Free The Beach Cafe by Lucy Diamond Page B

hell. I felt like I’d wandered into a Wild West saloon all of a sudden.
    ‘I’m surprised you can show your face around here,’ the blonde woman tutted, looking down her sharp little nose at me. ‘What a nerve!’ She turned her back pointedly and addressed Betty. ‘Twenty Lambert & Butler for me, love.’
    I gaped, completely confused. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said, feeling hot all over. ‘But you’ve got it wrong, whatever it is. I’ve just come down here to—’
    ‘Oh, you don’t need to explain,’ Betty interrupted, without deigning to look at me. She handed over a pack of cigarettes to the blonde woman and took the money. ‘We’ve heard all about it. And let me tell you, Jo would have been ashamed of you. Downright ashamed.’
    I stood there, still utterly in the dark. ‘Look, there’s obviously been some misunderstanding,’ I tried wretchedly, but Betty wouldn’t let me finish.
    ‘Save your breath,’ she snapped, ‘but understand this: you’re not welcome in my shop. So you can just put those things back on the shelf right now, because I won’t be serving you.’ Then she counted the change into the blonde woman’s hand. ‘Eighty, ninety, five pounds. Thanks, Marilyn.’
    The blonde woman left the shop and I went up to the counter. ‘Please can you just tell me what this is all about?’ I asked, hoping to appeal to any shred of decency that the old bag might possess.
    She merely jerked a thumb at the door. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? Out! Hoppit!’
    I gave up. I left my basket of groceries on the floor – she could dream on, if she expected me to meekly put them all back – and walked out, feeling bruised by the encounter and still baffled. What the hell was all that about?
    ‘Okay,’ I muttered to myself as I got back into the car. ‘So . . . I’ll just go straight to the café then.’
    It was mid-afternoon and the village seemed quiet. I drove past an old man leaning heavily on a stick and a young guy walking a collie, but there was barely another soul around. The houses and pavement glistened wet from the rain as the church clock tolled the half-hour, and I felt self-conscious, imagining curtains twitching as my car went by, and the whispers of contempt: There she goes. Her. What’s she doing here anyway? Doesn’t she know she’s not welcome?
    I tried to snap out of my paranoia. I was being silly. Betty had got the wrong end of the stick about something, but that didn’t mean the rest of the villagers would have it in for me. Rude old cow. I’d steer well clear of her shop while I was down here, that was for sure. I imagined she packed a hefty right hook.
    I rounded the corner, almost through the village now. There was the sea in front of me, wild and choppy-looking, with white crests on the cold, grey waves as they crashed into the bay. The seagulls were keening above the water, their harsh cries like spiteful laughter as they dipped and swooped. I unrolled my window, suddenly needing to breathe in the fresh sea air after the disconcerting experience in Betty’s shop, and the cold wind burst inside, wrapping itself around my burning face.
    And then, at last, there was the café – thank goodness. It sat there like a place of refuge; I couldn’t remember ever feeling so glad to see it, so relieved to be back. I was somewhat apprehensive too, though, as I pulled into the small car park tucked behind it. I still hadn’t quite got my head around all of this – me owning the café, and Jo no longer being there. And, like Betty, the staff hadn’t exactly been pleased to see me the last time I’d been in. In fact, Carl and the red-haired girl, Saffron, had been pretty rude. But I was sure all that would change once we got to know each other, and we could work together to keep the café busy and successful like one big happy f –
    Oh. I had just noticed how much litter there was strewn around the car park. The wind sent a couple of