Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun (10 page)

Guvnah jerked her head towards me. ‘You need to provide music for a wider audience. Kate's here for two weeks—hire her. She's a singer. She can wow an audience with anything from Michael Jackson to Adele.'

I sat more upright. ‘Yes, we could have a seventies disco night, a jazz evening, country-music line dancing … I'm pretty flexible.'

‘You'd really do that on your holiday?' he asked.

I beamed.

‘I … I don't know what to say.' Tremain swallowed.

‘You could end one of my nights with a firework display!' OK, perhaps getting a bit carried away.

Tremain shook his head and averted his gaze. ‘No … Mum's got a load from a show she and my dad held here when I worked elsewhere but … but she reckons a display would just be too much to worry about now, what with health and safety experts. We can't afford for anything to go wrong.' He made eye contact again and smiled. ‘All your ideas—Mum and me … we've had thoughts along the same lines but … but I suppose we've lacked the confidence to form concrete plans and didn't really know how to make them a reality. You've both helped me see that we just need to get on with it. It may work—it may not—but at least we are moving forward and trying.'

Tremain and I were still discussing all the options, when he drove me back to the resort. We'd stayed for dinner in the end. Geoff was super-excited as he'd mentioned how much he missed his old catering job and so Tremain suggested he run his hot-dog stall, part-time, at White Rocks in the afternoons.

I squinted into the darkness. ‘White Rocks is so isolated. It's lovely. You can see the stars really clearly without the amber glow of city lights.'

Tremain pulled up outside the big reception building and turned off the ignition. ‘Yep. I wouldn't live anywhere else. When times get tough, I head for the coast. There is nothing like a night-time walk, on the rocks, to clear your mind.'

‘Or to risk your life!' I smiled. ‘Well, guess I'd better get going. Do you want to meet again tomorrow then, to consolidate our ideas, talk things through again?'

Eyes serious, Tremain nodded, mouth slightly down-turned—it was as if a switch had flipped his mood now that we were back at the resort. ‘Great. Thanks again. In fact, let me buy you breakfast at Fish—'

‘At Rocky's Roadhouse?' I interjected.

At least that made him smile. And then … my heart raced. Something odd happen. His face flickered and I felt mine do the same. For a couple of seconds, I leant forward just millimetres, as he did, and the only thought in my head was what it would feel like to have his mouth pressed against mine, his body up close, my hand running over his super-short hair and solid frame. A slamming door interrupted the moment and, ears hot, I backed off, said goodnight and left. An hour later, after explaining the afternoon to Izzy, while we did wore face packs, I headed off to bed.

I lay under the duvet and stared up at Johnny's red heart wind spinner, hanging from the ceiling. My eyes tingled and I reached for my phone. As I had done a hundred times since his fateful car accident, I clicked on his Facebook profile and then ‘message'.

Oh, Johnny. Will I ever find a man to replace you?
I typed. Yet I didn't press send. I didn't send self-indulgent, desperate messages like that any more, even though those words still popped into my head. Although I still secretly flicked through his Facebook photo albums and read his posts.

Sad? Maybe a little, but it made his death just slightly less brutal, to feel that he was still in my life—even though, within days of his funeral, his belongings were picked up—his favourite denim shirt, those silly Minion socks, the sexy boxer shorts … Although I hid his leather jacket and only very occasionally now, I slipped it on and imagined my arms were his, around my waist.

Goodness, I sound totally bonkers. I'm not. It's just been hard, having all this love to give and it not being reciprocated. I inhaled and exhaled, heart feeling lighter than usual as I remembered Tremain's understated excitement at our brainstorming session. And I ignored the little voice in my head asking,
What, you'll never, ever replace Johnny? Really? And who exactly are you trying to convince of that?

CHAPTER 7

After a sleepless night, I opened my eyes. Sunrays streamed through a gap in the curtains. I stared at the ceiling and diverted my gaze to the red wind spinner. It spun fast, which gave the impression that it pulsated. I smiled. Johnny used to thump his chest after we kissed, saying that my mouth must have a direct line to his heart. The spinner moved faster. Odd. It didn't usually move indoors. Then I noticed that my bedroom door was open. I placed my feet on the cool, wooden laminate floor and headed into the lounge. Izzy had opened the outside door and sat on the doorstep. She held a mug and, in her polka dot short PJs, yawned and squinted up at the sky.

‘Another beautiful day,' I said.

She turned around, came in and, hair spiky from sleep, collapsed onto the sofa. ‘The water's warm in the kettle and I wouldn't say no to a slice of toast if you are making some.'

We grinned and, quietly singing ‘Walking On Sunshine', I did as requested. Izzy always took a couple of hours to fully wake up.

‘You not eating?' she said, as I sat down beside her, with just a drink for myself.

‘No, I'm on a diet.'

She raised one eyebrow and I chuckled. As if.

‘If you must know, I have a breakfast meeting with Tremain, to discuss the resort's rebranding,' I said with faux importance.

‘Ah yes. Sounds like you have a lot to pull together. Are Geoff and Guvnah coming across?'

‘Later. Tremain invited them for dinner to meet his mum and finalise any decisions. You should have seen Geoff's face at the prospect of running his snack van again. Although my gran reckons its engine will need an overhaul as he hasn't driven it for months.'

‘What is he going to sell? Hot dogs, burgers?'

I nodded. ‘And Tremain is going to approach the restaurant's chef today about doing a major overhaul on the menu, instead of a tweak. Apparently, Lucas—that's his name—has been resisting removing all of the fancier dishes, but after this last disastrous week he'll have little choice.'

‘Tremain's the boss. He will have to insist.'

‘He would have earlier but said he has been trying to reach a compromise. Says he offered Lucas a good reference if he wanted to look for work elsewhere—
understood that Lucas may not want to downgrade his skills. But apparently the chef has been trying to find a Michelin-starred job elsewhere for a while, with no success due to the recession.' I shrugged. ‘Tremain seems like a fair boss but I guess he's finally decided enough is enough.'

‘They could do with a mini Donuts & Daiquiris! That would really jolly up the place.'

I swallowed the wrong way and, coughing, set my mug on the oak coffee table. I stared at Izzy.

‘What's the matter?' she said.

‘Izzy … say that again.'

Her brow furrowed. ‘They could to with a mini Donuts & Daiquiris.'

‘Genius! You are absolutely right. A corner of that big, airy-fairy restaurant should be turned into a cocktail area for selling your products. If the left-hand side was somehow cornered off, as a temporary fix, you'd have a good portion of the bar. Kids and adults love doughnuts— they're fun, cheap and easy to eat on the go or after a swim in the pool. Those pizza ones you created would go down a treat. Their squishy dough and crisp, grilled savoury topping are to die for.'

‘Well, they are really just cheese and tomato,' said Izzy, trance-like as if absorbing my words. ‘It's all in the marketing, you know.'

‘And come night-time, cocktails brighten up any evening,' I continued. ‘They too have the fun factor, yet
feel like a little holiday indulgence, for a reasonable price, and kids can still come in with their parents for soft drinks. What's more—'

‘Kate, slow down, this is mad—what exactly are you suggesting?'

I clasped my hands together. ‘Isn't it obvious? Why didn't we think of this before? You've been looking for a new challenge and I don't think simply redecorating your business and diversifying the menu is going to do it. Forget two weeks of researching Cornish fare such as ice cream and fudge. The challenge you need, my very bright friend, is to expand the whole business.'

Izzy sat more upright.

‘Set up a chain of Donuts & Daiquiris,' I continued. ‘A small branch here could be an experiment for you - a trial run.'

‘You're crazy!' But Izzy put down her toast, only half eaten, crossed her legs and ran a hand through her hair. ‘Me. Run a chain of café-bars. Employ managers. Or eventually sell franchises …'

‘Why not? Think big!'

‘I'm no Richard Branson. No entrepreneur. I'm just a girl who likes cocktails and doughnuts.'

I moved forward to perch on the edge of the sofa. ‘Izzy, you are the cleverest, most hard-working, inventive person I know. Today is Wednesday. With my help, of course, you've got until Monday to set things up.'

‘Impossible!' she spluttered.

My face ached, I was smiling so much. ‘Nonsense. Guvnah could paint you a sign—you can show her the logo from your phone. Then it would just be a matter of ordering in glasses and alcohol … plus, you have the whole weekend to bake the first batches of doughnuts. I'd go with you to the wholesalers to pick up the ingredients. Obviously the furniture and decor would be a bit makeshift but …'

‘Kate, this is all going too fast,' she said, and laughed. But she stood up. Paced the room. ‘I guess the menus would be easy enough to put together and print out. Plus, I could contact Mum and ask her to pop into work for me and send us aprons and other branded bits, like the paper napkins.' She shook her head. ‘I don't know …'

‘Why? You're excited, no?'

‘Yes, I mean … You're right, this could be just the challenge I've been looking for. If Donuts & Daiquiris was a success here I could sell the idea to another holiday resort.'

‘Exactly! What have you got to lose? You said yourself that you've just got money sitting in the bank, trade has been so good. You haven't got a mortgage, you're single—'

‘Thanks for reminding me of that,' Izzy said and, eyes twinkling, she stopped walking around to lean against a kitchen unit.

‘And you haven't got kids,' I said, ignoring her. ‘This is the perfect time for you to develop your business.' I glanced at my watch. ‘Look, why don't you come with me to breakfast and pitch your idea to Tremain?'

Cue the difference between arty me and logical Izzy …

‘I don't think so! I need at least a day to put together a proper business plan. I must forecast profits, ring a few suppliers, find out what really is possible before Monday, in terms of setting up a mini branch. I would need to use the resort's kitchens to bake …'

‘Mere details,' I muttered, begrudgingly. ‘OK. Then come to the dinner tonight.'

She came over to the sofa, sat down and gave me a tight hug. ‘You are brilliant, if a little bonkers—I haven't felt this pumped up for months.'

I stood up and took a bow. ‘Right. This brainstormer better get ready. Tremain and an all-day breakfast await me.'

‘Brainstormer? A right little super trouper you mean.'

Swaying side to side, we both sang a few lines of our favourite ABBA song.

Izzy looked sideways at me, as I finally made a move to get changed. It had gone half past eight.

‘So, this Tremain … he isn't as bad as we both thought?'

My mouth felt unexpectedly dry and annoyingly, as I didn't know the reason, my cheeks burned. ‘He's
OK. Not much to say, but Guvnah insists he's a decent bloke.' I shrugged. ‘Guess he's kind of interesting. He's like a book that has just the title on the cover, with no picture or blurb, and it takes a while of reading before you get a sense of the story.
The Life and Times of Tremain Maddock: struggling holiday resort manager
.' I shrugged again. ‘Dunno. I just get the feeling there's a lot more to him than he lets on. Not that I'm interested. I'm only helping him because it's fun to work on a project and spend time with my gran.'

Izzy stared at me for a moment, then simply nodded and picked up her cold toast.

That was the great thing about best friends. They knew when not to say the obvious. Ten minutes later, I stood under the shower, steaming water cascading over my head and shoulders. You see, the obvious was that Tremain was the first man I'd spent more than five minutes with for the last ten months. Apart from my Poldark date, Marcus, and author, Trevor. For the first six months, anyone of the opposite sex didn't even register in my vision. Then, slowly, when out with Izzy, I might have noticed a hot guy and on the surface been able to join in with a giggle or appreciative comment. But up until now, no one had remotely caught my attention. Not that I was intrigued by Tremain in
that
way. It was just another case of Kate being curious.

And curious I was, as I arrived at Fisherman's Delight (soon to be Rocky's Roadhouse) and saw him waiting, by
a table. He glanced at his watch and pursed his lips. To the right sat a couple wearing smart tailored clothes in, ooh, their mid-fifties. His face was hidden behind a broadsheet newspaper. Her made-up face looked positively miserable as she stared at the kitchen hatch. A perfect ten, with dyed brown hair and manicured nails, the only giveaway to her age were the lines on her face. A smoker perhaps.

‘Have you been waiting long?' I asked as we sat down—as I tried to ignore how his round-necked T-shirt clung to the outline of subtly developed pecs.

‘No. Only ten minutes.' He gave a wry smile. ‘I drive Mum mad, always turning up to appointments early. But punctuality has been drilled into me since …' He swallowed and sat down.