Don't Go Baking My Heart

by Cressida McLaughlin

  She pushed open the door of the Porthgolow Pop-In, the general store which, beyond the milk, bread and newspapers, was a treasure trove of weird and wonderful objects. Myrtle Gordon looked up from the Jackie Collins paperback she was reading, her glasses low on her nose.

  ‘Hi Myrtle,’ Charlie called tentatively.

  ‘Your dog, ’ees not peeing on my paintwork, is ’ee?’ she called. ‘If ’ee is, you can pay for it.’

  Charlie felt herself blush. ‘He won’t, he’s just been— he’ll be fine.’

  ‘Good to know,’ Myrtle replied coldly, and went back to her book.

  Charlie walked down the narrow aisles, marvelling at the Matchbox tin cars, the intricately designed thimbles and the Houdini-themed playing cards that looked as if they’d been there for at least thirty years. Antiques Roadshow would have a field day in here, she realized, as she picked up a figurine of a ballet dancer. It was heavy, possibly pewter, and she wondered who would want it as a souvenir of their time in a Cornish village. Not that she had the nerve to ask Myrtle about her shop-stocking policy. It was clear that the older woman wasn’t a fan of newcomers to the village. Or, at least, not a fan of her.

  ‘What y’after?’ Myrtle called, after a couple of minutes.

  ‘Picking up some biscuits,’ Charlie called back.

  ‘Not down there. Over by the tea and coffee.’

  Charlie was about to respond when the bell dinged and a young voice said, ‘Morning Mrs Gordon.’

  Myrtle’s voice softened. ‘Myttin da, Jonah. What can I help you with?’

  Charlie had established, after a couple of confusing encounters, that “myttin da” meant good morning in Cornish.

  ‘We need some more sun lotion,’ Jonah said. ‘Dad asked me to come and get it.’

  ‘Next to the toilet paper.’

  ‘Cheers. How are you anyway, Mrs Gordon?’ Charlie thought Jonah sounded far too young to be asking such polite questions.

  ‘Not too bad, cheel. And yourself?’

  ‘I’m grand, thanks.’

  Charlie peered around the corner of her aisle. Jonah, the cheel – or child, looked about eleven, with his blond hair spiky at the front, a bold yellow T-shirt and his legs, below shorts, as thin as sticks.

  Jonah turned towards her and held his arm out. ‘I’m Jonah. My mum and dad run SeaKing Safaris from the jetty. Nice to meet you. You’re staying with Juliette and Lawrence, aren’t you? It’s your bus that’s caused a stir, isn’t it?’

  ‘Wow. News travels fast here.’ Charlie shook his hand.

  ‘Bleedin’ bus,’ Myrtle muttered. ‘What’s it for, anyway? Driving grockles around?’

  Charlie frowned.

  ‘She means tourists,’ Jonah said, grinning. ‘We take the grockles out on the water, and you’re going to drive them around in your bus.’

  ‘Unless you are one,’ Myrtle added, drumming her fingers on the table. ‘Juliette said you were staying a few weeks. Tha’ right? Not longer?’

  ‘I’m going to see how it goes,’ Charlie said, her palms suddenly slick with sweat. Why was everyone so keen for her to leave so quickly? So much for a relaxing holiday.

  ‘What’s your dog’s name?’ Jonah asked. ‘He’s a Yorkipoo isn’t he? A cross between a Yorkshire terrier and a poodle.’

  ‘That’s right. He’s called Marmite.’

  ‘Great name,’ Jonah said, laughing.

  ‘Bleddy ridiculous if y’ask me,’ Myrtle muttered. ‘Dog and name.’

  Charlie wondered if she really needed biscuits after all.

  ‘You should come on one of our SeaKing trips, if you’re staying for a while,’ Jonah said. ‘They’re great fun, and you get to see all sorts of wildlife. Here’s a card.’ He turned back to the shop counter where Myrtle had a plastic stand full of local business cards and leaflets: The Eden Project, Land’s End, Trebah Garden and SeaKing Safaris.

  ‘I’d like that,’ Charlie said, taking the card. It seemed Jonah knew how to ride above Myrtle’s curtness. He might only be young, but she could learn a thing or two from him.

  ‘We’re not too busy during the week,’ he added, not meeting her eye. ‘But if you’re desperate for a weekend slot, I’m sure we could fit you in then, too. Now that you’re local.’

  ‘Great. I’ll check my calendar.’

  Charlie waited while he paid for the sun cream and left, flashing her and Myrtle a winning smile as he closed the door behind him. She put her biscuits on the counter.

  ‘Lovely lad, that one,’ Myrtle said. ‘Solid head on young shoulders.’

  ‘Are the safaris any good?’ Charlie blurted, shocked that she was suddenly being spoken to like an equal.

  ‘Never bin,’ Myrtle admitted. ‘Don’t particularly have sea legs, which isn’t ideal, I know, living somewhere like here. But they’ve a good reputation. You should take ’im up on it. They could do with a few more customers.’

  ‘I got that impression,’ Charlie said quietly.

  The weather had been typical for April; flashes of bright sunshine chased down by heavy rain showers that seemed to linger in the cove. Charlie had already been walking in the rain, sheltering inside a large orange mac, the hood pulled low, the plasticky fabric making her skin sweat. She loved watching the rain patter onto the sea, and had walked to the end of the jetty while the waves churned and broiled around it, the horizon a wavering line of charcoal.

  It was understandable that the beach was quiet; it wasn’t swimming weather, unless you were incredibly hardy, and while there was Myrtle’s shop and the pub, a bed and breakfast and SeaKing Safaris, there was no ice-cream shack or café; nothing for families who wanted to spend a whole day on the sand and have the necessary amenities at hand.

  ‘Aren’t there any public toilets?’ she asked, and Myrtle looked up from her book.

  ‘Why? You caught short? I’ve one out back if you’re desperate.’

  ‘Oh no, I just … wondered.’

  ‘There was a block at the edge of the car park,’ she said, tapping her fingers against her lips. ‘A while ago. But it got so run-down the council demolished it. No funds for a replacement, supposedly, despite a few of us makin’ noise. You’d think Mister High-and-Mighty in his sparklin’ palace might have helped, but no such luck.’

  ‘Daniel Harper, you mean?’

  Myrtle wafted a hand in the vague direction of Crystal Waters. ‘It’s out of place, I reckon. All cold glass and metal in a simple seaside village. He could’ve gone to the Seychelles if he wanted to charge sky-high prices. Or Padstow. He’s an outsider, knows nothin’ about the place. I can see Porthgolow for what it is. Some areas could do with an update. But we’re friendly enough,’ Myrtle added, and Charlie tried not to snort. ‘He’s tarnishin’ that reputation, turnin’ it into a village of two halves. Anyway,’ she said, tapping Charlie’s hand. ‘These your biscuits, then?’

  Charlie nodded. Myrtle put her custard creams and bourbons in a brown paper bag, Porthgolow Pop-In stamped on the side. As she strolled back to Juliette’s house, detouring to take Marmite onto the beach and throw a sea-smoothed stick for him over the damp sand, Charlie thought she might have made progress with Porthgolow’s general-store owner. It seemed that – in a place where not all the locals were happy with an influx of new, younger residents – Daniel Harper was the ultimate enemy. And if even Juliette thought he was bad news, then there must be something to it.

  Charlie blinked and gasped as a huge plume of sea spray hit her in the face.

  ‘Whoa, that was a big one!’ Paul called above the sound of the engine. He was steering and, on this breezy Wednesday morning, Charlie, Juliette and Jonah were the only passengers. Charlie needed to have a word with him about being business savvy. She had insisted on paying for her and Juliette’s tickets, even though he had at first protested, saying she was Juliette’s friend and needed to be shown Porthgolow from the sea. But even then, the tour was in no way viable.

  Hal, the kindest man she’d ever known, hadn’t run hi
s tour if there were less than eight customers, otherwise he wouldn’t break even, let alone make a profit. Charlie couldn’t imagine how much the fuel for this trip was costing, let alone Paul’s time, the fact that he could be promoting his business instead of taking out a couple of residents – one of whom had already been on the tour – and his son. Juliette had also told her that Paul had recently had to get a part-time job as a courier – a time-consuming occupation in Cornwall – to supplement the income the Kerrs were getting from their main business. This seemed especially sad when the SeaKing Safaris experience was so brilliant; Charlie had seen seals, cormorants and razorbills, and even a pod of five dolphins that had swum alongside the boat for a while as if they were in some kind of Disney adventure.

  Jonah hadn’t held back, and she now knew more than she’d ever thought possible about common and bottlenose dolphins. Thousands of people would love this tour. Why weren’t they coming? Charlie was sure it was mainly because they didn’t know about it.

  ‘Have you offered your marketing services to them?’ Charlie asked Juliette out of the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Yes,’ Juliette hissed back. ‘Paul and Amanda said they’d think about it, but I’m not sure they have the money at the moment. I’ve even offered mates’ rates, but I can’t go any lower because then I’d be losing out.’

  ‘Vicious circle,’ Charlie said, nodding. Juliette was a digital marketer, producing websites, social media plans and campaigns for small businesses. Charlie knew the jobs she liked best were working with people local to her, so she could meet face to face even if what she produced was online. Charlie could see already that several of the businesses in Porthgolow would benefit from Juliette’s services; she just needed to find a magical pot of money to pay for it all.

  ‘It’s much bumpier at the front,’ Jonah said as Charlie was hit with another face-full of water. ‘This type of boat is called a RIB – Rigid Inflatable Boat, and because of the design, the bow cuts through the waves and it’s light, too, so it sort of rides them.’ He was leaning against the side of the boat, looking calm and authoritative in a blue waterproof coat, his lifejacket black and stylish as opposed to Charlie and Juliette’s, which were the colour of road cones.

  ‘Bumpy is fun!’ Charlie said. And it was. Salt was good for the skin too, wasn’t it? Loads of expensive products used sea salt. Perhaps after a day on the waves she would have a perfectly exfoliated, dewy complexion. Chance would be a fine thing.

  Paul turned the RIB around, and Charlie took in the coastline, heading north towards Padstow, south towards Newquay, and then the cove of Porthgolow, cut out as if with a hole punch from the land. She could see the clusters of houses, the pale strip of the beach, the spray rising up as waves battered the rocks on either side. She also had an excellent view of Crystal Waters, which sat snugly against the cliff, its gardens running down to the very edge. She wondered how much work had gone into securing the foundations. There had obviously been no expense spared.

  And then Charlie’s gaze was drawn to the other side of the cove, and the little yellow hut.

  Jonah must have followed her eye-line, because he said, ‘That’s Reenie’s place. She’s an old mermaid who lost her tail and has been cursed to live out her days in the sea-shanty cottage. She never speaks to anyone.’

  ‘Jonah,’ Paul called, ‘don’t talk rubbish!’

  Charlie was taken aback. She had believed Jonah was a fountain of knowledge, gathering facts like pebbles. But he believed in mermaids?

  ‘It’s true,’ Jonah protested.

  ‘According to who?’ his dad asked, steering the RIB towards the jetty.

  Jonah dropped his head and shrugged. ‘She’s strange.’

  ‘Eccentric, maybe,’ Paul called. ‘But that doesn’t mean you have the right to make up stories about her.’

  ‘Flora liked it!’

  ‘Flora is six and obsessed with The Little Mermaid.’ Paul laughed, giving Juliette and Charlie a good-humoured eye-roll.

  ‘Well,’ Jonah said, folding his arms. ‘I’ve seen her, early in the morning and in the evening, standing on the edge of the cliff and signalling with some sort of light. I think she’s communicating with her mermaid friends who are all still underwater. That’s why she doesn’t talk to anyone in the village.’

  ‘Of course she does.’ Paul lined the boat up against the jetty and waited for his son to jump onto the stone so he could throw him the rope. ‘She talks to Myrtle, and she pops into The Seven Stars occasionally for a cheeky half. She’s a normal, probably very lovely woman, who likes to keep to herself. Anyway,’ he added, jumping onto the jetty and helping first Juliette, then Charlie, onto dry land. ‘When have you been up early enough to see her winking her mermaid light at dawn?’

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Dad,’ Jonah said, and stalked off towards the road.

  Paul took his baseball cap off and ran his hand through salt-and-pepper hair. ‘Don’t know what to make of that one sometimes,’ he admitted. ‘Now, did you enjoy your tour? Anytime you want a repeat trip, just let me know. As you can see, the boats aren’t exactly heaving.’

  As they walked home, Juliette gave Charlie a pointed look. ‘Don’t say anything.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say a word.’ Charlie gave her friend a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, and felt her insides knot with excitement. Soon, her café bus would be ready, and she had decided – almost the first day she had arrived, if she was honest – that she was going to use it to bring life back to Porthgolow. She only hoped that the village residents – so far a mix of friendly and fearsome – would be on board with her idea.

  Chapter Seven

  Charlie breathed in the paint fumes and decided it was the most glorious smell in the world, because that smell was responsible for the miracle that was Gertie, gleaming like a precious jewel against the grey, oil-stained interior of the garage. So far it was just the base coat, but the vintage bus had gone from cream with forest-green accents to shiny, original, pillar-box red, and the difference it made was startling. She peered in through a window, smiling as she saw the new seating arrangement.

  ‘Uh uh,’ Pete said. ‘I’m not done yet. When I’m done, you can look. Wouldn’t want to ruin the grand unveiling, would you?’

  ‘What if I hate it, though?’ she asked.

  Pete let out an incredulous laugh. ‘You won’t hate it.’

  She grinned at him. She knew – from the peek she’d just allowed herself – that he was right.

  ‘And what’s all this, on the front?’ She walked round to where a winch had been attached, discreet but still noticeable, to the bumper.

  ‘Comes as standard on all my designs,’ Pete said, glancing at some paperwork on his chaotic desk. ‘Cornwall is a sandy place, and even if you’re not going to drive it onto the beach to sleep on it, it’s a safety precaution.’

  ‘I’ve actually got permission from the council to park it on the beach in Porthgolow. There’s a long stretch above the tideline, and the sand is almost as hard as tarmac. Paul, one of the locals, who takes boats out, says it’s perfectly safe for Gertie to live there.’

  ‘But sand is unpredictable,’ Pete said, waggling his pen. ‘Many folks before you have found it invaluable, and it’ll give you an extra sense of security. It’s included, regardless. Top-notch design, top-notch health and safety.’

  ‘Right then.’ Charlie was oddly touched at Pete’s concern for her and her bus, and certainly wasn’t going to complain about having such a good piece of kit included. She had a sudden flashback to the Fair on the Field and shuddered. He was right: a winch could well come in handy.

  ‘You’re one hundred per cent sure about the name and colours?’ Pete asked. ‘Because a repaint will add a fair amount to the bill.’

  She watched him ferreting through bits of paper, a calculator and a spanner sticking out of the pockets of his jeans.

  ‘I’m certain,’ she said. ‘Colours and name. Jules and I had a brainstorming ses
sion – even Lawrence got in on it. And now I’ve seen the gorgeous red paint on Gertie, I know it’s perfect.’

  ‘Right, then. Sorted. See you again at the end of the week?’

  ‘You’ll be done by then?’ Charlie bit her lip, not daring to hope.

  ‘Scheduled to finish a week today, as we agreed. But these progress checks are good for both of us. Not to mention seeing this guy.’ He crouched, and Marmite scampered forward on his lead. Pete laughed as he was covered in puppy licks.

  ‘It’s looking brilliant, Pete,’ she said when he and Marmite had finished their love-in.

  ‘You wait until it’s finished. It’ll blow your mind.’

  Once they’d said goodbye, Charlie stepped outside into a brisk, sunny day. Pete’s garage was close to the sea, which gleamed invitingly in shades of cobalt and aquamarine, the waves nothing more than ruffles on the surface. Seagulls cawed overhead and there was a sweetness to the air that spoke of spring and sunshine and the bliss of the summer to come. And this summer was going to include one very special addition, launching on the May bank holiday weekend. She just hoped that Cornwall was ready for it.

  Charlie spent Friday morning turning Juliette and Lawrence’s kitchen into a cake factory. She had been working hard on tempting treats to delight her new customers, although the standard Cornish cream tea – with jam before cream, of course – would be the foundation of her menu. Today she was trying out scones with chocolate chips, a savoury version with red onion and cheddar, and a lightly spiced mix that she would serve with a cardamom and lime cream. But the kitchens in both The Café on the Hill and her parents’ house were at least three times the size of Juliette’s, and within an hour she had various bowls of mix and trays of cooling scones covering every surface.