Page 8 of Christmas at the Little Cornish Bakery

Dear Diary,

I have the most wonderful news! Joan’s uncle has invited us to spend a week in his house in Cornwall.

Apparently the house is large, built in the art deco style (whatever that means) and overlooks a small bay.

I have no idea what we’ll do in some sleepy Cornish village but it’s been so long since I saw the sea.

Probably not since the war ended and that was only on a day trip to Southend and it rained.

I’ve already bought some new fabric to make two new frocks, my ones are so tired.

I wish rationing would end, it’s very tiresome now.

I’ve no idea what one needs to take with them to Cornwall.

A bathing suit maybe, so it’s a good thing I finally learned to swim even if I hate getting my hair wet!

Mum made a face when I told her about the trip, as if she doesn’t approve, but knows she can’t stop me.

Wild horses couldn’t stop me. Or is it wild fire?

Anyway, whatever the wild thing in the saying is, it won’t and can’t stop me.

Apparently I can use the break to seriously consider Ernest. He’s sweet on me, but it’s only been a couple of dances and everyone is giving me the nudge, expecting us to walk down the aisle.

There’s nothing wrong with Ernest, I’m wise enough to know what sort of catch he is, but, I don’t know, I want something more than just getting married, at least for now.

Anyway, I’m sure my head is so full of the sea, of Cornwall and whatever goes on there to give Ernest much thought.

Give Ernest much thought? Lola repeated to herself the next morning, feeling perturbed on behalf of her gentle grandad, who’d adored his wife.

She’d had an unsettled night and had woken early the next day to head to the café, where she was now dipping back into Ruby’s diary.

She turned over a few pages, the writing becoming increasingly erratic as Ruby scribbled about her holiday, but something niggled, telling Lola she needed to proceed with caution.

This was her grandmother’s life she was raking through.

Judging by the photo, other people’s pasts were tied up in it.

Lola settled back against the kitchen counter reasoning another entry wouldn’t hurt when the door being flung open made her jump so much that she almost dropped the book.

‘Freya! You gave me a fright!’ Lola exclaimed as she clutched the book to her chest.

‘Are you OK?’ Freya narrowed her eyes.

‘Yes, of course, why?’ Lola slid the book back into her pocket.

‘You’re being a bit weird, like jumpy weird,’ Freya said. ‘What’s in that book?’

‘Oh, nothing, just some notes I’ve been keeping about recipes,’ Lola bluffed, not ready to broadcast to everyone the story of her grandmother’s life in Polcarrow. Although, she had been hoping to catch Tristan that morning, show him the photo, see what he made of it all.

Freya gave Lola a long look before holding up two different types of bunting, having decided it was time to start getting the café looking festive. ‘I was just wondering where you wanted these to go. And I might need help while it’s quiet.’

‘Definitely the gingerbread one around the counter,’ Lola said, stepping forward. She picked up the second one, which had a robin motif. ‘Maybe this around the window?’

The door chimed and Freya, trailing bunting, headed back into the café to help the customer. Lola took the opportunity to fire a quick text to Tristan:

Hiya, any chance you can pop over a bit later? I have something I’d like to chat about.

He responded immediately:

I can come now?

Lola almost swooned at his dependability and peering through the kitchen door window to where Freya was busy serving a young couple, texted back:

It’s a bit of a private matter. Come at the end of the day, I’ll save you some cake.

Slipping her phone back into her apron pocket, Lola joined Freya and whilst the customers concentrated on their coffees, she set about trying to work out the best place to put the Christmas tree so that it wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.

Lola let Freya go just after the post-school rush, which consisted of groups of teenage girls buying marshmallow-laden hot chocolates and occupying the sea view table pretending to do their homework whilst sharing gossip about the boys they fancied.

They were just on their way out when Tristan arrived, bundled up against the cold, concern etched across his face.

‘Lola what’s up?’ he asked as he swept through the café, eyes darting over her. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry, it’s just something I need to talk to someone about, someone who is wise but who I also trust,’ she said as she loaded the empty hot chocolate cups onto a tray and carried them towards the counter.

‘Honoured, though I think Alf might be a better candidate on the wise front.’

Lola grimaced. ‘I’m a bit worried it’s about Alf.’

Tristan’s face flashed with concern. ‘Is he all right? I thought he’s been walking a bit slower since the cold weather’s arrived.’

‘I saw that too, but he won’t like us fussing. Sit down and I’ll explain. I have some Victoria sponge that needs finishing off if you want to join me?’

Tristan grinned. ‘Like I could ever say no to you, Lola. Looking lovely and festive in here,’ he said as he removed his coat and hung it over the back of a chair. ‘That gingerbread bunting is quite cute.’

Lola smiled. ‘Sadly, I didn’t make it, but it is rather adorable. Freya and I decorated this afternoon. Can you flick the sign to “Closed” if you don’t mind, I’m almost out of most things and I need a sit-down.’

Tristan did as he was told with the sign and settled himself into the window seat. Lola brought the tray over and laid out the cups and saucers, a pot of Earl Grey tea and the remains of the cake sliced into two large portions.

‘I don’t care what Alf says, there’s nothing like a nice refreshing cup of Earl Grey.

’ Tristan lifted the teapot and poured out the tea.

‘These little dainty cups remind me of my grandmother. She always used to get hers out on special occasions.’ Tristan held one up, the cup adorably small in his large hands.

Lola pushed a generous slice of cake across to him. ‘What? It won’t be as good in the morning and I’m sure we’ve both earned a little afternoon indulgence.’

Tristan took a bite of the cake and smiled with pleasure. ‘I can always run it off in the morning.’

‘Very brave of you, going running in this cold,’ Lola said.

As she sipped her tea she began to relax.

There was something wonderfully easy about sitting with Tristan and having a chat over tea and cake.

He never judged, he always paused before answering and he was warm, comforting company.

He was the first man Lola had met with whom she didn’t have to put on any sort of act or mask.

She didn’t care to dwell on what this said about her previous relationship with Jared, other than it wasn’t all she’d cracked it up to be.

‘How was your day?’ Lola asked to buy herself some time.

‘I spent most of it sorting out the Christmas trees that have been stored for the annual Christmas tree festival. Sadly, church budget doesn’t stretch to buying new ones. They’re a bit tatty looking so I’m hoping fairy lights and tinsel will help disguise that. Would you like to decorate a tree?’

‘Of course! Is there a theme?’

‘No, no theme. I tried to come up with one but in my experience no one sticks to it. You can’t ask a bunch of primary school kids to do deep and meaningful handmade decorations, can you? I just want it to be fun.’

‘Fun, I can do fun.’ Their eyes met for a moment. Something shifted inside her making her suddenly nervous.

Tristan smiled almost shyly at her before signalling to the cake with his fork. ‘This is delicious. How on earth do you decide what to make every day?’

Lola paused before confessing, ‘Part of it is my sixth sense, I get a sort of idea what people might be after with the weather. Also, there’s the favourites that always go down well.

’ She signalled to the Victoria sponge. ‘No one ever says no to a classic. I’m thinking of doing ginger cake and mini strudels. ’

‘A strudel would be an excellent post-run treat.’ Tristan smiled at her, their eyes meeting again and Lola felt safe, knowing she was with someone she could trust with anything.

Taking this as her cue, she said, ‘Tristan, there was something I wanted your advice on.’

‘Of course, you can ask me anything, Lola, in any capacity, friend or vicar.’

Lola nodded. ‘Bear with, I just need to fetch something.’ She darted up and headed into the kitchen to grab her handbag before returning to the table. ‘Did I ever tell you why I came here?’

‘You said you needed a new start after a break-up. That and all the stuff about being drawn here on the wind.’ He winked.

‘Yes, well remembered. Actually, I know I joke about it, but the wind thing isn’t too far from the truth, but I feel a bit silly saying it.

I found a postcard tucked inside my grandmother’s recipe book last Christmas.

I was so down, so lost, that I took a chance, coming here because I felt I was called to. I don’t know if that sounds silly.’

‘Not at all, my calling was to the Church. It was something I felt deep inside me rather than being a job I searched for in a newspaper.’ He smiled encouragingly at Lola.

‘I knew you’d understand. Well, my Nannie Ruby led me here.

We were very close, very similar. Mum once told me she was jealous of our bond, which is one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.

Anyway, when Ruby died she left a lot of money to me to make my wish of opening my own café come true.

I don’t think Mum was properly happy with how the will was split, it caused a bit of tension.

My grandmother also left me this.’ Lola put the recipe book on the table ‘Her recipe book.’

Tristan reached forward to touch it before stopping. ‘Can I?’

‘Go ahead, but you won’t find the secret ingredient, that’s kept under lock and key,’ she teased, watching as Tristan carefully turned the pages, like he was holding a sacred text, which Lola supposed in a way he was.

When he reached the page with the scone recipe on it, Lola leaned across and pointed. ‘See what’s written there?’

‘Polcarrow?’ He glanced up at her for clarification.

Lola nodded. ‘Last year, when I was feeling very alone, I saw that word and, with the postcard, I don’t know, something just spoke to me. I googled Polcarrow and saw this charming little village and felt the pull to come here. And, well . . .’

‘The rest is history,’ Tristan finished for her. ‘But not the whole story?’

‘Well, it was, until I got a delivery yesterday. A box full of things Ruby had hidden away in her house. There was a ring I’d never seen her wear, no idea who gave it to her, and other bits and bobs, and this.

Her diary.’ Lola reached into her bag and placed the small notebook on top of the closed recipe book.

‘It’s OK, you can open it. I guess it’s not private anymore. ’

Tristan smiled as he read the first entry. ‘When did she write this?’

‘The year she came to Cornwall!’

‘Have you read it all yet?’ He paused as he lifted the cover.

Lola shook her head. ‘Not all of it. I was tempted to stay up all night, but I feel a bit nervous about what I might uncover. I wanted to start at the beginning, it’s all about her life in Enfield, a side of her I never knew.

There was a bunch of letters all tied together that Ruby had been sent.

I’ve not dared open them either. I could tell from the writing they weren’t from my grandfather. ’ Lola paused. ‘And there was this.’

Holding her breath, she pushed the cream envelope across the table, watching as Tristan carefully lifted the flap and pulled out the photograph.

He studied it in silence for a few moments, time slowing right down, before looking at Lola and placing the photo on the table between them.

Sitting back he let out a breath. ‘Is that . . . ?’