Paul called, ‘don’t talk rubbish!’
Charlie was taken aback. She had believed Jonah was a fountain of knowledge, gathering facts like pebbles. But he believed in mermaids?
‘It’s true,’ Jonah protested.
‘According to who?’ his dad asked, steering the RIB towards the jetty.
Jonah dropped his head and shrugged. ‘She’s strange.’
‘Eccentric, maybe,’ Paul called. ‘But that doesn’t mean you have the right to make up stories about her.’
‘Flora liked it!’
‘Flora is six and obsessed with The Little Mermaid.’ Paul laughed, giving Juliette and Charlie a good-humoured eye-roll.
‘Well,’ Jonah said, folding his arms. ‘I’ve seen her, early in the morning and in the evening, standing on the edge of the cliff and signalling with some sort of light. I think she’s communicating with her mermaid friends who are all still underwater. That’s why she doesn’t talk to anyone in the village.’
‘Of course she does.’ Paul lined the boat up against the jetty and waited for his son to jump onto the stone so he could throw him the rope. ‘She talks to Myrtle, and she pops into The Seven Stars occasionally for a cheeky half. She’s a normal, probably very lovely woman, who likes to keep to herself. Anyway,’ he added, jumping onto the jetty and helping first Juliette, then Charlie, onto dry land. ‘When have you been up early enough to see her winking her mermaid light at dawn?’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Dad,’ Jonah said, and stalked off towards the road.
Paul took his baseball cap off and ran his hand through salt-and-pepper hair. ‘Don’t know what to make of that one sometimes,’ he admitted. ‘Now, did you enjoy your tour? Anytime you want a repeat trip, just let me know. As you can see, the boats aren’t exactly heaving.’
As they walked home, Juliette gave Charlie a pointed look. ‘Don’t say anything.’
‘I wasn’t going to say a word.’ Charlie gave her friend a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, and felt her insides knot with excitement. Soon, her café bus would be ready, and she had decided – almost the first day she had arrived, if she was honest – that she was going to use it to bring life back to Porthgolow. She only hoped that the village residents – so far a mix of friendly and fearsome – would be on board with her idea.
Charlie breathed in the paint fumes and decided it was the most glorious smell in the world, because that smell was responsible for the miracle that was Gertie, gleaming like a precious jewel against the grey, oil-stained interior of the garage. So far it was just the base coat, but the vintage bus had gone from cream with forest-green accents to shiny, original, pillar-box red, and the difference it made was startling. She peered in through a window, smiling as she saw the new seating arrangement.
‘Uh uh,’ Pete said. ‘I’m not done yet. When I’m done, you can look. Wouldn’t want to ruin the grand unveiling, would you?’
‘What if I hate it, though?’ she asked.
Pete let out an incredulous laugh. ‘You won’t hate it.’
She grinned at him. She knew – from the peek she’d just allowed herself – that he was right.
‘And what’s all this, on the front?’ She walked round to where a winch had been attached, discreet but still noticeable, to the bumper.
‘Comes as standard on all my designs,’ Pete said, glancing at some paperwork on his chaotic desk. ‘Cornwall is a sandy place, and even if you’re not going to drive it onto the beach to sleep on it, it’s a safety precaution.’
‘I’ve actually got permission from the council to park it on the beach in Porthgolow. There’s a long stretch above the tideline, and the sand is almost as hard as tarmac. Paul, one of the locals, who takes boats out, says it’s perfectly safe for Gertie to live there.’
‘But sand is unpredictable,’ Pete said, waggling his pen. ‘Many folks before you have found it invaluable, and it’ll give you an extra sense of security. It’s included, regardless. Top-notch design, top-notch health and safety.’
‘Right then.’ Charlie was oddly touched at Pete’s concern for her and her bus, and certainly wasn’t going to complain about having such a good piece of kit included. She had a sudden flashback to the Fair on the Field and shuddered. He was right: a winch could well come in handy.
‘You’re one hundred per cent sure about the name and colours?’ Pete asked. ‘Because a repaint will add a fair amount to the bill.’
She watched him ferreting through bits of paper, a calculator and a spanner sticking out of the pockets of his jeans.
‘I’m certain,’ she said. ‘Colours and name. Jules and I had a brainstorming session – even Lawrence got in on it. And now I’ve seen the gorgeous red paint on Gertie, I know it’s perfect.’
‘Right, then. Sorted. See you again at the end of the week?’
‘You’ll be done by then?’ Charlie bit her lip, not daring to hope.
‘Scheduled to finish a week today, as we agreed. But these progress checks are good for both of us. Not to mention seeing this guy.’ He crouched, and Marmite scampered forward on his lead. Pete laughed as he was covered in puppy licks.
‘It’s looking brilliant, Pete,’ she said when he and Marmite had finished their love-in.
‘You wait until it’s finished. It’ll blow your mind.’
Once they’d said goodbye, Charlie stepped outside into a brisk, sunny day. Pete’s garage was close to the sea, which gleamed invitingly in shades of cobalt and aquamarine, the waves nothing more than ruffles on the surface. Seagulls cawed overhead and there was a sweetness to the air that spoke of spring and sunshine and the bliss of the summer to come. And this summer was going to include one very special addition, launching on the May bank holiday weekend. She just hoped that Cornwall was ready for it.
Charlie spent Friday morning turning Juliette and Lawrence’s kitchen into a cake factory. She had been working hard on tempting treats to delight her new customers, although the standard Cornish cream tea – with jam before cream, of course – would be the foundation of her menu. Today she was trying out scones with chocolate chips, a savoury version with red onion and cheddar, and a lightly spiced mix that she would serve with a cardamom and lime cream. But the kitchens in both The Café on the Hill and her parents’ house were at least three times the size of Juliette’s, and within an hour she had various bowls of mix and trays of cooling scones covering every surface.
Marmite, Ray and Benton had been shut in the front room with Juliette, who was working on the marketing for a new restaurant in Truro. Her dog had expressed his disappointment at not being allowed to
