Holiday Romance
Daisy had found the love of her life. But would he keep in touch?
THE beach was packed with emmets – the tourists who flocked to the south-west every summer. There was little sand to be seen between the brightly coloured towels and windbreaks that fluttered across the cove.
Children squealed and a little boy raced towards the waves. The sound of “Sergeant Pepper” floated towards Daisy from a transistor hidden amongst the rocks.
She turned her back on the glinting waves and wondered why she’d bothered to come. There was nothing to do and the last thing she wanted to see was her old boyfriend chatting up the newest arrivals – bikini-clad girls down from London with pale skin and golden beehived hair.
She stared at the cliffs, wishing yet again that she’d been able to go on holiday with her friends.
“We can’t afford it and that’s that.” Dad looked really cross. “Anyway, I need your help here.”
And that was that. While Betty, Carla and Judith were having a swinging time on the continent, she was stuck in her father’s café.
Daisy dragged her feet through the soft sand towards the back of the beach and relative solitude – away from the redskinned holidaymakers with their noisy children and potted meat sandwiches.
She’d almost reached her favourite spot when she tripped and sprawled forwards, a sharp pain radiating up her shin. “I’m sorry. Are you OK?” Daisy rolled over. A boy, a couple of years older than herself, was leaning over her, a concerned expression on his face.
“No thanks to you,” she said, as she searched for a hankie.
“I said I was sorry. It’s these long legs of mine. I didn’t mean to trip you.” Daisy sighed.
“It’s all right. I’ll live.” “Let me help.” He kneeled down and pressed a clean handkerchief to the cut on her leg. “I’m Jeff.” “Daisy.”
She looked curiously at him. He was tall and lanky with fair hair.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked.
“No. I’m on holiday – with my parents. They still like me to come along.” Daisy nodded.
“At least you’re on holiday. I’m stuck working with my dad. Anyway, what are you doing tucked back here on your own?” “Drawing.” Jeff reddened. “Can I see?”
He shrugged and passed her a notepad. She stared in amazement at the beautiful sketches: a little boy with his bucket and spade; a starfish and a patch of pink campion.
“Wow! Are you an artist or something?”
“I’d like to be, but this is just a hobby. I work at Dad’s garage.” Daisy gasped. “Talking of work, I should be back by now. Dad will kill me.” She leapt up, but the boy grabbed her arm.
“Don’t go yet,” he said. “Let me buy you an icecream, at least. You know, to make up for your leg.”
She paused. She was already late; a little longer wouldn’t make much difference.
****
“Where have you been?” Dad was stacking dirty dishes; he looked fed up. “We’re losing customers, you know.”
Daisy took in the stacks of crockery and swallowed. It had obviously been a busy lunchtime.
The café had been quiet when she came in. Rita was serving the last couple of tables and winked at her as she wandered past, but the kitchen was in chaos. “Sorry, Dad,” she said. Daisy knew how hard Dad worked. Her mum had died when Daisy was a small child, so Dad ran the little café on his own. It wasn’t his fault she couldn’t go away with the girls