Free The Beach Cafe by Lucy Diamond

you’ve thought it through properly.’
    Well, if I was being reckless, it felt surprisingly good. Dangerously good in fact. To hell with boring reality. There I was in the car, with my overnight bag packed, the keys to the café and the knowledge that I never had to answer the phone with ‘Crossland Financial Solutions, Evie speaking, how-may-I-help-you?’ for the rest of my days. I’d never have to be in the same room as Colin Slime-bucket Davis again. And every time I imagined Jacqueline’s look of horror when she discovered that massive wedge of filing I’d left her, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. It was Friday, the sun was beaming down, I was singing along to the radio at the top of my voice and, best of all, I was heading for the beach. My beach. Yes, all in all, I was in way too cheerful a mood to be having any sort of crisis. I felt as if I’d just unlocked a cage and set myself free. Now I was stretching my wings, taking flight, and—
    BEEEEEP!
    A white van was blowing its horn and flashing its lights behind me and I realized I’d been so absorbed in my daydream that I’d slowed to fifty miles an hour. I had to concentrate, I was nearly at Exeter and always managed to get in the wrong lane when the motorway ended.
    ‘What are you going to do down there anyway?’ Matthew had asked when I’d begun packing up a case of clothes and toiletries.
    ‘Well, you know,’ I’d replied airily. ‘Make sure everything’s running smoothly and the staff are managing okay. Help out in the kitchen, or—’
    ‘You? In the kitchen?’ Matthew had snorted. ‘Anyway, I thought you were going to sell the café?’ He sounded suspicious, as if I was planning to trick him in some way. ‘I thought you’d decided?’
    No, Matthew , I said inside my head. You’d decided that. But I hadn’t.
    I’d shrugged, tucking in a few paperbacks I’d been meaning to read for ages. ‘I just need to be there at the moment, that’s all,’ I replied. I knew this would sound irritatingly flaky to Matthew, who had no truck with whims and fancies, so I added, ‘Look, humour me, will you? It’s something I want to do. I’ll be home again in a few days, and life will go back to normal.’
    His lower lip seemed to be sticking out. Surely he wasn’t going to sulk about this?
    ‘I’ll bring you back a Cornish pasty, how about that?’ I said, trying to lighten the mood.
    He sneered. He was sulking. ‘I don’t even like them,’ he muttered, huffing out of the room.
    I’d felt a tiny bit bad, but not nearly bad enough to stop me going. And why the hell shouldn’t I go? This was a big deal, this inheritance. Way more important than a crappy temping job with the Human Slug. And yes, okay, so I didn’t have a game plan as to what I’d actually do when I got to Cornwall, but that didn’t matter. I just needed to make sure everything was ticking along as it should be. I could make up the rest when I got there.
    I sighed, thinking back to when Matthew and I had said goodbye that morning. It hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms. Neither of us had slept well the night before. I’d tried to snuggle up to him, hoping to make friends again, but he’d turned his back on me. Sex wasn’t on the cards then – not that that was any big surprise. It had been weeks. I was beginning to think Matthew had gone off me lately. There were only so many times a bloke told you he was ‘too tired’ before a girl started taking it personally.
    Over breakfast we’d both been quiet – me, because I felt vacant and spacey from tossing and turning all night, and him because . . . well, I got the feeling he was still in a tremendous strop with me. He grunted when I asked if he wanted a coffee and barely looked in my direction. Was he trying to guilt-trip me into changing my mind and not going? I wondered. If so, it wasn’t working.
    ‘What’s up?’ I asked after a while. ‘Is this about me heading off to Cornwall? Because I do need to