Sat down a few minutes later, in the cosy front room, with a glass of chilled white to hand, Becky asked how the pizza venture was going.
‘Yeah, it’s coming along slowly but surely. I’m finding my feet. One booking at a time.’
‘So, are there other catering outlets at these bookings? Is there, like, a catering scene?’
‘Hah, yeah, a bit.’ Should she say something about the cocktail guy, and that weird fight starting up out of nowhere? Or would Becky just read more into it? ‘A few local businesses seem to turn up quite consistently. There’s a coffee place, a posh burger van, and … there’s this cocktail bar in a cute VW campervan.’
‘Sounds our kind of thing. Cocktails and a campervan.’
‘Yeah. And the guy there, well, we’ve chatted a little.’
Her friend’s eyebrows arched with interest. ‘And?’
‘What? No, nothing like that. He’s a right cocky thing, really. Anyway, at the last event, he waded right in when a few blokes had had a few too many pints and only ended up getting himself punched. Right in the face.’ Lucy didn’t add that it was over an incident at her pizzeria.
‘Ouch.’
‘Yeah. Trying to be the big guy, I think. Although I suppose I felt a bit sorry for him. He was left with a proper shiner.’
‘Crikey.’
‘That’s just a one-off though. It’s the only trouble I’ve seen at all. Most of the bookings and the guests have been lovely.’
‘Well, that’s good. Didn’t think serving pizzas was a dangerous occupation.’
‘Hah no, me neither. I just hope I can build the business soon, and make this all work out.’ Lucy could feel her old fears resurfacing, blurring into the joy of the evening.
‘Have faith my friend, have faith. Onwards and upwards.’
‘Yes.’ With a few bumps along the way, Lucy conceded.
And with that they clinked glasses.
Chapter 10
Jack had spent the whole morning disinfecting, scrubbing, buffing; getting Ruby ship-shape for their next event. He liked to know that his campervan companion was clean to the point of sparkling. And now he found himself with the afternoon free. The coast was calling.
He decided to take a jog along the dunes and the cliff path between Beadnell and Craster. A gorgeously scenic stretch of six miles each way. A twelve-mile run didn’t faze him; he’d done half marathons, including the Great North Run, many a time, raising money in memory of his brother. Running came easily to him; that sense of pace and freedom.
Dressed in shorts and a sports T, with his favourite (to the point of being worn down) running shoes on, he set off from the beach-side car park at a steady jog. The view as he hit the bay was stunning: a panorama of sea, sky and sand, in a palette of blues, greys, and golds. There were dog walkers aplenty, and young children toddling down to the shoreline to find shells, filling their colourful castle-shaped buckets with salty water and seaside treasures, their parents close behind. He didn’t mind kids, they were fine, he just never imagined having one of his own … not for a long time yet.
Fresh air pumped through his body. He felt energised and his limbs felt strong as he strode out over the sands. Onwards, rhythmic, along the two-mile beach then up the dune bank, over a wooden footbridge, and up and along the short grassy banks of a low cliff. A further sweeping bay and then the ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle rose on the skyline ahead, ragged where they had crumbled and tumbled over time, yet still managing to appear grand. What battles and stories had those ruins to tell? Jogging on with the sea crashing softly against low rocks now, the village of Craster came into sight.
Jack stopped for a harbourside coffee at the small village, with its cluster of stone cottages. Felt the sun warm on his salt-sweaty skin, enjoyed the rich earthy taste of the coffee, the kick of caffeine. He soon set back off, away from the tourists who were gathered like noisy herring gulls at the little port. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle. In less than two hours he was back at the start, guzzling a much-needed bottle of water. Shower facilities were non-existent in Ruby’s converted interior, so a dip in the sea was the next best thing. He tore off his sweaty T-shirt, and jogged back down to the shore, dashing in. The rush of the salt water welcomingly cool and refreshing, invigorating. The North Sea always being on the chilly side. He swam out confidently, enjoying a spell rolled on his back, bobbing over the swell of the deeper waters, watching the beach and its dwellers who looked small and cartoon-like from a distance.
The wind was warm and dried most of the salty water off of his skin as he walked back up the bay. He finished off by towel drying back at his campervan. Jack felt a pang of hunger then, and grabbed a tasty bacon sandwich and a Diet Coke from the Beach Shack kiosk at the car park. Beadnell was busy today, a Friday in late May; it was a popular spot with tourists and locals alike. So, Jack thought he’d head on to somewhere quieter for the evening.
There were several spots he knew of, at the end of no-through-road seaside lanes, where you could park up, walk the dunes, find an isolated spot and do a bit of unofficial wild camping. His two-man tent (he’d only ever used it for one), his camping stove, a snack and a couple of beers were all he needed at those times. Where all you had to do was take in the peaceful wash of amazing colours in a fading sea and sky – pale blues, infused with pinks, orange, gold and greys, that deepened by the second. Matt was used to Jack and Ruby disappearing for a day or two, so his housemate wouldn’t be concerned if he didn’t come home tonight.
He took to the road, heading north along the coast, to a hidden stretch of shoreline, well away from the main tourist spots. Sun, sand, sea and … solitude.
Afternoon rolled into evening and Jack enjoyed a simple supper of Frankfurter sausages from a can – warmed on the little gas stove he kept handy in Ruby – served in soft bread rolls with some fried onions and ketchup. Nothing gourmet but damned tasty, followed by a couple of apples for good measure. He didn’t like to exist merely on junk food. He sat on an old tartan rug with his back against a large driftwood log, and opened his second can of beer which gave a fizzy hiss. Real ale, thirst-quenching, still cold from his cool bag – bliss.
The sea was a gentle swell this evening, rolling in with a low, reassuring rumble. The sky now softening to a dusky deep navy. A couple of stars glowed way up high, intriguingly. What was out there? He thought of Daniel. Was he all gone? Jack wasn’t religious, he thought that that was that, a life extinguished … and yet, now and again, there was a sense of his brother’s spirit. Maybe it was just within him, his memories, his love for his brother, that made him feel that way.
His mind drifted. Daniel had had a serious girlfriend for a couple of years at uni: Emily. Jack had met her back at home in Alnwick on a couple of occasions. Dan had been proud to introduce her to his folks, who of course made her feel very welcome. They’d all thought that an engagement might have been on the cards.
Afterwards, she and Jack had kept in touch for a while – united by grief – just the odd message, but even that had drifted these latter years. It all just seemed too hard, too pointless. Jack wondered now if she was with someone else. Of course, she would be by now, it was over eleven years ago. Did she find someone new, get married? Did they have kids? It was weird, seemed so unfair, to think that someone else was now living his brother’s life.
He needed an outlet for these intense emotions.
Under a sky full of stars, and by the light of his iPhone, Jack took up a pen and began to write.
Chapter 11
Lucy was delighted to hear she’d managed to secure a weekly position for All Fired Up at the Alnwick market. The market was held every Thursday on the quaint cobbled square of this historic Northumbrian town, with its old stone buildings and local shops, not far from its imposing castle and the famous and rather magical Alnwick Gardens. Lucy had been nervous when pitching for this slot, trying to be her most charming when talking to the organiser on the telephone, and making sure to tell him all about the
fresh local ingredients she sourced for her toppings. A regular slot was a good step forward in building her business!
The first event quickly swung around and Lucy was there bright and early and all set up, ready for the market’s eight thirty start. The clock tower of the town hall showed that it wasn’t yet nine, and already it was brilliant how many customers had called by for a slice of ‘breakfast’ pizza! A bit of a brainwave she’d had when she realised the market would start so early. Her crispy bacon, Northumbrian sausage and mushroom pizzas were going down a storm – the word, as well as the aroma, soon spreading around the stallholders who seemed to be the first in line.
She’d even had the forethought to bring a kettle, milk and some eco-friendly takeaway cups to make good-quality instant coffee and tea to serve alongside her food – ever the entrepreneur. Lucy really hoped this event would become the bread and butter of her new business venture.
‘Have you got a wedge of that there breakfast pizza, lass?’ A burly-looking, grey-bearded chap in a red lumberjack shirt and jeans, approached with a warm smile. ‘Never tried anything like it before, but Alf on the veg stall says it went down a treat, so I’ll give it a go.’
‘Of course. And can I get you anything to go with it? I’m doing coffees and teas too.’
‘Aye, go on then, I’ll have a coffee – white, two sugars. Mind, don’t let Maggie see what you’re up to – she’s the hot-drinks van – you don’t want to be putting her nose out of joint.’
‘Oh, I hadn’t meant to tread on anybody’s toes …’ Lucy floundered. Crikey, market politics were creeping in already, and she’d only been open for an hour. She hadn’t even considered that might come into play.
‘Hey, only teasing, kiddo.’
Kiddo? She was over thirty.
‘Look, each to their own,’ he continued with a wink. ‘She does all that fancy bore-ista stuff. I’m not really into all that.’ He chuckled. ‘I’m sure she’ll have plenty of customers still wanting her fancy-pants stuff.’
‘Well, I hope so.’ Lucy began to feel uneasy. She didn’t want to be upsetting anybody so early on in her new pitch.
‘Ah, it’ll be fine. I shouldn’t have said nowt. I’m Derek, by the way. The plant-stall man.’ He gestured towards a tented stand full of nursery plants and garden tools. He then offered his hand in greeting, which Lucy shook. It was rough and a little bit calloused; the weathered palm of a real hands-on gardener.
‘Ah, well nice to meet you, Derek. I’m Lucy.’ She served him an extra-large slice of the pizza. ‘And if you’re still peckish around lunchtime, or later on, I’ll have lots more flavours on offer then too … a classic margherita, local chorizo with peppers, BBQ chicken, and a char-grilled veg.’
‘Now don’t tempt me, young lady, my waistline won’t thank you for it, even if my tastebuds will.’ He gave a broad grin that crinkled around his eyes, and then set off back to his stall.
Lucy glanced over at Maggie’s coffee van and ventured a friendly smile. The dark-haired woman there gave her a very cool look back – or was she just being paranoid?
And then, she spotted someone turning around from the coffee stand. A familiar face, the way he stood. Oh crikey, yes, it was the Cocktail Campervan guy. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black T-shirt, his dark-blond hair a little tousled. He looked up and seemed to clock her straight away, pausing for a second, before coming over.
‘Hey, hello you. It’s Pizza Girl.’
‘Lucy,’ she answered, setting him straight on her name. Has he forgotten?
‘Hello, Cocktail Guy.’ She could play him at his own game. ‘Are you working here or something?’
‘Nope.’ He shook his head. ‘I actually think 9 a.m.’s a bit of an early start for cocktails, don’t you?’ He sounded a little sarcastic as he gave a wry smile.
‘Okay, well yes, I suppose …’ she said with a blush.
‘So no, I don’t do the markets generally, only the occasional food festival or if there’s a special evening market event on.’
‘Ah, okay, yeah, that makes sense.’ She suddenly remembered the last event they were both working at and looked a little closer at his brow. It seemed to have pretty much healed, with just the hint of a scratch left. ‘Umm, how’s the eye been?’
Jack suddenly looked a little awkward, the bravado knocked out of him. ‘Ah, yeah, bit sore for a few days, but right as rain now. All fixed … Not my usual approach, you know, getting involved like that. Anyway, enough about that. How’s it all been going for you then? The new business?’ He seemed keen to move the conversation on.
‘Yeah, pretty good. I’m starting to find my feet … building some trade. I was really pleased to get this slot.’
‘Right … well that’s good.’
There was a pause. Jack sounded like he was struggling for things to say, which wasn’t at all like the lad she’d watched at the bar, the one with the gift of the gab.
‘Well then, I suppose I’d better crack on,’ Lucy gave them both the chance to get out of this awkward moment.
‘Yeah, of course. Umm, well, if you ever need any advice, or info … business-wise, I mean, feel free to ask.’
It was kind of him to offer, but right now Lucy felt she needed to find her own way.
Pizzas were very different to cocktails, after all. She wanted to put her own stamp on her business. Do things the way Papa might have done, if he were still here today. And maybe she didn’t want to admit that she was finding this new venture difficult to a virtual stranger. ‘Okay, thanks. Well, I’d better get more of this dough rolled out.’
‘Ah, no worries,’ he responded. ‘And well, I know it can be hard setting up your own business. There are pitfalls, but there are lots of plusses too. Anyway, you can always find my Facebook page, and message me or something.’
‘Yeah, sure. Thanks.’
Jack looked up, trying to fathom her. He had to admit she didn’t seem that interested in taking him up on the offer of help. But hey, she was working and probably just wanted to crack on with her pizza making. A chap was now loitering at Jack’s shoulder, trying to read the toppings list. He shifted slightly to one side, yet something kept him anchored by Lucy’s stand.
He’d only come here to pick up some lemons, limes, strawberries and oranges for his garnishes. The market’s fruit and veg stall was really good value. He hadn’t expected to run into the Pizza Girl. And he certainly hadn’t expected to feel … what was it exactly? … kind of awkward in her company. This was new territory. He didn’t usually have problems chatting with women. The lines just rolled off his tongue. He felt an odd tug inside, and he wasn’t even sure why.
‘Right well, I suppose I’d better let you get on.’ He turned to go and then paused, adding, ‘Good to see you.’
‘You too,’ was her brief answer.
Aha, still Miss Cool. But she did then give him a glimmer of a smile, and what a lovely thing that was. Hah, she needed to practise using it more often.
‘Bye then.’ Jack headed off with one last glance over his shoulder, his step strangely feeling a little lighter.
What could be better than family, friends, a fairground, fabulous food and fizz?!
Come and live life to the fullest and join our Big Fairground Get-Together!
Friday 11th June from 7.30 p.m.
Glenhaven Lodge
RSVP Frank and Linda
Chapter 12
Jack was driving through country lanes with the camper van’s windows rolled down, the early-evening breeze rushing in over him as he sang loudly to the Kaiser Chiefs: of course, a bit of rousing ‘Ruby’. In the roadside fields, the odd cow and sheep looked up from their grazing, bemused by the blast of noise. Reaching the hamlet of the booking address, he slowed, checking out his directions. Soon, he was turning in through two large stone gateposts. A beech-tree lined avenue led up to an impressive country house. Set in the beautiful rolling foothills of the Cheviots, this country pad was the venue for tonight’s celebration.<
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The latest e-mail had advised him to head for the stable courtyard area to the right of the main house, where a member of staff would meet him. He glanced at his watch. It was just before 6:30 p.m., and the party was due to start at 7:30. Perfect, he’d given himself plenty of time; he generally liked to have an hour or so to get set up.
As he made his way along the gravel driveway, he noticed several fair rides were already there, including a gorgeous-looking Victorian-style merry-go-round, the kind with wooden horses on gold-painted poles, as well as a Hoopla stall, and a Strong Man basher-style thing. Ah, now it made sense, the request to have at least two cocktails with a ‘fairground’ flavour. He had tried out a few concoctions this week on Matt and his girlfriend, and had settled on a Candyfloss Cocktail (vodka with cranberry and lime, topped with a pretty dollop of pale-pink candyfloss) and a Toffee Apple Martini. Hah, with the theme of ‘all the fun of the fair’, this was pretty damned cool, he had to admit. He loved all the party ideas he got to be a part of, pushing himself creatively.
He spotted a stone archway off to the right and headed that way. As he drove into the courtyard, he spotted Bob’s burger van already parked up, and then … his heart gave a skip of a beat as he recognised a familiar-looking horsebox and the logo of All Fired Up. So, Lucy was here.
He hadn’t heard anything more since they’d met by chance at the market just over a week ago. She hadn’t taken him up on his offer of advice at all. And he’d thought better of messaging her, conceding that his entrepreneurial insights would have to wait for another day. She’d been on his mind however, popping up uninvited now and again, catching him unawares whilst he was out running or when pottering about with Ruby. A fleeting glimpse of that flowing dark-brown hair, the curve of her smile, would creep up on him. Strange.
A chap in a yellow high-viz vest was pointing to a particular space, pulling him back to the here and now. He was in fact indicating the space right next to All Fired Up. And, there she was, Lucy, lifting the side hatch to her horsebox, popping a tin bucket of napkin-wrapped cutlery onto the counter, next to an extremely large wooden pepper grinder. He felt a glimmer of anticipation. And, hah, if that little mutt of a sausage dog was in tow, he’d have to damn well watch out for his signs too. This should make things a little more interesting this evening, anyhow.
The Seaside Cocktail Campervan Page 7