Read Online The Beach Cafe by Lucy Diamond - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lucy Diamond
Ads: Link
party all those years ago, as a programmer for a technical software company. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s kind of important,’ I told him. ‘Please?’
‘So is this,’ he replied. ‘Sorry, Evie, maybe later on.’
‘Okay,’ I said, trying not to feel deflated. I had all the time in the world, after all, now that I was unemployed. ‘I can wait. I’ll be in Marian’s, so come and join me when you can.’
Marian’s was a café over the road from Matthew’s office. It was dingy inside, with the ceiling still stained tobacco-brown from the pre-smoking-ban years, and every other surface bore a lingering trace of chip fat. My tea came in one of those stainless-steel teapots that couldn’t actually pour the tea without spilling it everywhere – a pretty basic design flaw, I’d always thought – and the UHT ‘milk’ was served in little plastic cartons that were practically impossible to open. I went crazy and bought a packet of shortbread fingers as well, but they were way too chunky and made my mouth feel as if it were full of cardboard when I bit into one.
I couldn’t help contrasting it all to Jo’s café: the sea breeze versus the drone of a grubby ceiling fan, the sandwiches made from fresh bakery bread instead of anaemic-looking mass-produced slices, the cakes and biscuits warm from Jo’s oven rather than factory-made, and then wrapped in cellophane for God knows how long . . . There was no comparison. The two were poles apart.
You are the only person to whom I would entrust my precious café. I remembered Jo’s words from her letter, and I felt a pulling sensation inside. Then I knew exactly what I should do. No, not just ‘should do’ – needed to do.
The girl behind the counter put on the Mamma Mia! album just then and I heard Amanda Seyfried’s clear, high voice sing ‘I have a dream . . .’
I left the rest of my tea and got to my feet. Matthew hadn’t showed up, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I had plans to make, I had packing to do. Cornwall was calling me and, for the first time in ages, I had a dream.
Chapter Five
Dreams are all very well in the heat of the moment, but by the next morning they can look different. Mine certainly did. The night before I’d been fired up with a vision that I’d honour Jo’s memory by taking on the café and making it better than it had ever been. I’d get it redecorated, perhaps even build an extension, expand the business. I’d hire a brilliant new manager who’d run it on a day-today basis, while I, as the owner, would drop in every month to give my devoted staff pep talks and inspiration. Perhaps I’d suggest new additions to the menu, or throw parties for the villagers to thank them for their custom. And together we’d build up a devoted clientele, who came from miles around to sit and admire the views and enjoy the mouth-watering delights on our menus. No longer would the customers be people merely drifting up from the beach – oh no. I would put Carrawen Bay on the map. Holidaymakers would choose to go there especially because I’d made the café such a success.
‘Your aunt would have been proud,’ the villagers would say when they came in. ‘We can’t believe how well you’re managing the café without her – and all the way from Oxford, too!’
By the time I was halfway to Cornwall the following day though, I wasn’t so sure if it was that I had a dream, or that I was living in a dream. Boring reality was trickling in, dampening all my big ideas. I couldn’t even run my own bank account, let alone a full-grown business. I didn’t have a clue about managing staff or giving pep talks. And Oxford was a bloody long way from Cornwall. Too far to be popping back and forth all the time.
Matthew had put it more bluntly. ‘What sort of normal person quits their job to babysit a beach café two hundred miles away?’ he’d asked over dinner the night before. ‘I just think this is a bit . . . reckless, Evie. I don’t think
‘It’s kind of important,’ I told him. ‘Please?’
‘So is this,’ he replied. ‘Sorry, Evie, maybe later on.’
‘Okay,’ I said, trying not to feel deflated. I had all the time in the world, after all, now that I was unemployed. ‘I can wait. I’ll be in Marian’s, so come and join me when you can.’
Marian’s was a café over the road from Matthew’s office. It was dingy inside, with the ceiling still stained tobacco-brown from the pre-smoking-ban years, and every other surface bore a lingering trace of chip fat. My tea came in one of those stainless-steel teapots that couldn’t actually pour the tea without spilling it everywhere – a pretty basic design flaw, I’d always thought – and the UHT ‘milk’ was served in little plastic cartons that were practically impossible to open. I went crazy and bought a packet of shortbread fingers as well, but they were way too chunky and made my mouth feel as if it were full of cardboard when I bit into one.
I couldn’t help contrasting it all to Jo’s café: the sea breeze versus the drone of a grubby ceiling fan, the sandwiches made from fresh bakery bread instead of anaemic-looking mass-produced slices, the cakes and biscuits warm from Jo’s oven rather than factory-made, and then wrapped in cellophane for God knows how long . . . There was no comparison. The two were poles apart.
You are the only person to whom I would entrust my precious café. I remembered Jo’s words from her letter, and I felt a pulling sensation inside. Then I knew exactly what I should do. No, not just ‘should do’ – needed to do.
The girl behind the counter put on the Mamma Mia! album just then and I heard Amanda Seyfried’s clear, high voice sing ‘I have a dream . . .’
I left the rest of my tea and got to my feet. Matthew hadn’t showed up, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I had plans to make, I had packing to do. Cornwall was calling me and, for the first time in ages, I had a dream.
Chapter Five
Dreams are all very well in the heat of the moment, but by the next morning they can look different. Mine certainly did. The night before I’d been fired up with a vision that I’d honour Jo’s memory by taking on the café and making it better than it had ever been. I’d get it redecorated, perhaps even build an extension, expand the business. I’d hire a brilliant new manager who’d run it on a day-today basis, while I, as the owner, would drop in every month to give my devoted staff pep talks and inspiration. Perhaps I’d suggest new additions to the menu, or throw parties for the villagers to thank them for their custom. And together we’d build up a devoted clientele, who came from miles around to sit and admire the views and enjoy the mouth-watering delights on our menus. No longer would the customers be people merely drifting up from the beach – oh no. I would put Carrawen Bay on the map. Holidaymakers would choose to go there especially because I’d made the café such a success.
‘Your aunt would have been proud,’ the villagers would say when they came in. ‘We can’t believe how well you’re managing the café without her – and all the way from Oxford, too!’
By the time I was halfway to Cornwall the following day though, I wasn’t so sure if it was that I had a dream, or that I was living in a dream. Boring reality was trickling in, dampening all my big ideas. I couldn’t even run my own bank account, let alone a full-grown business. I didn’t have a clue about managing staff or giving pep talks. And Oxford was a bloody long way from Cornwall. Too far to be popping back and forth all the time.
Matthew had put it more bluntly. ‘What sort of normal person quits their job to babysit a beach café two hundred miles away?’ he’d asked over dinner the night before. ‘I just think this is a bit . . . reckless, Evie. I don’t think
Similar Books
