The Beach Cafe (25 page)

‘Fancy a stroll on the beach?’ he asked, after a moment, grabbing one of the half-empty wine bottles that had been left. ‘It’s a beautiful evening.’

It
was
a beautiful evening – the sky aflame with red and scarlet, the air still warm, with just the faintest of breezes. And Ed was looking every bit as gorgeous too, I thought to myself.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Oh yes.’ Then I said ‘Yes’ a third time for good measure and laughed.

‘I’ll take that as a yes, then,’ he said, and held out his hand.

I took it. And we walked down to the beach together.

‘I loved it this evening,’ he said, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about us holding hands. I, on the other hand, could hardly breathe for the excited, tingly feelings that were running through my whole body.
We are holding hands
, I kept saying in my head.
I am holding hands with Ed. What does this mean? Has he stopped brooding about his ex? What is going to happen?

‘What was that?’ I said, trying to shut out the giddy voice in my mind. ‘You loved the evening? Oh, so did I. Wasn’t it great? All those people. And Jamie’s face! He looked so happy.’

‘He did,’ he said. ‘It all came together perfectly, didn’t it?’ He squeezed my hand, then suddenly stopped walking and gestured towards the dune on our right. ‘Okay, this looks a good spot. Let’s sit here.’

I was so enjoying the walking hand-in-hand thing that I almost protested at having to stop, but managed to avoid blurting out anything stupid. ‘Good idea,’ I said, trying to sound casual.

We sat down in the cool, gritty sand, with the dune behind us. A breeze whispered through the hard, spiky grass that grew there, and the rushing of the waves on the shore sounded dream-like and hypnotic. The sky was getting darker by the minute, and I could see the first faint spangles of starlight emerging. How I loved living by the beach, I thought happily. I couldn’t imagine being back in a city again now.

Ed poured us each a glass of wine and we clinked them together. ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Cheers to the café, and to you too, Evie. You’re what makes it something really special.’

‘Oh, Ed,’ I said, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. ‘I don’t know about that . . .’

‘Well, I do,’ he said. ‘You were the one who made tonight happen, who brought everybody together. You were just . . .
sparkling
tonight.’

I blushed and opened my mouth to say something self-deprecating, but he was still talking.

‘I’ve been down here for – what? – six weeks now, and that was the first time I’ve really been aware of the community, all the links between people. And they all enjoyed it too, you could tell.’

‘I loved seeing so many villagers coming in,’ I agreed. ‘They were so friendly, weren’t they? It made me feel part of the bay, like I belonged here. And so many of them talked to me about Jo, too – my aunt who used to run the café. I kept getting the feeling that she was there as well, somehow, looking down on us, and raising a glass to everyone probably.’

The bottle was between us, wedged into the sand, and he moved it to his far side, so that he could edge closer to me. ‘Listen, about what happened the other night,’ he began. ‘I’m sorry I pounced on you like that, but . . .’

I cringed. He was
sorry
. That was not what I wanted to hear. ‘Oh God, don’t start that again,’ I said, my words tumbling out in embarrassment. ‘I know it was a mistake, I know you didn’t mean to, and probably wish you hadn’t, but—’

‘The thing was,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t a mistake.’ And before I could say anything else, he’d turned towards me, taken my face in his hands and was kissing me.

I kissed him back. He wrapped his arms around me and we kissed and kissed, and it felt amazing – every bit as brilliant as it had in the kitchen. It felt right, like we belonged together, like it had been written in the stars that this should happen. Was happening. Was still happening . . .

He broke off and smiled at me. The sky was a deep, dark blue around us, but I could see the softness in his eyes, and felt utterly melty inside, my nerve endings all a-tremble. Whoa. He was a good kisser. A fantastic kisser.

‘You’re a fantastic kisser,’ I said, feeling drunk and dizzied, unable to stop the words coming out all by themselves.

He laughed. ‘You’re not bad yourself,’ he replied. He traced a finger down the side of my face, and every cell of me seemed to quiver.

‘Okay, so is this the part where you say that we shouldn’t be kissing any more, because of that rebound thing? And then I start talking about balls, and embarrass myself, and it all goes awkward and weird?’ I forced a little laugh but my heart was racing painfully. I genuinely needed to know.

He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This is the bit where I tell you that I’m falling in love with you.’

I laughed, then. I know this wasn’t an appropriate response, but it caught me so off-guard that it was more a reflex reaction out of embarrassment. Besides, his words sounded like something from a film.

‘Don’t laugh,’ he scolded. ‘You’re not supposed to laugh!’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I just . . .’ I smiled at him. ‘Go on, say it again, and I promise I won’t laugh next time.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘God, you make things difficult sometimes. All right. I’ll say it again.’ He cupped my face with one hand and looked deep into my eyes. ‘Evie Flynn, I’m falling in love with you,’ he said.

This time I didn’t laugh. A shiver went through me, followed by a deep yearning instead. ‘Ed,’ I said, recklessness coursing through me as I made a decision there and then. ‘Shall we go back to mine?’

Chapter Twenty-Three

I’m not going to tell you exactly what happened next. Not all of it anyway. Some things have to be kept private, right? But I will just say that events became so passionate and urgent once we’d got back inside the café, that before I knew it the main counter ended up being christened in a rather special way.
Evie Flynn, you hussy
, I thought to myself as our clothes were hurled across the café floor. There was a split-second where the sensible part of my brain flashed up the query:
Is this too soon? Are we rushing into things? Should we do the hand-holding and kissing for a while longer before we actually get naked?

The lusty part of my brain dismissed such nonsense immediately.
Oh, shut up! I can’t wait a second longer. I fancy this man like crazy. And I . . . oooh . . .

So. Ahem. Yes. Hot, frantic, juicy sex on the counter was the order of the day. (
Today’s special . . .
) And it was good. Seriously good. I can also confirm that my dreamy imaginings of his caveman noise weren’t too far off the mark. Oh, and that the bacon sandwiches he made us afterwards were the finest I’d ever eaten, even if I did get the giggles seeing him stark-bollock-naked apart from his chef ’s apron.

He brandished the spatula at me when he heard me giggling. ‘Hot fat on the genitals is no laughing matter,’ he said sternly.

‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘but I can’t take you seriously when your bum’s hanging out the back like that, with the apron strings dangling between your cheeks.’ I giggled again. ‘It’s a good look, though, really. Straight out of a dodgy calendar.’

He struck a pose. ‘What do you think, Mr October?’

‘Mr Cocktober, more like,’ I said childishly, laughing at my own crap joke. I pulled on an apron myself and did a matching stupid pose – hand on hip, looking over one shoulder flirtily and putting a finger to my lips. ‘Miss Aug-arse-t,’ I said demurely.

‘Like it,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Like it very much actually.’

We sat munching our bacon sarnies in one of the booths, his arm around me, me snuggled against him. I wasn’t sure which was tastier: the bacon or him. ‘So . . .’ I began, then stopped myself. I was just about to do that classic post-coital confessional thing, where you start telling each other secrets and intimate stuff, but at the last second I wasn’t sure whether Ed would be game. Maybe we didn’t know each other well enough yet, despite having shagged each other in a mad frenzy minutes earlier. I didn’t want to break the spell we’d just woven by giving him the third degree now.

‘So,’ he replied. He swallowed the last of his sandwich and gave me a squeeze. ‘I guess I’d better get back. The poor dog will be wondering what I’m doing.’

I felt my shoulders sag with disappointment. I’d forgotten about the dog. I’d kind of assumed that Ed would stay over the whole night, that we’d cuddle up in my bed and hopefully have sex again – maybe slower and more tender this time, gazing into each other’s eyes, watching each other’s reactions. Obviously he had different ideas. Oka-a-a-ay.

I’m falling in love with you
, he’d said up on the dunes, and the words stung as I recalled them now. Had it just been a line to get my kit off? And now that he’d realized what an easy lay I was, he was going to sod off back to his place? Great – that really seemed the sort of behaviour of someone in love. Looked like I should have held out and kept us at the kissing stage for longer after all, rather than throwing caution to the wind, and my clothes to the floor.

Bollocks.

‘Right,’ I said, trying to sound like I wasn’t bothered. I got up quickly so that his arm jerked away from me. ‘Yep.’ I busied myself with the plates, standing so that he couldn’t see my bare bottom, and wishing I was wearing something more substantial than this ridiculous apron get-up. I felt very drunk, very tired and very naked and just wanted him to go all of a sudden. ‘I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

He stared at me. ‘Wait, Evie, why are you being so prickly?’ he said, clutching at my arm.

Him grabbing me like that made my fingers slip on the plates, and in the next instant they’d shattered on the tiled floor with a horrible crash. I felt like crying. This was all going wrong.

‘Bloody hell,’ I muttered under my breath, feeling the worst mood ever brewing.

‘I wish I
could
stay, honestly,’ he said, still holding my arm. ‘Really. I’m not about one-night stands, that isn’t me. I really like you, Evie. I thought we had something good going and I’d love to . . . see what happens next.’

‘What happens next is I’ve got to sweep up these broken plates before we cut our bare feet on them,’ I said grumpily, still not looking at him. There was a pause and I felt a horrible black stew of bitterness churning around inside me. Then I raised my eyes to him. Maybe I was being unfair. He did
look
sincere, I acknowledged begrudgingly. ‘Sorry,’ I said after a moment. ‘I’m just knackered and . . .’ I shrugged, looking away again and feeling vulnerable. I didn’t want to come across as needy and clinging, I wanted to be super-cool and in control. This was not easy. ‘I just thought you were going to stay,’ I said gruffly in the end.

‘I’d love to stay,’ he said. ‘Evie, I would, but . . . Another time, yeah?’ He reached up and touched my face, and my insides did that gooey, dissolving thing again.

I nodded, feeling slightly better. ‘Another time,’ I agreed. I was looking forward to it already.

Once we’d swept up and he’d gone (after a lovely, lingering kiss in the doorway), I went upstairs to bed, but I was so wired with what had just happened that sleep seemed impossible. My mind seemed to have reverted into teenagerhood and kept repeating
Oh my God!
over and over again, interspersed with
I shagged Ed – it was amazing!

It was difficult to stop myself from texting Amber to tell her. I so badly wanted to! But it was two in the morning, and I knew she slept with her mobile near her bed, so I’d wake her up, and then she’d probably be so monstrously pissed off with me that she wouldn’t be properly excited on my behalf. That was not a good end result for anyone.

I’d email her instead, I decided, throwing off the covers and padding downstairs. I’d send her a long juicy message and get it all out of my system, thus hopefully short-circuiting the
Oh my God!
loop still rebounding around my head. And then I would sleep. Hopefully, with another disgustingly dirty dream about Ed to entertain me between now and when my alarm went off.

I switched on the PC and made myself a hot chocolate while I waited for it to start up. I opened my email account and was just about to hit the New Message option when something in the in-box caught my eye. An email from Amber – with ‘Ed’ as the subject matter. Ooh! Coincidence or what? Had she somehow telepathically picked up our shagging exploits?

I clicked on it, intrigued. And then, as I read her message, I felt myself stiffen and my heart sank to the floor. The
Oh my God!
loop stopped abruptly, and a new one appeared in its place.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit!

Hi Evie,

How’s it going? Tried phoning you earlier, but the phone rang and rang. Off gallivanting are you, madam? (And when are you gonna get that answerphone sorted out FFS? Twenty-first century now, you know.)

I was hoping to chat, as I’ve got something serious to tell you. I don’t quite know how to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. I’ve found out something really awful about Ed. I remembered you saying he was being cagey about the restaurant where he used to work, and now I know why. One of those weird things: Carla and I were clearing out the stock room at the shop and there was a pile of old newspapers that hadn’t gone in the recycling. Managed to knock over a bucket of water, so spread one out to soak it up – and there was a picture of ED in the paper. Thought I was imagining it, but definitely him. Turns out he was charged with assault a few months ago, and the restaurant – his restaurant – went bust. All sorts of dodgy dealings uncovered in the paperwork too: a big financial mess. He is now bankrupt, and the whole thing sounds pretty nasty. His real name is Ed Gray, so google him and you’ll see what I mean.

Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I do think it all sounds v dodge. Best to get a new chef in asap, I reckon. Don’t touch him with a bargepole!

On a more cheery note, I . . .

I couldn’t take in any more. My head was spinning, as if I’d just come off the waltzers at a fairground. Ed – my Ed – charged with assault? Bankrupt? Dodgy financial dealings? No. No! I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. Please let it not be true . . .

I leaned back in the chair, unable to equate this bombshell with the Ed that I’d grown to know and – yes, all right, fall in love with. Not to mention having had recent rampant sex with in my actual workplace a mere two hours ago. This couldn’t be real. I was in some sort of weird dream, that was it. I was drunk and dozing, and my mind was playing crazy tricks on me.

I pinched myself. Ow. Okay, not a dream, then. I was actually sitting here, in real life, and the bomb had just dropped.

I read through Amber’s email again, trying to unravel it more slowly this time, in case I’d got it all wrong. I hadn’t. The words were every bit as ugly and shocking as they had been two minutes ago.
Shit.
If it was true, then . . . I stopped myself before I got any further. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. Newspapers made mistakes all the time, didn’t they? And maybe Amber herself had got the wrong end of the stick. She’d used the newspaper to mop up some water, after all – maybe the water had smudged the newsprint and the photo, maybe it wasn’t even Ed in the first place.

Maybe.

But the more I thought about Amber’s words, the more I had the creeping dread that, actually, there might just be a ring of truth in them. I hated to admit it, but the facts fitted: he had a temper, I’d seen that for myself when I thought he was going to punch Ryan. And there was the way he’d been so paranoid about customers recognizing him, the way he’d refused to have his photo taken for the newspaper – it fitted. Why else would a chef as talented as Ed run off down to Cornwall in the first place and hide himself for weeks on end, if he wasn’t ashamed of what had happened? So much for my theory that he’d left London because of a broken heart. This was way messier.

‘Oh,
bollocks
,’ I moaned, feeling despairing. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell me anything about his restaurant. No wonder he hadn’t given me so much as a full name. I put my head in my hands, badly wanting all of this not to be true. Well, there was only one way to find out.

I opened up a new page on the browser, brought up Google, then hesitated. I felt cowardly, hunting him down online like this. Shouldn’t I just go straight to him and ask him, hear it from the horse’s mouth?

Yes. Of course I should. It was absolutely right that I did. But it was two in the morning, and I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to know everything right now, before my brain imploded with questions.

Ed Gray chef
, I typed into the search box, hating myself a bit for it. Then, before I could change my mind, I clicked the Search tab.

A second later the screen was full of links. I forced myself to look at them. There were links to the
Guardian
,
The Times
, BBC News,
Independent
, and I caught sight of the words ‘bankrupt’ and ‘violent misconduct’ before I’d even got halfway down the page. I wanted to cry. Right, so it looked as if it
was
all true. These were good, reputable sources. They couldn’t all have got the story wrong, it was there in black and white again and again. Now what should I do?

Don’t touch him with a bargepole
, Amber had advised. Well, it was a bit late for that, wasn’t it?

It was the middle of the night, I had drunk gallons of wine, and I should have crawled back to bed and conked out to give my brain a rest. But obviously I wasn’t going to do that. Obviously I wasn’t going to rest until I’d obsessively combed through every single article about Ed, gleaning every fact it was possible to glean, and torturing myself just a little bit more with each passing website.

Three o’clock came and went, and my hot chocolate sat there, undrunk and no longer fitting its description. This is what I found out: Ed had owned and managed a West End restaurant called Silvers, which served modern British cuisine with a twist, according to the online
Time Out
review. Its average score on the Toptable website was four stars. ‘Great food, we’ll be back,’ one reviewer had written. (Not now, they wouldn’t, I thought darkly.) As well as all that, I’d also discovered that Ed had run the place with his wife – yes, his
wife
– Melissa, although they had split up, since the allegations of Ed’s violence. (‘OUT OF THE FRYING PAN’ the headline in the
Sun
had read.) She had filed for divorce, he had filed for bankruptcy, and then they had both gone into hiding.

What a lovely story. What perfect bedtime reading. The only thing missing was ‘And they all lived miserably ever after’.

My mind was still whirling, trying to make sense of it. Betty had hinted there was something dodgy about him, hadn’t she? I remembered. Had she known all along? And why had Ed wanted to get involved with my café in the first place, given what had happened to Silvers? Was it all some elaborate scam, one of those ‘long con’ tricks you saw on
Hustle
, where he’d planned to fleece me the whole time? Was I being set up?

No. Surely not. I wasn’t that bad a judge of character, was I? I had trusted him, I liked him, he had seemed genuine to me. But then again, he
had
turned out to be a violent criminal, and I hadn’t spotted that one, had I?

Face it, Evie. Once a sucker, always a sucker.