Dad sounds incredulous. ‘Putting up your own photo on the internet obviously hasn’t worked.’
I curse inwardly. I haven’t even taken the bloody photo yet, never mind put it up on Instagram. Not that I’m confessing that to Dad.
He’s still staring around at the empty seats, but Mum is staring straight at me, pity in her eyes. My shoulders slump.
‘I’ve tried really hard, Dad. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.’
‘I can tell you what you’re doing wrong, Eleanor Pittens,’ Dad snaps, and his tone is like having a bucket of ice tipped over my head. ‘Opening up a café in the first place. We never thought it was a good idea, did we, Moira?’ His eyes pierce straight through me. ‘Playing at coffee and cakes. You had a career. A proper one. Why you threw it away for this fairy tale nonsense is beyond me? You’re better than struggling like this.’
My hands curl into fists. I want to yell that this is my dream, not working in a bloody insurance office. That I built this. I stayed up for nights figuring out taxes and supplier contracts and how to unclog the espresso machine without electrocuting myself. But instead, I stay quiet, like I always do with my dad.
‘I don’t think Ellie’s struggling. Maybe if she …’ starts Mum.
‘Of course she is, Moira. Look around you for goodness’ sake. She’s in dreamland. You need to wind this up and get yourself a proper job again with prospects that you’ll be proud of.’
More like one he’ll be proud of with his mates down the golf club.
‘We’re going through a tough patch. Lots of businesses are right now. I’m proud of what I’ve built up,’ I say, almost pleading with him to understand.
‘You haven’t built anything up.’ Dad’s face looks like thunder. ‘And now you’re talking to him again? Jackson? You already ruined your life once mooning over him.’
‘He’s not back for me,’ I say, exasperated. ‘He’s back to see family.’
‘Then keep it that way.’ He glares at me. ‘Greg is a much more suitable fit for you. You need to get a decent job. He’s never going to think you’re worth being with flogging this dead horse.’ He casts yet another eye around my empty café. ‘Come on, Moira. We’ve got a long drive and I need to have a break midway.’ And he stalks off towards the car.
Mum pats me on the arm. ‘I’m sorry, love. He’s stressed about the journey home.’
Will there ever be a time when she doesn’t back him?
‘I don’t want to give up on this, Mum. It’s not a pipe dream.’
Greg has come back out to join us, and Mum shuffles backwards.
‘Of course it’s not, love.’ She glances towards her husband. ‘But maybe your dad’s right. Would you be better in a real job?’
‘A real …’ Greg begins, but I shove my elbow into his ribs, stopping him.
‘I’ll think about it, Mum,’ I say. It’s the last thing I want to do, but maybe they are right. If business doesn’t pick up soon, I won’t be able to keep going for much longer anyway.
My throat burns. My café’s empty. My parents just drove away believing I’m a failure. And now the man I’m supposed to be interested in is standing next to me, but I don’t think I care.
Greg clears his throat. ‘I was wondering.’
I scowl at the back of my parents’ car till it’s a dot with two red lights in the far distance. I never seem to be able to do anything right in their eyes. Suddenly, the silence seems to be rebounding around me. I turn to Greg, disorientated, to find him looking at me expectantly.
‘Sorry, what?’
He draws a circle in the sand with his foot and won’t meet my eye. ‘Would you maybe want to go out sometime?’
My head’s a mess. And my heart’s still somewhere near the beach, kissing someone I haven’t touched in seventeen years. Shit. I need to get a grip.
‘What? Now?’
‘Not now, this minute. I thought we could walk along the cliff top someday, to the new pub?’
A seagull lands on the nearest picnic table and begins to drag an empty disposable coffee cup away. I turn to flap my hands at the huge grey bird.
‘The food’s supposed to be fabulous,’ Greg continues, picking at his nails uncomfortably.
