Christmas at the Cornish Café: A heart-warming holiday read for fans of Poldark. Phillipa Ashley

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      Coffee machine: on.

      Air conditioning: on.

      Ovens: on.

      Sunshine: off, for now, but judging by the pale-blue patches peeking through the clouds, it’s clearing up, which is just what we want to tempt customers out onto the coastal path and into the cafe for our opening day.

      I repeat the words again, because I don’t believe them: It’s opening day at Demelza’s. Opening day at my cafe. Six months ago I had no job, no home and no prospects and now look at me: manager of my own tiny empire.

      Nina shouts from the side door. ‘Demi! Demi! Come quick. Mitch has done something terrible!’

      I run after her to the rear of the cafe, picturing Mitch with his teeth sunk into a toddler. The white fishmonger’s van is parked outside. Harry, the driver, is cursing and shaking his fist at Mitch, who’s chomping his way through a pack of fish from a safe distance.

      ‘There goes your smoked mackerel order,’ Harry says. ‘Only turned away for a minute to get the shellfish out of the van for Nina and the crafty hound had the polystyrene off the packs and was wolfing them down.’

      Plastic wrappers and polystyrene snow litter the grass. Mitch licks his chops and looks up at us as if to say, ‘You have a problem?’

      ‘I tried to grab them off him but he was too quick for me,’ Nina wails. ‘I’m sorry, Demi. Shall I tell everyone that the Fisherman’s Lunch is off? We’ve got bit of smoked salmon, but that won’t last long.’

      ‘Leave it on until we run out of the salmon, then tell everyone we’ve sold out. I don’t want to take something off the menu on our first day.’

      I glare at Mitch, though, from the way Nina shouted, I’m relieved that his antics are nothing worse. ‘Mitch, you’re in trouble when I get hold of you. You can forget coming anywhere near my bed tonight. Your breath will stink for a week!’

      Harry carries the rest of the order into the back of the cafe. We can’t afford to waste expensive food, but I guess if Mitch guzzling the mackerel is the worst thing that happens on opening day, we’ll be doing OK. With my nostrils closed, I tether Mitch in the shade by the back door with a bowl of water and his rope chew. I’ll ask Robyn to take him when she turns up. I go back inside the cafe with a smile that says I’m cool about ‘little mishaps’ like losing a small fortune’s worth of smoked mackerel.

      The team is buzzing about in the cafe, servery and kitchen, preparing for our first day. My breath catches at the sight that greets me. They all look super smart in their teal-blue Demelza’s Cafe aprons – and Jez the chef, who’s in whites. His charcoal-coloured ponytail dangles from the back of his teal chef’s cap. He’s pushing forty, but still a lean, mean type who lives to surf. He also happens to be a very good chef. We were lucky to get him, but the part-time hours enable him to make the most of the gnarly surfing conditions and quiet beaches during the autumn and winter.

      Nina’s back behind the server, checking the operation of the till for the umpteenth time. I met her when we both worked as waitresses at a ball earlier this year. She’s the same age as me and helps her mum run a kennels and dog rescue centre over the moor from Kilhallon. With all the dog walking and her triathlon training, she’s super fit. Her spiky orange hair reminds me of a pixie.

      Shamia, currently filling the condiment area, is my order taker. She’s wearing a teal-blue headscarf to match her apron. She looks the most confident of anyone, to be honest. She’s a former dinner lady and now a food blogger. She will be lending us a hand on weekdays while her little boy goes to nursery school, and at the weekends when her husband can babysit.

      My official title is Cafe Manager, but I’m also the general dogsbody, greeting people, clearing tables and helping out on the counter. I love the baking and cooking, but I’ve had to leave most of the hot food prep to Jez.

      There’s only one person missing.

      Just as I think Robyn Penwith, Cal’s cousin, has cold feet about helping us, there’s a rap on the glass door of the cafe. My shoulders slump in relief and I unlock the door. She’s in jodhpurs and riding boots.

      ‘Um. Sorry, I’m late. I had to call at Bosinney on my way here and tack up Ruby, then settle her in Kilhallon House stables.’

      ‘It’s fine. You’re here now,’ I say as we exchange a hug. Robyn’s clothes smell faintly of horse, but that’s fine. She keeps her mare at her dad’s house even though she lives with her girlfriend, Andi, now. Andi’s cool apart from the small matter of her sister being Mawgan Cade.

      Cal has placed two advertising boards outside where the path skirts our land to catch walkers coming in both directions – from the far west and from St Trenyan in the east. You can see the cafe building and Kilhallon Farm from miles away too, thanks to the undulating path. Robyn’s been drafted in to hand out flyers and free samples of ginger fairing biscuits on the СКАЧАТЬ