Christmas at the Beach Cafe (8 page)

‘Yep,’ I said, still none the wiser. ‘You certainly are.’

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Mum said. ‘You just sounded so down last night on the phone. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being lonely at Christmas without the
family, so it was rather a spur of the moment decision. I thought, I won’t ring, she’ll only get in a flap about food and whatnot – so we’ve just brought everything with us.
Bedding and pillows, as well as our Christmas cake and an extra turkey, oh, and a trifle, although it might be all over the inside of the boot now, after that little crash. I did
tell
your
father to go slow on that bend, but would he listen?’

I tuned out, not listening either. My brain couldn’t cope. Yes, okay, I probably
had
sounded a bit flat when she’d phoned again last night, but that was only because I was
kind of drained after the laptop incident and my resulting conversation with Jake, not because I wanted my parents to turn up on our doorstep. Hello! Newsflash! I wanted fewer people here in the
flat, not more!

‘I did
text
!’ she added, as if that made it all right. ‘And Louise said she would too.’

I didn’t explain that I hadn’t looked at any more texts after Betty’s shocker. The less she knew about my little appearance in the tabloid press
,
the better. ‘So
you’re planning to be here until . . .’ I said numbly as she gave me a perfumed kiss.

‘Well, Boxing Day probably. I said to Ruth we’d do presents with them and Lou that evening. That way I get to see all of my girls – perfect!’

‘Right,’ I said, trying to pull myself together. ‘Um . . . Well, you’d better come in, then. Let me carry something for you.’

Ed, Amber and Jake were all peering out the back door by now, looking as confused as I felt. ‘Hello,’ Ed said. ‘What a nice surprise. I’ll just get some boots on, and
I’ll give you a hand.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Amber said, earning herself a double thumbs up from Dad.

‘You read my mind, love,’ he said.

‘I can’t quite believe you made it here,’ I said, following my mum round to the boot. ‘It sounded like the roads were going to be awful from the local news we
heard.’

‘They were fine all the way to Wadebridge,’ Mum replied breezily, putting Monty down so he could wee into the snow. ‘Lot of fuss about nothing, if you ask me. The roads to
Carrawen were slightly more hairy but your dad just took it slowly. And here we are!’

Here they were. And there went my last hopes for a quiet romantic Christmas. Ever since I’d broken that glass angel at the start of the month, it felt as if everything had gone wrong.
‘Great,’ I said, with an attempt at enthusiasm.

‘There we go,’ Mum said, passing us various bags and boxes to carry. ‘Oh, it’s so lovely to be here again. And a white Christmas too! What more could you ask
for?’

The snow was still falling in thick soft flurries, but we weren’t going to starve, at least. Not with the enormous Christmas cake my mum produced, the cream-filled
chocolate log Louise had donated, the turkey, the bag of King Edwards, the jar of cranberry jelly and a tin of Mum’s finest sugar-sprinkled shortbread. (The trifle was sadly the worse for
wear as predicted.)

‘Oh, it does look pretty in here,’ Mum said, as she carried a box of presents up to the flat and started unpacking them under the tree in the living room. Then she noticed
Jake’s sleeping bag on the sofa and the contents of his rucksack scattered in a two-metre radius around it. ‘Ahh,’ she said in the next breath. ‘They’re staying here
too, then?’

‘They are,’ I confirmed. ‘Just until the snow melts anyway, whenever that’s going to be.’

Her face fell. ‘I didn’t think to check – I thought you were going to be on your own.’

‘I did too,’ I replied. ‘It’s been one surprise guest after another recently.’

Her eyes met mine. ‘Do you have room for us as well? I’m sorry. If I’d known you already had a house full, we wouldn’t have come. It’s just I thought –
’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You and Dad can have the spare room. Jake’s on the sofa, and I’m sure I can borrow a camp bed from someone for Amber.’

‘Oh dear. Oh Evie. I thought this was a good idea, but now I can see that I’m just making things more complicated.’ She bit her lip. ‘Sorry, love. My plan was to sweep in
and do all the work for you, not create even more.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said, not very convincingly.

She sat back on her heels and sighed. ‘If I’m honest, I’m here for selfish reasons too,’ she admitted, fiddling with the silver ribbon of the present nearest to her.
‘The first Christmas without Jo . . . I thought that coming here might make me feel as if I was closer to her.’ She reached over and squeezed my hand. ‘Sorry. I’ve been in a
tizz about it for weeks, wishing I could see her again. She loved Christmas so much, she’s been on my mind even more than usual lately.’ She hung her head. ‘I should have asked
you first though, rather than turning up like this.’

I hugged her, and suddenly my irritation trickled away. Jo had been on my mind a lot lately, too. Of course Mum had wanted to come here. The only real surprise was that she hadn’t arrived
sooner. ‘I’m glad you came, then,’ I said. ‘We can raise a toast to her together on Christmas Day, can’t we?’

Her eyes were moist as we broke apart. ‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely just being here, you know, and seeing all her decorations up in the
café.’ Then she frowned and peered at the tree. ‘I don’t see your glass angel anywhere,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘Have you put it somewhere
special?’

‘Ahh,’ I said. ‘There’s actually a bit of bad news about the angel, Mum . . .’

‘I hope this is okay,’ I said to Ed in a quiet voice as we lay in bed that evening, my head on his chest, his arm around me. ‘My parents rocking up uninvited,
I mean. Sorry. It’s not exactly how I imagined Christmas turning out this year.’

‘Nor me,’ he said, yawning. ‘Now all we need is for my parents and your sisters to appear as well, and we’ll have the full set.’

I shuddered. ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘I think I’d run away.’

‘Good idea. I’ll come too.’

I listened to the steady thud of his heart. ‘I hope Jake and Amber are okay in there together,’ I whispered. We had borrowed a camp bed from Lindsey, and Amber was now in the living
room with Jake. When she heard about the situation, Lindsey had promptly offered her own spare room to one of them, but both Amber and Jake had assured us that they were completely fine about
sharing. ‘They’re getting on well, aren’t they? They were gone ages this afternoon. I was starting to think we might have to put some more mistletoe up.’

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Jake’s not really up for a relationship right now. He’s in a bit of a mess to be honest. Mind you, he said talking to you had helped.’ He
stroked my hair. ‘I’m glad you two sorted out your differences.’

‘Me too,’ I said. There was an understatement if ever I heard one.

‘He’s offered to help me sort through all the paperwork for the divorce,’ Ed said. ‘He studied Law at uni. Hasn’t done anything with it since, mind, but he probably
knows more than I do about these things.’

I felt a rush of pleasure to hear that Jake was doing something positive in his relationship with Ed at last, rather than let jealousy take it over. ‘That’s nice,’ I said,
smiling into the darkness. ‘Maybe he’s advising Amber on how to sue this Maguire moron, then. Because I swear they’re up to something, even if they’re not about to start
snogging under the mistletoe. Didn’t you notice they kept going off and whispering together today?
And
they went off for that long walk this afternoon. They’re hatching some
kind of plot, I’m telling you.’

The snow finally stopped falling on Christmas Eve but the trains were still chaotic and the roads even worse. ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ Amber said to me, as she
tuned into the travel news at breakfast. ‘But I reckon you’re stuck with us until Boxing Day now.’

I smiled. I had long since given up on the idea of ‘the perfect Christmas’. It only existed in magazines, I had decided. But we had good company and several tonnes of food.
We’d still have a great day. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It’s fine for you to stay. As long as you promise to be on my team for charades tomorrow, that
is.’

Jake was equally apologetic about spoiling our quiet Christmas and offered to cook a Thai noodle dish for everyone that evening. ‘It’s the least I can do,’ he said, still
rather shame-faced about his earlier behaviour. ‘Amber and I will go on a booze run later too, so that we’re well stocked up.’

‘Thanks Jake,’ I said. ‘Sounds good to me.’ Besides, I reminded myself, once the snow had gone, Ed and I would have all the time in the world to be romantic in splendid
isolation. We could wait.

Just then the doorbell rang. Oh no. Who now? I was starting to associate that sound with yet another uninvited guest arriving, and found myself meanly crossing my fingers that it wasn’t
Ruth this time. Luckily it was the postman who’d valiantly braved it through the snow to bring us our last delivery before Christmas – including another huge pile of cards and a flat
rectangular parcel that just had to be the calendar.

I nearly kissed him in relief but managed to restrain myself and presented him instead with a mince pie from the huge batch that had just come out of the oven. ‘Thank you. Merry
Christmas!’ I said, waving him off, then scurried upstairs to the flat where I locked myself in the bathroom so that I could open the parcel in secret. Privacy was in short supply, what with
all our extra guests.

It
was
the calendar, and I eagerly flipped through the pages, smiling at each image in turn. The printers had done a brilliant job – the colours were sharp and bright, the paper
thick and glossy, every page a gorgeous, happy memory. Even the Miss December picture at the end had come out really well – a million times better than any fuzzy
Daily Star
print.
Yes
, I thought, breathing a sigh of relief. Christmas was now officially allowed to begin.

That afternoon, it was the Christmas Eve bonfire on the beach, and in true stereotyped form, Ed, Jake and my dad all went to muck in with the bonfire lighting, while Amber, Mum and I dragged
down a couple of folding tables and loaded them up with plates of mince pies and gallons of mulled wine.

‘Do you really think we’ll need all of these?’ Amber asked in surprise, eyeing the vast array of supplies we’d laid out.

‘Oh, we’ll need them,’ I assured her.

It was as if the weather knew something special was happening that day. The wind dropped as flames licked up the bonfire and the sun finally emerged from the clouds for what felt like the first
time in days. Then the crowds descended: hundreds of people, the children and dogs racing around together, while the adults stood in small clusters, exchanging presents and toasting each
other’s health, laughing and chatting. The mince pies were all gone in under twenty minutes.

At about three o’clock, Lindsey rang a brass bell, then everyone gathered beside the bonfire, and we sang Christmas carols together. Hearing the sound of so many voices in unison and
seeing all those happy, tipsy faces gave me goosebumps of sheer joy. Ed came and found me in the crowd and we held hands.

‘I love this place,’ I said, squeezing his fingers in mine. ‘I can’t think of anywhere on earth I’d rather be.’

‘Me neither,’ he said. ‘Friends, family, the beach, a bloody great bonfire . . . and you.’

Everyone was there: Annie, Martha and Jamie; Betty and Alec, with what must be their daughter (the spit of Alec) and a brood of tiny blonde grandchildren; Mags, Elizabeth, Nora, Jacqui, Florence
. . . Oh. What was up with Florence? Her usually smiling face looked anxious and forlorn, and she stood alone, gazing out to sea, her hands clasped in front of her.

I hurried over. ‘Florence! Are you okay? Happy Christmas Eve to you!’

‘Hello dear,’ she said, her blue eyes cloudy and faraway. ‘And to you too.’

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, putting a hand on her arm. ‘You don’t seem your usual cheerful self. Is everything all right?’

She wrinkled her nose and wouldn’t meet my gaze. ‘I’m fine,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s just . . . This is my first Christmas without Arthur. I’m finding
it harder than I expected.’

Of course. Her beloved husband had died soon after they’d moved down to Cornwall, leaving her alone and grieving. No wonder she looked faraway. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said,
putting my arm around her. She felt as slight as a bird, even with her winter coat. ‘But isn’t Francis here with you? I thought he and his wife were flying over for Christmas
week.’

‘He was,’ she said, ‘but with this wretched snow, all the flights have been delayed. I’m not sure when he’s going to make it here now.’

Poor, poor Florence. Her son, Francis, was the apple of her eye. A successful TV producer out in America, I knew how little she got to see of him, and how much she’d been looking forward
to his visit.

‘Why don’t you spend Christmas with us instead?’ I heard myself asking. Well – who wouldn’t have? ‘We’ve got plenty of food and we’d love to have
you.’

‘Are you sure?’ she said anxiously. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

‘You wouldn’t be,’ I assured her. ‘Not at all. I’d much rather you were with us than on your own.’

‘Then I’d like that very much,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Evie.’ She nudged me. ‘I’m looking forward to your recipe book, by the way,’ she added.
‘Will I get my copy tomorrow?’

‘Ahh,’ I said, the smile slipping from my face. ‘About the recipe book. There’s been a bit of a hitch . . .’

It was the only thing that marred the afternoon for me, having to admit to Florence, and all the other people who’d asked me the same question, that I’d failed on that particular
front and didn’t actually have a great stack of beautifully wrapped recipe books all ready to distribute. Florence was quick enough to brush it aside and tell me it didn’t matter in the
slightest – ‘Everyone loves a late present in the new year. There’s nothing like it to cheer up a dull January,’ she assured me – but I still felt as if I’d let
her and the others down.