Christmas at the Beach Cafe(13)
She sobbed into my shoulder for a minute and I managed to catch the words ‘lying bastard’, ‘tabloids’, ‘bollocking from my agent’ and ‘worst day ever’.
‘Don’t you worry,’ I told her, steering her into the café so that I could shut the front door and keep out the freezing wintry air. ‘You’re here now, I’ll look after you. Take your coat off and tell me all about it.’
If ever the Victoria Cross could be presented for good deeds in the name of friendship, Amber should have been awarded it for services above and beyond the cause of duty. She had been completely amazing when I broke up with Matthew six months ago – providing sympathy, pep talks, chocolate and alcohol, and even trekking down to the Beach Café with me to help me get started here. You can bet your life I was going to return the favour now, whatever had happened to her.
‘Sorry to turn up out of the blue like this,’ she said. ‘Oh God, and you’ve got company as well,’ she added, seeing Jake sitting there with Ed.
‘Don’t apologize! You’re welcome here any time, you know that.’ More welcome than Jake was, that was for sure. I took her hand and pulled her forward. ‘Amber, this is Jake, Ed’s brother, just back in the UK from Thailand. Jake, this is my best friend, Amber.’
‘Hi Ed, hi Jake,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Sorry to interrupt your lunch, guys. Listen, if I’ve come at a bad time, then – ’
‘Of course you haven’t,’ I told her firmly.
‘Never,’ Ed said, standing up and giving her a hug. ‘Always good to see you, Amber.’
‘Hi,’ said Jake. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Amber since she’d walked in, and stared as she pulled off her enormous fake-fur hat and shook out her long red hair. Amber was gorgeous, with her pale freckly skin, blue eyes and slender figure, dressed today in a simple black wool dress and a crimson scarf. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he remembered to add, after a moment. Hands off, I wanted to growl at him.
‘Are you hungry? There’s plenty of lunch,’ I said, guiding her into a chair. ‘What can I get you?’
She took a deep breath and forced a smile. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d love a brandy,’ she said. ‘Better make it a large one.’
‘I’ll join you,’ Jake said, all too quickly. ‘Nobody wants to drink alone, do they? And it is Christmas.’
‘Absolutely,’ Ed agreed, but his eyes were concerned. ‘Sure I can’t get you something to eat as well, love? A nice juicy steak sandwich? Or there are plenty of pasties in the freezer I could warm up . . .’
‘I’m not meant to be eating carbs,’ she sighed, then pulled a face. ‘Oh sod it. Who cares any more? Yes, please, Ed, to both. And some cake if you’ve got it. I’ll have the lot.’
Amber and I had always had parallel lame careers, shambling along doing this and that, none of it particularly well. But this year had been a stellar one for us both in work terms – me with the Beach Café, and her with a juicy new role in a prime-time TV series. The last time I’d spoken to her – a fortnight ago, by my reckoning – she’d been enjoying all the freebies, fancy restaurants and five-star events that came with the job . . . and had fallen blissfully in love with her co-star David Maguire.
Ensconced in my cosy beachy bubble, I’d had no idea that things had gone so badly wrong for her recently: that Maguire had turned out to be a cheating love rat, and that she’d been plastered all over the tabloids in various states of distress. After she had eaten a massive lunch and drunk a massive brandy, the two of us went out for a walk on the coastal path and she told me the full sordid truth.
‘Oh God, what a wanker, I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch,’ I told her, putting my arm through hers as we went along. ‘I hate thinking of you going through this on your own. How have you left things with David? Might you get back together, do you think?’
‘No way,’ she said baldly. ‘Not now I know about his other girlfriend. His other pregnant girlfriend.’ She kicked at the grass looking thunderous. ‘The worst thing is, having to face him at work, when everyone knows. When I hate him. When he keeps sliming around trying to make excuses for himself. We’re in loads of scenes together for the next few episodes, and it’s just going to be awful.’
‘Ugh, that is grim,’ I said sympathetically. ‘The last thing you need.’
‘Why do I always pick them, Evie? Why do I always go for the complete arseholes? I’m thirty-three now. When am I going to start recognizing a dickhead when I meet one, instead of falling in love with them every time?’