Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun (3 page)

Clothes feeling sticky and feet swollen, I yawned. Nothing beat waking up to summer blue skies but a warm café-bar wasn't the best place to work when temperatures tipped into the mid-twenties Celsius. Not that industrious wasps seemed to agree, having spent the afternoon mounting a well-thought-out campaign against customers and their sweet guilty pleasures. I kicked off my shoes and stared at the screen. Spiteful Saffron. Wedding. Plus-one. This was an emergency situation. I had four weeks to find a partner who looked exactly like a brooding mine owner. So that meant emergency chocolate, right? With an evening ahead of me, registering with as many dating sites as possible, cooking wouldn't feature on the agenda. Not that it often did, what with me living above the Egg and Whistle, a cheap and cheerful café. Izzy despaired and occasionally forced me to eat an apple during my tea break. I know. How paradoxical—her running a fast-food diner yet obsessing with fresh foods and vitamin C.

Having said that, she prided herself on baking with the freshest, best quality ingredients. And stewed fruit often bubbled away in the kitchen, to make fillings, plus her savoury doughnuts often required chopped veg. I slipped a hand under one of the faded blue cushions and pulled out a huge bar of fruit and nut chocolate. I stashed it there, kidding myself it was hidden and not offering temptation.

Mouth watering, I slipped my fingers along the wrapper. The rectangle looked misshapen, due to melting in the summer heat—not a problem us English chocolate-lovers often suffered from. I went to tug it open when the doorbell rang. At half past eight? Who could that be? Perhaps some local incarnation of Poldark, complete with eighteenth-century tricorn hat, frock coat and roguish smile, offering to escort me to Saffron's Big Day. I slipped the chocolate back under the cushion and headed to the window, stuck my head out into the muggy evening air and stared down at the pavement.

‘Who's there?'

‘The most considerate boss you'll ever have the honour of meeting,' called a voice.

‘Izzy,' I said in a faux bored voice. ‘What do you want? Isn't it enough that you listen to my erudite conversation all day, every day?'

She stepped backwards, into view, and we grinned at each other, although my chest squeezed. I'd avoided her after Saffron's phone call, not wanting to answer embarrassing questions about my fictional boyfriend, Ross. I headed over to the front door and pressed the button to let her in. Eventually, footsteps sounded in the hallway and I opened the door.

Izzy walked in, carrying a large plastic bag and humming, headed straight for the kitchen. With her yellow shorts and strawberry-red T-shirt, she reminded me of a garnished Pina Colada cocktail.

‘Make yourself at home,' I said and she caught my eye. We chuckled and I shut the front door.

‘Thanks for working that double shift,' she said. ‘Figured I owed you a decent dinner as it was so busy. When I left, a group of eighteen-year-olds came in … or at least said they were. I prompted James to check their ID and, as a result, most had to order mocktails instead. So I think he's having a quiet night.'

‘I'm surprised you didn't stay to help your newest employee,' I said, airily.

Izzy swung around.

‘Goodness, how flushed your cheeks look, must be the heat.' I grinned. ‘Or the thought of how his muscles show through a tight T-shirt. That man must live in the gym.'

‘You know me, Kate—ever the professional. I would never have a relationship with someone I'd hired …' She cleared her throat. ‘So if I have to fire him for not thinking to check those girls' IDs on his own, well, so be it.'

‘Izzy!'

Her shoulders moved up and down as she laughed. ‘Only joking. Sure, he's cute, but a bit young for me.' With a flourish she pulled out a bottle of Prosecco.

‘Ooh. What are we celebrating?'

She shrugged. ‘There's no law against fizz on a week night, is there—especially if you've had a challenging day?'

My throat went tight.

‘I saw your face after that phone call,' she said softly. ‘No need to explain if you don't want to. I just thought your evening might benefit from a bit of sparkle. But Auntie Izzy is here if you need a chat.'

My mouth quirked up—‘Auntie' indeed. Izzy was only a couple of years older than me, although to be fair, she fussed over all her employees, apart from the ones she sacked for turning up late or helping themselves to too many doughnuts. Gooey as her heart was, like unfried batter, kind Izzy was no pushover.

My throat tightened further as, for a few seconds, I relived the teenage feelings of inadequacy, embarrassment, self-hatred—feelings belonging to Katie Golightly, the round peg in a square hole girl.

‘Oh, Izzy. What have I got myself into?' I slumped onto the sofa.

She came over and sat next to me. ‘So, when were you going to introduce me to this Ross?' Her eyes twinkled.

Now my cheeks burned.

‘Some friend has asked you to their wedding and you decided to make up that you had a plus-one?'

Avoiding her eye, I nodded.

‘Kate! It's not like you to lie! And there are thousands of people every year who go to events on their own. You'd be viewed as a confident, strong woman.'

‘Or as a wallflower wimp,' I said. Izzy already knew bits—about the teasing; me not fitting in with the
popular crowd. However I'd never really talked about what exactly had happened between me and Saffron and how she'd ditched me as soon as we left primary school. How we'd once been friends but then, for no apparent reason … I cleared my throat and again tapped on my laptop. ‘Sorry for going on,' I mumbled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘I know I should be over the whole high school thing by now.'

‘I don't think people ever get over that teenage stuff, Kate. It's fifteen years ago for me and I still remember the knots in the pit of my stomach when the older girls used to corner me in the toilets. I've always loved cooking and used to hang out in the food technology department at lunchtime and read up on new recipes with my favourite teacher. I didn't smoke, drink or snog … guess I was an easy target.' She shrugged. ‘But those experiences don't need to define our whole life, right?'

I nodded.

‘So, why don't you just forget this whole Poldark thing? Tell Saffron you and Ross split up. Or, even better, don't go to the wedding at all. She's not even a friend. You've nothing to prove to anyone and you don't owe her a single thing.' Izzy got up, headed over to the tiny, open-plan kitchenette and, seconds later, a cork popped. She picked up two clean glass tumblers from the side of the sink and came back. Izzy sat down and our glasses clinked. As tiny Prosecco bubbles tickled my tongue, heat spread through my chest. I put down the glass.

‘But why did she invite me? I'm curious. And If I say Ross and I broke up it will seem suspicious. No …' I sat upright. ‘My original plan remains. I need to find a Poldark lookalike and I'm hoping an online dating site can help.' I sighed. ‘If only Johnny were here.'

‘But he's not, Kate. And I really hope you are trying to stop messaging him,' she said gently. ‘You know he won't respond.'

My ears felt hot and I swallowed, suddenly experiencing the biggest urge to do exactly what she'd advised against. Apart from Guvnah, Izzy was the only person who knew I'd obsessed with my late boyfriend's social media platforms for the first few months after he'd gone. Now, the need to check out his profiles was less overwhelming, less compulsive, and yet proved to be a hard habit to break.

‘But if you are adamant that this pretend plus-one plan is the way to go, I'm here for you,' she said more brightly, ‘and I'll do whatever I can to help—starting with making us something to eat. I brought chicken and stir-fry veg. It won't take me long.'

While ingredients sizzled in the kitchenette, I dived, broad mind first, into a search engine, looking for appropriate dating sites to join. Wow. What an array. I found one for dog owners, another for ramblers, several for naturists and even for grisly fans of
The Walking Dead
. I couldn't help glancing at the profiles
of people who'd joined that one. Most had made up their faces with plastic eaten-away skin and trickles of blood or held a crossbow or gun. Images flooded my mind regarding the perils of zombie sex and loose body parts. Ew.

But wait a minute. I moved forward and perched on the edge of the sofa. Perhaps there were dating sites specifically for fans of other shows like … Quickly I typed in ‘
Poldark
dating'. I scrolled down website links offering articles about the TV programme, its stars and Cornwall and was about to give up on page three when … ooh:
Perfect Poldark Pairs—find your perfect brooding hero or feisty heroine. No joining fee. Could your very own Ross, Demelza or Elizabeth just be one mouse-click away?

‘You won't believe what I've just found,' I said and took another sip of Prosecco.

Izzy stopped chopping and headed over, a tea towel between her hands. She sat down and read the screen. ‘Really? I mean,
really
? Can't people tell the difference between fiction and reality any more? It's fine having a celebrity crush but taking it this far … ?'

I snorted. ‘So you wouldn't be interested in joining a site that promised to find your very own Jack Black?' Nothing attracted Izzy more than a man who could make her laugh—apart from a Disney prince.

Izzy giggled. ‘Hands up. You got me there.' She leant forward and, not for the first time, I admired the length
of her legs. But then at a curvy five foot two, most people's limbs outstretched mine and certainly Izzy's as she was a willowy five foot nine. ‘So, who is this Demelza?' she said.

‘A feisty redheaded miner's daughter who ends up marrying Ross Poldark. Although his first love is delicate, fragile, posh Elizabeth. It's a bit of a love triangle …'

Izzy scrolled down the page. ‘Hmm. OK, so … what about him?'

I gazed at the picture of a man in his, ooh, thirties, with ruffled black hair and half-shaven cheeks. My eyes narrowed. ‘Nah. Read that. He reckons a date would enjoy a tour of the local mines near his house. That's making the whole Cornish dream a little too real. A romantic man, that's what I'll need to impress …'

Silence fell as I kept scrolling the page and we analysed profile after profile. Some photos were people in fancy dress, complete with tricorns for Ross, or red wigs for Demelza. Others were understated and belonged to people who just liked historical reading, as opposed to the hot stars of the novel's TV adaption.

‘Ooh. This guy would fit the bill,' I murmured. ‘He lives about an hour away. We could meet up halfway.'

‘Hmm. Nice enough,' replied Izzy, as we studied the photo of a man nearer to my age, with raven hair, dark eyes and wearing a white shirt just unbuttoned enough to reveal manly chest hair. ‘I mean …' Izzy stared at the floor. ‘Who knows, you might feel ready to …'

She met my gaze as I raised one eyebrow. Again I noticed the glint of the red wind spinner in the corner of the room. I shook my head. No words necessary. Izzy didn't push her point and went back to the screen.

‘Marcus,' I said. ‘That's a sexy name. He likes candlelit dinners, romantic seaside strolls and horse-riding.' I bit the corner of my bottom lip. ‘He sounds suitable. Shall I join the site and message him?'

‘You're actually going to do this?'

I wiped my forehead and perspiration dampened my hand. ‘Yes. Although I feel a bit bad … you know, going on a date when I have no intention of starting a new relationship. But I reckon most people are just on these sites for a bit of fun. I'll pay for the meal. At least, then, they won't have spent money unnecessarily.'

In full auntie mode, Izzy pushed me out of the way and clicked on the site's pages. ‘It looks well run,' she said, a few minutes later. ‘Plus they give sensible advice like not giving away too much personal information online and meeting in a public place.'

I slid the laptop back in my direction. ‘Izzy. Please. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.'

She grinned. ‘I know. Don't forget, I witnessed you throw out that troublemakers the other day. Good job.'

I grinned back. I was a fearsome proposition at a certain time of the month and when a couple of teenage lads started flicking bits of doughnut around the diner, I wasted no time in getting them to pay the bill and
leave—although granted, dangling their mobile phones over a large jug of Long Island Tea might have been overzealous.

‘But why not look at some other profiles first?' She shrugged.

‘Time isn't on my side! I've got precisely four weeks to not only meet a bed-haired, sexy-eyed guy with looks as rugged at Cornish scenery, but then convince him to accompany me to a wedding under the name of Ross.' I covered my face with my hands. ‘Ludicrous, isn't it? Listen to me. Perhaps I should give up before I start.' I parted my fingers slightly to see Izzy's face.

She took my hands away and stared for a moment. ‘Is it really important to you to impress this woman?'

I swallowed, wishing it wasn't. ‘Yes.'

‘Then go for it, even though you are super-impressive just the way you are. After dinner, I'll help select other suitable men to contact.'

My hands fell away and I gave her the biggest of hugs.

‘Let me breathe,' she squeaked eventually and, as she leant back, I grinned.

Whilst Izzy finished off the stir-fry, I tapped a message to Marcus, having carefully selected my profile picture. Tempting as it was to use one of my airbrushed, Instagram snaps, I chose an un-Photoshopped head shot of me after a gig where I'd sung fifties and sixites music. I wore one of my smarter black bop dresses, with a slim belt around the waist, and updo hair
à la
Audrey Hepburn.