Page 47 of Starting Over in Starshine Cove
It all still feels strange and surreal to me, but the lips don’t lie – and he wasn’t playing around last night. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him. I look at myself in the mirror, and see the slightly flushed complexion of a woman who has well and truly rediscovered her mojo. I give myself a wink, because why not?
Again, I could over-think this. I could pick at the scab, remind myself that he is London glamour, that our lives run on very different tracks, that this can’t possibly work in the real world. I could remind myself of how much I have to lose – of how it would feel to be rejected, or how sad and lonely I am going to be when he goes home. I could focus on the fact that this isn’t a long-term thing, that this isn’t even remotely feasible as a lasting relationship.
I could focus on any of those things, and maybe I should. Maybe that would be sensible. But this morning does not feel like the right time to be sensible. This morning feels sweet and sexy and hopeful and full of potential. It feels like rainbows all over. I can’t remember the last time I woke up feeling any of those things, and I am not going to burst this bubble before I really need to. I shall ride this wave of optimism for as long as I can.
I emerge onto the landing to be confronted by Sophie coming out of the bathroom. She looks pale and exhausted, her hair in tangles and dark circles beneath her eyes. There was definitely a bit too much alcohol consumed last night.
“Mum, why are yousinging?” she says, sounding repulsed.
“Was I?”
“Yes! You were singingWalking On Sunshinereally loudly! That’s just not a reasonable thing to do this early!”
“Oh. Sorry. Well, I do love that song… how are you?”
“Tired. See you later.”
She walks back into her room and slams the door behind her. Ah, what a sweetie she is! I don’t care. Nothing’s going to bring me down today. Besides, she has a point. It is unsociably early to be singing out loud.
I hum it quietly to myself instead, and head downstairs. Coffee, a slice of toast and home-made rhubarb jam, and I’m ready to go. I’ll have the doors to the Cove Café open by eight, which is right on time – yet another reason to be joyful. I am so winning at life.
I let myself in and pause for a moment, enjoying the familiar scents of the place – the lingering remnants of the blackberry and apple crumble from yesterday, the lavender and sea salt from the wax melts, the hint of floral fragrance from the vase of tulips and hyacinths on the counter.
I walk straight through the building to the back, where the vast French doors lead out onto the terrace. I gaze down at the beach, and smile at what I see. A huge arcing rainbow is anchored on one side by the red-gold cliffs that line the cove, then stretches in a gloriously bright semi-circle right out over the waves. It looks like it’s magically hovering over the sea, its brilliant colours reflecting up from the shimmering water.
It doesn’t happen often, seeing a rainbow out on the bay, but I had a feeling that today it just might. I allow myself a few seconds of peace and quiet, simply watching what I know is a scientific phenomenon but feels like so much more.
I tear myself away from the view, and get busy. I chop lettuce and cucumber and tomatoes, plate up slices of carrot cake, prep the coffee machine, and bring in supplies from the bigger fridges in the back. Little Betty calls in with a selection of freshly baked croissants and apple custard pastries, along with a spectacular Black Forest gateau that I’m almost tempted to sample there and then. It’s a good cake day, for sure.
My first actual customer is Lucy, Rose’s mum, who is on her way to work. She’s only lived here permanently since September, and works with Dr Wong, the local vet. I immediately get her coffee to go – black, no sugar, pretty easy to remember – and she orders two almond croissants to take away. Dr Wong has a very sweet tooth, to the point that it seems like a miracle she has any teeth at all. I chat as I put everything together for her, telling her she really should go out back in case the rainbow is still there. Then I tell her how much I love rainbows, possibly in too much detail.
“Are you all right?” Lucy asks, staring at me suspiciously. Her lovely red hair is swept up into a bun, and the white lab coat she’s wearing over her clothes makes her look like she’s a sexy super-villain in a Bond movie.
“I’m great! Has anyone ever told you that in your work outfit, you look like a sexy super-villain in a Bond movie, by the way?”
“Funnily enough, no. Especially when I’m trying not to get bitten by an angry Alsatian when I stick a thermometer up its bum.”
“Mmmm, yes, I can see that isn’t the sexiest of scenarios… but still. I bet you look stylish doing it.”
She narrows her eyes and replies: “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a bit… odd this morning. Even more odd than normal. You look tired but you sound like a toddler after a full bag of Haribo.”
“I told you, I’m great! All is well in the world! Have a good day, Lucy!”
She doesn’t look convinced, and I wonder if she’ll be calling in to see Ella on the way to the vet surgery. I can just imagine the conversation, as the two of them discuss whether me seeming especially perky first thing in the morning might be a cause for concern. These science types are always looking for logicalexplanations for things – I bet they don’t enjoy rainbows half as much as I do!
I serve a few other regulars, mainly people who are calling in before their commute or want to begin their working-from-home day with a treat. It’s always pretty quiet at this time of the morning, and I mainly serve up coffees and simple snacks like the pastries and toast to take away. Sometimes I get parents in early doors as well – the ones with little kids who think the most fun thing in the whole wide world is to wake up and demand cheerful activity at the crack of dawn. I remember those days myself, and always make sure their coffee stays topped up while their brain tries to catch up with their body.
I don’t get any bedraggled mums and dads this morning, though, and the first rush-hour is over by nine. It has consisted of five customers, all of whom arrived at different times. Not exactly stressful, or indeed much of a rush. I know I’ll get a fresh wave in at about ten, so I do what I normally do and use the quiet time to get a head start on lunch prep.
I do exactly the same thing pretty much every day. It is a tried and tested routine that I could probably perform in my sleep. Today, though, as I make sandwiches and pasta salad and put the jacket spuds in the machine for later, I find that everything feels a little bit more fun. Even the things that go wrong can’t bring me down.
I laugh in the face of the exploding mayonnaise bottle. I pour scorn over the smoked salmon that slithers out of my hands. I mock the macarons that crumble as I try to arrange them in colourful pairs. None of it has a chance of affecting my mood today, because I am walking on sunshine. In fact I’m walking on sunshine with a rainbow over my head.
I even maintain my good cheer when Sam turns up for work half an hour late. I had kind of expected it, given the previous night’s events, and luckily we’re not too swamped by the timehe staggers in looking slightly the worse for wear by his usual standards. His usual standards are very high, though, so that’s okay.
“I’m so sorry, Connie!” he says when he arrives, whipping on his Cove Café apron and immediately starting to stack the dishwasher. “I’d try and come up with an elaborate excuse, but I don’t think there’s much point as you know exactly where I was last night. I can only apologise and blame the callousness of youth. Plus some exceptionally strong scrumpy. Did the girls make it home okay?”
“They did, and don’t worry, Sam – I’ll let you off. Can you clear some tables if I finish this?”
