‘Hmm, okay. Well, are you alright?’ Mum’s tone softened, realising she’d been quick to assume that he’d drifted back to his old ways. But he’d had such a troubled time a few years back. Coming home late. Getting into scrapes. And she still remembered that dreadful occasion when a policeman – who also happened to be a family friend – had turned up at their door, letting them know that Jack had been cautioned after being found fighting in the street. It hadn’t been taken any further, thankfully, but goodness, they had been so worried.
‘Bit sore, but yeah, I’ll survive,’ Jack answered, feeling that familiar sense of falling short in their eyes.
Denise poured boiling water into the teapot. ‘I do worry about this new business of yours, at times, Jack.’
New? He’d been running his Cocktail Campervan for four years now.
‘The sort of people you’ll be mixing with … drinking and all that,’ she continued.
‘Mum … it’s a bar,’ Jack was trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. ‘I’m bound to be mixing with people who drink, that’s the whole idea.’
‘Exactly.’ His mum clearly wasn’t going to be won over with sarcasm.
‘Look, most of the people I deal with are just having a nice time. I’m there to provide a unique and fun bar service for parties and celebrations. Last night there were plenty of older family members there, even good old Grandma. It was a Silver Wedding party, not some rave. A family anniversary celebration, not some drunken mob event.’
‘Yes, but you can always get that element. Why else were you getting punched in the face?’ Dad joined in now.
Why indeed? He didn’t have an answer to that one, unfortunately.
Jack still felt their disappointment, like a cloud hanging over him. He hadn’t taken their preferred route: the four years he was supposed to have knuckled down at uni, taking a law degree before landing that sensible, well-paid job. He’d only managed a year before dropping out to see the world, taking some time out, and landing some bar work abroad. Eighteen months later, coming back home to work as a waiter, soon working his way up to manager, at a busy bar and bistro in the town. Then, of course, he’d branched out on his own, buying and converting Ruby, and starting the Cocktail Campervan.
‘I like my job, Mum. It’s a good little business.’ The campervan bar gave him freedom and flexibility. He was working for himself, he enjoyed it. Every penny he earned was his, and he was doing pretty damned well. He’d managed to save a tidy sum. Okay, so it had its issues, of course. No business was problem- or stress-free. But he worked through all of those issues as they came up – they were challenges, that was all. He could choose his events and working days; giving him time to go and do the things he loved – cycling, running, hiking. He loved the outdoors life. And this was an outdoors job. How many of his mates could work just three or four days a week, make enough money to comfortably get by plus save a bit, and get to enjoy all that free time too?
‘It just doesn’t seem the kind of job to settle down with, though.’ Denise’s brow was still creased as she passed him a mug of steaming tea.
Here we go. Mum was still hoping he’d find the perfect partner, settle down, and have the 2.4 children or whatever the going rate was nowadays. There’d be time for all that … at some point … some distant point.
‘I like it. It’s doing well, and I’m making decent money.’
‘Well, that’s good.’ Dad, at least, was now shifting towards some positive support.
Simon generally preferred to sit in the middle ground on the home front. He focussed his energy on his role as deputy headteacher at the local secondary school; that took up enough of his attention, he didn’t need to start arguing on the domestic front too. Most of the time, he was easy-going and genial. Well, until the stuffing had been knocked out of him eleven years ago … out of them all. That was the only time Jack had ever seen his father cry.
Life could be cut short; they had learned that the hard way. It shouldn’t be spent wasting away in some ‘sensible’ job, not if you hated the thought of getting up to do it every day. Jack was sure about that. The lawyer thing, it had always been their dream for him, not his. He had realised that as soon as he’d started the course, but he’d tried to stick with it, at first.
It was Daniel who was the clever one. Daniel who loved studying, and was all set to become the medic. As young boys, they had always been very different, although Jack had always looked up to him. Jack was more entrepreneurial; selling sweets and cans of fizzy drink from his school bag at break times, boosting his pocket money each week. Daniel was the studious one. It was always going to be hard trying to walk in his shoes; they had always seemed just that little bit too big.
Daniel, his big brother, who he still missed like crazy.
Who had left a huge Daniel-shaped hole in all of their lives.
The conversation rolled on to other things. The three of them took their tea with squares of homemade flapjack outside into the garden; a space that Denise tended so well. Borders of purple irises stood tall in a swathe by the pond, red and yellow tulips bunched boldly beneath neatly-pruned shrubs, and there was a scattering of delicate pastel-shaded aquilegia. The grass was kept short and cut into orderly stripes by Simon.
The garden was one area of their lives that Denise and Simon felt they could control. Though neat, it was abundant and colourful, and spoke of a warmth and love that they hadn’t totally lost, in spite of everything, thankfully. It was a place of solace.
Sat at the wrought-iron table with his parents, Jack soaked up the late-morning sunshine for a while. He wished they could understand his career choices; how the campervan was a way of life as well as a job, how it suited him. But they were old school, traditional, set in their views and expectations. He did love them, of course, but there was always this nagging feeling that he’d let them down somehow.
Jack rubbed his eyes and winced at the throbbing pain from the punch. After last night, getting in the thick of the drama once again, maybe he had …
Chapter 9
A copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was tucked under Lucy’s arm as she headed into the balmy summer evening. She hadn’t read the book since her school days, when she’d found it a bit dry, to be honest, her teenage self wondering what the fuss was all about. But now, aged thirty, and three quarters of the way through, she was seeing it in a whole new light. The characters seemed to jump off the page this time; both Mr Darcy and Lizzie, for their faults, and their fun. It had made Lucy smile on many occasions as she read through the pages this week, perched on a chair in her back garden whilst catching a few rays of sunshine, or curled on the sofa of an evening with Daisy tucked beside her.
She was making her way past the little row of stone cottages, on her way to her first Book Club evening at the Driftwood Café. How lovely that she’d been invited to join in; she was feeling very much a part of this little coastal community now, and was looking forward to making some more new friends. She was delighted to be asked, thinking that it might make her pick up books that she’d not have otherwise chosen, with the chance to rediscover authors too. Becky, who’d also been invited, had texted to say she was going to be a few minutes late with work commitments running over, but would meet her there.
Peering through the café window, Lucy could see a small group had already gathered around one of the large circular tables. As Lucy stepped inside the door, with its bell giving a welcome tinkle, she couldn’t help but spot the freshly baked goodies set in a mouth-watering display at the centre of the table. Louise was busy behind the counter brewing a large pot of coffee and another of tea. Books and cakes together, bliss.
‘Hello,’ Lucy called out, slightly nervously. She was sure they’d all be friendly in the Book Club, but it was always a little nerve-wracking being the new one on the scene.
‘Oh, hi,’ Louise gave a warm smile as she saw who it was. ‘Everyone, have you met Lucy, our new village resident? She lives at Cove Cottage just
along the road.’
A chorus of ‘Hi’s and ‘Hello’s rang out, with Cathy from the village shop following up with, ‘Hello, Lucy. We have met before, of course. Welcome to Book Club … or should I say Cake Club.’ She gave a wink and a small chuckle. ‘Louise always looks after us very well.’
‘Too well, my waistband is always groaning after Book Club,’ chirped a lady, who looked to be in her sixties, with a broad grin.
‘No-one’s forcing you to eat them, Glynis!’ Louise called out.
‘I know. But just look at them, how could anyone resist?’
Lucy smiled too, ‘Hi, everyone. Thank you so much for inviting me along. I love reading, can’t get enough of it really, so I’m really looking forward to this.’
‘So,’ Louise said, as she approached the table bearing a large tray with a colourful assortment of mugs, a cafetière and a navy polka-dot teapot, ‘this is Glynis. She lives in the nearby hamlet of Dunstan. You know Cathy, of course, from the shop, and Abby, I take it, who helps out as our lovely waitress here?’
‘Yes. Hi. Yeah, we know each other.’
‘Good, good. And then these two trouble-makers are Sarah and Helen.’ The pair of forty-somethings, one blonde and one dark, gave a welcoming smile. Lucy had seen them around the village and on the beach, often walking together with their dogs.
‘Hi, there. And don’t listen to a word she says, there’s no trouble about us at all. And well … if there is, then Louise has taught us everything we know.’ They were obviously all good friends.
‘Ah yes, we’ve said hello before, when I’ve been out with Daisy, my dachshund, but I didn’t know your names,’ Lucy confessed.
‘Yes, of course. The sausage-dog lady. I knew I recognised your face. Lovely to see you here,’ answered blonde Sarah.
‘Oh, and sometimes we have Paul along too, lovely chap, but he’s off to some folk concert tonight. Well then, my lovely, take a seat, don’t be shy,’ encouraged Louise. ‘Oh, and don’t worry, no-one’s too – how can I put it? – academic about the Book Club. It’s more of a chit-chat about how you feel about a book. What you got – or didn’t get – from it, that kind of thing.’
‘Yeah, the book chat normally lasts about a half-hour and then we have a good old chin-wag, to be honest,’ said Cathy. ‘Something in the book usually starts up a topic of conversation and well … off we roll.’
‘And we read all sorts. From the classics to crime to Jilly Cooper,’ added Helen.
‘Sounds great.’
‘But first …’ Louise started.
‘And most importantly …’ Cathy added with a broad grin.
‘Cake!’ the others shouted out.
‘Pass them around ladies, and do help yourselves.’
At that very moment the bell jingled above the door, announcing Becky’s arrival.
‘Good timing,’ laughed Lucy. ‘We were just about to get stuck into the cake. Everybody, this is my friend, Becky.’
‘Hi all! Thanks for having me here, especially as I’m not strictly a villager,’ Becky said with a wink.
‘Oh, everyone’s welcome. It’s always nice to see some new faces.’ Louise was evidently as generous with her friendship as she was with her cakes. And the introductions were made around the table once more for Becky’s benefit, as the tea and coffee were poured.
Little tea plates were set out ready by each seat, and Becky and Lucy took up the last two chairs. The plate of baked goodies was passed around. Which to choose? The fluffy-looking cream sponge, marshmallow-loaded Rocky Roads, or some kind of rich-gooey brownie. Lucy’s eyes lit up and her tummy rumbled, even though she’d just had a supper of scrambled eggs on toast.
Outside, it would soon begin to cool, with the sun now dipping in the sky, but the café was cosy, and it wasn’t just the radiators at work, there was such a homely feel there too. Where Lucy had previously lived with Liam – a large housing estate on the edge of Morpeth – well, it was a little soulless, with everyone busy to-ing and fro-ing to work, getting on with their daily lives. She and Liam had slotted into that same suburban lifestyle, existing in their bubble of two. But it was only lately she’d realised how empty that had been.
Here, in this little coastal village other forces were at work; people seemed to have a little more time for each other, to care about each other, in fact. It felt good. It felt like she was becoming a part of the community.
Between mouthfuls of delicious Victoria sponge and chocolate traybakes, they chatted about this month’s read, Pride and Prejudice.
‘Oh, I loved it,’ Glynis started, ‘Jane Austen has been a favourite of mine for many years now. Her books feel like old friends. Her characterisation is amazing … and all the twists and turns between Darcy and Elizabeth, it’s just delightfully written.’
‘It’s not my usual read,’ added Abby, ‘and it took me ages to get into the language of the book … it’s a bit old-fashioned and wordy, but yeah, I quite enjoyed it. The romance between Darcy and Elizabeth, that slow build, all the apprehension and misunderstandings … yep, in the end, I quite liked it.’
Helen, the dark-haired forty-something, snuffled. ‘I’m not sure I’m with you two on that. All that pent-up romance, and for what? Elizabeth, she should have bloody well run while she could. Trusted her first instincts about the Darcy bloke. Bloody romance books. All happy-ever-afters. Well, it doesn’t always end up that way.’
‘Yes, but oh, I do like a good romance and a happy ending,’ Louise chipped in. ‘Heaven knows we need it. Real life’s hard enough at times. Surely books can be a bit of an escape.’
‘Yeah, but we don’t need to have it rubbed in our faces about Mr Bloody Right. It just sets us up for a fall.’ Helen grimaced, then took a sip of tea.
There were nods of empathy from around the room.
‘Hmm, I can see both sides,’ Lucy contributed, without going anywhere near mentioning her own failed and messy relationship. ‘I know life’s not like that, but I actually don’t mind a little romance in a book. I can just switch off for a while, and pretend that life, that love, can work out.’
Becky gave a supportive smile, knowing exactly where her friend was coming from. ‘There’s no harm in that, is there. Books can be all sorts of things: an escape, uplifting, challenging, downright scary …’
‘Hmm, a little hope can’t be a bad thing,’ Glynis added thoughtfully.
Oh yes, and didn’t Lucy know that. Real life wasn’t quite like her favourite romantic reads, but she loved her escape-time curled up with them. And the books she chose, they weren’t all soppy and rose-tinted. No, they were relationship stories, looking at love and life and that rollercoaster we are all on, but she had to admit she liked the stories that held a little hope too. You should never give up on that little ray of hope.
‘And a good sex scene,’ added Cathy with a cheeky grin. ‘Not that you’d find much of that in a Jane Austen novel.’
‘No, it’s all pent-up and prim and proper,’ Abby chipped in.
‘But you do get where she’s coming from with that. Remember when this book was written, it was of its time. Though also timeless in some ways. Yes, there’s so much unspoken, unsaid, but you can also read it all between the lines. That was her genius.’ Glynis was a staunch supporter.
‘Hah, well, I’d much rather a crime book at the moment,’ Helen added wryly. ‘Preferably one where the husband ends up under the patio.’ She gave a grin, as the group burst into laughter.
‘Hah, don’t mind Helen, it’s no secret that she’s going through a messy divorce.’ Louise gave the two newbies the nod, as Helen rolled her eyes dramatically.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that Helen, that must be tough,’ Lucy responded kindly.
‘Ah, no worries, I’m surviving, and better he left when he did than end up under the patio!’ she added with a chuckle.
And the conversation turned to their lives and relationships, their families, the latest episode of the police TV series Line of Duty, and
this week’s Driftwood bakes to look forward to, including a summery Lemon and Strawberry Fresh Cream Sponge.
All too soon, it was time to go home. It had been wonderful, chatting about books and life, meeting some of the locals, and making new friends. Lucy was definitely intending coming back again. The group set off home with full tummies, warmed hearts, and the next Book Club read agreed: One Day by David Nicholls. They were to stick with a little romance for now.
‘Well, that was a good evening, wasn’t it?’ chirped Lucy on her way back down the street with Becky at her side.
‘Yeah, they seem a really nice group. A good mix.’
‘Yeah, and the cakes, wow …’
‘Worth going along just for that!’ Becky grinned.
‘Hah, I know. Isn’t Louise lovely, too.’
‘Yep, really warm and friendly. Village life is really working for you, isn’t it, Luce?’
‘Yeah, it is.’ Lucy gave a happy sigh.
‘No sign of any hunky single men around?’ Becky raised an eyebrow.
‘Hah, no, ’fraid not. Most of the blokes I’ve seen who live here are at least over sixty. But that’s fine by me, I’ve had enough of all that. I’ll stick to Mr Darcy and my books, thank you very much.’
Weirdly, the campervan guy, Jack, popped into her head right then. He was nothing like Mr Darcy, except maybe full of pride, and arrogant as a peacock.
They were now approaching Lucy’s cottage, where Becky had left her car.
‘Want to pop in for a quick cuppa or a cheeky glass of wine before you go?’
‘Yeah. Go on then. Just a small one, mind. Work day tomorrow.’
‘Of course.’
After such a nice evening, Lucy hadn’t wanted it quite to end. Though her cottage was lovely, it was just her and Daisy, after all. And some nights could seem rather long.
Daisy was delighted to see the pair of them. The little dog was soon out of her crate, barking happily and wagging her tail at their ankles.
The Seaside Cocktail Campervan Page 6