Christmas at the Beach Cafe (4 page)

‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Just tired, that’s all.’

‘Not catching a chill, are you?’ she asked. ‘Because I know how cold it gets in Carrawen, the wind howling down the dunes. I used to worry about you girls when you were little
and we were there in the winter, because – ’

‘I’m fine, Mum,’ I said again. ‘We’ve just had the boiler serviced so we’re lovely and toasty. Honestly.’

‘Not too lonely, then? I did wonder how you’d find it when all the tourists had left town. Beaches can be quite desolate places in the winter, especially where you are, cut off from
everyone else.’

‘No, it’s great,’ I put in quickly. ‘I’m enjoying it. Anyway, how . . .’

She was not about to be distracted that easily. ‘Well, I hope you haven’t been working too hard,’ she said, talking over me. ‘Because if it gets too much for you, you
know you’re welcome to come up and stay with us in Oxford, any time. Me and your dad will look after you, so you can recharge your batteries.’

‘Mum, it’s fine, honestly,’ I told her, verging on desperation. She was so convinced that I was in the grip of some terrible angst or other that it was impossible to stop her.
‘Everything’s absolutely . . . fine.’

‘Only I know how much you love Christmas, and you don’t
sound
very Christmassy, that’s all,’ she continued, and then went on in this vein for several minutes,
until I pointed out (with some relief ) that I could hear her doorbell ringing and shouldn’t she go and answer it?

‘It’s not ringing,’ she replied, confused. ‘Who’d be ringing my doorbell when it’s gone nine o’clock at night? It’s not your dad, he’s
watching
QI
in the lounge.’

The ringing came again, followed by Ed’s voice. ‘I’ll get it!’

‘Oh,’ I said dumbly into the receiver. ‘It’s
my
bell. I wasn’t expecting anyone.’

‘I’ll let you go,’ she said. ‘I know you’re busy. Remember what I said, won’t you? You’re always welcome here.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

Downstairs in the café, I could hear the front door being opened . . . and then loud exclamations. ‘Oh my God! What are you doing here?’

I dumped the phone and hurried down to the café to see who it was . . . only to be faced with an unfamiliar tanned guy with the same wide smile and grey eyes as Ed.

‘Evie!’ Ed cried excitedly as he noticed me. ‘Meet Jake, my brother. He’s been in Thailand for . . . what? Eight months?’

‘Something like that,’ Jake said. Weird. He even had a similar voice to Ed. I couldn’t stop staring at him.

‘I didn’t even know you were back in the UK,’ Ed said, slapping Jake on the back. ‘Oh, mate. Good to see you. I can’t believe you’re here!’

‘Hi Jake,’ I said. I hadn’t heard much about Ed’s brother, just that he was younger and always off having adventures around the world.

Ed remembered to finish the rest of the introduction. ‘This is Evie, my girlfriend, by the way – she owns this place. Anyway, let me get you a beer. Come in, come in!’

Jake turned his eyes on me for the first time. ‘Nice to meet you, Evie. You don’t mind if I crash here a while, do you? Just until I’ve got myself
sorted.’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ I said. ‘Come up to the flat, it’s cosier there. And welcome to Cornwall!’

Jake had had a blast in Thailand by the sound of things: wild nights, lazy days and a terrifying amount of cheap Mekhong whisky. It quickly became apparent that he was keen to carry the party on
right here in our flat, with a terrifying amount of cheap supermarket whisky. And us.

‘Jake, you are a very bad influence,’ I groaned at around midnight. ‘My liver is begging for mercy, I think I’m going to call it a night.’

‘I’ll be in soon,’ Ed said, looking like he wasn’t about to move for another few hours.

‘Night, Jake,’ I said, blundering tipsily to the living room door. ‘I’ve made up the spare bed for you. See you in the morning.’

‘Night,’ he said.

He was a funny mixture, Jake; I hadn’t quite got a handle on him yet. Although he looked and sounded uncannily like Ed, there was a sharp edge to him that marked him out as different to
his brother. When Ed asked about a previous girlfriend, Bridget, there was real rancour in Jake’s voice as he told us, in no uncertain terms, why the relationship had been a mistake.

Once I’d brushed my teeth, I wandered back towards our bedroom with a glass of water – I already knew I was going to have a monstrous hangover in the morning. The living-room door
was ajar and I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation as I passed.

‘What are you doing here, Ed?’ Jake was asking in a low voice. ‘I mean – a café? It’s hardly Silvers, is it?’

I froze, unable to go any further. Silvers was the name of the restaurant that Ed and Melissa had owned in the West End.

‘Well, no, but that’s part of the appeal,’ I heard Ed reply with a laugh. ‘London chewed me up and spat me out. Whereas this place . . .’

‘Yeah, but mate, come on. This place is the arse-end of nowhere. And no offence to Evie, but – ’

I stiffened. ‘No offence to Evie’ was not the start of any sentence I wanted to hear in full.

‘ – But she’s not exactly . . .’

‘Not exactly what?’ I shivered at the sudden coldness in Ed’s voice and wrapped my arms around myself, goosebumps prickling on my skin. Then there was silence and I felt sick,
imagining Jake pulling some sort of derisory face. Not exactly
what
? What was his problem?

‘Nothing,’ he muttered eventually. ‘Want a top-up?’

‘Go on, then.’

They started talking about some bloke who’d been their childhood friend and I went and lay down in bed, feeling shaky and uncertain, wishing I’d never heard them. How dare Jake call
Carrawen ‘the arse-end of nowhere’? He’d rocked up in pitch darkness, he had no idea how beautiful and special a place it was! As for the comment he’d been on the verge of
making about me . . . infinite endings to the sentence boiled up in my mind, not one of them complimentary.

No offence to Evie, but she’s not exactly Melissa, is she?

She’s not exactly your usual kind of woman.

She’s not exactly a looker.

She’s not exactly a catch.

No offence, though, mate. No offence.

Well, offence bloody taken, I thought, trembling with rage and hurt. Consider me well and truly offended.

I was still awake and seething when Ed crashed in an hour or so later, although I shut my eyes and pretended to be fast asleep. I was too upset to talk about what I’d
overheard earlier – and he was so drunk, he wouldn’t be coherent anyway. I tossed and turned, trying to stop my brain repeating those damning few sentences I’d heard, but it was
impossible to switch off. Then Ed started snoring and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink. It was a very long night.

The next morning, I was gritty-eyed, short of patience and ready for a bust-up. If Jake dared voice even one negative opinion to me about the café, Cornwall or anything else I disagreed
with, there would be trouble, I vowed. Ed’s brother or not.

After a hot shock of a shower, I went into the kitchen and saw that Jake was already up. Not only that, he’d made a large pot of excellent-smelling coffee and was busily frying up a huge
breakfast for the three of us. ‘Morning,’ he said cheerfully. ‘God, the views from this place are amazing, aren’t they? I couldn’t really see much last night when I
arrived.’

I pressed my lips together, resisting repeating his rude ‘arse-end of nowhere’ comment back at him. ‘We like it,’ I said in a terse kind of way.

‘I hope you don’t mind, I thought I’d do a bit of a fry-up,’ he said. ‘Are you hungry?’

If I’d been properly cool, I might have replied ‘Not particularly’ and stuck my nose in the air, but as I was a) not cool and b) extremely hungry, I muttered a rather
ungrateful ‘Yes’ instead and started getting out plates and cutlery.
I’ve got my eye on you though,
I thought, as Ed shambled in bleary-eyed, his hair sticking up in true
hungover style (adorable) and we sat down to eat.
I’ve got the measure of you, Jake Gray, don’t you think I haven’t.

A couple of days passed, and Jake was still staying with us. Worryingly, he showed no signs of moving on any time soon. I was starting to get antsy. Not only did I still have
tons to do before Christmas – the recipe book hadn’t had a look in since he’d arrived, I was yet to tick off any more stocking fillers on my list, and I hadn’t even started
making Ed’s present, for example – but I was also keen to return to the ‘just-the-two-of-us’ tranquillity that I’d been looking forward to for weeks. All Jake wanted
to do was party, and the novelty was rapidly wearing off.

‘So,’ I said brightly on the fourth morning of his stay. Ed had gone out to get a newspaper, leaving Jake and me in the flat. Jake was lying on the sofa with his feet up, watching
The Muppet Christmas Carol
but I felt too twitchy to sit down and relax. ‘What are you planning to do for Christmas itself ?’

Was that too unsubtle? Oh well, needs must.

He was laughing at something Michael Caine had just said, and for a moment I didn’t think he’d heard. Then he turned and gave me a cool, appraising look. ‘Why? Had enough of
me, have you?’

Yes.
‘No,’ I said guiltily. ‘Of course not. I was just asking – ’

‘Only winding you up.’ He yawned and stretched. ‘I dunno yet. Probably go and see the olds. Or Melissa. Ed’s wife? She was asking what I was up to.’

WHAT? ‘Oh,’ I said, trying to keep my cool. Inside, my heart pounded, and I felt hot all over. Why had he said ‘Ed’s wife’ like that, when they were getting
divorced? More to the point, why was Melissa asking Jake round for Christmas? ‘I thought she was with some other bloke now,’ I added, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way my hands had
clenched into fists. ‘Haven’t they got a baby or something?’

Or something.
See how casual and not-bothered I could sound, like I couldn’t care less.

‘Yeah, Violet. Melissa and Aidan have split up. She was upset about having Christmas just with the baby, said she still thought of me as family, so . . .’

Oh, did she now. I felt my eyes narrow to slits. Did Ed know about these plans? ‘Wouldn’t that be kind of weird?’ I asked, my heart hammering even harder. ‘Going to spend
Christmas with your brother’s ex-wife?’

He shrugged. ‘Nah, not really. We always got on well. Besides, their flat is amazing, like total luxury.’ He glanced around at our small unluxurious living room just in case I
hadn’t got the point.

I gave him a cold look in return. ‘But after the way she stitched Ed up . . . ?’ I said, then faltered. Did the guy have no concept of brotherly loyalty? Surely I didn’t have
to spell it out to him?

He snorted. ‘Is that what Ed told you?’ he asked, sounding amused.

My face flamed. What did he mean by that? Of course that was what Ed had told me. Was Jake insinuating that he was lying, that there was more to the story than I knew?

‘Hello-o-o!’

I’d never been more relieved to hear Ed’s voice. ‘Hi!’ I yelled, feeling semi-hysterical. ‘We’re in the living room!’ I didn’t want to continue my
conversation with Jake a minute longer.
Quick, Ed,
I felt like shouting,
get in here now
and rescue me from hearing any more about your sodding ex-wife.

‘God, it’s Baltic out there,’ Ed said as he walked in and chucked the newspaper down on the coffee table. Then he became aware of the strange atmosphere. ‘Everything all
right?’

‘Sure,’ Jake said, eyes back on the TV. ‘Well, apart from Evie trying to get rid of me, that is . . .’

My mouth fell open. The nerve of him! ‘I wasn’t,’ I protested. ‘That’s not true!’

He winked at me. ‘Only joking,’ he said, but I knew he wasn’t. He knew exactly what he was doing. ‘Oh I love this bit,’ he said, turning back to the screen.
‘Michael Caine, you legend.’

Ed gave me a questioning look, but I shrugged weakly. For some reason, Jake was deliberately trying to goad me, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of letting him see that he’d hit
his target. ‘Fancy doing some more of the recipe book today?’ I asked Ed, trying to keep my voice even. ‘We’re really behind schedule now, so it would be good to crack
on.’

‘You’re writing a recipe book?’ Jake asked, turning in interest.

‘Yes,’ I said, defensively, braced for some scornful remark in return. No doubt Melissa would have done a better job than little old amateurish me, in the arse-end of nowhere.

Ed explained the whole thing to his brother and I noticed the interest leaking from Jake’s face. ‘Oh, right. A homemade thing,’ he said dismissively. ‘I thought you meant
you’d got a publisher or some kind of contract.’

I couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘What’s wrong with it being home-made?’ I retorted, stung.

He held up his hands, wide-eyed, as if I was a dangerous lunatic. ‘All right, calm down! Nothing’s wrong with it,’ he said in the tone of voice that said pretty much
everything
was wrong with it. Then I had a sudden horrible image of him telling Melissa about the book, and the two of them sniggering. I had to leave the room and have several emergency
Advent-calendar chocolates before I said anything else.

‘He doesn’t like me,’ I hissed in the kitchen later, as I sorted through Jo’s recipes, looking for inspiration.

‘Of course he does,’ Ed said. ‘He told me he does.’ Oh yeah? Was that before or after I’d heard his nasty little

‘No offence, but . . .’ dig, I wondered. Or was it never? ‘I wasn’t trying to get rid of him, anyway,’ I muttered. ‘I was only asking what he was up to over
Christmas. He just took it the wrong way.’

Ed didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘The thing is, I haven’t seen Jake for ages. Nearly a whole year,’ he said. ‘So I don’t want him to feel he has to dash
off a few days after he gets here.’

‘I didn’t say he did.’

‘He
is
my brother,’ he said, like I needed reminding.

‘I know he is!’
Your brother who’s talking about staying with your ex-wife for Christmas, by the way. Were you aware of that?