Page 4 of Tricks & Treats at The Cosy Cornish Bakery

Chloe followed her mother into the café. It hadn’t changed. A utilitarian block built into the cliff with enormous picture windows to take advantage of the view.

Dulcie commandeered a table on the little terrace that overlooked the beach and tied Ziggy to a chair. ‘I’m having a hot chocolate and a bacon and egg roll. Same for you?’

Chloe nodded, her mouth watering. Pinky’s menu had always been simple: crab sandwiches, tea, coffee, hot chocolate and breakfast rolls. He liked to outrage the tourists by refusing to sell Cornish pasties. It didn’t sound as if it had changed since she’d left. Her mother disappeared into the café’s interior from where Chloe could hear a murmured conversation. Pinky, who must be in his seventies by now, was roaring with laughter. She ignored it. She was probably the butt of the joke, the failure who had had to return to the village, tail between her legs.

Wrenching her thoughts away, deciding she was getting horribly paranoid, she compared Pinky’s with the Pengelly family bakery and café. Their business was further up the village lane, lacking the obvious draw of the sea and beach. Pinky was making a fortune simply because he was in the right position. The Pengelly café offered the same unsophisticated fare as here but there had always been plenty of trade for both. In high season, there was more than enough demand for sandwiches and cakes. The bakery was popular with those camping in the field behind, with tourists often buying a loaf a day. When she worked there as a teenager, some customers returned year after year, turning up every July with enormous smiles on their faces. She could never understand it. There was a big old world out there. Why come back to boring Wheal Kitty Cove?

CHAPTER 3

Dulcie put two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of doughnuts onto the table. ‘Pinky said he hadn’t any whippy cream so we’re going without. Got the doughnuts as a freebie.’ She slid into the chair opposite.

‘I prefer my hot chocolate without cream anyway.’ Chloe took the mug and wrapped her hands around it. She eyed the cakes suspiciously. They glistened with grease and sugar.

‘You would.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Suppose you’re watching your figure.’

Chloe stared out to sea, too weary to have an argument. ‘Not really. Just find it too sickly. Besides, thought you said I was too thin?’

Dulcie ignored the jibe. ‘Do you really want to give folk these cinnamon lacy thingies up at the bakery caff?’

Chloe sighed. She suspected Dulcie might be deliberately getting the name wrong. ‘Spiced cinnamon lattes,’ she corrected. ‘Might be worth a try. There’s lots of other drinks, too. People are looking for more than their usual macchiato.’

‘Maccie what now?’

‘We could look into alternatives to dairy milk, or affogato, even buttered coffee. I heard that’s a trend.’

‘Oh, now I’ve heard everything.’ Dulcie pursed her lips. ‘Buttered coffee? You’re having a laugh. No idea what’s wrong with a mug of coffee or a cup of tea. And I’ll tell you one thing for free, can’t see Pammy going for all this nonsense.’ She paused, picked up a doughnut, and took a huge bite. ‘Suppose the emmets might go for them,’ she added, her mouth full.

‘Oh really. Are you still using that derogatory word for tourists down here?’

‘Well, they swarm about the place like ants. That’s what it means. Good a word as any. And it’s not derogatory. Not all the time.’ Dulcie shooed off a gull that had landed on the terrace railings.

‘If you didn’t have tourists, you wouldn’t have a bakery,’ Chloe retorted.

‘Maybe.’ Dulcie dunked her second doughnut into her drink and ate it with relish. ‘Although it’s been my experience those from up country want to get away from all that trendy stuff when they come to Wheal Kitty Cove. Want a return to old-fashioned seaside holidays they remember from their childhood. Simple stuff like a good hot cuppa and a fresh crab sarnie.’

Her mother may have a point. Why offer the same things that could be bought in Brighton or Shoreditch? Chloe had no intention of admitting Dulcie may be right, however, so changed the subject. ‘Shouldn’t you have got changed? Won’t you get cold sitting in a wet swimsuit?’

Dulcie reached down and held up a luridly coloured plastic tote. ‘Slipped it off in the café. That got Pinky laughing. He almost copped a look. Coat’s got a towelling lining. Dry in no time and toasty with it.’

‘You mean you’re–?’ Chloe let the question trail off in horror.

‘As the day I was born.’ Dulcie grinned. ‘You should try it. Very freeing. Very sensual.’ She mouthed the word sensual using over-exaggerated lips coated in sugar.

‘Oh God.’ Chloe shuddered. She didn’t want to pair her mother with the idea of anything sensual.

‘Girls are going to try skinny dipping come October when it goes quiet. The feel of the water on your skin is summat else.’

‘Stop!’ Chloe held up her hand. ‘Too much information. And girls?’ she scoffed. ‘The average age must be well over sixty.’

‘Life don’t stop just cos you’m old, child,’ Dulcie huffed. ‘Could argue yours hasn’t even got going.’

Chloe stirred her hot chocolate slowly. How did her mother always know how to wound so expertly? To put the knife in exactly where it hurt the most? She was obviously of the opinion that twenty years in a senior position at an investment bank amounted to very little. Sipping her drink moodily, she considered her looming thirty-eighth birthday. She’d sacrificed her child-bearing years in order to build her career. And happily so. Jasper had always said marriage and children weren’t for them. Their lifestyle wasn’t right. And she’d agreed. Had enjoyed the yearly ski trips, the holidays in Symi. Had loved their city breaks in Paris and Berlin. Had done the cliché work hard, play hard. Hadn’t ever felt the hormonal rush of wanting babies. Not until Jasper had left her for the twenty-five-year-old Cindy who he promptly impregnated.

Now she was jobless and alone, while Jasper’s life would continue uninterrupted having fulfilled his procreating duty. A live-in nanny would deal with childcare and Cindy, along with a cook and housekeeper, would run his household. Eye-balling the gull that had returned, she questioned her life choices. Had she got it all wrong? Should she have forced his hand when they’d first met, when she’d been young enough to have as many babies as humanly possible? Would it have stopped him leaving her? The honest answer was no. And she couldn’t blame Jasper. She’d been as happy with their life as he. Men didn’t have that time bomb clock ticking ominously. Didn’t have to choose between career and family. They could have it all. Had she taken time out to have children, her career would have stagnated, maybe even stalled. She’d seen enough of her female colleagues’ experience. Despite maternity pay, job protection and equal opportunities law, they’d still been sidelined, mysteriously shunted to lesser projects. It was the reality. Bitterly unfair but the truth. And now, while Jasper ascended the heights, his image in the bank enhanced by his status as a settled husband and father, she was back in her home village being goaded by her mother.