at least some of the locals embracing her flash of inspiration and excited about the future of their village. That, clearly, had been a pipe dream.
As everyone filtered off the bus, Daniel lingered. ‘If you need any help organizing it, let me know.’
Charlie folded her arms. ‘And will that help be actual help, or will it be meddling?’
‘I do think it’s a good idea,’ he said, leaning on the doorframe. ‘But you have to consider how it’s going to change the village. Not everyone is a fan of change.’
‘You don’t need to mansplain progress to me, Daniel, I get it.’ She hadn’t meant to snap, but he was as relaxed as ever and, on this occasion, probably right – which made it worse. She had been daydreaming about being the saviour of the village with her brilliant festival plan, but it was only logical that some people were sceptical. Daniel had simply been trying to bring her back down to earth.
He grinned and leant towards her. For a moment, Charlie thought he was going to kiss her cheek, but he reached over the back of the seat and pinched one of the few remaining lemon tarts. ‘These are great, by the way,’ he said, hopping down onto the sand. ‘I can see them being part of the taster menu at Crystal Waters. We should discuss that sometime. Catch you later, Charlie.’ He disappeared in a waft of aftershave and confidence.
Charlie turned to find Juliette watching her, a disapproving look on her face.
Within half an hour of being at the St Agnes Head Festival, Charlie was rushed off her feet. It was her first large event since the disastrous Fair on the Field, but any fears she’d had about sinking were allayed when a smart young woman with a clipboard greeted her on arrival and directed her to the 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
