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Christmas at the Beach Cafe(6)



Of course, they all took this as some kind of cue to suggest gifts for Ed.

‘How about buying him a nice watch?’ said Betty.

I hesitated, not wanting to offend her. ‘Maybe,’ I said politely. ‘But I was hoping to give him something a bit more . . . exciting.’

‘What about some decent thermals and a hot water bottle, then? He’ll need them if you two are staying here all winter,’ Wendy suggested.

‘Wendy!’ I pulled a face. ‘That’s the most unsexy idea ever.’

‘She’s got her own ways of keeping him warm, right, love?’ put in Mags, nudging me and winking.

‘You could knit him a jumper.’ That was Annie’s idea.

‘I could not,’ I replied.

‘Well, what does he like?’ Martha asked. ‘What’s he into?’

I leaned back in my seat while I thought about it. What did Ed like? ‘Surfing. Coffee. Seeing the sun rise. A glass of wine at the end of the day. The view from the cliffs out over the bay.’

‘These are a few of my favourite things . . .’ Elizabeth warbled with a giggle.

‘The perfect bacon sandwich. Me. Surfing – oh, I said that already. Um . . .’ I thought frantically. ‘Dogs. Roast dinners. Er . . .’

‘Get him a new surfboard,’ Martha suggested.

‘I did look at some boards but they’re so expensive,’ I replied glumly. ‘Hundreds of pounds. I think that would be a bit OTT, don’t you? We’ve only been seeing each other a few months, after all.’

‘Buy him a dog, then,’ Elizabeth said in the next breath. ‘He loved walking Helen and Rob’s dog, didn’t he, when he was house-sitting for them?’

‘He’d love a dog,’ I agreed, ‘and I would too, but we’re meant to be going off to India for a month in February, which wouldn’t really be fair on the poor thing.’ I shrugged helplessly. ‘What have you got for your husbands and boyfriends, then?’ I asked, feeling as if we were grinding to a halt on good ideas.

‘I’ve bought a nice fisherman’s clock and a set of handkerchiefs for Tony,’ Betty said proudly. ‘Monogrammed, they are, too. Very smart.’

‘My hubby’s getting a Teasmade and some chunky socks,’ Wendy said. ‘He gets terrible circulation problems, his feet are always freezing. Bloody nightmare in bed, it is.’

‘I’m going to give Jamie some watercolours and these fancy brushes he wants,’ Martha said, blushing. ‘He’s back home next week, I can’t wait.’

‘Nor me,’ sighed Betty, who was Jamie’s mother. Jamie, Martha’s boyfriend, was away in Falmouth at art college. The conversation moved on to their plans for the festive period, and I stood up to take the mince pie plates down to the other end of the table, feeling guilty about my rubbish present-choosing abilities. Everyone else seemed to know exactly what to get their loved ones for Christmas – even if it was only boring old socks and handkerchiefs. Me, I didn’t have a clue. Girlfriend FAIL.

Never mind, I told myself bracingly, there was still plenty of time. I would definitely think of the perfect present soon. Wouldn’t I?





Chapter Three




A few days later, we received our first bundle of Christmas cards and I felt a flutter of excitement at seeing so many red and white envelopes waiting on the mat. Just the other night I’d sat down and written mine, enjoying being able to add ‘Now living in Cornwall, running a beach café with gorgeous new man. Come and see us any time – address below!’ (Had there ever been a better piece of news written in a Christmas card? I couldn’t think of one.)

Ed hadn’t sent any cards himself (surprise, surprise – I had never had a boyfriend who saw the point of Christmas cards) so I was slightly taken aback to see that there was a creamy-white envelope with his name on the front in spiky black handwriting. Female handwriting, I was certain. Hmmm.

‘Post,’ I said as cheerfully as I could, dumping it on the café kitchen table with the other cards. Get a grip, Evie. Ed probably had lots of female friends that I didn’t know about. Why wouldn’t they want to send him a Christmas card, for heaven’s sake? It might even be from his mum.

Ed was mixing granola for my Breakfast Recipes chapter of the book and he let the wooden spoon fall against the bowl as he wiped his hands on his apron and opened the envelope.

I started opening mine too: cards from mates in Oxford and from my sisters, and a joint one from Rachel and Leah, the lovely Aussies who’d worked for us all through the summer and were now back in sunny Melbourne. There was also a card from Saul, who was the son of my ex, Matthew, and the loveliest boy in the world. Inside the card he had drawn a picture of a Moomin wearing a Santa hat (Saul and I loved the Moomins) and I stood gazing at it, feeling a pang of missing him, until I became aware of Ed stiffening slightly as he stood beside me, and a new intense silence filled the room.