Phillipa Ashley - Christmas at the Cornish Café

Harry carries the rest of the order into the back of the cafe. We can’t afford to waste expensive food, but I guess if Mitch guzzling the mackerel is the worst thing that happens on opening day, we’ll be doing OK. With my nostrils closed, I tether Mitch in the shade by the back door with a bowl of water and his rope chew. I’ll ask Robyn to take him when she turns up. I go back inside the cafe with a smile that says I’m cool about ‘little mishaps’ like losing a small fortune’s worth of smoked mackerel.

The team is buzzing about in the cafe, servery and kitchen, preparing for our first day. My breath catches at the sight that greets me. They all look super smart in their teal-blue Demelza’s Cafe aprons – and Jez the chef, who’s in whites. His charcoal-coloured ponytail dangles from the back of his teal chef’s cap. He’s pushing forty, but still a lean, mean type who lives to surf. He also happens to be a very good chef. We were lucky to get him, but the part-time hours enable him to make the most of the gnarly surfing conditions and quiet beaches during the autumn and winter.

Nina’s back behind the server, checking the operation of the till for the umpteenth time. I met her when we both worked as waitresses at a ball earlier this year. She’s the same age as me and helps her mum run a kennels and dog rescue centre over the moor from Kilhallon. With all the dog walking and her triathlon training, she’s super fit. Her spiky orange hair reminds me of a pixie.

Shamia, currently filling the condiment area, is my order taker. She’s wearing a teal-blue headscarf to match her apron. She looks the most confident of anyone, to be honest. She’s a former dinner lady and now a food blogger. She will be lending us a hand on weekdays while her little boy goes to nursery school, and at the weekends when her husband can babysit.

My official title is Cafe Manager, but I’m also the general dogsbody, greeting people, clearing tables and helping out on the counter. I love the baking and cooking, but I’ve had to leave most of the hot food prep to Jez.

There’s only one person missing.

Just as I think Robyn Penwith, Cal’s cousin, has cold feet about helping us, there’s a rap on the glass door of the cafe. My shoulders slump in relief and I unlock the door. She’s in jodhpurs and riding boots.

‘Um. Sorry, I’m late. I had to call at Bosinney on my way here and tack up Ruby, then settle her in Kilhallon House stables.’

‘It’s fine. You’re here now,’ I say as we exchange a hug. Robyn’s clothes smell faintly of horse, but that’s fine. She keeps her mare at her dad’s house even though she lives with her girlfriend, Andi, now. Andi’s cool apart from the small matter of her sister being Mawgan Cade.

Cal has placed two advertising boards outside where the path skirts our land to catch walkers coming in both directions – from the far west and from St Trenyan in the east. You can see the cafe building and Kilhallon Farm from miles away too, thanks to the undulating path. Robyn’s been drafted in to hand out flyers and free samples of ginger fairing biscuits on the path today and at the weekend.

The doughy, fruity scents of croissants, pains-au-chocolat and cinnamon swirls start to fill the air as the ovens heat up the first batch of baked goods. I clap my hands. ‘OK, now we’re all here, can we have a quick coffee and a chat, please? I won’t keep you long. Why don’t we all have one of these lime shortbreads, because it’s going to be difficult to grab a break later.’

‘Yes, boss!’ voices chorus from the four corners.

We all gather for a very quick coffee – instant – and homemade lime shortbread around the large refectory table on one side of the cafe floor. Huddled in her padded riding gilet, even though it’s warm in here, Robyn is nibbling her purple nails. Nina is trembling like a newborn pup. Shamia cradles her mug casually. Jez seems cool enough with it all – but he’s experienced and, to be honest, I think he’d be chilled even if the place was on fire.

Our voices echo off the beams that support the high ceiling. The stone building is at least two hundred years old, and it was a storage barn until I persuaded Cal to let me convert it. It’s a cool morning so we’ve made the cafe a little too warm for our comfort, but there’s nothing worse for the customers than a cold welcome and the door’s going to be open a lot, fingers crossed. Most people will arrive in layers and we want them to feel they can take them off, not be desperate to keep them on.

Nestling my own mug in both hands to stop them from shaking, I throw out an encouraging smile to my team.

‘So, here we are. D-Day, which stands for Demelza’s Day. Thanks to everyone for not running off and for turning up on time.’

They laugh dutifully, even Jez manages a smile. Robyn glances down guiltily.

‘It’s our first day and I’m not expecting that everything will run perfectly or to plan but as long as we get things 99.9 per cent right, I won’t have to sack anyone.’

More laughter and an eye roll from Jez.

‘You think I’m joking?’

Nina’s mouth opens in horror and, for a moment, I wonder if she actually will run off and never come back.

I pat her arm, feeling way too young to be leading a team of staff, but if I don’t put on a show of confidence, what hope do we have? ‘It’s fine, hun. I really am joking. We’re all on a learning curve, apart from Jez, I guess.’

His mouth twitches, amused. Without him on side, we’d be done for.

‘We’re all here to help you. You’ll be an old hand by the end of the day,’ I reassure her.

She brightens.

‘Now, as you all know, it’s the first day of the West Cornwall Walking Festival, which is partly why we chose to open today. We’re expecting even more ramblers than usual and a lot of dogs. I’ve put up a sign explaining everything but if anyone asks, the first three tables by the door are dog-friendly and, of course, the terrace.

‘Most people will probably want to sit outside if the weather stays dry, and the dog owners are sure to prefer to be out there while it’s fine. By the way, you’ll find extra water bowls and doggy menus in the storeroom, if anyone needs them. If there’s any canine aggro, or human aggro for that matter, call me immediately. Robyn, Mitch, and Nina’s mum, plus a few of her rescue dogs, will be stationed on the coast path throughout the day to lure people in to the cafe.’

‘I’ve put the collecting tin for the dog rescue centre next to the till,’ Shamia says.

‘Great, thanks. Can someone please pin a notice about the Christmas bookings on the notice board and arrange some of Cal’s leaflets about weddings at Kilhallon on the window ledges?’

Nina raises her hand. ‘I’ll do that, Demi.’

‘I’ll collect Mitch,’ Robyn pipes up, obviously eager to be out in the fresh air.

‘Thanks, Robyn. OK, I’ve almost finished. You all know your roles and we’ve had plenty of practice and a rehearsal so it should be fine. I trust you all and I know you’ll work your guts out and won’t let me down. So, one more time, let’s hear it.’

Everyone groans, but I hold up my hand, excitement and adrenaline taking over.

‘We are all awesome and Demelza’s rocks!’ they chorus, even Jez, before they dissolve into laughter and Jez rolls his eyes again. It was Nina who originally made up the cheesy mantra for a joke, but now we’ve all latched on to it. I don’t care how crappy it sounds, if it releases the tension, that’s fine by me.

Cal arrives, stooping under the weight of two large crates of veg. ‘Hi there. The delivery guy from the market garden dropped these off at the farmhouse. Where do you want them?’ he says, resting the crates on the table.