Christmas at the Cornish Café Read online

  The team is buzzing about in the cafe, servery and kitchen, preparing for our first day. My breath catches at the sight that greets me. They all look super smart in their teal-blue Demelza’s Cafe aprons – and Jez the chef, who’s in whites. His charcoal-coloured ponytail dangles from the back of his teal chef’s cap. He’s pushing forty, but still a lean, mean type who lives to surf. He also happens to be a very good chef. We were lucky to get him, but the part-time hours enable him to make the most of the gnarly surfing conditions and quiet beaches during the autumn and winter.

  Nina’s back behind the server, checking the operation of the till for the umpteenth time. I met her when we both worked as waitresses at a ball earlier this year. She’s the same age as me and helps her mum run a kennels and dog rescue centre over the moor from Kilhallon. With all the dog walking and her triathlon training, she’s super fit. Her spiky orange hair reminds me of a pixie.

  Shamia, currently filling the condiment area, is my order taker. She’s wearing a teal-blue headscarf to match her apron. She looks the most confident of anyone, to be honest. She’s a former dinner lady and now a food blogger. She will be lending us a hand on weekdays while her little boy goes to nursery school, and at the weekends when her husband can babysit.

  My official title is Cafe Manager, but I’m also the general dogsbody, greeting people, clearing tables and helping out on the counter. I love the baking and cooking, but I’ve had to leave most of the hot food prep to Jez.

  There’s only one person missing.

  Just as I think Robyn Penwith, Cal’s cousin, has cold feet about helping us, there’s a rap on the glass door of the cafe. My shoulders slump in relief and I unlock the door. She’s in jodhpurs and riding boots.

  ‘Um. Sorry, I’m late. I had to call at Bosinney on my way here and tack up Ruby, then settle her in Kilhallon House stables.’

  ‘It’s fine. You’re here now,’ I say as we exchange a hug. Robyn’s clothes smell faintly of horse, but that’s fine. She keeps her mare at her dad’s house even though she lives with her girlfriend, Andi, now. Andi’s cool apart from the small matter of her sister being Mawgan Cade.

  Cal has placed two advertising boards outside where the path skirts our land to catch walkers coming in both directions – from the far west and from St Trenyan in the east. You can see the cafe building and Kilhallon Farm from miles away too, thanks to the undulating path. Robyn’s been drafted in to hand out flyers and free samples of ginger fairing biscuits on the path today and at the weekend.

  The doughy, fruity scents of croissants, pains-au-chocolat and cinnamon swirls start to fill the air as the ovens heat up the first batch of baked goods. I clap my hands. ‘OK, now we’re all here, can we have a quick coffee and a chat, please? I won’t keep you long. Why don’t we all have one of these lime shortbreads, because it’s going to be difficult to grab a break later.’

  ‘Yes, boss!’ voices chorus from the four corners.

  We all gather for a very quick coffee – instant – and homemade lime shortbread around the large refectory table on one side of the cafe floor. Huddled in her padded riding gilet, even though it’s warm in here, Robyn is nibbling her purple nails. Nina is trembling like a newborn pup. Shamia cradles her mug casually. Jez seems cool enough with it all – but he’s experienced and, to be honest, I think he’d be chilled even if the place was on fire.

  Our voices echo off the beams that support the high ceiling. The stone building is at least two hundred years old, and it was a storage barn until I persuaded Cal to let me convert it. It’s a cool morning so we’ve made the cafe a little too warm for our comfort, but there’s nothing worse for the customers than a cold welcome and the door’s going to be open a lot, fingers crossed. Most people will arrive in layers and we want them to feel they can take them off, not be desperate to keep them on.

  Nestling my own mug in both hands to stop them from shaking, I throw out an encouraging smile to my team.

  ‘So, here we are. D-Day, which stands for Demelza’s Day. Thanks to everyone for not running off and for turning up on time.’

  They laugh dutifully, even Jez manages a smile. Robyn glances down guiltily.

  ‘It’s our first day and I’m not expecting that everything will run perfectly or to plan but as long as we get things 99.9 per cent right, I won’t have to sack anyone.’

  More laughter and an eye roll from Jez.

  ‘You think I’m joking?’

  Nina’s mouth opens in horror and, for a moment, I wonder if she actually will run off and never come back.

  I pat her arm, feeling way too young to be leading a team of staff, but if I don’t put on a show of confidence, what hope do we have? ‘It’s fine, hun. I really am joking. We’re all on a learning curve, apart from Jez, I guess.’

  His mouth twitches, amused. Without him on side, we’d be done for.

  ‘We’re all here to help you. You’ll be an old hand by the end of the day,’ I reassure her.

  She brightens.

  ‘Now, as you all know, it’s the first day of the West Cornwall Walking Festival, which is partly why we chose to open today. We’re expecting even more ramblers than usual and a lot of dogs. I’ve put up a sign explaining everything but if anyone asks, the first three tables by the door are dog-friendly and, of course, the terrace.

  ‘Most people will probably want to sit outside if the weather stays dry, and the dog owners are sure to prefer to be out there while it’s fine. By the way, you’ll find extra water bowls and doggy menus in the storeroom, if anyone needs them. If there’s any canine aggro, or human aggro for that matter, call me immediately. Robyn, Mitch, and Nina’s mum, plus a few of her rescue dogs, will be stationed on the coast path throughout the day to lure people in to the cafe.’

  ‘I’ve put the collecting tin for the dog rescue centre next to the till,’ Shamia says.

  ‘Great, thanks. Can someone please pin a notice about the Christmas bookings on the notice board and arrange some of Cal’s leaflets about weddings at Kilhallon on the window ledges?’

  Nina raises her hand. ‘I’ll do that, Demi.’

  ‘I’ll collect Mitch,’ Robyn pipes up, obviously eager to be out in the fresh air.

  ‘Thanks, Robyn. OK, I’ve almost finished. You all know your roles and we’ve had plenty of practice and a rehearsal so it should be fine. I trust you all and I know you’ll work your guts out and won’t let me down. So, one more time, let’s hear it.’

  Everyone groans, but I hold up my hand, excitement and adrenaline taking over.

  ‘We are all awesome and Demelza’s rocks!’ they chorus, even Jez, before they dissolve into laughter and Jez rolls his eyes again. It was Nina who originally made up the cheesy mantra for a joke, but now we’ve all latched on to it. I don’t care how crappy it sounds, if it releases the tension, that’s fine by me.

  Cal arrives, stooping under the weight of two large crates of veg. ‘Hi there. The delivery guy from the market garden dropped these off at the farmhouse. Where do you want them?’ he says, resting the crates on the table.

  ‘In the storeroom.’

  Cal looks around him. ‘It looks great, Demi. You’ve done a fantastic job.’

  ‘No, we have. All of us.’

  ‘It’s your baby and you should be proud.’ His eyes shine. I don’t think I’ve seen him quite so happy since the day he showed me the sign for the cafe and persuaded me to stay here at Kilhallon. For a moment, I’m too choked with emotion to reply, then I remember that the staff are relying on me today.

  ‘Well, I can’t think of a cafe with a better view for miles. It’s a huge selling point if we can just let people know we’re open,’ I tell Cal, feeling the rising sense of panic that I’ve been subduing for the past few days about to overwhelm me like a great big wave. ‘I hope they come.’

  ‘I think you might have trouble keeping them away. Look.’

  He nods to a man and a woman peering through the glass door, as if we’re animals in the zoo.

>   My pulse leaps. ‘OK. Our first customers are here. Do you want to let them in?’ I call to Nina.

  ‘No way. It’s your cafe,’ she says with a broad smile that tells me she’s a lot more calm and collected than I feel.

  ‘I think you should have the honour,’ says Cal. ‘Demelza.’

  With a deep breath, and on slightly wobbly legs, I hurry to the door and open it. The couple, a sprightly pair of pensioners in matching hiking boots and navy fleeces, have big grins on their weather-beaten faces.

  ‘So you are open. We thought you might be training or something.’

  ‘No. We’re open. Welcome to Demelza’s Cafe. In fact you’re our first ever customers.’

  ‘Really? We’re the first?’

  ‘The very first. Look, you can have your pick of the seats. There are menus on the tables and a specials board above the counter over there.

  ‘We’d love a nice big pot of tea, Graham?’ the woman says to her partner as they walk into the centre of the room, eyeing the scrubbed oak tables, the oak settles and vintage china.

  ‘I’d like a latte, I think,’ says Graham, sitting down at the table by the window. ‘What a view. Have you really only just opened?’

  ‘This very minute. If you’d like to place your order at the counter, you can collect your drinks and we’ll bring any food orders across to you. Have you come far?’

  ‘We were up at sparrow-fart and traipsed from the cove on the other side of St Trenyan. Linda said it would only take an hour but we’ve already been going nearly two. She always gets the timing way out. Thinks I won’t notice she’s trying to con me into believing it’s only a stroll.’

  ‘Don’t start, Graham. You’re the one who said we shouldn’t take any notice of the walking app and swore blind you knew a short cut. I’ll never forgive you for making me walk through that field of bullocks.’

  ‘They won’t do you any harm.’

  ‘Then why were they following us and giving us funny looks?’

  ‘You’re safe in the cafe, I can promise that,’ I cut in before we have our first full-blown domestic. ‘We’ve got some amazing homemade cakes today and there’s a brunch special. It’s local bacon, sausages from the farm up the hill and eggs from our own hens here at Kilhallon.’

  ‘Do you do those bacon and avocado toast combos? Our grandkids love those when we’re visiting them in London and we’re hooked,’ Linda chirps up, much to my amazement.

  ‘We do have some avocado. In fact it’s on the menu,’ I say, glad I’ve done my research, even though I’m not the greatest fan of this latest fad. Cal pulled an icky face when he tried it out and even Mitch refused to touch his bite-size sample.

  ‘Not for me. I’m going to have a massive slice of this here figgy obbin. Not had any of that since we used to motor down here in the Cortina with the kids.’ Graham holds up the menu.

  ‘Well, please join the queue,’ I say, gesturing to Nina, standing alone behind the counter, fidgeting with her hat.

  Before Graham’s placed his order, the door opens again and a party of ramblers troops in, sighing with relief at reaching us, debating over which table to choose and asking where the toilets are.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re open!’ declares a middle-aged woman in a yellow cagoule. ‘I’m gagging for a coffee and a wee. Oh, are those homemade apricot scones? I’ve walked bloody miles this morning so I deserve one of those.’

  ‘We’ve only done a thousand steps from the car park by the main road,’ her friend whispers, showing me her FitBit.

  I usher them to the table by the window and listen to them admiring the view. As part of the renovation of the old barn, the doors on one side have been replaced with a large glass window that gives an amazing view over the Atlantic Ocean. From our window seats and terrace, it almost feels as if you could touch the sea. On a stormy day, if the swell is big enough and the wind in the right direction, we might even have some spray on the windows.

  It’s only as I put more menus on the outside tables that I realise Cal has gone and left me in charge, but there’s no time to think or worry. More customers drift in and out, some with dogs, some with babies in carriers, some with walking poles and even one in an all-terrain mobility scooter though goodness knows how he made it along the coast path. Jez is calling orders from the kitchen, Shamia’s dealing with a queue of people at the counter and Nina is racing about clearing tables and serving people as if she’s in a triathlon. In no time, we’re dishing up Cornish goat’s cheese paninis, and pasties, quiche salads and sandwiches to an array of people relaxing, chatting, checking their iPads, and all drinking our teas, coffees, and ciders while they scoff our cakes and savouries.

  There’s one moment when I have to stand outside the kitchen door to the rear and take a huge gulp of fresh Kilhallon air and pinch myself.

  ‘Demi – it’s four o’clock.’ Nina pulls me aside as I fly into the kitchen with more dirty plates.

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘No. Look.’ She points to the clock on the wall, just above the health and safety notice.

  ‘What? I thought it was about half-past two.’

  ‘No. It really is. We’ve stopped taking orders.’ Jez pops his head round the door of the staff cubby hole. His whites have been replaced by board shorts, a hoodie and flip-flops. ‘I’m off shift. Hope you’re pleased with how it went?’

  ‘Yes. Wow. Thanks so much, Jez. But four o’clock? I can’t believe it. I’ve been so busy clearing tables outside that I hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Shall I put the closed sign on the door?’ Nina enquires.

  ‘Yes, I guess so, but we still have people eating, inside and out. I’ll go and tell everyone we’re shutting soon.’

  I feel strangely light-headed as I float into the cafe and inform the few stragglers that we’re now closing. One man grumbles but the other customers seem OK and start to finish their food. Has the day really flown by so fast? Can it be real?

  I turn over the closed sign on the door and step outside to clear the final tables when a man sprints onto the terrace.

  ‘Damn it. I knew I’d be too late!’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kit Bannen’s face is red and he’s breathing hard. ‘Am I too late? I am too late, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Damn!’

  I laugh. ‘It’s fine. We’re open again tomorrow.’ It’s only a cafe, I want to add.

  ‘I wanted to be here on your opening day. I was all set to be a difficult customer.’

  I lower my voice. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve already had the customer from hell.’

  I throw a wave and a smile at a couple from London who are staying in our cottages. Their toddler, George, had a screaming tantrum lasting half an hour and threw every piece of food they offered him onto the floor. George’s wails of protest pierce the air as his parents attempt to strap him into his luxury all-terrain buggy.

  Kit winces and we both laugh.

  ‘Come in and have some coffee,’ I say, reminding myself that he’s a guest and that he was seriously pissed off that the cafe was shut when he checked into Kilhallon. One extra customer won’t matter.

  ‘I don’t want to get in the way.’

  ‘It’s OK, as long as you don’t mind the staff clearing up around you.’

  He smiles. ‘I’ll make myself useful.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that. You’re a guest here.’ My smile is fixed on by now. It’s been a long and exciting day and to be honest, all I want to do is clear up and have a debrief with the team then collapse in my cottage.

  ‘No way. It’s my fault I’m late so I insist on giving you a hand.’

  Too tired and frazzled to object further, I cave in. ‘OK, but I warn you, I’m a horrible boss and if you’re so keen, you can help me clear the last of the stuff from the outside tables.’

  It’s twenty-past four and a few people had lingered outside, draining their teapots and chatting in the last precious rays of the afternoon sun
. However, the clouds are rolling in, so even they start to pack up and leave. Kit helps me gather up the dirty crockery, empty sugar packets and pots of strawberry jam and clotted cream.

  ‘Looks like you’ve had a busy opening day,’ he says, following me to the bin store at the rear of the kitchens.

  ‘Yes, the walking festival brought us some good custom and once the sun came out, we had passing trade. Plus George, of course. I need to warn you that he and his mum and dad are staying in Penvenen Cottage. It’s the other end of the row from you, though, so you shouldn’t hear him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure.’ Kit holds up the bin lid while I throw in the rubbish. ‘If I do, I’ll have to get some ear plugs or turn up my music to full volume.’

  I wince. ‘Sorry about George. I’m guessing you came here for some quiet away from the office.’

  He glances away from me then throws me a pained smile. ‘Actually, I may have been economical with the truth about working in an office. I tend to take my office with me wherever I go. I’m a writer.’

  I resist shouting ‘Yessss’, because I knew he did something creative and arty. Instead I ask politely. ‘Oh, do you write books?’

  ‘Yes. Thrillers. Correction: a thriller. I haven’t even finished my first yet, though my deadline’s racing up fast.’

  ‘Sounds exciting. Do you have a pen name?’ I ask him. To be honest, I’m doing most of the clearing up while he talks but I’d much rather it was that way.

  ‘I will do, I expect. I don’t know for sure because I’ve only just got my first book deal and it’s all new to me. I was a journalist before I became an author and before you ask, it was as an editor for a very dull trade publication about renewable energy. My new thriller is about a woman scientist who finds a way to generate power from water that’s going to change the whole world and do away with the need for fossil fuels. Naturally a lot of countries with less than ideal human rights records aren’t very pleased about that, while others would do anything to get their hands on her research.’