Meet Me at the Cupcake Café

by Jenny Colgan

  Still, she made sure she always handled these meetings herself, rather than letting the perfectly competent Mrs Khan do it, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary. It was the best she could do at the moment.

  ‘So would you say …’ said Kirsty, ‘that Darny is getting enough of a feminine influence at home?’

  Austin ran his hands through his hair again. Why could he never remember to get a haircut? he wondered to himself. I do love longer hair on a man, thought Kirsty.

  ‘Well, he has about nine million well-meaning female relations,’ he said, biting his lip when he thought of the scorn Darny had for other people coming into the house (which, it had to be said, wasn’t always at its tidiest. They did have a cleaner, but she refused to pick up after them, which was really what they needed before the true cleaning could begin). ‘But no one more permanent, no.’

  Kirsty raised her eyebrows in what was meant to be a flirtatious manner, but which Austin immediately took to be disapproval. He was always conscious of being scrutinized when he was with Darny, and sensitive about it. Darny wasn’t an angel but Austin did the best he could, and was sure that elsewhere the boy would be doing a lot worse.

  ‘We do all right, Darny and I,’ he insisted. Darny, although still staring at the floor, reached out a hand and squeezed Austin’s tightly.

  ‘I didn’t mean to … I just meant, Mr Tyler … Austin. We can’t have violence at this school. We really can’t.’

  ‘But we want to stay at this school,’ said Austin. ‘We grew up here! This is our area! We don’t want to have to move and go to another school.’

  Austin tried not to feel a bit panicked as he felt Darny’s skinny fingers grip his long ones, but holding on to their parents’ home, and his old school, and the area they’d always lived in, around Stoke Newington – well, it hadn’t been easy to pay the mortgage, but it had felt so important to give their lives a sense of continuity, not to take Darny’s home away as well as everything else he’d ever known. Staying here meant they were within a community of friends and neighbours who made sure they never went without a hot meal if they needed one, or a sleepover for Darny if Austin had to work late. He loved the area passionately.

  Kirsty moved to calm him.

  ‘No one is saying anything about moving schools. We’re just saying … no more bows and arrows.’

  Darny shook his head violently.

  ‘Are you agreeing with me, Darny? No more bows and arrows?’

  ‘No more bows and arrows,’ repeated Darny, still refusing to take his eyes off the floor.

  ‘And?’ said Austin.

  ‘And, sorry,’ said Darny, finally looking up. ‘Do I have to go and say sorry to the reception kids?’

  ‘Yes please,’ said Austin. Kirsty smiled at him gratefully. She was almost pretty, thought Austin abstractly. For a teacher.

  Janet, Austin’s assistant, met him at the door of the bank.

  ‘You’re late,’ she said, handing him his coffee (white, three sugars – having to grow up very quickly in some areas had left Austin lagging a little behind in others).

  ‘I know, I know, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Darny trouble again?’

  Austin winced.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, patting him on the shoulder and picking some lint off it at the same time. ‘They all go through the same phases.’

  ‘With bows and arrows?’

  Janet rolled her eyes. ‘Consider yourself lucky. Mine went for firecrackers.’

  Feeling slightly cheered by this, Austin glanced at his notes: someone looking for a café loan. In this market, very unlikely, and the terms were going to be punishing. Everyone thought the banks made harsh decisions, but actually lending to small businesses was a thankless task. More than half of them would never make it. Trying to spot which half was his job. He turned the corner into a small waiting area.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, smiling at the nervous-looking woman with the pink cheeks and tied-back, unruly black hair sitting fiddling with a magazine. ‘Are you my ten o’clock?’

  Issy jumped up, then, inadvertently, let her gaze stray to the large clock on the far wall.

  ‘I know,’ said Austin, wincing again. ‘I’m so sorry …’ He considered telling her he wasn’t usually late, but that wouldn’t have been strictly true. ‘Would you like to follow me in here?’

  Issy followed him through another glass door, which led to a meeting room. It was basically just a glass box set in the middle of the open-plan office. It felt peculiar, as if they were two fish in a tank.

  ‘Sorry. I’m … hi, I’m Austin Tyler.’

  ‘Issy Randall.’ Issy shook his hand, which was large and dry. His hair seemed a little messy for a banker, she noticed. But he had a pleasant, slightly distracted smile, and thick-fringed grey eyes – maybe she should put him on her list for Helena. She was swearing off men for good after last night. She felt a growl coming on, but managed to suppress it. Focus! Focus! She wished she’d had more than three hours’ sleep.

  Austin fumbled about for a pen, noting his client seemed a little stressed. When he’d left Leeds, he hadn’t been sure he’d make a natural banker. It was as far from examining coral as he could imagine, but the best thing he could find at short notice; the bank let him take on his parents’ mortgage too. However, since joining, he’d worked his way up steadily; it turned out he had excellent instincts about sound prospects and good investments, and as his clients came to know him, they trusted him completely and were very loyal to the bank. Senior management were reasonably sure big things were going to come to him, although they too wished he would cut his hair.

  ‘Now then,’ he said, having retrieved a pen from his pocket and blown the tissue fluff off it. ‘What can we do for you?’

  He glanced at the file and realized to his utter horror that this was a different café altogether.

  He pulled off his glasses. This was obviously going to be one of those days.

  ‘Uh, why don’t you just start from the beginning,’ he improvised.

  Issy gave him a shrewd look. She’d spotted what had happened immediately.

  ‘Don’t you have the file?’

  ‘I always like to hear it from the client’s own mouth. Paints me a picture.’

  Issy’s lips twitched. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ said Austin firmly, leaning forward and clasping his large hands in front of the folder. And while Issy caught the look of a shared joke in his eyes, she felt a spark of excitement at being able to tell her story properly. Either way, she was about to find out if her dream had the faintest possibility of becoming a reality.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Well …’

  And Issy told him the story – missing out the sleeping-with-her-boss bits, and reshaping it more as a lifelong ambition, with lots of hard financial analysis backing it up. The more she told the story, she realized, the more real and plausible it sounded, like a creative visualization. She felt she was making it come true.

  ‘I brought you some cake,’ she added as she finished. Austin waved it away.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t take that. Could be seen as …’

  ‘Me bribing you with cake?’ asked Issy in surprise.

  ‘Well, yes, cake, tools, wine, whatever, really.’

  ‘Gosh.’ Issy stared at the tin in her lap. ‘I really hadn’t thought of it like that.’

  ‘What, you didn’t bring me cakes to bribe me?’

  ‘Well, yes, obviously I did, now you mention it.’

  They smiled at one another. Austin rubbed his unruly hair. ‘Pear Tree Court … remind me, but isn’t that the tiny tucked-away place off the Albion Road?’

  Issy nodded fervently. ‘You know it!’

  ‘Well, yes …’ said Austin, who knew every inch of the area intimately. ‘But … it’s not exactly a commercial area, is it?’

  ‘There are shops there,’ said Issy. ‘Anyway, if you build it they will come.’

  Austin smiled.

  ‘I do
n’t normally take slogans from ghost baseball players as sound business strategies.’

  Issy nearly forgot herself to remark on how much she loved that film, and didn’t he too? But for a banker, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. She’d been dreading this meeting, but now she was here …

  ‘I mean, I’m not sure it’s … show me your figures again?’

  Austin studied them with some care. The rent was certainly affordable, and when it came to the baking, the raw ingredients weren’t expensive. Staff would be easy to find, if Issy was going to do all the cooking. But even so, the profit margins were painful, borderline minimal. For a very long slog. He squinted at it again, and looked back at Issy. It would all be down to her. If she would put the hours in, devote her entire life to cakes and nothing but, then it was just … just about possible. Maybe.

  ‘Here’s the thing,’ he said.

  And over the next hour, his second appointment forgotten, he took Issy so thoroughly through every single step of the way to run a business – from national insurance to health and safety, food inspections, banking, marketing, stocking, margins, portion control – that she felt as if she’d spent a year in business school. As he spoke, occasionally taking off his glasses to emphasize a point, Issy could feel her nebulous dreams take real, meaningful shape in his hands; he seemed to be moulding the foundations of her castle in the air. Step by step he explained to her exactly what she and she alone would be responsible for; what she’d have to do. And not just for one day or one project; over and over and over again, as long as she wanted to make a living.

  After fifty-five minutes, Austin sat back. He had a standard spiel – his ‘scare ’em straight’ speech, they joked in the back office – that he gave to everyone who came in with ideas about setting up a business. If you couldn’t face in your mind the workload involved, you were almost doomed to failure before you even started. But with this girl it was a bit different; he’d gone above and beyond to help her and show her the pitfalls and possibilities. He kind of felt he owed it to her after turning up so late, and with the wrong file.

  And also, although at first she’d seemed aggressive, almost snarling, once they’d started to talk she’d seemed nice – and she looked so sweet, in her pretty flowered frock – and he wanted her to be very clear about what she would be getting herself into. He was fond of the area she was talking about; he’d grown up near Pear Tree Court, and had often hidden there, under the tree, reading a book when that shop was derelict. It was a lovely spot, even though he hadn’t imagined anyone else knew about it apart from him.

  A little café – being able to sit out with a cup of coffee and a slice of something delicious – didn’t seem that bad an idea to him. But in the end it would come down to her.

  ‘So,’ he said, finishing with a flourish. ‘What do you think? If the bank was to support you, would you be up to it?’

  Normally at this point people said ‘Sure!’ or behaved like they were on The X Factor and offered to give it 110 per cent. Issy sat back with a thoughtful look in her eye.

  This, she knew, was it. A full commitment – if she got the backing from the bank – for life, if everything went well. It would all be on her shoulders. She would never be able to come home from work, forget all about it. She remembered Gramps, eating, sleeping, thinking of nothing but the bakeries. That had been his life. Would it be hers?

  But then, if it was a success … maybe she could find other people to help her run it … open another one. All of that was possible too, she knew. She could end up with more freedom. A way to live her life by her own rules, to her own schedule, taking no one’s minutes.

  A tiny, tiny voice deep down inside her said, ‘But what about when I want a baby?’ She couldn’t listen to that voice, she thought angrily. She still didn’t have a job at the moment. She didn’t have a boyfriend. She could worry about that later.

  ‘Miss Randall?’ Austin was pleased she was thinking about it. It meant she’d been listening to him. Too often he had wise guys in here who thought they had all the answers, who didn’t listen and tried to talk over the top of him. They rarely lasted.

  Issy looked right at him.

  ‘Thanks for giving it to me straight,’ she said.

  ‘Have I scared the life out of you?’ said Austin, apologetically.

  ‘No. No, you haven’t. And if the bank will help me out … well, I’d like to bank with you.’

  Austin raised his eyebrows.

  ‘OK. Well, OK. Good. Obviously I need to talk to a few people …’

  He ferreted in his briefcase for the forms she needed to fill out and instead came up with an apple and a catapult.

  ‘You look like Dennis the Menace,’ said Issy, giggling. She made a mental note to knock him off Helena’s list – he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring but he clearly had kids.

  ‘Ah yes, we use this on defaulters,’ he said. He glanced regretfully at the apple as it went back in his bag.

  ‘You look hungry,’ said Issy.

  ‘I am,’ said Austin, who had missed breakfast trying to get Darny to eat his.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cake? I won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘But I would know,’ said Austin, mock-sternly. He buzzed the intercom on his desk. ‘Janet, would you mind bringing in a set of business account application forms?’

  ‘But I already—’

  Austin took his finger off the intercom.

  ‘I’ll let Janet help you with the forms. Then just leave them with reception. I think my eleven o’clock is here.’

  ‘Your eleven o’clock has been here for half an hour,’ said Janet, appearing at the door with a sheaf of forms. She looked at Austin as if he were a naughty schoolboy. ‘I’ll tell him you’re just ready.’ She swept out.

  Issy stood up. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Good luck,’ said Austin, standing up too, taking off his glasses and holding out his hand. Issy shook it. ‘If you need anything else, here’s my card. And here, would you like a bank pen?’

  ‘You keep it,’ said Issy. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone to think you were trying to bribe me.’

  Although the weather was still cold and grey, at least it wasn’t raining. While Issy knew she had plenty of things to get started on, she also had an awful lot to think about as she crossed the busy Dalston Road – clustered with shoppers unperturbed by the cold, eating sausage rolls from the baker’s, or pushing through to the market, or examining laundry baskets outside the bric-a-brac shop. Stoke Newington High Street was a little quieter, with mummies wheeling their buggies to baby yoga and the library; to the vegetarian falafel café, or the churchyard. A toy shop jostled with a posh wallpaper showroom and a thriving independent bookshop.

  Then Issy turned again, into Albion Road. The large grey houses stared back at her impassively. Here there were hardly any pedestrians at all, just the long, bendy 73 cutting corners and rendering the road impassable. And there, almost hidden from sight, was the tiny turn-off just on the corner … As she came into Pear Tree Court and saw the sign up in the window – Rented – her heart leapt. She sat down, in the cold, on the little bench under the tree. Even in the chill weather, she felt a great sense of peace steal over her. The sun was only just showing its face. It touched a tiny piece of spring on to her winter-pallid face and she closed her eyes in bliss. Winter would come to an end; it would. And here, she would have a little haven in the very epi-centre of one of the world’s busiest cities. Could she make it her own?

  When Des arrived to hand over the keys, he found Issy like that, sitting on the bench, looking dreamy and far away. Uh-oh, he thought, worriedly. That wasn’t really a good look for the putative owner of a business. That was more the look of someone who had a head full of castles in the air.

  ‘Hey, hello,’ he said, standing directly in her tiny shaft of sunshine. ‘Sorry I’m late. My wife was supposed to … Uh, well, never mind.’

  Issy squinted up at him. ‘Hi! Sorry, it’s just such a relaxing spot.
I had a bit of a late night …’ She let her voice tail off, remembering. Then she jumped up, trying to recover her professional demeanour. ‘So let’s see what we’re dealing with, shall we?’

  In her years of working with professionally shown buildings, Issy had gained a shrewd eye as to what needed doing in places, and the ability to put a positive spin on it. But as Des ceremoniously handed over the huge set of keys, and she slowly turned them in the three locks on the door to open it, creaking her way tentatively inside, she realized that suggesting to clients what they ought to be doing was very different from planning on doing it yourself. Thick dust lay on an old countertop; the window was smeared with grime. The last inhabitants might have had spiritual yogic peace, but their housekeeping left a little to be desired. Shelves had been left which would be completely useless to the new enterprise, while more useful things – a sink upstairs, plenty of plug points – were completely missing.

  Issy felt her heart beat faster. Was this crazy? The fireplace was lovely, so beautiful, but she couldn’t put tables and chairs in front of it if it was lit. She was 100 per cent sure the fire officer wouldn’t let her light it. That Austin chap had been full and definitive on the subject of whether or not to cross a fire officer. It seemed to be pretty much up there with crossing a US immigration officer.

  ‘There’s plenty to do,’ said Des jovially, hoping he could wrap this up speedily enough to get back before his mother-in-law started to impart to Jamie what she considered to be a few home truths. ‘But I know it’s going to be fine.’

  ‘Do you?’ said Issy, frantically taking snaps on her digital camera. What had seemed so easy to visualize before – a nice fresh green on the walls; sparkling windows to let the light in; beautiful pastel cakes temptingly set out on cake stands – suddenly was a lot harder to see in this dusty, dingy space.