Leo steps in to back me up. ‘The whole café has to close,’ he tells them. He shuts down his laptop and starts unplugging his charging cables. ‘We can come back tomorrow.’ Then he says to me, ‘Are you okay? This must feel like a huge setback and I hope you’re not too upset. You’ll see, it’s not a big deal in terms of your business. Everyone will just come back when you’re open. Don’t let it dent your confidence. This is just a hiccup.’
‘Thanks,’ I say gratefully.
‘We could go get a drink or something if you think it’ll cheer you up.’
That is such an appealing offer, but a little voice whispers that it wouldn’t be the smart thing to do. ‘Thanks, but I’d just end up crying into my wine. I should probably take the children home.’
The sound of scraping chairs and raised voices fills the room as the teens prepare to leave.
‘I’m sorry! I’m really sorry about this! Come back when we’re open again and I’ll have free cake for everyone!’
The teens are still outside when I lock up. They’ve taken up residence in the square, lolling against the railings and trying to out-boast each other. I wave as I pass but most ignore me. What happens in the café stays in the café, clearly.
Leo is right, I tell myself as I wheel the twins back to the house. Of course there’ll be setbacks and everyone who runs a business like mine has health and safety to deal with. We can scrub the whole place down tomorrow and it might not even take the whole day. We could be open again by lunchtime.
I just wonder why the inspector turned up in the first place, when we’d had a thorough going-over the week we opened.
When Daniel gets home from work, I’m on the sofa with a large glass of wine. The children are happily flinging every toy they can reach at the velvet-covered footstool. I don’t know what the stool did to provoke them, but it’s going to have to fend for itself. I’m too tired. At least the toys aren’t being fed into the DVD player. That game is so last week.
He throws himself down beside me and plants a kiss on my temple. ‘Tough day at the office?’
‘The office is closed,’ I say.
‘Cheers to that. I’ll get a glass too.’
‘No, I mean the office is closed. Health and safety shut us down today.’
‘What?! Darling, what happened? Why didn’t you ring me?’
That’s a good point. Why didn’t I ring him? ‘It all happened so fast that I didn’t have a chance. There’s nothing you could have done anyway.’ His brow starts to furrow when I tell him about the inspector’s objections. ‘That doesn’t sound like something you should be closed down for, though. It’s not as though they found rats in the kitchen. Even then you’d get several warnings first. Don’t you remember that restaurant near my old flat?’
We’d renamed it after they finally shut it down. ‘The Curry and Mice,’ we say at the same time. ‘I remember. Well, having dummies in the play area is obviously a very serious offense, because he didn’t even let me wait till closing. He made everyone leave as soon as he gave me the citation. He taped a notice to the front door, like it was a plague house or something. It was humiliating.’ My face flushes just thinking about it.
‘That sounds over the top, Em. Surely you could have just picked up the dummies.’
‘He didn’t like that some of the children weren’t wearing socks either.’
Daniel shrugs. ‘Ask the parents to put their socks back on?’
I don’t need Daniel to tell me that Dad could have easily corrected his citation by wheeling out of the play area. ‘He shouldn’t have made me close early,’ I finally say. This has Barb’s fingerprints all over it. Of course, I’ll never be able to prove it. She’ll only deny the whole thing. And probably throw me out of her caff again.
Daniel envelops me in his arms. ‘I’m sorry, darling. But you’ll get everything put right tomorrow and be back in business.’
True, except that I’ve got a nemesis who’s trying everything she can think of to shut me down. My plants are dead. My café is closed. What’s next?
The sun’s not even up yet when I drag myself out of bed. I’m achy from all the cleaning yesterday and I have to meet Zane at the café to make sure his little baking elves are happy to increase their cake production. We’re selling out every day.
I stare at myself in our bathroom mirror as Daniel snores away in bed. Even with the make-up I’ve dashed on, I look like death warmed up. I look like death warmed up with slap dashed on. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so tired.
I can tell myself a million times that the health inspector was a one-off, or that his citations were nitpicky enough to excite one of those compulsive cleaners from the telly. I can be thankful that it only took a day to put everything right and we’ll open as usual today. None of that matters because they’re red herrings anyway. If it’s not bare-foot babies or death-by-dummies, it’ll be Joseph’s soap aversion (his love affair with the Fairy Liquid was short-lived). Or the fact that by the time the mums leave the café for the day, the bins in the loo have enough dirty nappies in them to be declared a Hazardous Waste Zone. Thank goodness the inspector didn’t go in there, but what about next time or the time after that? The point is that a person will always find something if he wants to look hard enough.
And if it’s not the health inspector, what will it be next? I may have stuffed fake flowers into all the window boxes so they can’t be poisoned and secured an in-house supply of cake that can’t be cancelled, but there’ll always be another way for Barb to tamper with our business.
As I unlock the café door, I stick up two fingers. They still feel dried out and wrinkly from being elbow-deep in Dettol. ‘Eff off, Barb, you can’t stop us!’ I say into the empty room. Then I feel stupid in case Zane heard me.
He’s alone in the kitchen and all the worktops are gleaming as usual. He runs a tight ship with his students. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘They’ve got exams so I gave them the rest of the week off. It’s nice to have the kitchen to myself. Everything takes twice as long with them here. Come see what I’ve made.’ Carefully he smooths the icing on his cake. ‘Well, you can’t see now because it’s iced. You’ll have to wait till you cut it.’
Zane looks like a natural in his white apron. Even though his dreadlocks are as crazy as ever and his tattoos as vivid, the apron gives him an air of professionalism that suits him.
‘At least tell me what it is, Zane.’
‘Pssh, impatient. I’ve been playing with a new recipe idea for cakes. You know how certain flavours go well together – strawberries and cream, chocolate and orange, that kind of thing? I want to try it in cake.’
‘You already do that. Your chocolate coffee cake is delicious.’
He shakes his head. ‘Nah, I don’t mean flavour combinations. I want different flavours in each sponge. And not normal sponge with filling, either. Just putting strawberries and cream between the layers is cheating. I want to make a sponge that tastes of cream and another that tastes of strawberries.’ He grabs a knife. ‘Here.’ Carefully he cuts a sliver from the cake he’s just taken all that time to ice. ‘Taste.’
The sponges are slightly different colours, which should tell me they’re different flavours, but even without that clue, the aroma of pear and caramel is unmistakeable. My mouth starts to water as I raise the fork to my mouth. ‘That’s delicious!’
His grin is bashful and proud all at once. ‘I’ll still make the bestsellers, but maybe you could feature one new one a week and see how people like it. Next week I’ll start the students on pastries and patisserie. That okay?’
That’s not exactly a hard question to answer. Sticky sweet delicious morning pastries and delicate petit fours for the afternoon? Yes, I’d say that’s okay.
Melody, Samantha and the sisters turn up together as if they’d never been chucked out by the health inspector, but there’s no sign of most of the other mums. I wish I could blame them, but I’m not sure I’d rush back to a café that had been close
d down either. Especially when they’re bringing their children. Even though I was only trying to accommodate them by having a play area in the first place. And it was their children’s infectious feet and dirty dummies causing all the trouble. Actually, you know what? I can blame them.
There is one long-term effect of the health inspector’s visit that I didn’t think about at the time. If my dad can’t take his wheelchair into the play area, then neither can Samantha’s son. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell her. ‘They should make allowances for disability, don’t you think?’
She just smiles. ‘It’s okay. Dougie’s a resilient kid and he’s used to it.’
Even so, I hated watching Samantha have to carry her son into the play area like that. He looked so little and vulnerable out of his chair. He can only sit in one place on the floor, which can’t be as much fun as zinging around with the others. ‘You do seem to be taking it well,’ I tell him across the table later while he’s having lunch.
He takes another bite of his cheese sandwich, then realises he can’t answer. ‘I’m used to it,’ he says after he’s swallowed.
‘Yeah, he’s a happy lad, aren’t you, Dougie? Please don’t worry about us.’ Samantha fiddles with her teacup, tapping a manicured finger on the saucer as she shoots a glance at Melody. ‘Are you almost done there?’
Melody smiles. ‘Are we almost done?’ she asks her daughters.
Neither child unclamps from their mum’s breast. ‘Mmm mmm,’ her five-year-old says.
‘Seriously, Melody, how long are you going to do that?’
Emerald puts her coffee cup down. Garnet’s fork stops midway to her mouth as we all wait for Melody’s answer. Nobody’s dared to challenge her directly like this before.
‘As long as we all want it,’ she says. ‘How long did you all breastfeed yours?’
‘I did six months,’ Garnet announces. ‘It was too painful.’
‘Seven months and two weeks,’ counters Emerald. ‘Way too painful.’
‘I didn’t, and you know that,’ Samantha murmurs.
Melody shifts her toddler to cover one breast with her button-down shirt. ‘Did anyone judge you for that?’
Samantha nods. ‘Only everyone, all the time.’
‘I bet that didn’t feel nice,’ says Melody. The smile is still on her face but her voice is steely. ‘See what I mean? There’s enough judgement out there. Let’s not do it to each other.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Samantha says.
Melody smiles her forgiveness. When Eva has finished, she buttons her shirt back up. I doubt anyone will mention it again.
‘Dougie, tell everyone what you want to be when you grow up,’ Samantha says. Then to us, ‘They were asked about it in school yesterday.’
‘I want to be an Olympian,’ Dougie says. ‘For our wheelchair basketball team. Mum might let me start playing next year. I’ll have to be really strong, but I think I can do it.’ He throws an imaginary ball from his chair. I’m no expert but it looks like a good shot to me.
Samantha beams. ‘And why shouldn’t you?’
‘If you were in the Olympics, I’d definitely come watch you,’ I say. ‘I might even make a big banner to cheer you on.’ Melody’s daughter, Eva, is sitting forward on her mum’s lap, dying to be included in the conversation. ‘What about you, Eva? What would you like to be when you grow up?’
‘Either the foreign minister or a sausage dog,’ she says right away. Her pale freckled face beams at the idea of such a bright future.
‘Why the foreign minister or a sausage dog, honey?’ Samantha asks with a perfectly straight face.
‘Nice poker face,’ I whisper. All those years pretending she doesn’t care about her husband’s lack of libido is paying off.
Eva says, ‘If I was the foreign minister, I’d get to travel to different countries, like being paid to go on holiday. But if I was a sausage dog, I’d get treats for being good and everyone would stroke me.’
‘I’d pick the sausage dog if I were you,’ I say. ‘It sounds like a lot more fun.’
Chapter 20
Carl stops in a few days later. ‘Elsie’s not well, me girl, and I don’t like to ask but could you possibly make me a sandwich?’
‘Of course I can, and I’m sorry to hear about Elsie. Is there anything I can do? Does Elsie want one too?’
‘No, no, she can’t eat a thing, but thank you.’
Poor Elsie! ‘What kind of sandwich would you like?’
‘Oh, anything you have to hand is fine. I’m ever-so grateful to have it made for me. I never got the hang of anything more complicated than beans on toast.’ Sheepishly he hands me a flyer. ‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but these are taped up all over the square. It’s better coming from a friend.’
If they’re up on the square, they’re probably all over the main road too. They weren’t there when I came in this morning, so Barb must have put them up while we’ve been in here. I don’t like the idea of her creeping around out there, but at least she can’t kill the plastic flowers.
‘Don’t give the haters a chance,’ Joseph says, reading over my shoulder. ‘Your fear gives them the oxygen they need. Starve them of their oxygen.’ He adjusts his tie at this pearl of wisdom.
‘I’m not afraid, I’m pissed off. What does that do to their oxygen?’
‘Doesn’t matter, it’s still wasted energy if you’re not gonna use it,’ says Lou.
‘When did you get so smart?’ She’s right, of course. It does none of us any good to whinge about it. The fact is that I can’t stop Barb from doing these things.
‘This woman’s really got a beef with you,’ Joseph says, leaning his elbows on the bar. ‘What’d you do to her?’
‘I didn’t do anything!’
‘She’s obviously unhinged,’ says Lou.
‘Anyway, she seems to like leafleting.’
Joseph nods. ‘Right. Should we go take them all down as usual?’
I’m about to say yes when I get a better idea. What is it they say about judo? Use your opponent’s momentum against them. ‘No, they should all stay up.’ I dig around under the bar where we keep our ‘office supplies’. Joseph made us start referring to the cardboard box like this when he appointed himself Stationery Guru. ‘Here, I’ll show you.’ They lean in to see what I’m carefully writing across the front of the leaflet Carl gave me.
I hand each of them a bright blue sharpie. ‘Make sure you write the same thing on every single one you find, nice and big like this,’ I remind them. ‘Underline our name. Let’s make those flyers work for us. If Barb doesn’t like it, then she can bloody well take them all down herself. But hopefully new customers will do the work for us if they know there’s free cake on offer.’
Lou glances at Joseph, who glances back at her. It’s done in a split second, but I know they’ve communicated in their secret teen language. ‘Boss, that’s genius,’ he says. ‘Truly inspired.’
‘I’ve got to admit, that is good,’ Lou adds, and I feel proud enough to burst. Who knows? Barb may actually have done us a favour. She’s going to hate that.
It’s quiet in the café while they’re gone. Barb’s little health inspector stunt did hurt business. At least for now. ‘Leo, Leo, come in,’ I say into the walkie-talkie. ‘If you guys want anything, you’ll need to come downstairs for it. I’m on my own till Lou and Joseph get back, okay?’
‘Roger that,’ Leo says. Even over the crackling reception I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘Over and out.’
He’s downstairs five minutes later. I kind of hoped he would be. He leans against the bar. ‘Having a good day?’
‘No, actually, not really, but we may be turning it around.’ He registers his usual surprise when I fill him in on the nasty leaflets. But when I admit Barb has killed all the plants in our window boxes, his expression darkens. ‘Emma, she actually sounds dangerous. You should watch yourself.’
I laugh off his concern. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to me here, Leo. Ther
e are too many people around. Dad’s here, and Lou and Joseph. You lot are right upstairs.’
‘But everyone leaves before you close up,’ he says. ‘If she’ll poison innocent plants, what could she do to you? Really, you shouldn’t be walking around on your own. Especially at night. Especially with the children.’
A cold shiver runs through me. What kind of mother am I, putting the twins at risk! ‘You don’t really think she’d do anything, do you?’
‘Who can tell with a madwoman? Do you want to take the chance?’
Of course not. I am not a jumpy person, but the mention of my children has me spooked.
‘Let me walk you home,’ Leo offers. ‘I’m usually the last one here anyway.’
‘Isn’t that a little drastic?’ I think of what Joseph said. Fear is her oxygen, or something like that. ‘I only live across the square.’
‘Emma.’ He fixes me with his golden-green stare. ‘Let me walk you and the children home. It’s only about five minutes out of my way and it will make me feel better. You and your parents too, I imagine. Besides, it’s in my best interest. I don’t have any idea how to work the steamer on the espresso machine so I couldn’t replace you if anything happened.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I’ll really try to leave right on time so I don’t hold you up.’
‘I don’t mind if you do. I’m happy to help.’
That night, as I potter around the kitchen getting the kids’ tea ready, I realise it’s the first time in weeks that I’ve been home before Daniel. Though I’m hardly in danger of becoming a workaholic, pedalling cakes into the wee hours or escaping to the café on weekends to practise my espresso pulls. I don’t really even need to be there full-time these days with Lou there.
She’s been such a surprise. Sure, she can be prickly and she doesn’t suffer fools, but I appreciate her honesty (mostly) and she’s very clever. This is a drawback to my business plan that I didn’t anticipate. I know the whole point is to train young people to go on to better things, but I don’t want to lose Joseph or Lou. Especially Lou. That’s why I’ve been thinking about making her a full-time proposition. We’re doing well enough, assuming that health inspection stunt doesn’t dent the business, and who better to help train young people than someone who’s been through the training herself? I’m going to ask her after her court appearance tomorrow. No matter what the judge says about her, I value Lou very much. That’s exactly what I plan to stand up and say in court.
The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square Page 21