‘What about teas?’ Bessie asks.
‘Well it’s going to be quite a limited selection,’ I say, thinking again about the café and all the teas that are in there that eventually I’ll have to throw away and start again. ‘Darjeeling, Earl Grey and English breakfast for the black tea drinkers and I’ve got rooibos and camomile for people who want a decaf option.’ I’d scavenged these few together from the hotel’s tea selection. Sascha and Geoff buy their teas from me so at least I know they’ll be top quality.
‘I know it’s not your usual extensive selection, love,’ Miranda says. ‘But it’s more than enough.’ None of it feels enough to me and yet at the same time it feels too much, more than I deserve in the circumstances.
‘What about coffee?’ Bessie asks hopefully.
‘We’ll be at the pub, Bessie,’ I reply. ‘You can have all the fancy cappuccinos you desire!’
‘And champagne,’ Lisa says. ‘Lots of champagne. It is New Year after all!’
I don’t feel as though I have much to celebrate, but as I look around the kitchen at this incredible group of women who have helped me in so many ways, and not just today, I know that I am fortunate beyond measure.
*
‘So you’re going to leave it until January then?’ Sascha asks later that day as we sit in her and Geoff’s private apartment at the hotel eating stolen Christmas brownies and blondies that I hope we won’t need tomorrow.
‘James said there was no point getting into it all with the insurers in between Christmas and New Year as they’ll be working on a skeleton staff and that he’d help me next week. He’s right but I feel as though I’m in limbo.’
‘In what way?’
‘I just wish I knew what, if anything, will be covered. I’m terrified that the insurance won’t cover it at all.’
‘I’ve told you that the whole town will help you out if it doesn’t,’ Sascha says. ‘What does your uncle say?’
Before he moved to the seaside and bought a café my uncle was as surveyor and what he doesn’t know about buildings isn’t worth knowing. When he and Miranda first moved to Sanderson Bay he renovated and rebuilt the café pretty much single-handed.
‘He said that he built the café once and he’ll do it again if he has to.’
‘There you go then.’
‘But he shouldn’t have to. I should have checked that Marcus hadn’t overloaded the plug socket. I shouldn’t have left the Christmas tree lights on—’
‘Oh my God, Ellie,’ Sascha interrupts my spiralling thoughts. It’s been happening a lot since the fire, as though I’ve taken a big step back and all the anxiety I had when I was in York has come back. I feel as though I’m not enough – not good enough, not clever enough, not successful enough. ‘You have to stop blaming yourself for this. It was an accident. It says so in the fire officer’s report.’
‘I can’t stop thinking about it,’ I admit. ‘Every time I close my eyes I see the smoke billowing out of the café door on Boxing Day. I feel like I did before I came to Sanderson Bay, as though nothing I do will ever be right.’
Sascha reaches over and puts her hand on top of mine.
‘It’s normal to feel like this,’ she says. ‘I’d be more worried if you didn’t to be honest. Over the last week you’ve found out some truths about your family, finally had a proper conversation with your dad and watched your livelihood burn down.’
‘Harsh,’ I say quietly.
‘But true. You’re going to feel sad and anxious and angry. But you don’t need to keep blaming yourself.’ She pauses. ‘It was Marcus’s fault,’ she says.
I open my mouth to protest but she holds up her hand. ‘I don’t want to hear that guff about the buck stopping with you anymore. Marcus always was trouble and he’s been nothing but trouble since he arrived here.’
‘Without him I’d never have found out about Moby’s,’ I say.
‘And would it have mattered if you didn’t? Ben was trying to get them to look somewhere else, so while he might not have been entirely honest with you he was looking out for you. Marcus was just stirring because he couldn’t bear to see you moving on with someone else.’
I take a breath. ‘I know,’ I say. ‘I just like to see the best in everyone.’
‘I know you do, El, but maybe letting Marcus stay wasn’t your wisest idea.’
‘Maybe not.’
‘I hear he’s getting on very well with your Abi,’ Sascha goes on.
‘Well he’d better not break her heart too,’ I reply.
‘Speaking of after New Year,’ Sascha says. ‘Have you spoken to your dad again about your plans? Have you told him about the fire?’
‘Not yet. He was planning to come over in January. I was going to show him the café but now it’s just a burnt-out shell.’
A bubble of laughter erupts out of her. ‘A burnt-out shell,’ she says. ‘You do exaggerate – you’ve clearly been spending too much time with me. It’s perfectly structurally sound, it just needs a bit of a refit – and your uncle will help with that, you know he will. And maybe your dad can help out too. What’s he like with a hammer?’
I stare at her. If Sascha had ever met my father she’d know what a ridiculous question that was.
‘I don’t think my father has ever lifted a hammer in his life,’ I say.
‘Well maybe he can help some other way,’ she replies. ‘The point is that this is Sanderson Bay. We pull together when we need to and we make sure everybody is all right. This isn’t any different.’
I rub my eyes with my other hand. ‘Oh I’m sorry, Sash,’ I say. ‘I’m being ridiculous, I know, and in all this fuss I haven’t asked how you are.’
‘I’m fine,’ she replies dismissively.
‘Really?’
‘I’m exhausted,’ she admits. ‘They say the first trimester is the worst so I’m hoping to start feeling full of second-trimester energy any day now. Plus my back hurts already so I’m looking forward to getting back to Pilates next week.’
‘That’s another thing,’ I say. ‘Where are we going to do Pilates?’
‘Don’t worry so much, Ellie – we’ll find somewhere. Maybe we can do that in the pub too.’
I laugh at the thought of us on the floor of the pub practising Pilates. ‘Well it would give the town something to talk about I guess.’
‘Seriously, we’ll find somewhere. We can move the furniture in the dining room – we won’t be doing weekday evening meals until at least March and you’ll be up and running again by then.’
I don’t say anything. I hope she’s right.
‘Anyway, when’s Ben coming back?’
‘He didn’t give me a time,’ I reply. ‘He just said he was going to be here for New Year. I know he and his mum find this time of year really hard.’
Sascha nods. I’d told her about Ben’s father being one of the lifeboat volunteers in the storm of 2000.