“What makes a chicken proud?” asked Paul.
“Crossing the road?” asked Katie and Dan in unison. Dan gave a little cough and stared hard at the menu, so Katie stopped laughing and didn’t say “jinx.”
“I just think,” began Paul slowly, “that the style isn’t quite right. As to the content…Dan?”
“Hmm,” Dan was concentrating. “Not sure.”
“Why?” asked Paul. “You think it’s a bit too Hampstead?”
“No,” said Dan. “Because I can’t understand it.”
“I think I can,” said Katie.
“Well?” asked Paul. “What do you think of the content?”
“I think it’s as good as the style.” She stared very hard at Paul.
Dan and Paul nodded.
“Eh?” asked Nik.
“It’s just not very Porter’s Green,” explained Dan.
“Yes but we are up and coming, remember,” said Paul.
“Yes,” conceded Dan, “but this is like a different language. I mean,” he looked at the menu again. “What’s a shy turnip?”
“It’s a turnip that’s only just been shown the oil,” cried Nik. “What are you? Amateurs?”
“Yes,” shrugged Dan.
Nik stood up. “Excuse me,” he said. “I have to go to my kitchen now.” And he walked out, his dramatic exit being hampered by having to squeeze out of half a doorway and climb through builders’ polythene, instead of being able to get a good slam in.
“I wouldn’t call you amateurs,” started Katie.
“Thank y—”
“So much as complete novices.”
“Thank you.”
They sat in silence, apart from the pearly sound of Cliff Richard and the occasional thud of mug hitting floor.
“So tell us, oh expert,” Dan looked at Katie, “what you think of this menu.”
“In its favor—”
“Yes?”
“I must say—”
“Yes?”
“It’s a fantastic font.”
And Dan gave her a smile that took her straight back to Sandy’s party. They both looked down quickly.
Chapter 15
AT THE END OF A FORTNIGHT, THE BUILDERS, POLYTHENE DOORS AND Capital Gold were all as a dream and The Café was no more. Long live Crichton Brown’s.
The day the builders left, Katie was given the afternoon off, so Messrs Crichton and Brown could finish the final transformation on their own. The next day, the day before its official opening, they decided to keep the Café/Bar/Restaurant—for such it was now—closed, so as to give their staff a chance to acquaint themselves with the new equipment and teach Patsy the ropes. Only the coffee queue would stay open as usual. Tomorrow was to be the first day when everything was up and running. Initially, Katie had disagreed with their decision to keep the food section closed for another day. She thought it should open as soon as possible, before the customers forgot that once, a long time ago, they used to be able to buy food here. It was, after all, now into the third week of closing. However, after ten minutes with Patsy she saw the wisdom of her owners. For Patsy was an oaf. With a capital “OH F…”
That morning, Katie was the first in. As she walked down the road, she glanced laconically over at the café and gave an audible cry. It looked as if The Café had been plucked out by a vast hand from the sky and replaced with a new, sparkling restaurant. It was unrecognizable. Shiny new lettering glistened across the street at her. The color was an almost golden coffee against soft cream. The font—a smart italic—somehow conjured up a feeling of cozy finesse. She could almost see the waiters in their long white starched aprons carrying tiny espresso cups and speaking French while the clientele lounged in cushioned seats. On the window, in the same font and color was written Cappuccino, espresso, latte, Americano, tea and herbal teas. All-day-breakfasts, pastries, meals and then, All organic, soya milk, gluten-free options. Oh well, thought Katie. Nothing diet then.
She sped up. As she approached she could see so much more of the inside from the street than pre-renovation. She hadn’t realized how dirty the window must have been. She ran across the road and pushed open the door. A delicious sound of tinkling bells, like laughing fairies, announced her arrival. She stopped and stared, taking everything in.
The tables were shiny steel—very modern, very fresh—and all small squares to seat just two. There was nothing, not a saltcellar, nor sugar bowl, nor flower, on them—and yet the room didn’t feel cold because the seats were big, comfy square tub armchairs, each one a different vibrant color—turquoise, purple, fuchsia or yellow—and on the walls hung vast mirrors and artwork. Here, not a single line was straight—the mirrors curved into witty shapes, the artwork swooped in elegant bends. The space was full of movement and warmth, like a smiling invitation. In the far corner, nearest the counter, was a white-gated children’s section like a mini-crèche, with tiny chairs, tables and toys. On the wall in jaunty lettering were the words “Mini CB bees” (the C for Crichton, the B for Brown) and prices of mini-meals, milk shakes and juices. There was a toy till and even a toy coffee machine. Genius. It was so good she wanted to have a baby.
She took a step in and realized she was standing on a vast mauve mat. To the left of it, small, brightly colored steps beckoned children to their section. Where the mat finished, a honey-colored stone floor began which led her to the counter. She rushed toward it. What a counter. She placed her hand on it, almost to prove that her eyes weren’t lying. Was it marble? Was it stone? Was it tiles? It was warm to the touch, mottled and honey—almost the same as the floor except gloss. It curved round to the side of the restaurant where four vibrantly colored bar stools nestled below it like sleeping punk flamingos. At two of the stools, on the counter, sat two glistening state-of-the-art Apple Macs, one purple, one cerise.
The coffee machine now glistened in contrast, resplendent in its black and chrome stateliness. The back wall was mirrored and the shelves were glass which more than doubled the size of the place. She realized she was now staring at herself, and that she was gawping. She started to laugh, then put her hands over her mouth and turned back to the café to take another look. I’m the manager of this, she told herself, a deep throaty laugh escaping from the base of her throat. I am Manager of Crichton Brown’s.
“Morning!”
She jumped and turned. When Dan saw her expression, a grin almost split his face. He started speaking and then stopped. There was that crease again, just where she’d left it. His eyes were luminous and he looked like a little boy who’d just found Santa. She wanted to hug him. She made do with laughing out loud. He returned the compliment. They stood there laughing at each other. It seemed the only thing to do. Her laughter had a life of its own and just when Katie expected it to make its excuses and leave, it chose to stay. She let go of all her reserves and roared till it hurt. Dan returned the compliment. This Katie found very funny and her laughter, only recently ready to wend its way, found new energy and made to stay with vigor. So they stood there having hysterics at each other for a while.
“I said ‘Hello.’”
Paul was staring at them, bemused.
“Hello,” she grinned.
Ten minutes later, the three of them were sitting at one of the new shiny tables.
“So Katie,” said Paul. “What do you think?”
She gave a big sigh. “Oh Paul,” she breathed finally. “Dan.” She tried to find the right words. “I think it’s absolutely wonderful.”
There was silence. Paul grinned happily at her and Dan looked down. But the glimpse of a deepening color in his cheeks gave her a sudden surge of confidence. “And I’m honored and excited to be your manager,” she said keenly. Dan looked up at her, his deep blue eyes focused on hers completely. She gave him a slow, wide smile. “Thank you for trusting me,” she said softly. “I won’t let you down.”
They stared at each other until they heard a little cough from Paul. He raised his espresso cup. They raised theirs in th
e air and clinked Paul’s.
And then Sukie arrived.
She stopped still. She stared at everything in turn, pointing and gasping and then turning back to them.
“Oh. My. God,” she breathed, open-mouthed. They all laughed. “Oh my God,” she repeated, pointing at the artwork, and they laughed again. “Oh my God, oh my God.” She whirled round, pointing at the counter and the mirrored back wall.
“I feel like I’m watching Big Brother live,” mused Katie happily. “When do I get to vote?”
“Oh my God.” Sukie was pointing at the children’s area.
“You did this,” Katie told the boys. “How does it feel?”
“Oh my God,” they heard Sukie in the distance. She was running round, sitting on every chair in the place.
“Good,” Paul confided. “Although most of it was Dan’s idea.”
“No mate—”
“Yes,” interrupted Paul. “The café-style crèche…” he began listing.
“Well—”
“The Internet sites—”
“Yeah, but you said to make them Apples—”
“The artwork—it’s a local artist,” Paul told Katie, “they’re all for sale.”
“That was Katie’s idea,” rushed Dan. “I thought it was brilliant. And the café crèche. She suggested having a kiddies’ section. I just took it one further.”
Katie was speechless.
“Oh my God.” Sukie again, now waving at a monitor in the top corner above the till.
“The color scheme, the mirror at the back, the footsteps to the crèche, the interconnecting tables: everything. I’m just money. He’s money and brains.” Paul gave Dan an English bear-hug—a sort of teddy-bear-hug—over the table.
“Thanks mate,” coughed Dan.
Sukie grabbed Paul and Dan from behind in a Sukie bear-hug and almost winded them.
“What can I say?” She joined them. “I-I’m speechless.”
“Congratulations,” Katie told the boys. “You should be very proud.”
By the time Patsy, the shiny new waitress, joined them, Katie and Sukie were already at the coffee machine; Paul and Dan with Nik, going through the new menu.
“Oh my God,” gasped Patsy, almost swallowing her chewing gum, stopping in her tracks.
“I know,” grinned Sukie and Katie.
Patsy gasped again, her hands clasping her face. “Does it show?”
“What?”
“I left my make-up at home. Does it show? ’Cos I can go back home and get it.”
Within half an hour, the first commuter arrived. Katie and Sukie grinned at him from behind the counter and started preparing his takeaway coffee. Thanks to the new brightly-colored paper cups, even this now seemed more fun. He stepped in, did a double-take and then stepped out again, pretending to check the lettering.
“Oh my God,” he said as he came in.
“Right that’s it,” muttered Patsy, flinging down her tea-towel. “I’m going home. I can’t do a whole day without mascara.”
With a little explanation, the three of them managed to persuade Patsy that the complete renovation of the café would take most people’s attention away from her naked face. She nodded vigorously, trying not to blink.
“You see, it all looks so different,” said Katie. “Do you remember?”
Patsy shook her head. “I can’t believe it’s my first day and everything.”
“Good girl,” said Katie. “That’s the spirit.”
Commuter one was joined by number two.
“Bugger me,” said commuter two.
“With or without sugar?” asked Katie, as Sukie started to make his usual.
“It’s like a completely different place.”
“Yes,” smiled Katie, “but with the same charming staff.”
“So I see,” said commuter two, eyeing up Patsy.
“This is Patsy,” said Katie. “Today’s her first day.”
“First day, eh?” grinned commuter two.
“Yes,” said Katie, “in the community. Be gentle with her.”
“Oh,” giggled Patsy. “You are so funny.” She shook her head, “I swear.”
In the lull between the 7.44 and 8.14 queues, Katie decided to show Patsy how to use the coffee machine while Sukie prepared the vegetables for Nik’s experiments in the kitchen.
Patsy nodded firmly at each instruction, chewing her gum with renewed concentration, watching every nozzle Katie twizzled and staring as Katie demonstrated the difference between steaming the milk for cappuccino and latte.
“Do you think you’ve got that?” Katie asked after every new move she made.
Patsy blinked. “Hope so,” she said.
When the first customer came in asking for a cappuccino, Katie let Patsy make it.
Patsy leapt to the challenge. She stood in front of the machine, chewing furiously, high heels astride.
“Right,” she said firmly and chewed a bit more. “OK.”
Katie touched the espresso handle. “Every cup starts with espresso.”
“Oh! That’s right!” said Patsy and pulled the espresso handle toward her so vigorously without twisting it that she almost brought the coffee machine down on top of her.
“Twist it,” rushed Katie, lunging forward. She turned to the customer. “You’re not waiting for a train in the next half hour, are you? Only it’s Patsy’s first day.”
Patsy snorted loudly into the coffee machine. She turned to the customer.
“Hi,” she grinned. “I’m Patsy. It’s my first day.” She shook the woman’s hand.
Katie rolled her eyes. The customer smiled at Patsy.
“Hello Patsy,” she said kindly.
“Please, don’t overdo it,” warned Katie. “It’ll give her the wrong impression. Would you like to sit down? We’ll bring your coffee over to you. At this rate, with the coffee machine.”
The customer was fine with that.
“In about an hour,” said Katie, as the customer found herself a table. Patsy took both hands off the espresso handle and clasped them to her mouth, to aid the process of laughter. “Oh!” she gasped, shaking her head. “You are so funny!”
Katie returned to the task in hand, giving Patsy a re-run, step-by-step of the cappuccino process. She stepped in at the milk steaming stage so that no one in Porter’s Green got scalded. She allowed Patsy to sprinkle the chocolate over the cappuccino and stopped her with a sharp jab in the ribs just before it started to look like a cow-pat. Then she packed her off to the customer with a parcel of serviette, sugar and teaspoon like a mother packing off her little one to nursery with a snack. She came over quite emotional.
In the kitchen with Nik, Sukie was also coming over all emotional.
“I mean—‘all-day-breakfast.’” He hit the menu for the third time. “It’s so done to death, you know what I’m saying?”
Sukie nodded. “God yes.”
“I’m not being funny, but that Kate babe doesn’t know what she’s on about. Y’know what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” said Sukie. “You’re not being funny at all.”
“I’m telling you, tofu bangers and mash is it, mate. It’s the dog’s bollocks.”
“How about Tofu Dog’s Bollocks?”
“That’s the way forward. Not bloody all-day-bloody-long breakfasts.”
“There. That’s all the potatoes done.”
“Cheers.” Nik picked up the potatoes and put them in a bowl, while Sukie noticed that his forearms were kissed with blond hairs. “I mean what experience has she got?” continued Nik, while Sukie watched him flick his hair out of his eyes. She followed the line of his jaw. He turned to her. “Y’know what I’m saying?”
“Mm.”
“You know what I think?” he said urgently, leaning in.
“No. What?”
“I think you understand me.”
“Mm.”
“You know that cooking’s an art form.”
“Yes. You’re right.”
“I’m an artist, me.”
“Mm. A bit like my acting.”
“And I have to be in control of my art.”
“Yeah, well, that’s right.”
“Otherwise I might as well be a bloody—I dunno—plumber for all I care.”
“Would you like me to have a word with Katie?”
He stared at her. “Would you?”
She blushed. “Course mate.” She found herself going Estuary. “We’re mates.”
“You’re a star,” he said and gave her a hug. To her joy, she felt a pulsing down below, but it turned out to be Nik’s mobile phone vibrating. “Bollocks,” he said, and took the call.
By the time Katie and Patsy had joined them—the new video camera with its monitor in the kitchen making that possible when the café was empty—he was still on the phone. They all stood staring up at the new monitor in the top corner of the kitchen. They could see Dan and Paul having a meeting with their organic fruit and veg supplier in the café, and the monitor was so state-of-the-art the staff could almost lip-read the conversation. They started playing with the remote. Now they could see behind the counter. Now they could see front of house again. Now they could see the till. Now they could see the panic button with direct access to the police station.
Nik rejoined them and asked which lucky bird was going to fetch his peppers and courgettes from the store cupboard for him. Patsy jumped down from the counter and pulled her ponytail. “I’ll go.”
He winked at her. “Beautiful.”
Five minutes later, she came back.
“Where’s the store cupboard?”
Katie explained while Sukie demonstrated where the bunch of keys were kept and which key was the right one. Patsy chewed vigorously. She turned to Nik.
“I’m having a stressful day,” she explained. “Left my make-up bag at home.”
“You don’t need make-up, beautiful.”
Patsy gave him a smile.
“I don’t think you understand,” Katie told him. “It had gray cells she needed in it.”
Patsy collapsed with laughter. “You are so funny!”
While she went to find the store cupboard, Sukie gave Nik a guided tour of the fridge photographic gallery that was Katie’s love life. Thankfully, he barely batted an eyelid at the photo of Dan and Katie deep in chat.
The Waitress Page 18