The Beach Cafe Read Online Free PDF Page A

felt my heart step up its pace. It wasn’t like jokey, affable Dad to look so grave. Had Jo died horribly in debt? Was there some dark secret in her will, a love-child, maybe?
    His gaze fell on me. ‘She’s left you the café, Evie,’ he said bluntly, and handed over an envelope with my name typed on it. ‘Here – this is for you.’
    ‘She’s what ?’ I stared at him, and then at Mum, half-expecting them to laugh and tell me they were joking. They didn’t. ‘What do you mean, she’s left me the café?’ I said. ‘Are you serious?’
    Mum nodded. ‘That’s what the will said, love.’ She nodded at the letter I was holding. ‘Why don’t you open it?’
    ‘Bloody hell,’ Ruth said tightly. ‘There must be some mistake. She’s really left the beach café to Evie ?’
    I looked down at the envelope dumbly, then ripped it open, my fingers fumbling on the paper, my mouth dry all of a sudden. I shot a look at Matthew, who appeared as bewildered as I felt. Ruth was right; this had to be a mistake, my brain reasoned. Had to be. Some silly misunderstanding, some cock-up, or . . .
    I pulled out the letter and felt a pang at the sight of Jo’s loopy writing there on the page. It was dated four years earlier, and I gave a choking sort of cry. ‘But this was written ages ago. Surely this can’t be . . .’
    Then I fell silent as I read.
Dearest Evie,
I’ve just had the loveliest weekend with you here in the bay. You remind me so much of myself at your age – full of life, full of dreams, sparkling with energy and enthusiasm. I love seeing you here – you always seem at your happiest and most relaxed when you’re down by the sea. And yet I sense that you’re not truly fulfilled, that you haven’t yet found your heart’s desire, the peace that comes with pure, deep contentment.
You might not ever read this letter – maybe life will take some unexpected twists and turns for us both, and my words will become meaningless. But I’d like to state, here and now, that in the event of my untimely death, I am leaving you the café in my will.

    I stopped reading, unable to take the words in. The sentences were jumbling up before my eyes, and I felt dulled by wine and shock. No way. This couldn’t seriously be happening, could it?
    ‘What does it say?’ Ruth urged. ‘Evie?’
    ‘Hang on,’ I mumbled, turning my eyes back to the paper.
Yes, beloved niece, you read that right. You know that you have always been my favourite girl, the daughter I never had. You are the only person to whom I would entrust my precious café, because I know you will look after it with the love and care it deserves. I’ve always felt you have a kinship with this place, and I know you can do it.
Excuse an old girl her fancies. As I said, you might never read this letter. But maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll hold it in your hands and I hope you’ll understand and respect my wishes.
Much love
Jo xxx

    I swallowed, my cheeks burning hot suddenly, as blood rushed into my face. Then I folded the letter quickly, not wanting my sisters to read the bit about me being ‘the favourite’. Nor did I want Matthew to see the lines about me not having found my heart’s desire. If Jo had written this four years ago, I’d have been going out with him by then. It was the sort of thing that would get his back up, bring a bitter gleam to his eye.
    ‘Wow,’ I said, gazing around the table. For a second, a wild fantasy bubbled up in my head: me behind the counter of the café again, serving the most incredible food, being awarded Michelin stars, lauded by all the restaurant reviewers in the broadsheets, queues stretching out of the front door . . .
    Louise was grinning broadly. ‘Priceless,’ she said. ‘Oh, she was a devil, wasn’t she? Bonkers!’
    ‘She wasn’t bonkers,’ I said, stung.
    ‘That’s not a nice way to speak of the dead,’ Mum snapped. ‘Admittedly, I don’t know what she was thinking, leaving such a responsibility to