The Cornish Cream Tea Bus. Cressida McLaughlin

      Charlie knocked on the navy front door of Juliette and Lawrence’s terraced house and waited, inhaling the salty freshness of the sea air, feeling it whisper at her neck. It took only a few moments and then Lawrence was standing there, his eyes and smile widening at the same time. He flung his arms around her.

      ‘Charlie, awesome to see you! We’ve been so looking forward to having you to stay.’ It sounded over the top, even with Lawrence’s soft, Scottish accent, but Charlie knew he wasn’t being false – he was incapable of it. ‘Come in, both of you.’ He glanced at Marmite, asleep in Charlie’s arms, then took her suitcase.

      ‘Thanks so much for having me, L.’ She followed him down a narrow hallway towards the back of the house, which opened up into an airy but modest kitchen and dining room. It was modern, with white walls and cupboards, and accents in lime green. A back door with a glass partition looked out onto a neat garden with a patio and a lawn edged with flowerbeds. Charlie wondered which corner the sea was visible from.

      Lawrence put the kettle on. He was a compact man, with muscular arms and a slightly ruddy complexion, his hair a mess of dirty blond. His eyes were blue, and he was rarely without a smile. Charlie had thought, the moment Juliette introduced him to her, that they complemented each other perfectly: Juliette petite and dark, often reserved, and Lawrence happily chaotic.

      ‘Tea or coffee? I know it’s getting on for four, but we don’t stand on ceremony in this house, so you can even have a glass of wine if you’d like.’

      Charlie laughed. ‘Coffee would be great, thanks. It’s been a long drive.’

      ‘I’ll bet. Jules has nipped to the supermarket to get some stuff in, but I thought we could go to the pub tonight, anyway. Give you the Porthgolow tour. You can pop Marmite on a chair, by the way. Ray and Benton are in the front room, and I doubt they’ll give him much trouble.’

      ‘Thanks, but it’s not them I’m worried about.’

      ‘He’s a mischief, is he? Looks like butter wouldn’t melt.’

      ‘That’s because he’s asleep,’ Charlie said. She put Marmite gently on one of the dining-room chairs and gratefully accepted a mug of coffee. ‘How’s business going?’

      Lawrence worked for a marquee company, Got it Covered, loaning out and putting up tents and marquees for events across Cornwall. He loved being outside, working with his hands, and had the physique to spend days wrestling temporary buildings into place.

      ‘Ah, it’s great,’ he said. ‘Every day there’s something new to see, someone else to chat to, and it’s a small company but we’re doing pretty well, regardless. I can’t think—’

      ‘I’m home!’

      ‘There she is.’ Lawrence grinned.

      Charlie raced down the corridor to meet her friend, who was straining under the weight of her bags. Charlie took them, passed them to Lawrence and then, when all the shopping was in the kitchen and Juliette had removed her coat, gave her friend a hug.

      ‘You made it,’ Juliette said. ‘What do you think of Porthgolow?’

      ‘It’s lovely,’ Charlie rushed. ‘So pretty – the beach is gorgeous. And it’s … nice that it’s not too packed out with tourists.’

      Lawrence made a choking sound, which Charlie realized was a stifled laugh.

      ‘It’s a bit tired in parts,’ Juliette admitted, ‘but it’s a great place to live.’

      ‘We’ve not been here during summer yet, Jules,’ Lawrence said. ‘It could be heaving, the roads constant gridlock. It could be a nightmare. Empty in winter, jam-packed in the summer.’

      Charlie pictured the old-fashioned shop front and the other, weathered buildings. She tried to imagine it full of holidaymakers. The beach was beautiful, and it had a large enough car park, but it still had distinct ghost-town vibes.

      ‘How are you?’ Charlie asked, lifting Marmite onto her lap as they sat down. ‘It’s so good to be here.’

      ‘This is the perfect place to recharge your batteries. You will not be disappointed, I promise.’ Juliette took Lawrence’s hand across the table.

      ‘So what’s the plan?’ Charlie asked. ‘I’ve left Gertie in the car park by the beach. I can’t believe it’s free – I thought beaches charged through the nose all year round.’

      Juliette looked at her as if she’d started speaking Spanish.

      ‘Jules?’ Charlie laughed nervously. ‘I’m not trying to be negative, I—’

      ‘You bought Gertie?’ Juliette hissed. ‘Is this an April Fool’s joke?’

      ‘It’s after midday.’ Lawrence glanced at his watch. ‘So technically it wouldn’t count.’

      ‘I thought that’s what you wanted?’ Charlie said. ‘You said my café bus idea could work, but it needed more thought. There’s no way we can do that with the bus stuck in Gloucestershire. What if we needed to measure the interior for appliances?’

      ‘I meant more generally,’ Juliette said. ‘That this could be a chance for you to relax, Char, to let the ideas percolate. Not start working on some kind of café bus action plan.’

      ‘What’s wrong with an action plan?’ she asked. Marmite lifted his head, his tail twitching as he took in the new surroundings.

      Juliette sighed. ‘Nothing is wrong with an action plan. I use them all the time for my marketing projects. It’s only that I thought this could be a proper break for you. You’ve got your sabbatical, and I thought you were finally coming round to the idea of having an actual holiday.’

      Charlie was about to respond when her dog jumped onto the table. ‘Marmite, no!’

      But Juliette reached over and scooped him into her arms. ‘He’s so gorgeous, Char. Small and fluffy, and funny.’ Marmite wriggled in an endearing way. ‘Ray and Benton will love him.’

      ‘If he doesn’t torment them. I should apologize now for whatever ridiculous hijinks my puppy gets up to.’

      ‘That little mite can be forgiven anything,’ Lawrence said, ruffling his fur.

      ‘That is exactly the problem.’

      They left for Porthgolow’s pub early that evening. As they turned left at the end of the road, to head towards the seafront and The Seven Stars, Charlie’s breath caught in her throat. The sun was hovering above the sea, the red, pink and peach of the sky intensely vivid. The whole of Porthgolow seemed trapped in its glow, as if the cliffs weren’t grey but golden, the windows of the houses catching hold of the sunset like fireflies.

      ‘Bloody hell,’ Charlie said softly, faltering so that Marmite walked into her and started fighting with her boot buckle.

      ‘I know,’ Juliette breathed.

      ‘It’s fucking awesome, is what it is,’ Lawrence finished. ‘The best thing about living here.’

      ‘Porthgolow means cove of illumination,’ Juliette explained as they continued towards the pub, their steps slow and deliberate against the steep decline of the hill. ‘There’s something about this particular spot on the coast, the way the cliffs curve inwards like a hug, that means it holds the light in a certain way as the sun sets. It always looks spectacular in the evenings, even in winter.’