by Gould, R J
There was an added sense of urgency because Bridget had found what she considered to be ideal premises close to where she lived in Muswell Hill. It was a restaurant that had recently closed, a short walk from the bustling Broadway. They examined it online. The size was perfect, big enough for eighty seated customers. An over-large kitchen could be subdivided with a section converted into an open bar area. The shop front was attractive and in good condition; it required little change beyond new signage. The annual rent was £80,000 for a four-year lease, plus business rates of £18,000.
Having established that these premises were reasonably priced compared to others advertised online, they turned their attention to the money needed to set up. They calculated £70,000 would establish a good quality facility. It was possible to do it for less but wanting an upmarket venue necessitated high standards of decoration, furniture and crockery. Another up-front cost would be training for the baristas to allow them to use a leased espresso machine.
Next they turned their attention to what to sell.
“I never realised how much mark-up there is on a cup of coffee,” David said as he gathered his collection of print outs and handed Bridget one of the spreadsheets. “Look at this. Coffee costs eight pence, the milk about six, but we can have a selling price of £2.20 to match the competition. Even with VAT to pay that still leaves £1.69 gross profit.”
“Yeah, but don’t we need to consider things like staff costs and leasing the machine?”
“I’ve started with gross profit.” David began to explain how accountants distinguished between gross and net amounts, but Bridget soon lost interest if not the will to live.
She changed the subject. “What about food?”
David handed over another spreadsheet. “I’ve compared buying and making sandwiches and think we should make them. For a start buying in is more expensive, about £1.60 a sandwich. We’d have to place a standing order so there’s no flexibility according to sales and there could be loads of waste. Plus the fact that we wouldn’t be providing anything that stands out from other cafes if we bought in.”
“How much will making them ourselves cost?”
“It works out at around 80p, depending on ingredients, though that excludes labour. We’ll need a smooth operation to make sure customers don’t have to wait too long. Mind you, I’m not convinced we’re after the mad rush of the lunchtime trade. We don’t want our customers to be in a hurry to leave. Which reminds me, we should set up free wi-fi.”
“Maybe, though we don’t want people in for hours on the internet without buying much.”
“There’ll be cakes to tempt them. They’re a different proposition to sandwiches, I think we should buy them in and I‘d like us to have a reputation as the place to get the best cakes going, like a Viennese coffee house.”
David was discovering that when it came to figures Bridget had a short concentration span. She yawned when he handed her the cakes spreadsheet and changed the subject. “You were going to investigate selling alcohol. Have you done that yet?”
David outlined the need for a premises licence, compulsory training, and the naming of a Designated Premises Supervisor.
“That’ll have to be me,” Bridget joked. “I’m the expert on alcohol.”
“Yes I’ve noticed.” David lifted up the half full bottle of Rioja Gran Reserva and topped up their glasses. “Alcohol is going to be important for us, there’s a huge mark up on it.” He handed over another spreadsheet.
“I can’t handle another one. But see this.” Bridget lifted up a floor plan of the building they hoped to rent. “I’ve been looking at the layout and if we cut the kitchen size down I think we’ve got room for a small stage as well as the bar. It’s best to have a dedicated space if we’re going to have performances.”
“I’ve got no idea how much that would cost,” David said.
“I’ve spoken to the builder and he thinks £15,000 would do it.”
“Let’s go for that then. God, there’s so much to think about. One thing we haven’t even started to consider is marketing. We need to work out how people will find out about the place and recommend it to their friends. If we go for the one you’ve found it’s not right in the centre of the shopping area; there aren’t going to be loads of passing-by customers.”
And so it went on, the quality of what they wanted to provide getting better and better and the cost spiralling to match their idea of perfection.
David came up with the sum of £250,000 set up and first year expenditure, excluding the cost of food and drink. In future years at least £100,000 would be needed to keep the place open.
Bridget’s excitement and enthusiasm came crashing down. “That’s massive. How are we ever going to afford it?”
“Well, first year costs can be carried forward and are tax deductible in future years.”
“Assuming there’s going to be a second year. How many customers would we need to break even, let alone make a profit? And have you made allowances for our time, what we could be earning if we weren’t doing this?”
“No.”
“Bloody hell, it’s not going to work. All our effort already and we could have done a back of an envelope calculation to see how impossible it is.”
“I’m not as negative as you, Bridget. We’re talking about well under a hundred customers a day to break even and remember we’re thinking of three very different shifts, lunch sandwiches, morning and afternoon cakes, and then evening entertainments.”
Bridget didn’t look convinced.
David continued. “I’ve set up a meeting with that friend Ross who I’ve told you about. He’ll let us know if it’s mad or not. And I’ve also booked in with my bank.”
“My head is utterly mangled. I feel sorry for you having to work with figures every day.”
“This is different, it’s for us.”
“Another glass of wine before bed?”
“As long as you’re the Designated Premises Supervisor.”
“This supervisor is going to dispense with glasses and drink straight from the bottle. Come on.”
Two walls in Bridget’s bedroom were purple and the others were dove grey. There was a line of five candles on the fireplace creating a rich shadowy hue. An incense stick was burning. She must have popped upstairs to produce this calming atmosphere while David was ploughing through figures. He gave her a kiss of appreciation then watched as she removed her clothes. He would never tire of seeing her naked.
She stood near him and drank from the bottle, an act of either accidental or deliberate erotic provocation. She handed it to him and he took a swig.
“Are you going to get undressed or do you need some help?”
“My hands are full,” he said, clutching the bottle with both hands, “I definitely need assistance. Maybe start with this. And here next please.”
Soon they were naked and exploring each other’s bodies – all thoughts of the café withered away. However they resurfaced with a vengeance during David’s restless night as he fretted about all that needed to be done and how they could possibly finance it.
“God, I was out like a light,” Bridget said the following morning. “Did you sleep OK?”
“Yeah, great.”
The Reunion – R J Gould
Chapter 36
A critical twenty-four hours had arrived. They were seeing his entrepreneur friend Ross that evening, followed by the bank the next morning. David had arranged a meeting with Mary later that day to hand in his notice. Friday 1st – fittingly April Fools’ Day. They met Ross in a heaving Hampstead pub close to where he lived. The woman with him was even younger than Hazel, the girlfriend David had seen at their previous meeting. As Ross got older his women got younger and if looks were anything to go by, this new girlfriend was close to the border of legality. You’d definitely want to see ID if she was purchasing alcohol. Fortunately this challenge wasn’t imminent because it was Ross who set off to the bar to get the first round.
“C
ome with me, mate,” he suggested. David got up and walked alongside Ross. “What do you reckon? She’s a beauty don’t you think?”
Candy certainly was pretty and David admitted this. There was no point questioning why Ross was dating a girl thirty years his junior, a previous interrogation on this subject concerning Hazel had created an uncomfortable atmosphere.
“I’ll tell you what,” Ross continued, “I think Birgit is a massive improvement on Jane. Well done mate.”
“Actually it’s Bridget.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
Back at the table Bridget and Candy were chatting away, comfortable in each other’s company. Bridget took her white wine and Candy was given a lavender alcopop. To her credit she listened intently as the conversation moved on to a discussion about the café and she asked valid questions about their proposal. Although Ross had forgotten to bring the copy of the draft business plan that David had emailed, his comments indicated he had at least read it. His conclusion was that the venture might be feasible, but why would anyone select a café for a business since there was no potential for high profit.
“We’d be pleased if it was a small scale success,” Bridget asserted in defence of their idea.
“I’d come along and tell all my friends,” Candy butted in with kindness. “Especially if you get to show those old films you mentioned. I love the black and whites.”
“What sort of things would you want to see?” Bridget asked.
“The film noirs. Casablanca, Brief Encounter, anything Hitchcock. And any Dmytryk, he’s my all-time favourite.”
Candy’s conversation wasn’t matching David’s bigoted perception of what could be expected from someone wearing snakeskin leggings and polka dot tee shirt, together with tattoos, piercings and studs. She talked about life as a first year undergraduate on a film studies course. David was relieved – at least his friend was dating a girl beyond the legal threshold.
Ross stressed one thing that David was acutely aware of. The bank would expect water-tight collateral in advance of providing funding. He made it clear that if the purpose of this meeting had been to get him to finance it, he wasn’t prepared to do so. “I’m afraid there’s no Dragon’s Den from me, mate.”
That marked the end of the discussion and they headed out. Candy was a passionate girl. With Ross and Bridget looking on in the car park, she gave David a sustained affectionate farewell embrace.
“Did you enjoy that?” Bridget asked in the car on their way back to his place and David wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the meeting or the kiss.
He hedged his bets. “Definitely worth it.”
The following morning they got up early to prepare for the meeting at the bank. The first task was to consider amendments to their business plan based on what Ross had suggested. They came to the conclusion that his advice provided little added value, but something Candy had said was a different matter. In the section entitled Market Research they stated that they had interviewed a substantial number of young potential customers who’d expressed a strong interest in coming along on the nights when old movies were to be shown. “It’s not 100% true,” Bridget admitted as David was word-processing, “but she did say she’d bring friends so it’s fair to assume they like the idea of old movies, too.”
David had readily agreed to put the exaggeration into the document. The financial data was all valid; a little leeway in the account of how they reached their conclusions was permissible.
They got dressed for their visit to the bank. David wore his standard work clothes of suit, shirt and tie. He’d never seen Bridget dressed conservatively – a chocolate brown two-piece suit, beige blouse with a frilly collar and shiny black patent shoes with glittery gold bows at the instep.
“What do you reckon?” she asked.
“Fabulous. It’s like having a new woman.”
“Shut up. Come on, let’s go.”
They drove to the shopping centre in silence, feeling the tension. They’d resolved to change jobs and the café was the sole escape route they had contemplated. “Well, here goes,” David said as they saw the bank ahead of them.
“We’ll be fine,” Bridget replied without conviction.
‘Your friendly bank’ was written on a large banner covering the full width of the window at the entrance. There were two life-sized cardboard cut-outs by the door, a young man and woman with perfect white teeth providing welcoming smiles. A real person who didn’t quite match the friendliness of the cut-outs approached and informed them that they would have to wait because they were early. They joined the expressionless customers seated on the horse-shoe of chairs.
Finally the small business support team member of staff approached. He led them to one of the open plan areas that had long since replaced proper rooms where doors could be closed to ensure privacy.
David, a long-standing customer, had expected to see the manager. Instead they got Peter Ridge, a brash young man who gave the impression that customers weren’t to be trusted and his job was to get rid of them as quickly as possible. David provided financial information with all the accuracy that could be expected from an accountant and watched with frustration as Ridge paid no more than lip service to what he said. Bridget contributed in an attempt to generate enthusiasm, but the stony-faced young man gave no sign of interest and no hint of what he thought about their vision. After thirty-nine minutes of a meeting scheduled to last for forty, he spent exactly one minute summarising the bank’s position. It was as they expected – they needed to be aware that any loan for a business start-up had to be accompanied by at least twenty percent of the clients’ own money plus collateral of at least fifty per cent.
As they were led out, Bridget asked if he would be recommending approval of the loan. “I can’t say. You’ll hear from us within a week,” Ridge said, his back to them as he set off towards the horse-shoe. “Mr and Mrs Houghton? This way, please.”
Out on the high street they stopped at a café. It was lunchtime and it was jam packed. Silently, enviously, they observed queues to select food from the self-service shelves, queues to order coffee, and queues to pay. Every table was taken and they huddled together sharing a bar stool by the window.
David spoke. “We knew he’d ask for a contribution and collateral, we didn’t need Ross to tell us.”
“I hated the guy. I’d rather have hostility than indifference.”
David agreed. “Par for the course these days I’m afraid.”
“Collateral’s impossible for you what with Jane owning half your house. But I could do it. I’m the sole owner of mine, the mortgage is paid and I inherited a fair amount of money when my parents died.”
“I couldn’t let you fund it, it’s too risky.”
“You didn’t think it was risky when you were doing the sums the other night.”
“I thought it was possible and I still do. You were the one with the strongest doubt.”
“Well I’ve changed my mind. Or more to the point, what the fuck! Let’s give it a go. We can’t lose all the money we put in, there’ll be at least some customers. If the absolute worst comes to the worst we can shut down and sublet the premises and I’m sure we’d be able to find jobs back in the worlds of accounting and rip off art.”
“It’s still a heck of a lot of money we could lose. Easily £100,000, perhaps more.”
“That would be terrible, but I have got that in savings. I want to do it. Have your meeting with Mary and hand in your notice because that’s what I’m going to do at the gallery this afternoon. Come on, finish your £2.20 cappuccino which only costs about 16p to make while I finish my £3.20 avocado, pine nut, pea shoot and hummus sandwich which by your reckoning cost them £1.60 to buy in.”
David sat in silence.
“No need to ponder, David. I’m serious, I’ve made up my mind. If you don’t join me, I’ll just have to go it alone.”
David nodded in understanding if not in agreement. Bridget chatted away at high speed
as he walked her to the underground. It was small talk, she was nervous. They said their goodbyes and he made his way to the car park.
On the way to work David was hit by a wave of emotion and shed tears as he reflected on the generosity and optimism displayed by Bridget. There was no going back now, they were going to do it. He wouldn’t let Bridget put up the whole sum needed or provide all the collateral. He had savings too, recently halved and theoretically put aside for Rachel and Sam’s university costs. Nevertheless he would contribute as near to half as possible and then work his socks off to make the café a success.
The meeting with Mary was at 3.30 pm. The conversation wasn’t going to be easy; they were getting on well and he was about to let her down.
She greeted him with a smile as he sat.
“I know you’ve called this meeting, but there’s something I’d like to tell you first. You know me – always straight to the point. Well, I handed in my notice today. I’ve been thinking about what to do for quite a while. You’ve been a catalyst, what with our initial difficulties and how we worked through them. I’m going to take some time out, travel a bit, then when I get back possibly work in the charity sector. I’ve been self-centred, in fact downright selfish, and now it’s time to put something back. And I mean put something back. I remember saying that at my interview for here, but that was a ploy to get the position.”
David took advantage of her reflective pause. “Mary, there’s something you should know, too.”
“Hang on. One more thing before you say anything. There’s someone working here who is perfectly suited to my job and deserves it. That’s you.” Mary waited for David’s response. When it didn’t come she continued. “I’ve put your name forward and Stuart is supportive, he wants you to apply.”
“Thanks for thinking of me Mary, but I won’t be…”
“There’s no need to answer now. You must be surprised by my news to say the least.”
“It’s not that, it’s…”