“I don’t have any fresh milk at the moment,” said Annie. “How do you feel about oat milk?”
“Fine with us,” said Aiden. “Our daughter is dairy intolerant, so we’re no stranger to the crazy milks!”
“You must be Annie,” said the woman. “I’m Raye and this is Aiden. Pam’s told us all about you. We’re the landlords of the Captain’s Bounty.”
“I hope you’ll be visiting us soon,” said Aiden jovially. “We’ll be jealous if you don’t!”
“Actually, I’m coming for dinner on Saturday,” said Annie.
“Oh, fabulous!” said Raye. “You must leave room for Aiden’s tiramisu; it really is something.”
Aiden and Raye looked more like they should be reading runes and selling dream-catchers than running a pub. Raye wore her sandy hair in long dreadlocks and her green Dr. Martens boots peeped out from beneath her striped Alibaba trousers. Aiden’s pale skin was striking against a backdrop of dark brown corkscrew curly hair—Annie wondered if their heads stuck together like Velcro in bed—and he was dressed in faded black skinny jeans and a rainbow Baja hoodie. They could have come straight from the Glastonbury Festival.
Annie tipped the beans into the grinder, answering questions over the subsequent noise about where she’d come from and what had brought her here.
“Crikey!” said Raye. “I hope our homespun pub grub won’t be too much of a come-down. Pam didn’t mention you were a chef.”
“If the smell of your Sunday roast is anything to go by, I should be in for a treat,” said Annie as she riffled around for cardboard takeaway cups and rinsed the metal milk jug out.
“Will you be open all season?” Raye asked.
“I didn’t know I was going to be open now.” Annie laughed. “You might be my first and only customers!”
“Oh, I wish you would!” said Raye. “It would be great to be able to get a decent coffee after a wintry walk. We come down here to blow the cobwebs away between opening times.”
Annie well knew those precious snatched hours between the end of lunch service and the beginning of dinner.
“Don’t bully the poor woman!” said Aiden. “She’s only just moved in.”
“I’m not bullying her,” said Raye. “I’m just saying there’s a lot of people who would appreciate being able to grab a coffee down here.”
“Do you think so?” asked Annie.
“Oh God, yes!” said Raye. “It’s all very well catering for the out-of-towners all summer, but what about the people who live by the sea all year round?”
“Don’t get her started,” said Aiden.
“I mean it,” said Raye. “Go to any seaside town past September, and it’s tumbleweed city; everything’s boarded up, like a zombie apocalypse.”
“I told you not to get her started,” said Aiden.
Annie laughed and handed over the coffees.
“We’ll you’ve given me something to think about,” said Annie. “That’s six pounds, please.” She had no idea of Mari’s pricing structure, so she used the one from the restaurant.
Raye handed over the cash and Annie was grateful for it; if there was a card machine in the place, it was well hidden.
“See you Saturday!” said Aiden as they headed back in the direction of the hill.
“Unless you decide to open again beforehand!” called Raye over her shoulder. Annie saw Aiden give Raye an admonishing nudge and Raye raise her hand in an expression of “What?!”
Annie had six more customers during the hour and a half it took her to finish cleaning and familiarizing herself with the kiosk and its contents. She found a mobile card machine beneath the counter and a plastic cash tray. Every single customer asked whether she was planning to open through winter, and Annie deftly avoided giving a straight answer.
“Maybe on sunny days,” she said noncommittally to a man with an impressive King Edward mustache.
“It’s the wet days we could do with it,” he grumbled.
By the time Annie was finished, the little tearoom was pine fresh and aglow with bleachy newness. Annie treated herself to a double-shot mocha before closing the place up again and heading back upstairs to the flat. She sat in the armchair, gazing out the window at the clouds waltzing across the sun, their shadows dancing light and dark on the ocean below. She sipped her coffee and understood why Mari had never left.