Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The kitchen of The Café on the Coast hummed with a lively mix of excitement and nerves on the day of the competition.
Sunlight streamed through the windows and the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aromas of buttered toast, crispy bacon and scrambled eggs.
Betty flitted about, placing jars of homemade jam and a pot of golden honey on the table while Clemmie, Amelia and Dilly settled in for a chat.
Clemmie looked at her great-great-grandmother’s recipe book. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt this nervous,’ she admitted, glancing at her friends. ‘I can’t believe it’s this evening.’
‘By the weekend, you’ll be the guest of honour at the royal garden party,’ Amelia said, her voice brimming with certainty.
‘Assuming I win,’ Clemmie replied. ‘I’m going to give it my best shot.’
Dilly waved her fork dramatically. ‘Oh, you’ll win. And when you do, there’s only one real dilemma.’
Clemmie raised an eyebrow. ‘Which is?’
‘What to wear to the royal garden party,’ Dilly declared. ‘Obviously!’
Amelia laughed. ‘You’ll need something showstopping. A chance to go shopping!’
Clemmie chuckled despite her nerves. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it, but you’re right … choosing an outfit actually feels as nerve-wracking as the competition itself!’
Amelia tilted her head, studying her friend. ‘You look like you haven’t slept for days.’
Clemmie gave a half-smile. ‘Not sure anyone would sleep well with this evening looming. But … I did have a little adventure, a night to remember, a couple of days ago.’
Dilly’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. ‘Adventure? On Puffin Island? Do tell!’
Clemmie hesitated, glancing towards the café door to ensure Betty was still busy in the pantry. ‘All right,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘but you two have to promise not to tell a soul.’
Dilly gasped, placing her fork down with a clatter. ‘Is it that juicy? Spill, and don’t leave anything out!’
Clemmie leaned in slightly, her cheeks already tinged pink. ‘Oliver took me aboard the Royal Yacht.’
Amelia froze mid-sip, nearly choking on her coffee. ‘I’m sorry, what?’
Clemmie smiled, a dreamy look crossing her face. ‘We had dinner on board. Just the two of us. Served by a waiter. There were gold-plated forks, endless champagne, a string quartet and, get this, a kitchen that hasn’t been touched since World War One.’
Amelia’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re telling us that you’ve been off gallivanting on the Royal Yacht with Oliver Lockwood?’
Dilly leaned closer, practically vibrating with excitement. ‘Forget the kitchen, what about dessert? And by dessert, I mean…’ She cocked an eyebrow suggestively.
‘Dilly!’
Dilly smirked. ‘You totally did. Oh my gosh, you slept with him, didn’t you? On the Royal Yacht of all places!’
‘I did not!’ Clemmie protested, her voice an octave higher than usual.
Amelia arched a sceptical eyebrow. ‘That pause says otherwise.’
‘I didn’t pause! And we didn’t,’ Clemmie clarified, exhaling. ‘We just … held each other. Like our lives depended on it. That’s all.’
Dilly sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. ‘That’s somehow even more romantic.’
‘It really is,’ Amelia agreed, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘That’s the kind of thing people write songs about.’
Clemmie smiled. ‘Look, I know how it sounds, but it wasn’t just about that night. We talked. Properly talked. He knows how much it hurt when he left without a word, and I know now that it wasn’t personal. It was just … him chasing his dream. We’ve put it to bed.’
Dilly softened. ‘Are you sure? Because last time, you were wrecked. I mean, the whole “I’m swearing off men” phase lasted a solid six months.’
‘I know,’ Clemmie admitted. ‘And I don’t regret it.
But I understand now that his career, it’s part of him, just like the café and the island are part of me.
He loves what he does, and I love what I do.
It wasn’t about me then, and it’s not about me now.
The timing was wrong before, and it’s still wrong.
‘He’s leaving for a year in the States, flying out right after the competition.’
Amelia reached across the table to squeeze her hand. ‘You okay?’
Clemmie hesitated. ‘I’m happy for him. It’s an amazing opportunity, and he deserves it. But…’ She trailed off, searching for the right words. ‘There was always a small part of me that thought there was a possibility… But I’m okay with that. It’s just circumstances.’
‘And you’re really at peace with it?’ Amelia asked, watching her carefully.
Clemmie hesitated for a moment before nodding. ‘Yeah, I am.’
But she wasn’t. Not really. Because the truth was, she was putting on a brave face.
She didn’t want to think about him leaving for a year, because if she had a magic wand, she’d make sure he wasn’t going anywhere.
But wishing wouldn’t change reality, and if she let herself dwell on it, she might not hold it together at all.
Instead, she plastered on a smile and reached across to her bag and pulled out the box. She opened it to show the girls the earrings. ‘He bought me these.’
Amelia gasped. ‘Look at those, how beautiful.’
‘They are beautiful. Are you going to keep in touch this time? No disappearing acts?’ asked Dilly.
‘He asked me that, too,’ Clemmie admitted. ‘I said yes. But a part of me isn’t sure if I want to hear about all the incredible things he’ll be doing over there. It’s selfish, but it’s how I feel.’
The table fell into a contemplative silence, broken only by the clatter of Betty returning from the pantry, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
‘Clemmie,’ Betty said, her tone softer than usual. ‘I have something for you.’
Betty placed a small box on the table. It was wrapped in delicate tissue paper and tied with a ribbon the colour of the sea. Clemmie looked up at her, puzzled. ‘What’s this?’
‘Go on,’ Betty urged. ‘Open it.’
Clemmie untied the ribbon, her fingers trembling slightly, and carefully unfolded the tissue paper.
Inside was a neatly folded apron, its fabric soft with age but beautifully preserved.
The apron was ivory with delicate lace trim around the edges.
Across the front, embroidered in gold thread, were the words The Café on the Coast, surrounded by subtle patterns of flowers and birds.
Clemmie’s eyes widened as she took it from the box, running her fingers over the embroidery. ‘This is exquisite. Where did you get this?’
Betty smiled, ‘It belonged to your great-great-grandmother Beatrice. She wore it every day of her life. Said it brought her luck in the kitchen. I thought you might want it today, for the competition.’
Clemmie swallowed a lump, close to emotional tears, ‘It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you’ve kept it all this time.’
‘It was a gift from her husband, your great-great-grandfather Arthur. He had it made specially for her by Mrs Pruitt, the seamstress who used to live in the cottage by Puffin Rock. You know, the little one with the wisteria growing over the doorway.’
Clemmie’s eyes widened. ‘Of course.’
‘Mrs Pruitt was a marvel with a needle. She ran a little sewing shop out of the cottage back in the day. Beatrice told me her husband wanted her to feel loved and cherished every time she wore that apron. And she did.’
Clemmie’s hands trembled slightly as she slipped the apron over her head. The fit was perfect, as if it had been made just for her. The fabric settled comfortably against her, and she tied the waistband with care. As she adjusted it, she noticed something stitched on the inside.
Curious, she took off the apron and peered at the stitching. ‘Gran, look at this.’
Betty leaned in as Clemmie ran her thumb over the series of tiny embroidered gold numbers. ‘1705,’ Clemmie read aloud, ‘The same numbers as in the recipe book.’
Betty’s brows knit together. ‘I’ve never noticed that before.
’ Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Well, now, it’s even more of a mystery!
’ She inspected the stitching closely. ‘It’s as if this apron and that recipe are connected somehow.
Your great-great-grandfather must’ve known something we don’t.
I’m sure they will be watching over you today. ’
As Betty bustled out of the kitchen, Clemmie turned back to her friends, who were grinning at her like Cheshire cats.
‘You have a magical apron and those earrings from Oliver,’ Dilly said. ‘If that’s not ingredients for success, I don’t know what is!’
Amelia raised her mug in a toast. ‘To Clemmie Rose, Puffin Island’s royal baking champion!’
‘Hopefully,’ added Clemmie as she smoothed down the apron, her mind still very much on the embroidered number 1705. It had to mean something. Whatever it was, she decided, she would try to figure it out … after she won the competition.
‘I don’t know how you’re so calm. How are you going to get through today before the live event starts at six-thirty?’ said Dilly.
‘I’m working here until after the lunch rush then I have the afternoon off to chill.’
‘Sam has gone all out for it. He’s arranged for a giant screen to be erected on the jetty outside The Sea Glass Restaurant, angled perfectly so the entire island can gather on the beach and watch the event unfold live,’ added Amelia.
‘It’s actually terrifying,’ admitted Clemmie, trying not to think about how many eyes would be on her. It wasn’t just the judges she had to impress, now the whole island would be watching. And given it was being televised, who knew how many more eyes would be on her? The whole world, potentially.
‘Just try and relax as much as you can for the rest of the day. I’ve got to get back to the twins, but we’ll be out to wave you on to the yacht.
You’ve got this!’ Dilly stood up and hugged her friend, followed by Amelia.
As soon as they left all Clemmie could think about was how nervous she actually was.