the front door, turned the sign to ‘Open’, put up the parasols on the outside decking and stood for a moment, gazing out at the beach. It was a beautiful morning. The sky was a soft, misty blue, patterned with small white clouds – a mackerel sky, Jo would have said if she’d been standing there with me. An elderly couple were walking slowly across the sand together, arm-in-arm. A male jogger in a red singlet and shorts thudded along, iPod on, face blank, arms swinging to a soundless beat. I heard the sound of exuberant barking and then a chocolate-brown dog hurtled onto the beach, its tail wagging in joy as it galloped over the sand.
‘Lola! Come on, then.’ A man had followed the dog onto the sand and was holding a green ball up in the air.
Hearing her name, the dog turned and barked again. The man bent his arm back and hurled the ball, which sailed like a green dot through the air. The dog chased wildly after it, head up, watching its arc, her powerful legs propelling her across the damp sand, leaving a trail of prints.
The café was on the left side of the bay as you looked out to sea and, to reach it from the beach, you had to climb up ten wooden steps. I wanted to stay watching from my vantage point, but didn’t want the man to turn and see me staring, so I reluctantly returned inside. Right. Show on the road . . . Tick! The beach café was open for business. Just time to make myself a quick cup of tea before the customers began flooding in.
‘Hello?’
I stiffened as I heard a shout a few minutes later. Oh! Here came the flood already. Or was it Betty and her lynch mob? Then I heard a low, rumbling woof and guessed that it was the man from the beach, and his dog.
I re-emerged from the kitchen into the serving area. ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘What can I get you?’
He was tall, and in his late thirties, I guessed, with short dark hair, brown eyes and a hint of stubble around his mouth. He was wearing a sun-bleached blue T-shirt and knackered-looking jeans. Through the doorway I saw that the dog had been tied to the wooden balcony outside. She was lying down with her head on her front paws as if worn out by her beach antics.
The man smiled. A wide, easy smile that showed perfect, even teeth. ‘A cup of tea would be great, please. And some water for the dog, if that’s okay.’
Phew. So he hadn’t been sent by Betty to set his hound on me, at least. I made us both a tea and put some water in an old margarine tub, carrying it outside and setting it down by the dog.
‘So,’ the man said conversationally when I returned, ‘you’re the bad niece then.’
My hackles rose. Maybe Evil Betty had sent him after all. ‘I’m the what?’ I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
He grinned. ‘The bad niece. That’s what they’ve all been saying in the pub anyway.’
‘In the pub?’ I was like an echo. ‘I don’t understand. Why are people saying that? What do they think I’ve done?’
He sipped his tea. ‘Well, you’re selling this place, aren’t you? They’ve all got their knickers in a twist about it. Someone wants to turn it into a luxury second home, apparently, and there are enough second-homers here already, and it’s wrecking the village, and they’re upset about your aunt dying, and they’d hoped that you’d take it on . . .’ He’d clearly been doing some major eavesdropping. ‘No skin off my nose what you do, obviously. None of my business. But the rest of ’em – they’re up in arms. Can’t talk of anything else.’
My cheeks were scarlet. ‘Well, it’s not even true! The café isn’t for sale!’ I shook my head, reeling from this information. I could just imagine them all moaning about me in the pub; I was surprised my ears hadn’t burned to a crisp. No wonder Betty had been so frosty. ‘No one’s talked to me about turning it into a luxury second home,’ I said indignantly. ‘No one’s asked me if they can buy it. It’s all gossip. Meaningless gossip.’
He
‘Lola! Come on, then.’ A man had followed the dog onto the sand and was holding a green ball up in the air.
Hearing her name, the dog turned and barked again. The man bent his arm back and hurled the ball, which sailed like a green dot through the air. The dog chased wildly after it, head up, watching its arc, her powerful legs propelling her across the damp sand, leaving a trail of prints.
The café was on the left side of the bay as you looked out to sea and, to reach it from the beach, you had to climb up ten wooden steps. I wanted to stay watching from my vantage point, but didn’t want the man to turn and see me staring, so I reluctantly returned inside. Right. Show on the road . . . Tick! The beach café was open for business. Just time to make myself a quick cup of tea before the customers began flooding in.
‘Hello?’
I stiffened as I heard a shout a few minutes later. Oh! Here came the flood already. Or was it Betty and her lynch mob? Then I heard a low, rumbling woof and guessed that it was the man from the beach, and his dog.
I re-emerged from the kitchen into the serving area. ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘What can I get you?’
He was tall, and in his late thirties, I guessed, with short dark hair, brown eyes and a hint of stubble around his mouth. He was wearing a sun-bleached blue T-shirt and knackered-looking jeans. Through the doorway I saw that the dog had been tied to the wooden balcony outside. She was lying down with her head on her front paws as if worn out by her beach antics.
The man smiled. A wide, easy smile that showed perfect, even teeth. ‘A cup of tea would be great, please. And some water for the dog, if that’s okay.’
Phew. So he hadn’t been sent by Betty to set his hound on me, at least. I made us both a tea and put some water in an old margarine tub, carrying it outside and setting it down by the dog.
‘So,’ the man said conversationally when I returned, ‘you’re the bad niece then.’
My hackles rose. Maybe Evil Betty had sent him after all. ‘I’m the what?’ I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
He grinned. ‘The bad niece. That’s what they’ve all been saying in the pub anyway.’
‘In the pub?’ I was like an echo. ‘I don’t understand. Why are people saying that? What do they think I’ve done?’
He sipped his tea. ‘Well, you’re selling this place, aren’t you? They’ve all got their knickers in a twist about it. Someone wants to turn it into a luxury second home, apparently, and there are enough second-homers here already, and it’s wrecking the village, and they’re upset about your aunt dying, and they’d hoped that you’d take it on . . .’ He’d clearly been doing some major eavesdropping. ‘No skin off my nose what you do, obviously. None of my business. But the rest of ’em – they’re up in arms. Can’t talk of anything else.’
My cheeks were scarlet. ‘Well, it’s not even true! The café isn’t for sale!’ I shook my head, reeling from this information. I could just imagine them all moaning about me in the pub; I was surprised my ears hadn’t burned to a crisp. No wonder Betty had been so frosty. ‘No one’s talked to me about turning it into a luxury second home,’ I said indignantly. ‘No one’s asked me if they can buy it. It’s all gossip. Meaningless gossip.’
He
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