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Christmas at the Beach Cafe(10)

By:Lucy Diamond


‘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.’