‘Someone should poison you,’ Lou mutters, but the woman is too busy sniffing the chocolate slice to notice. She takes an exploratory nibble, then stuffs a huge piece into her gob. ‘Where’s the tea,’ she asks, spraying her doorstep with chocolate crumbs.
Joseph pours her a cup. ‘And we’re having a grand opening on Thursday.’
But when he tries to hand her a flyer, she says, ‘Get yer dirty hands off me! I ain’t goin’ to yer fackin’ café. Now get off my property or I’ll call the cops.’ She takes her paper cup of tea and slams the door shut.
‘Another happy customer,’ Lou says. ‘This job is full of its own rewards.’
I try ringing Pablo, our coffee connoisseur, when we get back to the café, but it goes through to answerphone. ‘Hi, Pablo, it’s Emma again, just checking about the cups and plates. I know you said not to worry, but we open on Thursday and I really need to have them by then so if you could ring me as soon as you get the message that’d be great. Oh, and the coffee too. Will it come with the cups?’
‘Why don’t you just get them from somewhere else?’ Lou asks when I’ve hung up.
‘Because I already paid him for everything when I signed the contract. We’ll use the takeaway cups if we need to, but I really wanted to start out like a proper café. Never mind, I’m sure it’ll all be fine.’
‘You don’t have to do that, you know,’ she says. ‘Pretend everything is fine when clearly it’s not. People are always doing that, like we’re too thick to see what’s obvious. Just because we’re young doesn’t mean we’re thick.’
‘I’m sorry, I know you’re not thick, Lou. Far from it. I guess I want it all to be okay so I’m convincing myself as much as everyone else. Actually, I’m shitting myself about the whole thing, if you want the truth. I have no idea if this is going to work. I’m probably not supposed to say that to my trainees, but you asked and there it is. I figure we’ve got a chance if we can do a good job launching the café and get lots of people coming in regularly. But I have no idea if we can. And even if it’s full every day, there are still a million things that can go wrong.’
‘Thanks for the honesty.’ She’s smirking. ‘Now I’m shitting myself too.’
‘You can always go get another job,’ I say. ‘This is everything to me.’
Lou stares at me from beneath her fringe. ‘You really believe I can just go find other work? With what you know about me? You’re not the only one who needs the café to work.’
‘Wow, that got serious fast,’ I say. ‘All you did was ask about cups.’
She shrugs. ‘It’s just real life. Next time I’ll pretend to believe you when you say everything’s okay.’
Joseph and Lou have gone home and it’s just me in the café. I haven’t been alone much in here lately. To tell the truth, I’m not used to being alone anywhere. Growing up in the house with Mum and Dad and Gran always around, and then sharing my bedroom with Auntie Rose after Granny died. I moved from there straight into the house on Carlton Square with Daniel, and then the twins came along and I haven’t been alone, even in the loo, since.
When I first got the lease, I used to come in here every day just to sit in one of the dusty booths and try to imagine what it would look like. That was only six months ago, and already it’s hard to remember what it was like before. Now when I see it, I see my café.
‘Knock, knock,’ Mrs Delaney calls through the window. ‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘Not at all, come in.’ Mrs Delaney used to own the fabric shop next to the Vespa dealership where I worked. Kelly and I helped her sell the business to two nice dressmakers, giving Mrs Delaney a little something to retire on. After all, she is nearly eighty, though you wouldn’t know it to look at her. With her salt-and-pepper pixie cut and trim figure that’s always in a dress, she looks more like sixty.
It was Mrs Delaney’s fabric sample books that Mum used to make the bunting for my wedding. Mum and I used them for the serviettes too. Mrs Delaney also redesigned Mum’s wedding dress for me.
‘My,’ she says, ‘you ’aven’t done things by ’alf. This looks nice.’
‘And your bunting,’ I say, pointing to the ceiling.
‘That’s your bunting, girl, not mine.’ She hands me a carrier bag. ‘This is yours too.’
Yards of lace tumble out of the bag. ‘I ran up some curtains for the windows.’
‘This is from…’
She nods.
They were the tablecloths from our wedding. Mrs Delaney had bolts of beautiful antique Belgian lace that she let us borrow from her shop. They were all different patterns and looked so romantic draped on the tables in the square.
‘It’s just taking up space and when I move to Tenerife I won’t want to cart around a bunch of old lace, so I thought you may as well ’ave it. And you know I love you, Emma, but you’re still shite with a sewing machine, so I figured I’d better run them up for you. There’s cord to hang ’em in there. Come on, I’ll help.’ She kicks off her shoes and climbs into one of the booths. ‘What’s wrong with you, girl?’ She’s noticed me staring at her.
‘You’re amazing!’
‘Oh, stop being so emotional. It’s just a bit of old lace, not a donated kidney.’
But it feels like a lot more than that.
The house is dark when I get back from Mum’s with the twins. She’s still tetchy about me taking them to the café the other day, but she’s going to have to get used to it. Lou’s chair-corral gave me the idea for a sort of holding pen for them at one end of the café. Not that we’ll call it a holding pen or, as Lou suggested, a kid cage. Kell’s dad proved as handy with a hammer and saw as he is with his fish knife. He built a nice big enclosure for them with toddler-proof walls. It’s got foam all around the edges for them to bounce off, soft mats covering the floor and a little bookshelf attached to one side. Now I don’t have to worry that they’ll get amongst the tables and pull hot teapots down on themselves. They’ll still be free-range, though, inside the enclosure. I’m sure Magenta the Sandwich Whisperer would be pleased about that.
The front gate squeaks just as I’m wrestling Oscar into his high chair. ‘Just in time!’ I call as Daniel opens the front door. ‘Catch Grace, will you?’
‘Come here, young lady!’ He scoops up our daughter to carry her to the dining room. ‘Come here, slightly older lady!’ He plants a kiss on my cheek.
The smell makes me reel back. ‘Where have you been?’ It’s only six-thirty. ‘Have you been drinking?’
He pretends not to hear me. ‘What’s Mummy got for supper for you two?’
I definitely smell something. Unless Daniel has a new cologne that stinks of drink. Stinks of Drink, by Calvin Klein.
‘Daniel, you reek.’
‘That’s harsh, darling. I only had a few drinks after work.’
‘This is after work, Daniel.’
‘Right, we left a bit early today so I could be home at my normal time to help with the children. Will you please stop sniffing me? You’re acting like you’ve caught me cheating. For the record, I am not cheating on you.’
‘But you are, Daniel. You’re cheating on me with your old life, while I’m here looking after our children.’ I should get the chance to think about weekend plans and worry whether the wine is cold enough too. Instead, it’s all feedings and faeces in my world.
‘Em, I’m here to look after them too.’
Yes, but first he got to be regular old Daniel all day long. It’s ugly to admit how envious I am of that.
Chapter 10
Tomorrow morning the Second Chance Café will finally be a reality. It only took five years of university, getting pregnant and rethinking my job prospects, begging a loan from my in-laws, months of renovations, days of interviews with teenagers who sucked their teeth at me or simply ignored me, and a bout of insomnia that I might never get over.
But first there’s tonight. I try Pablo one last time even though I know I’ll only have to leave a message. He might listen
to his coffee speaking, but he never hears his phone ringing. ‘You’re probably getting sick of me and I’m sorry about that, but we still have no crockery and we open tomorrow. Thanks for your message, but the delivery didn’t arrive so I don’t know why the driver would say it did. Believe me, I’d notice if there were a hundred cups and plates here, because then I wouldn’t be freaking out. So ring me. Please. Thanks. Bye.’
Hopefully people will understand this little glitch. Paper takeaway cups aren’t the end of the world.
‘Yo, boss, you think we’ve got enough cake?’ Joseph surveys the sea of baked goods laid out on pretty plates and stands along the bar top. He’s got his hair gelled straight up off the top of his head in a wavy black wedge, and even has a new tie – purple this time. ‘We could feed East London on these, yeah.’
It was impossible to choose between Cleo’s cakes when they all looked so delicious. Besides, it’s important to be abundant when having a party to celebrate the grand opening of your business.
I don’t remember if Uncle Colin had a party when he took over the Cock – I would have been too little even if he did. Dad had his own taxi for years, till the MS got too bad, but there wouldn’t have been enough room in the back for more than four people to celebrate when he passed The Knowledge. And there definitely wasn’t any fanfare when Kelly took over her dad’s fish van. She might have got a new fish scaler or something.
Thinking about Kelly puts a little cloud over the night. It doesn’t seem like she’s thinking in Spanish yet. Every time I ask ‘Que pasa?’ she answers ‘Shut it’ in English, so I don’t think she’s quite in the Iberian frame of mind. Even so, I’m scared that she’s going to move. I couldn’t blame her for following her heart, but I don’t know what I’ll do without her. A year from now she may not be here if I have another party.
‘We look like the tossers at the school disco,’ Lou says as we’re all sat primly on the row of chairs we’ve pushed against the walls so there’ll be room for everyone to stand in the middle. It is quite a big place with the furniture all cleared away. Hopefully not too big to fill.
My heart leaps when my entire family hurtles through the door two minutes before the party’s official start. At least there’ll be someone to eat that cake, although probably not Auntie Rose. Anything beyond vanilla is too foreign for her.
Uncle Barbara hands me a giant bouquet of yellow tulips. ‘Congratulations, me girl!’ He glances nervously at his dress. ‘It isn’t too much, is it?’
‘It’s perfect.’ I grab his hand and drag him over to Lou and Joseph. ‘This is my Uncle Barbara.’
‘Who?’ Joseph asks him as he shakes his hand.
‘Barbara.’
‘Yo, are you gay or something?’
‘Smooth,’ Lou says, cuffing the boy on the back of the head. ‘I’m Lou. That’s Joseph. Ignore him, he’s a muppet.’
You can see why Joseph might ask the question. Uncle Barbara has outdone himself on his outfit. The flowery laser-print ’50s style dress is definitely new and, paired with his favourite black cardie to cover his hairy shoulders, it goes perfectly with his tall black boots. As far as cross-dressers go, Uncle Barbara is pure class.
I wasn’t sure what he’d wear tonight since we don’t know everyone here like we do around the pub and my parents’ house. He tends to stick close by when he’s in a frock. Not that he can’t take care of himself. He’s six foot three and built exactly like his twin. Dad likes to say there was only so much height and intelligence to go round the family – they had to make do with one or the other – and that’s why his brothers are so tall.
‘No, I’m not gay,’ Uncle Barbara says. He’s not fazed by questions like this. People are usually just curious when they first see him. And it throws them that, with his short hair and stubbly beard, he’s clearly not trying to look like a woman.
‘Cuz it’s cool if you are,’ Joseph says.
‘Thanks, I’m glad you think so, but I’m not.’
Joseph shrugs. ‘It’s okay. I wear suits and get the piss taken for it all the time. We’re cool.’
Lou makes a face. ‘You aren’t cool, Joseph.’
The café fills up quickly with everyone I know, but I don’t have much time to talk because we’ve got to make all the hot drinks. Every time I look over at Daniel, though, he’s smiling at me. I love you, he mouths across the room.
We’re okay now about the other night. I’m really trying not to resent him for having a drink with his friends like a normal person. It took me a while to calm down, though.
‘This is easy,’ Lou says, dumping a few more teabags into the last clean pot. I’ll have to start using Mum’s special ones soon. ‘Shame about the cups. Real ones would have been nice.’
If only that was my biggest worry right now. Yes, the café is buzzing with chatter and everyone seems to love the cakes. Auntie Rose even sniffed some of the chocolate Guinness slice on Mum’s plate. They’re drinking tea as fast as we can make it and seem to be enjoying themselves. The problem is that everyone here is either a friend or family member. And I’m not being all John Lennon, peace and love, ‘We Are the World’ about it, as in ‘Everyone is my friend.’ I mean that I literally know everyone in the room.
What happened to all the potential customers? Where are the neighbours we invited, everyone we leafleted?
‘Congratulations, you absolute superstar!!’ Samantha shouts from behind an enormous bouquet of white lilies. ‘These are for you, but I’m afraid they smell of wee. Not because of us. Only because sometimes lilies do. Sorry about that, but they are pretty!’ She pulls me into a vice-like hug. ‘How are you doing?’ she whispers into my ear.
Her eyes search mine when I lie and say everything is great. If I repeat it enough, maybe I’ll start believing it.
‘For you, to mark the start of your new career,’ Garnet says, handing me a little box.
‘It’s from us both,’ says Emerald, as if I wouldn’t have known that. ‘I wrapped it.’
‘You did a beautiful job,’ says Garnet. ‘I picked it out. Go on, open it.’
Garnet is right, the wrapping job is beautiful. It’s intricately folded closed without any tape at all. My friends have a lot more free time than I do if they’re learning origami skills.
Inside the box is a delicate silver charm bracelet that tinkles as I pull it from its tissue paper nest. There’s a tiny till and a teacup hanging from the silver links.
‘For good luck!’ Emerald says. ‘And you can add charms as you go along.’
‘That’s so thoughtful, thank you!’ I hug them both, equally of course.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t got a gift,’ Melody says, ‘but I wish you all the luck in the world. You should be very proud of yourself. And of course we’ll be your most loyal customers.’
At this rate, they might be my only customers. I don’t even see Carl and Elsie. I thought they’d come for sure, at least for the free tea.
‘You’ll be most welcome,’ I tell my friends. ‘You and the children, of course.’ Without the children, you probably wouldn’t automatically put them together, with Melody in her flowing tunic and scarves of every colour, Garnet and Emerald wearing skinny jeans and sheer jumpers, and Samantha, who also usually wears skinny jeans with sleek tops but tonight is dressed in a wool camel body-con dress and sky-high heels that she swears she can run for the bus in. It really is the children that connect us all.
‘Is your family coming tonight?’ I ask Lou a bit later. I can’t keep the hope from my voice. They don’t quite count as customers, but now I’m desperate.
‘I don’t have family,’ she says.
I meant her foster family, but I guess she knows that. ‘Joseph, what about your mum and brother?’
‘Nah, tea and cake isn’t really my brother’s thing.’
‘Your mum?’
His eyes dart away. ‘Nah.’
‘I don’t understand why nobody else is here,’ I say. ‘You definitely put the flyers up on the
main road too? With lots of tape? It’s been windy today.’
I know I’m grasping at straws. What are the chances that the wind blew down all the notices and every flyer we put through the letterboxes?
‘Darling, hellair!’ Philippa booms as she comes through the door. She always comes at you like a category-four hurricane. No matter how much warning you have, all you can do is batten down the hatches and hope for the best. ‘We are so excited for your opening! It’s gorgeous in here, rahly, you are so clever. And these cakes! Hellair,’ she says to Lou and Joseph. ‘I’m Philippa, how d’you do?’
They gawp at my mother-in-law. It’s not so much what she’s wearing – just her usual finely knitted dark jumper, fitted trousers and pearl necklace– as the sheer force she exudes. Philippa is a law unto herself.
When she asks for a cappuccino (only if it’s not too much trouble, darlings!), I set Lou on to it. We all listen to the Gaggia build up a head of steam. Joseph carefully grinds the exact amount for the shot and Lou gets the milk ready for frothing. ‘I’ll bring it to you in just a minute, okay?’ I tell Philippa. ‘Have you seen my parents? They’re over there with the twins and Daniel.’
I think we all feel better without an audience. But despite following Pablo’s instructions, the machine is stubbornly refusing to give us any espresso. ‘Try it again,’ I tell them.
That Gaggia is not a team player.
‘One more time, from the very start. We can do this. We did it the other day.’
‘Beginner’s luck?’ Joseph asks.
‘Shh, listen,’ says Lou, putting her ear to the side of the machine. ‘Do you hear that? Is it telling us what’s wrong?’
Joseph leans in on the other side. ‘It’s crying.’
‘I cry for the bean,’ Lou says.
‘We’ll all be crying if we can’t make coffee,’ I remind them. ‘Joseph, try getting it to steam the milk. Does that work at least?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘And stop calling me boss. Lou, where’s that Nescafé?’
A few minutes later I hand Philippa a frothy Nescachino and a slice of cake. We’ll have to figure out the machine later.
The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square Page 10