‘It’s disguuusting.’ Two-and-a-half-year-old Olly’s little face screws up into a tight ball and he shoves the plate of ham sandwiches and ready salted crisps across the table. ‘Don’t want.’
Reeni has to move fast to stop it from flying through the air.
‘Oliver Grayson.’ Reeni’s sharp tone cuts through her son’s tantrum. ‘That is not how we behave. Auntie Ellie made those sandwiches especially for you.’
‘I not want ham,’ wails Olly, clambering down from his chair.
For a split second I brace myself, half expecting Olly to have a second swipe at his plate. Instead, he clenches his fists, his arms as stiff as a board, and stamps the floor hard. I catch myself smiling. It’s impossible to not be charmed by Olly’s earnest fury, although my best mate would probably disagree when it could mean mopping up food from the floor.
Reeni anticipates what’s coming and pulls her little boy towards her, wrapping her arms around him.
‘I’m hungry,’ Olly sobs, before burying his face into his mum’s shirt.
Olly’s dark afro ringlets, which normally frame his face, are unruly, and the one cheek I can see is blotchy from his tears. Despite the buzz of tension surrounding them, there’s so much that’s perfect about the scene in front of me. It’s not your stereotypical family snapshot, granted, but there’s something raw and tender about it.
A dart of pain flashes through my chest. I know I don’t deserve the happiness Reeni has, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting it.
Reeni catches my eye over the top of Olly’s head and pulls a face. ‘Ham was his favourite yesterday.’
I wince. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s not your fault. Joys of being little.’ She grins and Olly wipes his nose on her silky navy shirt.
‘What about some ice cream, Olly?’ I say, trying to put things right.
In the way only a toddler can, Olly’s mood flips a full one-eighty. He pushes himself away from his mum, his eyes alight. ‘Pink ice sceem?’
I chuckle. ‘Pink ice cream coming up.’
I walk past the counter and head into the kitchen, trying to remember if strawberry ice cream was on my last order. I could barely afford vanilla, so I’m doubtful. Maybe there’s a little hidden somewhere.
I open the freezer and my heart sinks. ‘Shit.’
‘What’s up?’ Jill, my right-hand woman, is peering over my shoulder at the half-empty freezer shelves.
‘I’ve promised Olly strawberry ice cream but we’re out.’ I screw up my nose. ‘He’s going to have another meltdown.’
‘Ah,’ says Jill, her face creased in a frown. ‘Why don’t you head into the village to get some? It’s quiet. I’ll manage fine here.’
‘Would you mind?’ A chink of light pierces my mood. It’s not only that Olly will get his ice cream, but it will give me a chance to get out of here and ignore the fact we’ve been more or less empty all day.
‘Of course not.’ And she pushes me back out onto the café floor.
Olly is thrilled to be heading off towards the village for his treat. His little legs kick as he sits in his buggy as Reeni and I head along the coast road in the warm afternoon heat.
‘The Beach House is still quiet. I thought you’d have been busier?’ she says as we walk.
I stay silent.
The Beach House is my baby. The dream I turned into reality. I still remember the excitement, mixed with a large dollop of fear, the day I signed the rental papers. For a while, it had been a roaring success. So many customers I could barely keep up. Warm summer evenings where we sold out of specials, a buzz around lunchtime as the tables filled to overflowing and queues out of the door as people waited for early morning weekend breakfasts. Now I’m watching it crumble around me, and I have no idea how to save it. I drink more coffee than I sell and I’m beginning to think Dad was right all along. What the hell do I know about running a successful business?
I kick out at a pebble, sending it spinning into the dunes. I hate how every thought about The Beach House now makes my chest tighten painfully. My nostrils flare as I take in the spicy sea air. I can’t let myself cry, not in front of Reeni. That’ll lead to more questions, ones I’m not quite ready to answer.
I force myself to sound upbeat. ‘It’s been a bit quiet lately. The weather’s supposed to get better this week, though.’ I holdup crossed fingers. ‘We’re coming into peak tourist season, too. That has to help.’
‘Absolutely,’ says Reeni, with a genuine optimism I’m trying hard to fake.
We walk on in silence, the warm breeze rolling in from the sea washing over my face. The Dorset coastline is beautiful and the contrast between the sparkling aqua sea and golden sand is spectacular. We’re in no hurry and the surrounding peace seeps into my head, evicting my worries. It’s almost like a mini meditation, only punctuated by Olly singing away to himself as he waves his hands, conductor style, in time to his made-up tune.
