A Baby at the Beach Cafe Read online

  Helen followed the path down to the sand. To reach the café, you had to climb up a flight of wide wooden steps which led to an open terrace, full of chairs and tables, with parasols open to provide shade. She was not a fanciful person, but there was a lovely feel to the place, she thought. Families and couples filled the tables, and everyone seemed to be in a cheerful holiday mood. Hardly surprising, she thought, when a good-looking man emerged with a tray of steaming golden pasties and cold drinks.

  She was just about to follow him inside when a notice in the front window caught her eye:

  WANTED: CAFÉ MANAGER AND TWO ASSISTANTS. IMMEDIATE START.

  Helen took a sharp intake of breath. Maybe this was a sign. Hadn’t she just been thinking that she needed some purpose again, that she missed being around other people? She could do a café manager job standing on her head. It would be easy and fun, and, unlike the pub, she would be able to walk away at the end of a shift and switch off. It might even stop her dwelling on all the things that had gone so wrong, back in Birmingham.

  With her mind made up, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and went in.

  Chapter Three

  Evie

  Being pregnant was like becoming public property, I had found. Complete strangers seemed to like nothing more than to offer a pregnant woman unwanted advice. Let me bore on about what you should or shouldn’t do, when it’s none of my business. Listen while I frighten you with gruesome birth details that you don’t want to hear. Wait! Come back! I haven’t told you about my stitches yet!

  It wasn’t just random strangers, either. My mum and my sisters, Ruth and Louise, had bombarded me with information from day one. Not a week went by without Mum sending me some snippet from the Daily Telegraph about scary pregnancy problems, or what not to eat. (For someone who could scoff an entire wheel of Camembert in one sitting, it was never good news.) Ruth texted details of special offers at Baby Gap and Petit Bateau, and gloated about how hard the first few months of no sleep would be. (Sample comment: ‘It’s hell.’) And Louise emailed helpful pieces of Buddhist wisdom, videos of useful yoga poses and advice to ‘cherish your sex life while you still can’ – which didn’t exactly fill me with hope.

  In the café, it was open season when it came to the personal remarks about my new shape. I had lost count of the customers who had said, ‘Aren’t you big? Are you sure it’s not twins in there?’ (Rude.) One woman had shrieked, ‘My goodness! The size of your ankles, darling!’ as I wiped her table. (She was lucky she didn’t get the cloth in her face.)

  Other customers had offered a variety of seaside-based names, all the way from Pearl to Shelly to Sandy. And now, in the waiting room of the antenatal clinic, I had made the mistake of chatting to a woman who was on her fourth pregnancy. There was one torn-vagina story that I was very keen to bleach out of my memory.

  I had never been so glad to hear my name called for my appointment. I almost broke into a sprint as I left Torn-Vagina Woman mid-sentence and followed Maria, my midwife, into her office.

  ‘So, let me see . . . thirty-five weeks pregnant now,’ said Maria, when we were both seated. ‘And how are you feeling?’

  Err, scared of tearing my lady-parts all of a sudden? ‘Excited,’ I said instead. ‘And exhausted. It’s so hard to get to sleep. If I’m not heaving myself off to the loo every two minutes, I’m trying to find a way to roll over that doesn’t involve a crane or a pick-up truck.’

  Maria smiled. ‘There’s no easy way to turn over at your stage,’ she agreed. ‘But some women find it more comfortable sleeping with pillows wedged behind their back and between their legs. Try not to have any drinks after seven o’clock in the evening, too. That might prevent so many loo trips.’ She put a blood-pressure cuff around my arm. ‘Let’s see what’s happening here,’ she said.

  I sat still while the cuff puffed up with air and tightened for a few seconds. Maria took the reading and made a note of the results. ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘One hundred and forty over ninety. Your blood pressure is rather high. You need to rest more. Have you been overdoing things lately?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m fine. I mean . . .’ I thought of how busy we’d been at the café the Saturday before. A sell-out dinner shift had meant that we did not finish until after midnight. ‘No more than usual, anyway.’

  ‘You have to start slowing down,’ she told me. ‘Your body is using an enormous amount of energy right now, as the baby grows. Even while you’re sitting here, it’s working hard. You have to take things easier, ready for the birth.’ She did the usual urine test and looked less stern, thank goodness. ‘Well, there’s no trace of protein in your pee, which is good news. All the same, I’d like you to come back tomorrow and have the GP take your blood pressure again. Just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘But . . .’ I said. Tomorrow was Wednesday and we were expecting a coach full of day-trippers to the beach. We had already planned to run a cream-tea special for them. It would be mayhem if poor Ed was left to run things on his own.

  ‘Evie, this is important. Your blood pressure might be a one-off today, but if your reading is high tomorrow too, we will have to start monitoring you. We might even have to think about you going into hospital early, or inducing the birth, if it continues. I’m not saying this to alarm you. I just want you to be aware of the risks. You really do have to put the baby first from now on, and listen to your body. All right?’

  I felt terrible, then, as if I had somehow let the baby down. As if I had failed a motherhood test before I had even given birth. And I really did not want to go into hospital any earlier than I needed to. ‘All right,’ I mumbled, one hand on my belly. Sorry, Walnut. Sorry, Fifi, Zelda, Horatio, Ranulph . . . I’m doing my best. I promise I will try harder, okay?

  I drove home, trying to be serene and relaxed, even when I got distracted at the traffic lights by the sight of a nice red pram, and the driver behind beeped me. Calm thoughts, I reminded myself, and puffed out a long slow breath. From here until the birth, I would glide through life, without any stress. No problem.

  The air was soft and summery as I arrived back in Carrawen. The beach was full of happy children, and the few clouds in the sky were small and puffy, like cute little rabbit pillows. There was even a leftover flake of croissant in my cleavage, which still tasted good. (Just joking. Honest.)

  I turned off the engine and my fingers went up to the silver Christmas-tree necklace I had been wearing ever since I first found out I was pregnant. It had become a talisman for me, a lucky charm. I had even worn it on our wedding day in May, hidden under a big, sparkly rhinestone-and-pearl choker.

  It was all good, I told myself, taking deep breaths. It was all going to be fine.

  I walked up the sandy metal steps around the back of the café and unlocked the kitchen door. ‘I’m back!’ I called cheerfully, just in time to see Ed shaking hands with a thirty-something woman at the café counter. ‘See you on Monday,’ he said to her as she left.

  I went over to him, putting on my apron. ‘Who was that?’ I asked. Like I hadn’t already guessed.

  He wheeled around, looking guilty at my question. ‘Oh! I didn’t hear you come in,’ he said. ‘That was Helen. Our new manager. She and her husband have just moved down from Birmingham. They’ve been running their own pub for years, so she should be perfect.’

  I sniffed. Perfect? There was only one perfect manager for our Beach Café, and that was me. ‘A pub is very different to a café,’ I said, feeling tetchy. I didn’t like the way Ed had gone behind my back to interview her, let alone offer her the job without giving me a say. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Me shunted to the side while he made all the big decisions? The very thought had me bristling.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ Ed said. ‘She seems great, and she knows it’s only short-term. Come on, don’t be like that. We talked about it, remember? This way the café stays open while we get to spend proper time with Walnut. It’s win-win for everyone.’

  The baby moved inside me as I tied the apron strings behind my back. ‘You should have let me meet her first,’ I said. Ed and I never usually argued, but today my temper was on a knife-edge. ‘I might be pregnant, but I haven’t lost all my brain cells, you know. I would have liked to judge her for myself. As she’s taking my place, and all that!’

  He looked a bit startled at how cross I was. ‘Sorry – she just seemed too good to turn down,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing sinister about it. She came in, and you weren’t here, so I made the decision for both of us.’

  I folded my arms across the bump and looked away. I knew I was going over the top, but it all seemed to be happening too quickly. I had always been such a control freak about the café. I hated feeling left out of anything.

  ‘Evie, come on,’ Ed said, with a trace of irritation in his voice. ‘I’m just thinking of what’s best for you, and for this place. Anyway, Helen is great. I’m sure you’ll really like her.’

  Call me contrary or just pig-headed, but when someone says, ‘You’ll love this,’ I instantly think, ‘No, I won’t.’ And so I set my jaw and said nothing in reply to Ed’s comment. We’ll see about that, I thought stubbornly.

  Chapter Four

  Evie

  I kept myself calm with more nesting. I painted the spare room a pale blue, the exact colour of the sea first thing in the morning. I assembled the bits of cot that my sister Ruth had given us and put a soft yellow sheet on the mattress. Then I washed the pile of teeny newborn baby clothes and blankets that my sisters and friends had passed on to me. Everyone had been so kind when it came to giving us stuff. ‘Ah, that’s mothers for you,’ my mum said when we chatted on the phone. ‘All mums like to pass things on. Whether it’s cots or prams or advice, or even just a bit of support. That’
s what we do. You’ll see.’

  There was just one job left to make Walnut’s bedroom perfect. With a bit of swearing and some cack-handed drilling, I hung the restored shell-mobile from the ceiling. When the sun fell on the gold ribbon, it cast tiny sparkles of light, freckling the pale walls. I opened the window to let in the sea breeze, and the shells clinked and jingled together, just as I remembered.

  I felt a rush of nostalgia, as well as pride in my own work. ‘That’s a mobile fit for a little seaside prince or princess, Walnut. Or George or Charlotte or . . . I don’t know, Leia?’ I said. ‘Whatever your name is, you are going to love it!’

  The next day was drizzly and cool: bad news for business, but good news for my poor swollen ankles, which puffed to the size of butternut squash in hot weather. Today they were only avocado-sized which felt skinny in comparison. I went back to the GP with a sense of doom, but my blood pressure seemed to have settled down a little, thank goodness.

  ‘But don’t work too hard,’ she warned, as I heaved myself up to leave. ‘You should be taking things more easily now, okay? Come back next week, so I can keep an eye on you.’

  The café was quiet when I returned so I busied myself cleaning behind the coffee machine. With our new manager, Helen, starting the next day, I wanted to have everything looking perfect.

  ‘Excuse me,’ came a voice, and I turned to see a fifty-something woman. She had russet-red hair in a shingled bob and was wearing a pink fleece and cut-off jeans. Her eyes flitted to all the corners of the café, and a strange look was on her face. ‘You’re not . . . ? No, you can’t be Jo – you’re too young. Is Jo still working here, by any chance?’

  ‘Jo? Oh.’ I felt my face cloud. I still missed my lovely aunty. She had been the most fun, spirited person I had ever met. ‘I’m sorry to say she died a few years ago,’ I replied. Her car had been hit by a lorry, driving too fast down into Carrawen, and she was gone, just like that.

  The woman’s face fell. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. Then there was an awkward pause for a few seconds. ‘Are you . . . ? Is this your café now?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, hoping I wasn’t going to be in any trouble. Mind you, if Environmental Health were about to do a spot-check, they had picked the right time, at least. There wasn’t a single speck of dust or dirt to be found in the café after all my scrubbing. Bring on the inspection. ‘I’m Evie, Jo’s niece. Can I help you?’

  She gave a strange smile, and her eyes swung around the room again. ‘I haven’t been here for years,’ she said slowly. Her voice had a Welsh lilt, I noticed. ‘We moved away when I was ten.’ She stuck a hand out. ‘I’m Morwenna. I was actually born upstairs in the flat. My dad built this place, back in his day. Wouldn’t recognise it now, mind!’

  I gaped with delight. ‘Your dad built the café? How wonderful!’ Jo had run the café for so many years that I had never really thought about anyone living here before her. ‘When was that? And why did you leave?’ I remembered my manners. ‘Oh – can I get you a drink? I’d love to chat, if you can spare the time.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’d love that too. I can’t quite believe I’m here!’

  Morwenna and I sat in the corner booth while she talked through her memories. Her dad had built the café way back when, and he and his wife had run the place for fifteen years. In the meantime, Morwenna and her brother, Gerren, – good Cornish names, she told me – were born right here under the café roof. ‘Mum had a thing about hospitals,’ she said. ‘Decided she would rather have us at home, up in the flat.’

  I couldn’t stop smiling. I loved the fact that Morwenna had walked in out of the blue and was able to fill in so much of the café’s history for me. She and her brother had helped behind the counter from an early age, she said, just as I planned for Walnut to do in the future. They had moved to Wales when she was about ten, when her mum’s parents became ill and needed looking after. ‘Mum and Dad were heartbroken to leave,’ she said. ‘But Dad knew the place would be in good hands, once he met Jo.’

  ‘And did they come back to visit at all? Did you return for family holidays here?’

  Morwenna shook her head. ‘We never did,’ she said. ‘Dad was a Cornish man through and through. I think he was worried it would make him too sad. Moving to Wales was meant to be short-term but then Gerren and I settled into our new schools, and my parents started a bed-and-breakfast business. We were happy there. After a while Cornwall felt like a long way away.’ She gave me a crooked smile, but her eyes were sad. ‘It’s lovely to be back.’

  I wanted to hug her, but managed to stop myself just in time. My pregnancy boobs were so massive that I was in danger of smothering innocent victims with a single cuddle. ‘And it’s lovely to have you,’ I said instead. ‘You and your family are welcome any time. Cream teas whenever you want – on the house, okay?’

  Meeting Morwenna really made my day. Sadly, her parents had long since passed away, but she promised to give my best wishes to Gerren. She also said she would make a point of coming back another time to see the newest addition to the Beach Café family. ‘It’s the best place in the world to grow up,’ she told me as we said goodbye. ‘Lucky baby! He or she will have such a wonderful childhood.’

  Her words stayed with me for the rest of the afternoon. A lucky baby? I really hoped so. I wasn’t sure that I was going to be the greatest mum ever, in all honesty. I had been tired and grumpy lately, and I had a hot temper and a lack of patience. Deep down, I worried that I wasn’t even grown-up enough to be a very good parent. My sisters had already told me – kind of smugly – that I should forget all about sleeping and lie-ins and a social life, for the next ten years or so.

  ‘I spent days forgetting to brush my own teeth,’ Ruth had warned.

  ‘I was feeding Matilda one day when the doorbell rang,’ Louise had said airily, ‘and I opened the door to the postman with my boob hanging out.’

  As my sisters were both more grown-up and together than I had ever been, I couldn’t help but find this scary. Life as I knew it seemed to be trickling to a close. From tomorrow the new café manager would move into my place behind the counter, while I was forced to take a back seat. Then, when the baby arrived, I’d find myself in a whole new world – a world where teeth went unbrushed, and casual flashing at the postman was not unusual. Somehow I’d have to learn how to care for our child, to feed and wash and soothe this tiny new person. What if I couldn’t do it? What if I was a failure?

  It’s the best place in the world to grow up, Morwenna repeated in my head. But the worries refused to budge. Having a baby felt like diving into unknown waters. I just had to hope I could stay afloat.

  Chapter Five

  Helen

  ‘You’ve done what?’ Paul said when Helen cycled home and told him she had got a job. ‘Why, though? We’re meant to be on holiday, remember. Relaxing!’

  ‘I know, but . . .’ She shrugged. ‘It’s something to do – that’s all.’

  They were sitting in the back garden, having a barbecue. It still felt novel, having evenings to themselves, not to mention their own private garden. Of course there had been a beer garden at the pub, with wooden tables set out for punters in the summer months. But Helen and Paul were always too busy serving their customers to sit out there themselves.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ he said, turning the steaks with the tongs. The meat sizzled and spat. ‘I thought we had come here to chill out, not get jobs. Waitressing in a café! I mean . . . What’s that all about?’

  ‘I just felt lonely,’ Helen confessed. ‘There’s plenty for you to do here. You’re out every day. I didn’t know what to do with myself.’

  Paul shook his head. ‘But Helen, I thought we wanted the same thing? I thought we came to Cornwall so that we could get away from all the stress and . . .’ He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. ‘You know.’