all… ’ Pretending I haven’t potentially messed up my future. ‘If I’m going to be my own boss, I need to put myself out there. I can’t afford to lounge around doing nothing while I’m here, especially as Mum and Dad think I’m going back to London soon.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes, but…’ Unwilling to admit that I currently had no home there, I said vaguely, ‘I was thinking of New York, too. I lived there for a while and know a few people.’ None who’d be willing to offer me a free home.

  ‘I quite fancy visiting New York.’ He grinned, and although I had the feeling it wasn’t what he’d intended to say, I was relieved when he didn’t pursue it. For a horrible moment, I’d felt a dragging desire to tell the truth about everything and, as he continued on his way, I lagged behind so there were no more opportunities for conversation.

  * * *

  Everyone seemed subdued the following morning. I’d risen earl
y, determined to have breakfast with my family before they left the house, but attempts to analyse the evening’s event were met with a lacklustre response.

  ‘It went very well, love,’ was Mum’s best offer.

  Dad’s was worse. ‘I ache all over this morning,’ he said, moving stiffly with his hand pressed in the small of his back. ‘Those extra couple of hours made a real difference.’

  Maybe their lack of enthusiasm was because, in the end, I hadn’t been able to face following Danny back into the café – even to return his jacket. I’d invented a migraine for Meg and Tilly’s benefit, my bedraggled appearance adding credence to the lie. Although it hadn’t been a total lie, as my head really had been pounding. They’d been touchingly sympathetic, with Meg promising to tell my parents I’d had to go home, and when Mum had stuck her head round my bedroom door just after ten, I’d pretended to be asleep.

  ‘Rodney’s Dad demanded two hundred quid,’ Rob said, once Mum and Dad had left for work, their goodbyes to me accompanied by worried smiles and admonishments to ‘take it easy’ because I was ‘obviously very tired’.

  ‘Two hundred quid?’ I almost dropped my coffee mug. ‘You didn’t pay him?’

  Rob shook his head.

  ‘Mum did, though.’

  ‘WHAT?’ I clattered my mug onto the table. ‘The little shit,’ I stormed, pushing my fingers through my bed-tangled hair. ‘Considering the state he was in when he arrived, he’s got a bloody nerve. I mean, he came good in the end, and he’ll probably get more bookings on the back of that performance, but he should be thanking us for giving him a second chance, not demanding cash. In fact, I’ve a good mind to call him—’

  ‘Dial it down, sis,’ Rob said calmly, placing his cereal bowl in the sink. He still ate Cheerios for breakfast, like he had when he was ten. ‘I told him I’d tell his granddad about his little habit if he didn’t give back at least a hundred and fifty.’

  ‘And did he?’ I seemed to be angry out of all proportion, my heart banging too hard in my chest. I imagined leaping on Fletcher and pummelling him to the ground, then bashing him over the head with his guitar.