The Beach Cafe (16 page)

Our food arrived just then, so the moment was over, thank goodness. It was disconcerting, feeling that I had more in common with my nephew and nieces than my own sister and brother-in-law. What did that say about me? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

‘So, did I tell you?’ Ruth said, cutting Thea’s food into small pieces. ‘We saw Matthew in town on Saturday, with . . . Jasmine, is it? He said you two had split up.’

No, she hadn’t told me. She knew perfectly well she hadn’t told me. And Jasmine? Who was Jasmine? And why did Ruth think it was acceptable to casually lob other women’s names into stories about Matthew across plates of overpriced chicken and chips?

‘Mmm,’ I said neutrally, sipping my wine. ‘Yep.’ I posted a shred of chicken into my mouth and chewed mechanically. ‘This is delicious.’

‘Saw him at the petrol station, as we were filling up to come down here,’ Tim said. ‘You know, the one just before you get to the ring road.’

‘Ah,’ I said, like I cared. Inside I was mentally combing through every single conversation I’d ever had with Matthew to see if I could find any memory of this Jasmine woman getting a mention. Who the hell was she, and what the hell was she doing in my boyfriend’s car with him?

Ex-boyfriend’s car, that was.

‘They were off to Malvern, for a walking weekend, they said,’ Ruth went on. Was she being completely insensitive, I wondered, or was she getting some kind of warped kick out of telling me all this? Putting me in my place as usual. Payback for the ‘being my own boss’ remark, no doubt. I wished she would shut her big lipsticked mouth. I didn’t want to know. I did not want to know about walking weekends in Malvern with Jasmine.

Conversely, I did want to know, too. I wanted to know
everything
.

‘Well, good luck to them,’ I said, unable to help a tinge of bitterness sliding into my voice. ‘Matthew always was a boring old fart. He can take his walking weekends in Malvern and shove them up his – ’

I stopped, aware of the saucer-eyed children hanging on my every word.

‘Aunty Weevie say FART,’ Thea announced.

‘I think she was about to say something even RUDER,’ Hugo spluttered.

Happily, this was enough for Ruth to decide to change the subject, and we talked about safer topics like gardening and her tennis lessons for the rest of the meal. Farts, wees and ex-boyfriend’s arses didn’t get a single look-in, and I wasn’t sure who was more relieved, my sister or me. But she’d proved her point anyway. Once again she’d made it clear just who was superior within the family.

I am just as good as you, Ruth
, I had said into the mirror that evening, but I wasn’t. And I never would be, either, at this rate. I let out a sigh and ate my food without tasting any of it.

Chapter Sixteen

The drive back to the café was a quiet one. The children dozed off, and any attempts at conversation were hampered by the torrential rain that thundered against the car roof. I’d had enough of chit-chat anyway; my mind was spinning and spinning with this news about Matthew, completely distracting me from any other topic. Who was this Jasmine woman? Was she his new girlfriend, or just a friend? Could it have been some work outing, and he’d just happened to offer her a lift? Or was she the real reason he’d wanted to split up with me?

‘Letting you go,’ he’d said at the time, as if he were generously releasing me from the relationship against his wishes. Yeah, right. He was letting me go so that he could move on to a new model, more like.

I felt humiliated, as if he’d rubbed my nose in it, as if he’d deliberately staged a ‘chance’ meeting with my sister, so that I would discover he had a new girlfriend. And of all the ways to find out, of all the people to break that horrible news to me, Ruth was the worst person to do such a thing. That made the sting even more painful.

I hated the sound of Jasmine already. She sounded as boring as hell. Walking weekend in Malvern indeed. How middle-aged and dull could you get? I bet she wasn’t the type for outrageous al-fresco sex on the Worcester Beacon, either. She’d probably pack a Thermos flask and a hypothermia blanket, just to be on the safe side. She probably had a first-aid kit tucked in a pocket of her big, sensible knickers, and one of those tragic hiking sticks.
My name is Jasmine, and I can bore people to tears with my encyclopaedic knowledge of lichen and birdsong. Would you like to go walking with me sometime?

Well, they deserved each other. I just hoped for her sake that she was a neat freak like him. Bitchily I fantasized about her being a complete slob and driving him nuts with her slovenly habits. Or them both getting struck by lightning in a terrible storm as they stood on the top of British Camp. That would teach them. Fat lot of good Jasmine’s first-aid kit and birdsong calls would be
then
.

She’d better be nice to Saul, this Jasmine, I thought grimly as we cruised through the dark, rain-sodden lanes. She’d better be bloody lovely to him. He deserved nothing less. I sighed, hating Matthew and hating Jasmine, wishing Ruth had kept her mouth shut and left me none the wiser.

I glanced over at Thea, who was fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth, her facial features slack, her eyelids just trembling slightly with some dream or other. She was so cute; how come I hadn’t noticed it before? Just because Ruth was a pain in the arse, it didn’t mean her kids were too. They had all been adorable tonight – really sweet and funny and giggly. Previously, round at Mum’s for Sunday dinner or other family gatherings, the older two in particular had always been rather sensible and solemn; mini-Ruths, in fact. But they’d let their hair down tonight in true holiday style, and had been hilarious. It had made me miss Saul even more, spending time with them. I hoped he was okay, and having a fun half-term. I would write him a letter, I decided. Splitting up with Matthew didn’t mean I had to lose touch with him too.

‘Here we are,’ Ruth said, and I jerked out of my thoughts. We were back at the café, and I hadn’t even noticed us coming through Carrawen village.

I unclipped my seatbelt. ‘Thanks for tonight,’ I said politely. ‘It was lovely to see you all. I hope you enjoy the rest of your holiday.’

‘Lovely to see you too,’ Ruth said, and Tim mumbled some nicety or other along the same lines.

‘See you soon,’ I said, pulling open the door. ‘And you’ve got such fantastic kids, you really have. Say goodnight to them from me, won’t you?’

Ruth looked surprised and somewhat touched at my words. ‘Will do,’ she said. ‘And thank you. Bye now.’

I jumped out, pulled the car door shut and gave a quick wave before hurrying up to the front door. It was still absolutely pelting down, and I suddenly thought about Phoebe and her sleeping bag. I hoped she would have somewhere warm and dry to go.
If she’s on the deck tonight
, I thought to myself,
I am totally going to drag her in and make her stay this time. Absolutely no arguments.
But when I clattered up the steps to the deck, it was empty.

The next morning it was still raining heavily. The weather matched my mood. I hadn’t slept well, tormented by images of Matthew kissing another woman.
Jasmine.
I had changed my mind about her being dull and frumpy. In my head she was now tall, slim and gorgeous, with waves of tumbling blonde hair. She was also an incredible career woman with loads of mates and an amazing social life, who helped out in an old people’s home in her spare time and was always kind to animals. Even my imagination was against me, I thought miserably as I huffed downstairs to open the café.

‘Bloody hell, what’s up with you?’ Ed said when he came in to start work and saw me sitting in one of the booths, nursing a coffee and glaring out to sea. The waves were surging and heaving in the bay, crashing over the rocks at the far spit-point.

‘Nothing,’ I muttered in reply.

‘Not that long-lost ex of yours again, is it?’ he asked, in an irritatingly cheerful voice. ‘The one you shouted at in the pub the other week? Don’t tell me you’ve gone and done it again?’

‘No,’ I snarled. ‘It’s not
him.
’

‘Ah,’ he said. He sat next to me and folded his arms as if we were discussing something trivial like the weather. ‘Some other bastard, eh? Bloody men, what are they like? Complete and utter nightmares the lot of them.’ He winked. ‘Am I right?’

He was teasing me, and I wasn’t in the mood for it. I slurped my coffee, scowling, and to my annoyance he burst out laughing.

‘Oh, Evie, come on, I’m only winding you up,’ he said. ‘God, if looks could kill . . .’ He elbowed me. ‘All right, I get it, you don’t want to talk about it. I will shut up. Okay?’

I managed a brief smile. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute. I’m just – fed up. Ignore me.’

He made himself a coffee and sat back down with me. ‘I need to get on with the pasties and baguette fillings in a minute,’ he said, ‘but we haven’t spoken about the weekend yet, have we? Are you still on for opening up one evening for dinner?’

‘Yes,’ I said, forgetting my grump for a moment. ‘Yes, definitely. I was just talking about that last night. The thing is, it’s already Wednesday now, so we might be cutting it fine for this weekend.’

‘Nah,’ he said confidently. ‘Plenty of time. And if we’re going to do it, it really should be this Friday. Lots of people will be off home on Saturday, won’t they, end of half-term week?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ I said. It was true. The bay was full of holidaymakers right now, and it would be quieter the following week when the kids were back at school. I sat up straighter, suddenly feeling ten times more alert. ‘What, so you really reckon we could run a dinner menu this Friday? As in – two days’ time?’

‘No problem,’ he said. ‘Start telling people about it today, and we’ll plan our menu and order the food later on. Maybe print up some fliers, give them out to people on the beach, that sort of thing.’

‘Okay,’ I said, Matthew temporarily forgotten. ‘We can get some nice tablecloths too, and candles . . .’

‘That’s the spirit,’ he said. ‘Friday night it is, then. It’ll be great.’

I smiled back at him. ‘That’s a plan,’ I said, feeling much better.

Ed went into the kitchen just as Annie breezed in with her cake delivery. This time she’d brought one carrot cake with cream-cheese frosting and walnuts on top, and a chocolate sponge that she’d decorated with silver balls. ‘I came over all kitsch,’ she confessed with a laugh. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t add on a few Jelly Tots too.’ She’d also brought more flapjacks and some iced cookies, and I gave her a hug along with her pay.

‘I love the silver balls,’ I told her. ‘And honestly, your baking has made such a difference to this place. People keep coming back for more, and word of mouth is definitely spreading. What with your cakes and Ed’s pasties, we’ve had a brilliant few days.’

She beamed. ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘Martha and her boyfriend, Jamie, have taken it upon themselves to be my chief testers and have been very strict with their critiques, so I’m pleased everyone else approves.’

‘Well, pass on my thanks,’ I said. ‘Tell them there’s a free coffee for them any time they’re passing. And you too, of course – can I get you one while you’re here?’

‘Better not,’ she said, glancing up at the clock. ‘I need to get to the shop. But another time would be good – or maybe a drink one evening?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ I said. ‘In fact, we’re opening for dinner on Friday night, why don’t you come along then? On the house, to say thank you for all your hard work.’

‘Really? You’re doing evening meals?’ She sounded surprised. ‘What a good idea. I’d love to come. Are you taking bookings, or . . .’

I grabbed a notepad that was stuffed down the side of the till. ‘We are now,’ I told her. ‘Shall I book you and Martha in?’

‘Why not,’ she said. ‘Maybe make it a table for three, in case Jamie wants to come too. But I’ll pay, obviously. You don’t have to treat us.’

‘Absolutely not,’ I told her, writing down the booking. Then I heard Ed’s warning voice from the kitchen. ‘Evie,’ he cautioned, ‘you’re not giving away all your profits, are you?’

Annie laughed. ‘At least someone here is thinking about the business,’ she said. ‘I’d better dash. Traffic’s going to be hideous today, with this rain. Let me know which cakes you want for Friday – and whether I can do anything to help with the desserts that evening too.’

‘Will do,’ I said. ‘Cheers, Annie.’

I set out the cakes, then climbed onto a chair and chalked up ‘Friday Night New Evening Menu – Taking Bookings Today!’ on the blackboard. It was silly of me, I knew, but I couldn’t help getting excited about it already. I hoped Jo was looking down and taking note of all this. I had the feeling she’d be cheering me on all the way.

Rachel came in soon afterwards, and I filled her in on the plan for Friday. ‘So any chance you get, if you could mention it to the customers and try to take some bookings, that would be brilliant,’ I said. ‘Mind you,’ I went on, glancing out at the storm that was still raging, ‘we’ll be lucky to get any customers at all today, now that the weather’s so abysmal.’

My words were like a prophecy of doom. The only person who came in before ten o’clock was the postman with a couple of letters. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose I can tempt you with a coffee while you’re here, can I? Or a hot pasty?’

He laughed ruefully. ‘I’d love a coffee
and
a hot pasty, darling, but I’ve got to get on,’ he said. ‘Traffic’s terrible. All the holiday crowd are trying to find museums and castles to keep dry in, and clogging up the roads.’

‘Oh well,’ I said. ‘You can always come back on Friday night – we’re having a special dinner menu then, if you’re interested?’

‘Sorry, love, I’ve got to crack on,’ he said again, waving a hand as he walked away.

‘Right, okay then,’ I said as the door shut behind him. I wasn’t used to having nothing to do. Ever since I’d started working here the café had been busy, busy, busy. Now I was twiddling my thumbs. ‘Rachel, while it’s so quiet I’m just going to get on the computer and design some fliers,’ I said. ‘Scream if we get a sudden deluge of ravenous punters, yeah?’

‘Sure,’ she said.

There was a tiny office just off the kitchen where Jo had kept all her paperwork and filing. I’d hardly been in there since I’d moved down, and there was dust on the computer monitor. I brushed it off and turned the machine on, twirling in the swivel chair as it hummed into life. While I waited, I opened the letters that the postman had brought – four handwritten envelopes. It seemed strange to see my name there, with ‘The Beach Café, Carrawen Bay’ as the address underneath. I didn’t recognize the writing. Were they bills from suppliers perhaps?

I ripped open the first envelope and pulled out the contents. Then my heart sank as I realized what it was: a letter of application for the chef ’s job and a CV. Of course, responses to my recruitment ad in the paper. Damn. I had secretly been hoping that nobody would apply, and I’d get to keep Ed for a while longer. Obviously not.

The PC was up and running now, so I stuffed the envelopes into my in-tray, meaning to look at them properly later. Then I typed up my flier, centred it all and changed the fonts a few times before sending it to print.

The café was still empty, so I opened up my emails. At the top of my in-box was one from Matthew. Fingers trembling with nervous anticipation, I clicked on his name to open the message. Was he writing to apologize for the Jasmine thing? Was he writing to say he’d changed his mind, Jasmine was a terrible mistake and I was the finest woman in the universe?

Was he hell. He was writing, I soon realized, to say that the electricity and gas bills were in, and my share of them came to £103.

‘Well, you can whistle for that, mate,’ I muttered furiously. ‘Because you won’t be getting anything from me now.’

Of all the flaming cheek. Honestly! Did he have no idea about tact, about relationship RULES? I had the moral high ground – twice over, actually, having first been dumped and then replaced so quickly. And he had the nerve to write to me, telling me I owed him?

Fired up with annoyance, I hit Reply and typed furiously.

Dear Matthew,

You have got to be kidding. Do you really think you’re going to get anything from me, now that I know all about you and Jasmine? DREAM ON.

Evie

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d hit Send and the message had vanished. I imagined the look of distaste that would appear on his face as he read it. ‘Well, sod you,’ I said crossly to the computer screen. Then I picked up my fliers and went back into the café. Although it seemed rather deceitful, I didn’t mention the application letters to Ed. I would tell him later, I assured myself. Of course I would.