Christmas at the Cornish Café. Phillipa Ashley

       Chapter Thirty

      

       Chapter Thirty-One

      

       Chapter Thirty-Two

      

       Chapter Thirty-Three

      

       Chapter Thirty-Four

      

       Chapter Thirty-Five

      

       Chapter Thirty-Six

      

       Chapter Thirty-Seven

      

       Chapter Thirty-Eight

      

       Chapter Thirty-Nine

      

       Chapter Forty

      

       Chapter Forty-One

      

       Chapter Forty-Two

      

       Epilogue

      

       Recipes

      

       Acknowledgements

      

       About the Author

      

       By the Same Author

      

       About the Publisher

       PROLOGUE

      Tuesday October 1^st

      Demi

      ‘Good morning, friends! This is Greg Stennack, your favourite local DJ on your favourite local station, Radio St Trenyan. I’ll be bringing you all the latest tunes and news from our great little corner of Cornwall and cheering you up on this wet and windy October the first. Hey, did I just say it was October? Seems like only yesterday that we were slapping on the suncream and stretching out the beach towels to catch some rays. Oh, wait – that was only yesterday! Hey, never mind, people. Christmas is only eighty-five sleeps away. Now, let’s kick off this wild autumn day with ‘Here Comes the Rain Again’ by the Eurythmics …’

      Hey, thanks, Greg, I’ve nothing against Annie Lennox, but I think I’ll pass.

      With a groan, I bash the radio alarm ‘off’ button with my palm and pull the duvet over my head. That was a mistake. Now that Greg’s not blaring down my ear, I can hear the rain lashing against the windows and battering the roof of my tiny terraced cottage. A moment later, I throw the duvet off me, shivering in the cool October morning. I say ‘morning’, but it might as well be evening it’s so dark and gloomy in my bedroom. The late September heatwave we’d been enjoying at Kilhallon Park broke late last night when a massive storm blew in from the Atlantic and settled over our corner of far-west Cornwall.

      The bedroom door bangs against the wall and four paws land squarely on my legs and a rough tongue licks my face.

      ‘Oof!’

      My dog, Mitch, stands on my stomach, tongue lolling. ‘Thanks, boy, but I’d rather have a wash myself. In the bathroom, preferably.’

      Mitch woofs and jumps onto the floor, wagging his feathery tail.

      ‘I know, I know. You want a walk, but have you heard that wet stuff falling from the sky outside?’

      Mitch leaps off the bed, and stands by, tilting his head this way and that, as if to say: ‘Wuss’.

      I give up all thought of staying in bed. ‘OK. You win.’

      As I swing my legs off the bed, Mitch scampers to the doorway, hardly able to contain himself, excited at the prospect of a walk. After I’ve pulled on old jeans and a fleece, I trot downstairs, grab a quick glass of juice and pull open the curtains. It’s still bucketing down, and the rain is driven by strong winds off the sea, so it’s almost horizontal.

      I grab an old waxed jacket from a peg by the back door and pull the hood over my head. Not only does Mitch need a walk, I need to check that nothing’s blown away from our brand-new guest cottages. I also need to make sure that our new cafe, Demelza’s, is still in one piece ready for its opening day on Thursday.

      Since I arrived at Easter, my boss, Cal Penwith, and I have been working hard to transform Kilhallon Park from a run-down caravan site into a boutique holiday resort. With the help of our friends – and despite the efforts of our foes – our cottages and glamping site officially open for business today.

      Then there’s Demelza’s.

      I persuaded Cal to convert the old storage barn by the coastal path into a cafe. He decided to name it after me, so I’m determined to make it a success – come hell or high water.

      And on that note … Outside the front door, the drumming of the rain and the howls of the wind almost drown out Mitch’s woofs. He dashes outside and scampers through the puddles while I linger in the doorway watching raindrops bounce off the cobbles of the yard. But it’s not the downpour that’s stopping me from taking that step outside; it’s the realisation that today’s the day that Kilhallon – and Cal and I – take our leap into the unknown.

      I step into an old pair of Hunters that used to belong to Cal’s cousin Robyn. I’m wearing her old coat too: everyone mucks in and shares what they have here. I’ve become part of the Kilhallon tribe since Cal invited me to work for him, even though my own family have become lost to me. I’ve also made some good friends who’ve stuck with me through thick and thin. One of them – Cal – is more than a friend, but we’ll see where that leads.

      Mitch dances round my wellies and barks joyfully, as if to say: ‘Come on, what are we waiting for?’

      After the tough times we’ve overcome, and the challenges that await us, there’s no going back now. I let out a deep breath and step into the deluge. If you want to see a rainbow, as my Nana Demelza would have said, you have to put up with the rain …