Chapter One
Is it strange to long for the sheer chaos that’s on display?
‘It’s disguuusting.’ Two-and-a-half-year-old Olly’s little face screws up into a tight ball and he shoves the plate of ham sandwiches and ready salted crisps across the table. ‘Don’t want.’
Reeni has to move fast to stop it from flying through the air.
‘Oliver Grayson.’ Reeni’s sharp tone cuts through her son’s tantrum. ‘That is not how we behave. Auntie Ellie made those sandwiches especially for you.’
‘I not want ham,’ wails Olly, clambering down from his chair.
For a split second I brace myself, half expecting Olly to have a second swipe at his plate.
Instead, he clenches his fists, his arms as stiff as a board, and stamps the floor hard.
I catch myself smiling. It’s impossible to not be charmed by Olly’s earnest fury, although my best mate would probably disagree when it could mean mopping up food from the floor.
Reeni anticipates what’s coming and pulls her little boy towards her, wrapping her arms around him.
‘I’m hungry,’ Olly sobs, before burying his face into his mum’s shirt.
Olly’s dark afro ringlets, which normally frame his face, are unruly, and the one cheek I can see is blotchy from his tears.
Despite the buzz of tension surrounding them, there’s so much that’s perfect about the scene in front of me.
It’s not your stereotypical family snapshot, granted, but there’s something raw and tender about it.
A dart of pain flashes through my chest. I know I don’t deserve the happiness Reeni has, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting it.
Reeni catches my eye over the top of Olly’s head and pulls a face. ‘Ham was his favourite yesterday.’
I wince. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s not your fault. Joys of being little.’ She grins and Olly wipes his nose on her silky navy shirt.
‘What about some ice cream, Olly?’ I say, trying to put things right.
In the way only a toddler can, Olly’s mood flips a full one-eighty. He pushes himself away from his mum, his eyes alight. ‘Pink ice sceem?’
I chuckle. ‘Pink ice cream coming up.’
I walk past the counter and head into the kitchen, trying to remember if strawberry ice cream was on my last order. I could barely afford vanilla, so I’m doubtful. Maybe there’s a little hidden somewhere.
I open the freezer and my heart sinks. ‘Shit.’
‘What’s up?’ Jill, my right-hand woman, is peering over my shoulder at the half-empty freezer shelves.
‘I’ve promised Olly strawberry ice cream but we’re out.’ I screw up my nose. ‘He’s going to have another meltdown.’
‘Ah,’ says Jill, her face creased in a frown. ‘Why don’t you head into the village to get some? It’s quiet. I’ll manage fine here.’
‘Would you mind?’ A chink of light pierces my mood. It’s not only that Olly will get his ice cream, but it will give me a chance to get out of here and ignore the fact we’ve been more or less empty all day.
‘Of course not.’ And she pushes me back out onto the café floor.
Olly is thrilled to be heading off towards the village for his treat. His little legs kick as he sits in his buggy as Reeni and I head along the coast road in the warm afternoon heat.
‘The Beach House is still quiet. I thought you’d have been busier?’ she says as we walk.
I stay silent.
The Beach House is my baby. The dream I turned into reality.
I still remember the excitement, mixed with a large dollop of fear, the day I signed the rental papers.
For a while, it had been a roaring success.
So many customers I could barely keep up.
Warm summer evenings where we sold out of specials, a buzz around lunchtime as the tables filled to overflowing and queues out of the door as people waited for early morning weekend breakfasts.
Now I’m watching it crumble around me, and I have no idea how to save it.
I drink more coffee than I sell and I’m beginning to think Dad was right all along.
What the hell do I know about running a successful business?
I kick out at a pebble, sending it spinning into the dunes.
I hate how every thought about The Beach House now makes my chest tighten painfully.
My nostrils flare as I take in the spicy sea air.
I can’t let myself cry, not in front of Reeni.
That’ll lead to more questions, ones I’m not quite ready to answer.
I force myself to sound upbeat. ‘It’s been a bit quiet lately. The weather’s supposed to get better this week, though.’ I hold up crossed fingers. ‘We’re coming into peak tourist season, too. That has to help.’
‘Absolutely,’ says Reeni, with a genuine optimism I’m trying hard to fake.
We walk on in silence, the warm breeze rolling in from the sea washing over my face.
The Dorset coastline is beautiful and the contrast between the sparkling aqua sea and golden sand is spectacular.
We’re in no hurry and the surrounding peace seeps into my head, evicting my worries.
It’s almost like a mini meditation, only punctuated by Olly singing away to himself as he waves his hands, conductor style, in time to his made-up tune.
‘How are things going with Greg these days?’ Reeni asks, interrupting my peace.
I clear my throat. ‘Oh look,’ I say, pointing down the road. ‘I think that’s Maria and Belle.’
They’re two of my regulars who stop by at least twice a week for coffee and ice cream. Although I haven’t seen them this week … come to think of it, maybe not even last week either.
‘Hi, Ellie,’ says Maria. She’s holding a chocolate milkshake in a cup with a distinctive orange-and-red logo. ‘Gorgeous day, isn’t it? Have you tried one of these yet? They’re fantastic.’ She waggles her cup, catching Olly’s attention.
‘No.’ I shift my bag’s shoulder strap to stop it from digging into my shoulder. ‘Where are they from?’
‘The Camper Café. They’re set up on the library green. Loads of choice. This even has an edible straw and Belle’s loving hers.’
‘Mmmmm,’ is the only sound coming out of Belle who is intent on demolishing her dessert before it drips down her fingers.
‘Want,’ says Olly, his chubby arms outstretched.
Maria smiles at me and then her face falls a little. ‘Oh, your ice creams are just as good. We’ll come by The Beach House soon.’
‘Aw, Mum. But this is so much nicer,’ whines Belle, sticking her tongue out to scoop up some chocolate ice cream.
I think back to my half-empty freezer with its one lonely tub of vanilla ice cream. I hate to admit it, but Belle is right. Her treat looks way nicer than anything I could produce right now.
Maria pushes Belle forwards. ‘Better be off. See you soon.’ And with that, she marches away from us, her cheeks flaming red.
Reeni sets off again with a now unsettled, grumbling Olly. ‘Camper Café? Do you know what she’s talking about?’
I shake my head and my breathing shallows as we reach the bend in the road.
Around the corner is the library and the main village car park, and I can already hear the vibrant chatter of voices.
Beach side of the car park is a large rectangular patch of grass, and as it comes into view, I can see plenty of people milling around and a queue in front of a green-and-cream caravan.
‘What the hell?’ My feet falter beneath me. ‘Was this here when you walked over?’ I ask Reeni, struggling to keep the panic out of my voice. I can’t drag customers into The Beach House and this tin can is teeming in them.
‘No. We came along the beach to tire Olly out.’
‘Pink ice sceem,’ screeches Olly as a lady walks past us carrying a waffle cone heaped with strawberry ice cream and glistening rivers of red sauce.
I scan the scene in front of us. The buzz is so reminiscent of my good times that it feels like a physical punch and a magnifying glass to my own inadequacies.
No wonder I’ve only had two customers all day.
‘How the hell has the council allowed this? People have tried to get permits for here before and been refused. This shouldn’t even be here. ’
‘There’s always one chancer who pays no heed to the rules,’ Reeni says, keeping her voice low.
‘At least if it was the other side of the village, it wouldn’t impact me, but here it’s going to decimate what little business I have left.’
We skirt around the edge of the green to get a better look.
It’s not a caravan, but a cream-and-bottle-green VW camper van.
It’s been converted to have two wood-lined shelved doors on its long side which fold fully back to reveal the countertop.
The roof is hinged to open upwards, and a striped awning covers the serving area.
There’s a bottle-green surfboard propped up to the side with Camper Café written the full length of it in red and orange, and blackboards are hung up with handwritten menus.
People are sitting on benches or in groups on picnic blankets, eating an array of food.
Anything from milkshakes and coffees to toasted sandwiches and massive ice creams. If it wasn’t so horrifying, I’d be wanting to join them.
And Olly wants to do precisely that. He’s making little squeaky noises as he bounces in his buggy.
‘Looks like they have strawberry ice cream,’ Reeni says. ‘Should we get Olly’s treat here?’ Her words are hesitant, as if she’s aware she might be committing treason, but wanting to avoid a very public toddler tantrum.
I sigh. ‘May as well check out the competition, I suppose.’
‘Maybe we can find out if they’re staying here,’ says Reeni. ‘You never know, it might be a temporary thing.’
The queue moves quickly and as we get closer to the counter, I finally get a good look at the menu.
One blackboard lists a variety of sweet treats: ice cream, waffles and fruit sundaes.
Another board boasts Jaffles. Try our twist on a toasted stuffed sandwich with several headings to direct customers.
I scan the savoury selection. Beans and egg, ham hock and sweet onion jam, and Nutella and crispy bacon are the top three.
Not combinations I would ever dream of serving at The Beach House and they’re making my ham-and-cheese toastie offering sound very boring.
The customer at the front of the queue leaves, his hands full of three waffle cones containing peaks of pink and brown ice cream covered in multicoloured sprinkles, and we all move up again, Olly happy to be on the move even if it is only half a metre.
The breeze changes direction, lifting my shoulder-length hair. Behind the refreshing swirl of salty air is a fresh, citrusy scent that encapsulates my heart and squeezes it tight.
It can’t be … I rub my nose, trying to rid myself of that fresh clean fragrance, but it’s even stronger now.
Get a grip, Ellie. I know I’m wrong. That, for the umpteenth time, this will be another random bloke who has chosen the same aftershave.
But still, my pulse is thudding through my veins as if it knows better.
Another customer is served and the queue in front of us shuffles forwards again. Reeni moves with it, leaving me rooted to the spot.
She backs up. ‘You OK?’ she says, reaching for my elbow.
I see him over her shoulder, and everything around me drops out of focus.
He’s wiping down a table to my right, his back to me.
He’s wearing a fitted pink T-shirt and navy shorts and is taller than I remember – about a foot taller than me.
His blond hair is longer and darker than in my dreams, but that stubborn wave still runs through it.
I edge away from Olly’s buggy to get a better view.
His forearms are tanned and there’s a black tattoo poking out of the cuff of his sleeve and winding its way around his toned bicep.
He definitely didn’t have that seventeen years ago.
I’m trying not to stare, but it’s impossible.
Even though I can’t see his face, every part of me knows I’m looking straight at my past.
He bends to pick up a Crunchie wrapper that’s dancing along the floor in the breeze, and fingers that all these years later I can still remember running down the profile of my face grab the sweet paper.
A tremor shoots through my hand and I curl it into a fist and jam it in my hoodie pocket.
His dirty blond hair flops across his forehead, hiding one of his eyebrows.
The colour matches the stubble grazing his jaw, hiding the dimple I know sits right in the middle of his chin.
A customer says something to him and he answers with an easy laugh, the mellow pitch filling my ears.
‘Is that Jackson?’ Reeni hisses, her mouth so close to my ear that her lips brush my skin. ‘I thought he was living in Australia?’
Having finished his conversation, Jackson turns and for a split second, I swear his eyes meet mine.
Fear surges through me, fuelling my flight reaction.
Run. Now. My heart hammers against my ribs, pinning me in place.
I’m desperate to move my feet, but I can’t drag my eyes away from his.
And then, as if he hasn’t seen me at all, he turns away, distracted by another customer.
My nails dig into Reeni’s arm until she yelps. ‘I need to get out of here.’
‘Shouldn’t you say something?’
For a split second, I pause. Should I? The urge to hear him say my name is overwhelming. Olly squeals as someone with a huge ice cream walks past us and jerks me to my senses.
‘Are you insane? No.’ Before I can change my mind, I grab the handles of Olly’s buggy and spin it around. ‘We’ll get ice cream somewhere else.’
I force my feet to move but can’t help taking one last look over my shoulder in Jackson’s direction before the view is swallowed up by new customers and I’m left with the lingering feeling that the one thing I’ve tried so hard to leave behind has just caught up with me.