The Beach Cafe (11 page)

BUZZZ, went the third judge on the telly, the sweet actress whose name I could never remember. ‘Sorry, darling,’ she said to the old lady. ‘But I’m afraid it’s a No.’

I flicked the telly off with the remote and stared at Matthew. ‘What are you saying?’ I asked hoarsely. ‘Are you saying . . . ?’

‘I think we should make a clean break,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Evie. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I’m just not sure where we’re going any more.’

I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to look at him. My fork fell out of my hand and I heard it thud down on the carpet. More mess. I could imagine the rice sinking stickily through the pile. No wonder he wanted shot of me.

‘I . . .’ I began. Oh God. It was happening.
Hypothetically speaking
, Amber intoned for the umpteenth time in my brain. The voice of Doom. No need to be hypothetical now, though, eh?

He took my hand. ‘Evie, I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I’m really, really sorry.’
But I’m afraid it’s a No.

Tears were sliding down my face, dripping onto my plate.
This is it
, I thought melodramatically.
This is really it. We’re actually breaking up.
And then, with a lurch,
I’ll never see Saul again.

‘Say something,’ he implored. He sounded genuinely pained. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I . . .’ I began. Part of me wanted to rail against him, to tell him he’d got it wrong, that we were good together, we were right together. But at the same time I knew I wouldn’t be able to say those things with any conviction. ‘I feel really sad,’ I managed to get out. That was true. Sad, and frightened that I was all on my own now. Scared that I wouldn’t have Matthew to organize me any more. I’d be a mess without him, I knew it. And I was heartbroken that I was losing my boy, my borrowed son, whose company was like a bright, golden light sparkling into my life twice a week.

‘I’m going out,’ I said, getting up. I couldn’t look at him. ‘I need to clear my head.’ I wanted to escape from this awful, toxic conversation, have a good cry on my own, try to make sense of what was going on.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Don’t you want to talk about this?’

I shook my head. ‘And say what?’ I asked. ‘Look – I get it, okay. It’s over. I kind of knew it deep down too, to be honest. You deserve someone clean and tidy and sensible, and—’

‘It’s not about being clean and tidy and sensible,’ he said – almost shouted, in fact. I thought he was going to cry too, then. ‘It’s more that . . . I think I’m holding you back. This café – it’s really under your skin, I can tell. I know it’s important to you. And it won’t work, with you having a foot in two different worlds. You’ve got to do it. So I’m . . . I’m letting you go.’

I sat down again, flung my arms around him and sobbed. ‘It doesn’t mean we have to split up, though,’ I said, weeping into his shirt.

‘It does,’ he said, stroking my back. There was a new gentleness in him. It felt, for a moment, almost romantic, this scene between us, until I remembered that actually he was dumping me. ‘Evie, it does. I really hope the café is a success – honestly, I do. But we’ve grown apart: you must see that. I’m just being realistic.’

‘I know,’ I sniffled. I clung to him, feeling dazed. God. This was
real
. We were splitting up. We were actually splitting up. No more Evie-and-Matthew. No more Matthew-and-Evie. What was I going to do now?

Good question.

Chapter Eleven

‘Oh, shit.’ Amber said, when I phoned the next day to tell her that Matthew and I had split up. ‘Oh, hon, I wasn’t expecting that.’

I gave a hollow laugh. ‘Yeah, right – that’s not how it sounded on Saturday.’

‘I didn’t seriously think . . . Oh, shit. Are you okay? Do you want to move in with me for a bit?’

I blew my nose. I’d been blubbing since I’d woken up that morning. ‘I’m okay,’ I said.

This was so patently a lie – in fact I stammered over the ‘okay’, turning it into about five syllables – that she said, ‘Shall I come round? It’s very quiet in the shop, I’m sure Carla will let me pop out.’

‘Honestly, no, I’m fine,’ I began, and then changed my mind. ‘Actually . . . would you?’

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Give me five minutes.’

I put the phone down and went on with my packing. I was sorting out all my stuff, piling my CDs and books into boxes, leaving sad-looking gaps in the shelves. I turned my head away, not wanting to look at those miserable empty spaces. Those spaces represented me – my presence gradually being removed from the house. It wasn’t a happy thought.

I forced myself to turn back and carry on, after a moment. This was the right thing to do. Matthew was being brave, forcing things to their inevitable conclusion. The relationship had been going nowhere for a long time. It was a mercy killing.

My plan for now was to pack up, load as much stuff as I could into the car and take myself off to Cornwall for the summer. And after that: who knew? Somewhere else that took my fancy.
Life is short
, my mum had reminded me.
You can’t waste it doing things you don’t enjoy.
And with those words of wisdom from my own mother ringing in my ears, I’d canned the temp job first thing that morning, earning myself a frosty silence from the recruitment consultant. ‘I see,’ she’d said eventually. ‘This is very short notice, so I’m not sure we’ll be able to offer you anything—’

‘That’s fine,’ I’d said. ‘I’ve got my own business to run anyway. Bye.’

My hand hovered on
Finn Family Moomintroll
when I came to it on the shelf. I hadn’t finished reading it to Saul, and had been looking forward to reaching the chapters with Thingumy and Bob, as I knew they would make him laugh. And now . . .

A tear rolled down my cheek. Now I would have to leave the book, for Matthew to read it to him. I grabbed a pen and wrote on the title page, ‘Dear Saul. You are the coolest. I hope you like the rest of this story. Love, Evie.’ Then I had to put it down hurriedly before my tears blurred the ink.

Thankfully the doorbell went just then and it was the most ginormous relief to see Amber standing there with her bike, a bunch of white tulips and a huge slab of Dairy Milk. ‘These are from Carla,’ she said, thrusting the flowers at me. ‘And the chocolate’s from me. Come here,’ she said, putting her arms around me. ‘I’m really sorry to hear what’s happened.’

At least I still had Amber, I thought gratefully as she hugged me. ‘Come through,’ I said. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

We went into the kitchen and I found myself looking at it with new eyes, scanning the room for what I needed to pack. It seemed petty to take down the Andy Warhol calendar, even though I’d been the one who’d bought it, or to drive off with the set of non-stick saucepans (mine), leaving Matthew to do without. Having said that, there was no way I could leave behind my old striped milk jug, or the 1970s sunflower plates I’d picked up from the junk shop, or the bright red teapot . . .

One thing at a time, I reminded myself, filling the kettle.

‘So what are you going to do?’ Amber asked, leaning against the worktop. ‘I meant it about moving in with me. You can have the spare room for as long as you like.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, getting down some mugs. ‘But I’m going to take off to Cornwall for a bit, I think. Throw myself into the business, distract myself from my broken heart . . .’ I gave a hollow laugh. ‘You know.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, really.’ I told her about Annie’s phone call the day before – was it only yesterday? It felt much longer ago than that – and how, with Matthew and I splitting up, it made sense just to head off there as soon as possible and get stuck in. ‘At least I won’t be moping around here,’ I said, dumping teabags into the pot. ‘And I actually feel a tiny bit excited about going. Almost as if I’ve been set free.’

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘God.’

‘Yes,’ I said, warming to my theme. ‘I really do. Not that I was in a prison, or anything before, but it’s like new possibilities have opened up. And it’s scary being set free, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I actually
like
the thought that I can do what I want again.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘I mean, I’m really sad about Matthew, and everything, too. It’s not that I like having split up with him. But . . .’ I shook my head. I couldn’t find the right words this morning.

‘I’ll make the tea,’ Amber said. ‘Sit down and eat some chocolate. And have a few deep breaths before your head explodes.’

I did what I was told. Chair, chocolate, deep breaths.

‘Here,’ she said, putting a steaming mug in front of me and sitting down at the table with one of her own. ‘Listen – about going to Cornwall. Do you want me to come with you for a few days? Just to keep you company and give you a hand in the café? I don’t want you driving off all tearful, and then feeling lonely and not having anyone to talk to. I’m not saying it’ll be
like
that,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I mean, you’ll probably be fine. Have a great time. But just in case . . .’

‘Seriously?’ I said. ‘You’d really come to Cornwall with me? What about work?’

She made a pfff! noise. ‘Sod work. For starters, it’s the bank holiday, so the shop’s shut on Monday anyway. And for seconds, Carla owes me some holiday – and she owes me a favour too, with the number of wedding flowers I’ve done for her in the evenings the last few weeks,’ she said. ‘Besides, her daughter’s always angling for some extra shifts. Carla won’t go short-staffed.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘If you
want
me to come, that is. I totally understand if you just want to be on your own, get your head straight, do some primal screaming on the clifftops, or whatever it is that you had in mind.’

I broke off another square of Dairy Milk and popped it into my mouth as I thought. I’d barely slept the night before, I’d been so stunned by what Matthew and I had said to each other, so overwhelmed by all the tasks that lay ahead of me. I’d hoped I could keep myself together enough to pack up and leave, not wanting to dwell on the ache that I knew I’d feel inside, despite all my brave talk of being set free. Making a new start in a new place would be exhilarating, yes, but lonely too. So did I want Amber to come with me and hold my hand?

You bet I did.

‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘Are you absolutely, totally sure?’

Her eyes sparkled. ‘You know me,’ she said, wrinkling her nose as she smiled. ‘Love a mini-break. So, what time are we off?’

Four hours later we were in the car and heading out of Oxford, with bin bags of my clothes and other assorted, hastily packed possessions in the boot. It was strange, shutting the front door and wondering if I would ever go back. Amber had already offered to pick up the stuff I’d inevitably left behind, so unless Matthew and I had a passionate reunion further down the line, this was it for me and number twenty-three. It wouldn’t be my home from now on; I didn’t belong any more. I wasn’t sure
where
I belonged.

I hesitated, then dropped the keys through the letter box, feeling slightly sick as I heard them clink to the floor inside. There seemed such a finality to the moment. Another bridge burned. No turning back now.

‘Ready?’ Amber said gently.

I still had my hand on the letter box and felt reluctant to remove it. It was as if by letting go, I would sever my last connection to the house. Was this really the right thing to do? Should I dash over to Matthew’s office instead and try to talk him round, persuade him to give us another try?

‘I’ll wait in the car,’ Amber said when I didn’t reply.

The sound of her footsteps walking away broke the spell. ‘Goodbye,’ I whispered to the house, running my fingers along the cold brass metal flap of the letter box, as if caressing a lover’s face. And then, with a deep breath, I turned away, got in the car, started the engine and drove off down the street. I didn’t look back.

‘You okay, Thelma?’ Amber asked, glancing over at me as we headed for the ring road.

‘I’m okay, Louise,’ I replied, flashing her a quick smile. ‘I’m glad you’re here with me. I’d probably be weeping along to ‘Stand By Your Man’ if you weren’t.’

‘Whereas now,’ she said, switching on the radio and fiddling with the dial, ‘you’ve got me, and . . .’ We both started to laugh as ‘Freedom’ by George Michael suddenly blasted out. ‘Ah, George,’ she said fondly, cranking up the volume. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’

The further we got from Oxford, the better my mood became. The sun came out from behind the clouds, and it felt as if we were driving towards a happier place. There was something satisfying about being proactive; about getting up and leaving to start afresh. Amber was in a great mood, too, with her sudden holiday lying ahead of her, and was the best kind of company, making me laugh, finding good songs for us to bellow along to on the radio and chatting away about this and that.

‘It’s ages since we’ve done anything like this,’ she said after a while. ‘Just the two of us, I mean, having a little adventure. We’ve both been a bit coupley, the last few years, haven’t we – me with Jackson and then Bill, and then that jerk Neil, and you with Matthew . . . I really like the idea of us having some girl-time again.’

‘Me too,’ I said, envisaging the two of us in fluffy dressing gowns on the sofa at Jo’s, facepacks on, curlers in, watching a chick flick and eating chocolate. Yes, girl-time was exactly what I needed.

‘We can get all dressed up, go out on the razzle, dance round our handbags,’ she said dreamily, puncturing my image of chilled-out serenity in an instant. ‘Mind you, I’m guessing the nightlife isn’t too hot over in Carrawen Bay?’ she added after a moment.

I shook my head. ‘It’s not exactly rocking,’ I told her.

‘Well, who better to start livening it up, than me and you?’ she asked.

I pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure I really want to liven things up right now,’ I protested weakly.

She took out a pocket mirror and expertly applied some fresh lipstick. ‘We’ll just see about that,’ she said.

Once we arrived in Carrawen Bay it was almost eight o’clock, and becoming dusky. Lights were on in all the B&B windows along the high street and, as we drove past the pub, it looked bustling and full of life. ‘Fab,’ Amber said appreciatively. ‘It’s really pretty here. Oh wow, and there’s the beach. Gorgeous!’

Even in the filmy half-light, I had to agree. The sand looked a smoky grey and the water navy-blue, darkening to black on the horizon, but there was no disguising the generous sweep of the bay, and the huge slice of sky. Gorgeous indeed. I felt proud of it, as if I’d made it with my own bare hands. ‘It
is
lovely,’ I said. ‘And here’s the café.’

I pulled into the car park and turned off the engine. Neither of us spoke for a moment, then Amber said in a stage whisper, ‘I can hear the waves.’

I grinned at her. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Nice, isn’t it?’ I meant it too. For the first time all day, I felt calmness wash over me with the sound of the breakers. I was back here in the bay, and everything was going to be all right.

We’d picked up fish and chips in Polzeath and took the hot paper packets onto the café deck, the salt-and-vinegar scent mingling with the sea’s briny tang. It was shadowy up on the deck, with a few old cigarette butts blowing around like leaves. A polystyrene cup rolled in a slow semicircle and I grabbed it. ‘Bloody Carl,’ I said, not for the first time. ‘Of all the unreliable, useless, rude, lazy —’

‘Ah, you’re well shot of him,’ Amber said. ‘He’s history, and us two are the future. Right, are we going in, then?’

I unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. Surprise, surprise, Carl hadn’t bothered clearing up before he jumped ship. Plates and cups had been left on the tables, and the floor was sandy and crumb-strewn. I clenched my fists. He was totally getting a slap the next time I set eyes on him.

‘Wow, it’s amazing in here,’ Amber said, gazing around. ‘Must be lovely in the daytime with the light streaming in. God, Evie, I can’t quite believe it’s all yours.’

I smiled at her despite my annoyance. ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I can’t, either. It looks even better when it’s been cleaned.’

‘Oh, that won’t take us long,’ Amber said. ‘But first things first, where are your plates? And do you have any ketchup for these chips? Let’s eat, and then we can do everything else.’

It was the right thing to do. I found us a couple of cans of Diet Coke from the fridge and we sat in the corner booth, and put the lot away. I realized with a jolt halfway through that I hadn’t thought about Matthew for ages. By now, presumably, he’d be back at the house. It must have been weird for him, walking in on his own, realizing that I’d cleared out. Maybe he’d half-expected me to be there, tearful and pleading,
Don’t leave me, I can’t go on without you . . .

I imagined him sitting there all alone in the living room, and felt a pang of sadness. Was he missing me? I wondered. Or was he stretching out on the sofa with a celebratory beer?

I blinked, aware that there was a suspicious wetness in my eyes. I also realized that I’d managed to eat the rest of my chips without tasting them.

Amber had finished hers too. ‘I’m stuffed,’ she said, stacking the plates and getting to her feet. ‘Why don’t we unpack the car, and then you can show me round. I can’t wait to check out the rest of it. Then we’ll make a start on the cleaning up.’

‘Okay,’ I said, smothering a yawn. My sleepless night was really catching up on me now that I’d managed the drive here safely, and all the food had made me dozy. I could feel my energy levels plummeting.