Don't Go Baking My Heart

by Cressida McLaughlin

  Marmite, Ray and Benton had been shut in the front room with Juliette, who was working on the marketing for a new restaurant in Truro. Her dog had expressed his disappointment at not being allowed to help, but Charlie was glad of the freedom to make a complete mess all by herself. Her timer went off and she opened the oven door, a wave of heat hitting her face. She pulled the tray of choc-chip scones out, the chocolate bubbling in places, and searched for a surface to put them on.

  The doorbell rang, and she heard Juliette call out that she’d get it. Charlie was wondering whether she could balance the tray on top of the mixer tap when she was distracted by the patter of tiny paws.

  Marmite yelped as he skidded on the flour-strewn tiles.

  ‘Marmite, no,’ she said, raising the tray of scones above her head as he bounced up at her. And then Ray and Benton appeared. Ray leapt onto the table and dipped his paw into a bowl of spicy scone mix. ‘Ray, please,’ she said, ‘you can’t eat that.’ She scooped the cat up with her free hand, his long Siamese body dangling limply like a soft toy. Benton started to lick the flour from the floor, and Marmite decided that playing with the Persian’s tail was the most fun he could have, even though it had earned him a swipe or two already. ‘Shit.’ Charlie edged around the fight on the floor and made it to the corridor just as Juliette appeared.

  ‘That was only the post, but I …’ She stopped, her eyes widening as she took in the carnage, and then wordlessly took Ray out of Charlie’s arms.

  She leaned on the doorframe, her shoulders shaking.

  ‘What?’ Charlie asked. ‘To create real culinary art requires great sacrifice.’

  ‘You’re sacrificing my kitchen?’ Juliette managed, her laughter no longer silent.

  ‘I’m not used to being so … contained.’

  Juliette stared at her, then at Benton and Marmite tussling on the floor, and then at Ray, stalking off down the corridor, leaving floury paw prints in his wake. ‘Charlie,’ she said, ‘you’re about to open a café on a bus. I know you won’t be baking from scratch there, but you can’t get much more contained than that.’

  This thought had been a constant niggle in Charlie’s head. ‘Fair point,’ she replied.

  ‘Anyway. Carry on. Marmite! Benton! This way.’ Her voice was sharp, and the pets stopped their fight and skittered out of the kitchen. As Juliette left, giving Charlie a winning smile, she took a chocolate-chip scone from the tray. ‘I’ll let you know what I think.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlie called, and then turned back to survey the mess. She remembered one of Hal’s mantras: If you find yourself on a sticky wicket, just stop. Stop, breathe, take a moment to compose yourself and then try again. There is nothing that can’t be overcome if you believe in yourself enough. She did believe in herself, and she believed in her bus. She dusted off her floury hands, and got back to her baking.

  On Saturday morning, with her friends’ kitchen restored to its original beauty, Charlie, Juliette and Marmite headed purposefully out of the house. She had set up social media accounts for her new business venture, but as Gertie had been approved a pitch on the beach, she thought it only right to approach the other business owners in the village face to face. Besides, there was nothing better than word of mouth, and she had already established that some of the locals were suspicious of her and her bus. Instagram wasn’t going to help her build those bridges.

  ‘You didn’t have to come,’ she said to Juliette as they made their way down the hill. It was a fresh day, the sea sparkling as it was whipped up by the wind, and Charlie was glad she’d worn a warm jumper. ‘It’s not like Porthgolow’s huge.’

  Juliette shrugged. ‘Lawrence had to work at the last minute, and I could have stayed inside ruing our missed trip to Penzance, or I can come with you instead and be useful.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ Juliette waved her concern away with a hand. ‘We always knew he’d have to be flexible, and lots of the work is at weekends. Anyway, you can’t tackle this whole place on your own.’

  Charlie was about to reply when Amanda Kerr, Jonah’s mum, intercepted them on the seafront.

  ‘Hi girls,’ she said, slightly out of breath. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good thanks, Amanda.’ Juliette replied. ‘We were coming to see you, actually.’ She glanced at Charlie to continue.

  ‘We wanted to tell you about The Cornish Cream Tea Bus.’ It was the first time she’d spoken the name aloud to someone other than Juliette, Lawrence or Pete.

  Amanda frowned. ‘What’s that, then?’

  ‘My bus,’ Charlie continued, feeling a stab of uncertainty. ‘The one I drove down in. It’s getting a makeover, coming back to Porthgolow as The Cornish Cream Tea Bus. We thought, as a fellow business owner here, you should know about it. We’re having a grand opening on the beach next weekend.’

  ‘Based here?’

  ‘For the time being,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll spend some time travelling round, but it’ll be parked on the beach over the summer. Serving a selection of sweet and savoury treats, hot drinks—’

  Amanda groaned and pushed her dark curls away from her face. ‘So there’ll be somewhere in the village we can buy a decent coffee? God. Hugh is a sweetheart, but he doesn’t open until eleven and his machine makes some fancy kind of instant. You have no idea how many times I’ve come off the boat with numb fingers, dying for a hot, sweet latte. Jonah said you were an asset to the village, and he does go over the top, but on this occasion he might be right. Grand opening next Saturday? The Kerr family will be there, don’t you worry.’ She squeezed Charlie’s shoulder and walked away.

  Charlie waited until Amanda was out of earshot, then squealed and grabbed Juliette’s hand, bouncing up and down so that Marmite got overexcited and wrapped himself up in his lead. ‘She’s coming! They all are! That’s five people, Jules, even if Jem is only two. Let’s split up. Which direction do you want to go in?’

  Charlie wasn’t surprised when Juliette said she would work her way round the south side of the village, towards the jetty and The Seven Stars. Charlie was a bit disappointed – she had been intrigued by Jonah’s story, and had wanted to see Reenie for herself; though not because she believed for one second she was an ex-mermaid. Charlie didn’t know that she wasn’t a business owner, and it would surely be a courtesy to tell her about the village’s new café.

  But Charlie didn’t think asking Juliette to have a civil conversation with Daniel was a recipe for success, and besides, Charlie might have been intrigued about Reenie, but she was equally keen to see Daniel again, not to mention the inside of his luxurious spa hotel.

  The walk up Porthgolow’s north cliff was calf-crunchingly steep, and by the time she had reached the top, there was a trickle of sweat running down her back. She’d also had to carry Marmite for the last bit because he’d started whining, and he was a lot heavier than he looked, especially when scaling such a severe hill.

  She found a gate built into the stone wall and pushed it open. A chalky, golden path meandered through gravel interspersed with shrubs and herbs, and there were solar lights spaced along the paving slabs for when it got dark. It smelt fresh and aromatic, and Marmite scrabbled to be put down so he could investigate.

  The path wound its way round to the sliding glass doors and the bay trees that Charlie had noticed on her journey into the village. She peered into the wide, polished foyer, and the doors opened. A woman stood behind the pale stone reception desk, her dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail, her high cheekbones expertly defined with pearlescent blusher. Their eyes met, and then the woman saw Marmite.

  ‘No dogs allowed, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘But you can tie him up outside.’ Charlie saw a metal railing and a bowl of water. She spent a few minutes fussing over her dog, and then stepped inside The Crystal Waters Spa Hotel.

  It was beyond luxurious, in natural, calming colours of pale stone, sage green and cobalt blue. There was an expansive curved sofa, and a low table that looked lik
e a giant pebble. The wall opposite the main doors was also glass, looking out over more spruce garden, a sunken swimming pool and then the sea, shimmering invitingly beyond. Discreet screens flush with the walls played images of beautiful people having massages, lazing in the outdoor hot tub or smothered in mud masks, intermingled with close-ups of exquisitely delicate plates of food and sunsets over the water.

  The floor looked like granite, pale grey with a hint of quartz gleaming through, except that in the centre of the space there was some kind of design. Gleaming golden stones were embedded in the rock, set in a concentric circle, their sizes decreasing towards the centre. It was like the reflection of a beautiful chandelier, though the room was lit by discreet spotlights set into the ceiling. Charlie was almost scared to take another step.

  ‘How can I help you today?’ the woman at reception asked. Her voice was as polished as her appearance, but Charlie detected a hint of a Cornish accent.

  ‘I’m looking for Daniel Harper,’ she said, forcing confidence into her voice.

  ‘I’m afraid Daniel’s not here. Is there anything I can help with?’

  Charlie read her nametag: Lauren Purview.

  ‘It’s something I need to see Daniel about, if that’s OK?’

  Lauren gave her a friendly smile. ‘Of course. He should be back within the next half an hour, if you’d like to wait? I can get you a coffee, or—’

  ‘Could I have a look outside?’ Charlie blurted.

  ‘Certainly.’ Lauren consulted the screen on her desk. ‘We have nobody booked for the hot tub, so you’re very welcome to look around this level of the gardens. Just use that door to the right of the seating.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Charlie did as she was told, and found herself standing beyond the glass, on yet another winding path.

  None of the shrubs was tall – she imagined so they didn’t block the view from reception – and the gravel was almost purple. She breathed in the fresh, buffeting air, the sea stretching ahead of her like a blue canvas. The path wound round to the right, to where the garden ended and a few steps led down to the tiled edge of the outdoor pool. The wind was too cutting for it to be comfortable, but even deserted it looked inviting. Mirroring the outdoor pool, beyond yet another glass wall, was an indoor pool. It was on a floor below the foyer, and from this viewpoint Charlie could see how the building had been expertly moulded into the cliff, using its various contours and levels. Inside, people lay on loungers, and she glimpsed the curved edge of a Jacuzzi.

  She stepped back, not wanting to pry, and returned to the garden, spotting the hot tub Lauren had mentioned and that she’d seen in the pictures screened on the reception wall.

  It was close to the edge of the cliff, and looked terrifying rather than relaxing. She edged forward and saw, to her relief, that beyond it the drop wasn’t sheer, but a gentle slope down to a ledge a few feet below. Beyond that ledge, the ground fell steeply to the water. She decided, then, that she might be able to enjoy herself, perhaps with a glass of bubbly to calm her nerves, were she to win the lottery and convince Juliette to overcome her hatred of the hotel’s owner and join her. She tiptoed forwards, wondering how scary the view was when you were actually in the hot tub.

  ‘Hello.’

  Charlie jumped and jolted forward. Her heart started pounding.

  ‘Lauren said there was someone outside who wanted to see me, and I believe that must be you, seeing as you’re the only person here.’

  Charlie turned to find Daniel Harper, his dark eyes amused, arms folded over his chest, wearing a shirt the colour of cornflowers.

  ‘I did – I do. This is a lovely spot.’

  ‘There’s nothing like it.’

  Charlie wondered if, beyond the trace of mockery in his eyes, he was actually capable of smiling. ‘And your guests don’t find it … scary? Being so close to the edge?’

  He peered down, his gaze following her pointing finger, as if he’d never seen the view before. ‘I don’t think so. I haven’t had any complaints, and nobody’s thrown themselves into the sea. So on the whole I’d say it was fine. But what can I do for you? I did wonder if you were still here; your bus has disappeared from the car park, which was absolutely the right thing to do. I’m glad that you—’

  ‘It’s coming back,’ Charlie rushed. ‘But to the beach this time. I’m launching it next weekend as The Cornish Cream Tea Bus.’

  She watched his face closely.

  ‘The Cornish Cream Tea Bus,’ he repeated slowly. ‘Is it for children?’

  ‘It’s for everyone.’

  ‘It’s staying in Porthgolow?’ His eyes had lost their amusement.

  ‘I’m going to travel round Cornwall, but I’m launching it here, and I won’t be out and about the whole time. It’s going to be a new feature of the village.’

  ‘It will ruin the atmosphere.’

  Laughter came spilling out of her. ‘What atmosphere? It’s as dead as a dodo, and we’re only a week from the May bank holiday. This village needs livening up. It needs something bright and friendly and affordable to draw the crowds. It’s such a beautiful place, but it’s not being loved enough.’

  ‘How would you know that?’ Daniel’s voice was sharp. ‘You’ve only been here a few weeks.’

  She hesitated. ‘You can’t deny that it’s looking a bit tired.’ She gestured in the direction of the cove, then gasped as she teetered off balance a mere ten feet from the cliff edge. ‘Crystal Waters may be modern and glossy and immaculate, but you can’t say the same for the pop-in and the B&B, or even Hugh’s pub. Gertie is going to help bring Porthgolow back to life.’

  Daniel rolled his eyes, which was the most expressive thing she’d seen him do. ‘Gertie belongs in a fun fair.’

  ‘We are going to go to fairs and festivals, but most of the time she’ll be here. And before you go and check – ’ she held up a finger, silencing him before he’d opened his mouth – ‘I have got my trading consent. It’s all legal, so you can’t go looking for ways to shut me down.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to …’ he started, then sighed. ‘This is unexpected, OK? And it’s not in keeping with Crystal Waters.’

  ‘Why not? Because everyone who stays here is allergic to carbohydrates? I’m selling Cornish cream teas.’

  ‘I guessed that.’

  ‘And who can resist a good Cornish cream tea?’ she continued. ‘Hot, crumbly scones with thick, slightly sweet clotted cream and fresh strawberry jam. I’m going to do some flavoured creams with a hint of rose, lavender or honey. Earl Grey and Assam tea. All with those views of the cove, the way the sun curves into every crease of it.’ Excitement bubbled inside her.

  Daniel didn’t reply immediately, and Charlie thought she’d won him over. He was staring out to sea, a wistful expression on his face. Eventually, he met her gaze.

  ‘On a bus?’

  ‘Not just any bus. The Cornish Cream Tea Bus. Gertie reborn. You have to come and see her, she’s going to be magnificent!’

  ‘Not sure I’d put the words “bus” and “magnificent” together in a sentence.’

  ‘But you’ll come?’

  ‘I’ll have to see how busy we are,’ he said.

  Charlie resisted the urge to do a fist pump. ‘You’ll be the quietest you’ve ever been, because all your guests will be down in the village, eating cream teas.’

  Daniel shook his head slowly, as if dealing with a tiresome toddler, but a flicker of a smile dented his features. ‘I very much doubt that.’

  ‘At least follow me on Instagram.’ She pulled her phone out of her pocket and scrolled to the app, where her new account, @CornishCre‌amTeaBus, had four photos: arty shots that she’d taken in the garage, of Gertie’s headlights, showing off the glorious red paint, and a couple she’d snapped in Juliette’s kitchen of her new scones. #OneWeekToGo and #CornishCre‌amTeaBusLaunch adorned her captions, and she’d spent a solid hour the previous evening following Cornwall and foodie-related accounts, including Crystal Waters which, she
had to admit, had a stunning grid.

  She felt warm breath on her cheek, and turned her head slightly. Daniel was looking over her shoulder, close enough that she could see each individual eyelash. She willed her heart to stop pounding. Chances were, he could hear how fast it was going.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked.

  ‘Your photos are good,’ he admitted. ‘The bus is red now?’

  ‘Back to her original colour. I thought it would stand out more.’

  ‘It almost matches your hair.’

  It was a throwaway comment, but the fact that he was telling her he’d noticed her appearance made her insides flutter.

  ‘Do you follow Porthgolow Hideaway?’ she asked, tapping it into the search bar and holding up the page for Daniel to see. ‘I found it last night, and I wondered who was behind it.’ It was a page dedicated to pictures of the village: stunning sunsets and sunrises, the sea and sky in every conceivable mood – stormy, calm, wild and vibrant. It highlighted the very best of Porthgolow, each picture charming or atmospheric. And it had over twenty thousand followers.

  ‘I follow it,’ he said. ‘But I’ve no idea who’s taking the photos. I don’t have time to be a social media spy, but if you do, then go ahead, and let me know when you find out. I might be able to set up some kind of partnership with them.’

  ‘You want me to do all the work so you can have all the glory?’

  ‘I get to pay for all the glory. That’s how a partnership works.’

  Charlie gritted her teeth and stared at the sea, telling herself to calm down. She turned to find him busy on his own phone, and a moment later a notification appeared on her screen: @CrystalWat‌ersCornwall started following you.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said grudgingly.

  ‘How did you get the villagers to agree to this, anyway?’