The Cornish Cream Tea Bus: Part Two – The Éclair Affair. Cressida McLaughlin
refreshments area, where various food trucks, ice-cream vans and hot-dog stands were laid out in a large semi-circle. Charlie’s was the only double-decker bus, but she felt a lot more confident than she had in Ross-on-Wye.
Gertie wasn’t pretending to be a café any more – she was the real deal. Her journey had also been less hair-raising than it might have been. Pete had tinkered with the engine and the ride was smoother, not to mention that the lanes she’d driven down were on the large side for Cornwall, and she hadn’t got stuck in any hedges.
While she’d been setting up, laying out her cakes and scones and uploading photos to Instagram, she’d heard a few appreciative exclamations outside, people praising Gertie’s glossiness or intrigued by her café on a double-decker bus. She even heard one person say, ‘I saw that on Facebook last week, we’ll have to check it out.’ The Cornish Cream Tea Bus, it seemed, was already getting a reputation.
As a family arrived and she directed them upstairs, telling them she’d be up in a moment to take their order, she glanced at her watch. Juliette was joining her at lunchtime so Charlie could have a break. She could have done with her friend’s help all day, but Lawrence had surprised her that morning with two tickets to an exhibition at The Eden Project, and there was no way Charlie was going to get in the way of that. Besides, she’d single-handedly managed The Café on the Hill on more than one occasion when it was full of summer tourists. She could do this. And she would do it well if Marmite stayed asleep in his crate like a good little Yorkipoo.
‘That was wonderful,’ said a woman wearing a ladybird scarf, as she paid for her and her son’s cream teas. ‘You don’t often get café food at these places, and he’s getting a bit of a burger habit.’
‘Like cream and jam’s any healthier than burgers,’ mumbled the boy, who was excelling at being a grumpy teenager.
‘Having a cream tea with your mum is much more civilized than wolfing down a burger while we walk round,’ the woman countered. ‘Don’t mind him,’ she turned back to Charlie, ‘he loved it, but he can’t show a single ounce of happiness. It’s in the game plan.’ She winked, and Charlie laughed.
‘Understood.’ They said goodbye, and Charlie was left wondering if Jonah would ever be a sullen teenager.
She was doing a stock-take of the items in her fridge when the bell sounded. She stood up quickly, just missing hitting her head on the counter.
‘Sorry,’ said a voice. ‘I didn’t know how else to get your attention.’
‘Is everything OK?’ Her words drifted away as she saw who the voice belonged to.
‘Small world, huh?’ Oliver’s smile was broad. ‘And the bus is looking much better than the last time I saw it. Very shiny and red.’
Charlie shook his proffered hand. He was wearing a sand-coloured jacket over a black T-shirt emblazoned with The Marauding Mojito logo in mint green. ‘Oliver! I never got a chance to thank you properly, after the field.’
Oliver laughed. ‘You say that like it was an ominous field.’
‘It was ominous,’ Charlie said. ‘How are you and The Marauding Mojito anyway?’
‘You remembered.’
‘Of course I did. You rescued me. But it is also on your T-shirt. What are you doing in Cornwall?’
He shrugged. ‘I go where the work is. This festival has always been busy, cocktails are popular, and it’s not hard to spend time in this part of the world. How come you’re all the way down here? And what happened to the bus? It looks like a fairy godmother waved her wand.’
‘That’s fairly accurate,’ Charlie said. ‘Only the fairy godmother is called Pete, and he didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart, but was persuaded by quite a lot of cold, hard cash.’
‘Aren’t they all. Got some time off? Want to come and see the rest of the fair?’
‘Give me half an hour? My friend should be here then and I can sneak away.’
‘Sounds good.’ He gave her a wide grin and sauntered off the bus.
Forty-five minutes later, with Juliette and Lawrence in charge of The Cornish Cream Tea Bus, Charlie and Marmite went to find Oliver. He handed his apron to a man with ginger hair, and hopped down from the cocktail stand.
‘So,’ he said, crouching to greet a still-sleepy Marmite, ‘tell me everything. The bus, Cornwall, what happened after that fateful day. Were you banished from the Cotswolds by that woman, what was her name, Bea?’
Charlie laughed as they fell in step. ‘No, she was kind, actually. She forced me to take a few months away from the café, and at first I was furious, but she was just looking out for me, I think. And then – for various reasons – coming to Cornwall seemed like a good idea. It was supposed to be a holiday, but God, I’ve been here nearly two months, staying with Juliette and Lawrence.’ She chewed her lip. There had been no indication that she’d outstayed her welcome, but it was much longer than they’d first anticipated. She would have to talk to them.
‘What various reasons?’ Oliver asked. ‘You seem to be doing a lot better than you were back then.’
His smile was so warm, his attention so touching, that Charlie found herself telling him everything. About Hal and Stuart, about her dad’s grief and Gertie’s resurrection. They walked round the festival, which was huge and busily cheerful, with traders selling all sorts of products from organic local honey to ride-on lawnmowers to massage chairs, and the day, while not as warm as it could have been for the end of May, was crisp and sunny, the sea breeze wafting over Charlie every now and then, so that she longed to be back on Porthgolow beach, soothing her aching feet in the cool water.
‘So you’re a bit of a nomad, are you?’ Charlie asked once she’d got to the end of her story.
Oliver shrugged, his hands deep in his pockets. ‘Not really. I live in Bristol, which is a great base. There are lots of places I can get to easily, and Cornwall, Devon and Somerset have enough going on to keep me busy. Are you planning to travel with your bus, or stay in this area?’
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Charlie admitted. ‘But I’m organizing a festival in Porthgolow. It’s a beautiful village, but it could – oh!’ Her eye snagged on a smart logo, pale purple writing on a slate-grey background. ‘Oh,’ she said again, and came to a halt.
Ahead of her, next to a vendor selling Jacuzzis, was a sign that read The Crystal Waters Spa Hotel. Beyond it were three large pods made out of glass and wood, with cushioned benches running round the inside and circular tables in the middle, arranged with place settings for a beautiful alfresco dinner. She had seen something similar in her mum’s John Lewis catalogue. A few thousand pounds on a mini conservatory that you could place anywhere in your garden. She hadn’t noticed any at Crystal Waters, but she could see how they would fit perfectly with the surroundings.
‘You OK?’ Oliver asked.
‘Yes, fine.’ A man and woman were standing in front of the pods, wearing navy suits and crisp white shirts. She didn’t recognize either of them. After her initial surprise, her next emotion was disappointment.
‘Should we be heading back?’ Oliver pressed, touching her lightly on the arm.
‘Of course. Sorry, it’s just that Crystal Waters is in Porthgolow.’ She smiled at Oliver in an attempt to cover her strange reaction.
She was about to turn away when Daniel appeared, shaking hands with the dark-suited man and woman. He was dressed casually, in a grey T-shirt, jeans and a battered leather jacket. Charlie had time to notice this before Marmite, perhaps encouraged by the familiar face, launched himself at the closest pod and the beautifully laid-out table within. Charlie froze, unable to think or move as her dog, his extendable lead whirring, set gleefully about his task, taking a matter of seconds to demolish the luxurious, and no doubt expensive, display.