The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square Read online

  ‘Will you honestly do your best?’ Lou asks her.

  ‘I promise I will. And Lou? I’m sorry I didn’t believe you last time. If it makes any difference, I should have trusted you.’

  Chapter 21

  ‘Get in!’ Auntie Rose shouts, nearly upending the Scrabble board in her excitement. ‘That’s triple points for the Q and a double-word score.’

  ‘Well done,’ says Elsie politely. ‘Although I don’t think sequitur is a word on its own.’

  Those are fighting words to Auntie Rose. ‘Non sequitur is the word,’ Elsie continues. In fairness to her, it’s the first time she’s played Scrabble with Auntie Rose. She doesn’t know what a bad loser my auntie can be.

  It’s so good to see Elsie back and looking well. I’m sure every time she becomes ill Carl worries whether this might be the end, but she seems to have nine lives. I hope she’s got ninety.

  ‘Isn’t that Latin anyway?’ Carl asks.

  ‘Audere est facere,’ the vicar says with a broad sweep of his arm that almost takes out Mrs Delaney. ‘It’s worth a try.’ The vicar always comes last when they play Scrabble, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He says it gets him away from the church for a few hours where there’s too much blah blah blah from his flock. Given the choice, God would probably rather have him shirking over a board game than shirking over a pint.

  ‘You two, stop ganging up on Rose!’ Doreen says. ‘Though they’re right, Rose. Sorry, it’s not a word. You can’t have it, but I’m sure you’ll think of something else with a Q and two Us.’ She can’t keep the smile off her face. Doreen loves winning as much as Auntie Rose.

  So does Elsie. Her old-fashioned frilly blouse and skirt and white spun sugar beehive might look genteel, but she’s got the heart of a mercenary when it comes to board games.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, Doreen,’ Auntie Rose shoots back. She’s not taking the disqualification lying down. ‘Just because I’m winning, you take their side. Emma, me girl, come ’ere! We need an adjudication.’

  Why can’t they just use a dictionary like everyone else? ‘Give me a sec.’ I scroll through the answers on my phone. ‘Well, it is in the Oxford Dictionary.’ As they’d have seen for themselves if they’d bothered using one. ‘But the phrase is non sequitur. I’m sorry, Auntie Rose.’

  ‘Hmph. After I practically raised you and all,’ she says.

  ‘I’m not going to cheat for you!’

  ‘She does enough of that herself,’ Doreen murmurs. ‘Next time, we’re playing cribbage.’

  ‘Excuse me, Emma,’ says one of Mrs Ishtiaque’s friends, pulling the scarf of her mustard-yellow saree around herself. ‘Is your cake being made fresh, please?’

  ‘It’s made right in the back there by an excellent baker,’ I tell her. ‘Would you like a slice?’

  Her lips purse. ‘No, thank you. How am I knowing its freshness?’

  ‘Well, you’ll know when you take a bite if it’s still moist.’

  ‘Is it fresh tomorrow too?’

  ‘It should be if we seal it tonight.’

  ‘It is not the freshest tomorrow, though?’

  I shake my head. ‘Not as fresh as today, no. Is fresh your word for the day, by chance?’

  ‘Yes, am I using it rightly?’

  ‘Perfect, well done.’

  Mrs Ishtiaque gives me the thumbs up when her student returns to their table to report her success. Then the whole table erupts in clapping. They seem like different women now than when they first came in huddled behind Mrs Ishtiaque. Now they happily chat to everyone. Dougie and Melody’s daughter, Eva the future sausage dog, are learning words in Urdu, though they were disappointed to hear that ‘poop’ is the same in both languages.

  ‘What’s happening now?’ Lou is carrying a huge tray down from the first floor. I don’t know how she does that without going arse over teacup. I still don’t even use the small trays unless I have to.

  ‘English practice again,’ I tell her. ‘Variations of “fresh” this time.’

  ‘Mrs Ishtiaque must have had them on restaurant vocabulary the other day. They all came up to ask about vegetarian options, one after the other. I had to repeat them about six times.’

  As she loads the dishwasher out the back, I realise that it’s the first time we’ve been alone together since her court appearance. Now’s my chance to offer her permanent work. ‘Lou? I wanted to ask you something.’

  But my moment is ruined when Joseph sticks his head into the kitchen. ‘Boss, the po-po are here.’

  ‘Now what?’ I wipe my hands on the tea towel.

  Two constables are standing in the middle of the café. They’ve both got stab vests on and one is speaking into the radio clipped near his shoulder. They don’t look like they’re after a caffeine fix. ‘Hi, can I help you?’ Try as I might, my voice is wobbling even though I haven’t done anything wrong. I wonder who has?

  ‘We’re checking into a report we’ve had about the café. Are you the manager?’

  ‘I’m Emma Billings.’ I peer at the name tag sewn into the man’s vest. Constable Peters.

  ‘There’s been a report of public indecency.’ Constable Peters looks around with an expression on his face like he’s missed something.

  Of course, as soon as the mums hear this, they hurry into the play area to snatch up their children. I don’t blame them. If Dad wasn’t already with the twins, I’d grab them myself. Imagine some perv exposing himself in here in front of the children! ‘Did someone see something?’ I ask the blond constable – Constable Wojciechowski. ‘What did they see?’

  His spotty face reddens. Joseph and Lou don’t look like the only ones young enough to be on work training around here. ‘Is this always a café?’ he asks. ‘There’s no other purpose?’

  My mind flies upstairs where the freelancers are working. Am I supposed to have another licence for them to bring in their laptops? No, that can’t be what this is about. Unless they’re only pretending to work and are really up there watching porn. They don’t really seem the type, though, with their jazz hands and chai tea lattes. ‘No, it’s just a café,’ I tell Constable Wojciechowski.

  ‘What time are you open until?’ he asks.

  ‘Five.’ Joseph and Lou are standing beside me now.

  ‘And there’s no entertainment of any kind?’

  ‘There’s music upstairs on Spotify,’ Lou offers. ‘The customers play what they like. We don’t control it.’

  ‘Has there been a crime against bad taste in music?’ I shouldn’t joke, but I feel better now that we don’t have a pervert on the loose in here. ‘What exactly did the report say?’

  Now Constable Peters says, ‘There’s been a complaint about topless women on the premises. I have to say it doesn’t seem to be the case right now.’

  We all look around at Mrs Ishtiaque’s saree-clad friends, Elsie, Auntie Rose, the mums with their children. Carl and my dad aren’t exactly demanding lap dances.

  I shrug.

  ‘You don’t mean because some of the mums breastfeed?’ Lou asks. ‘There’s nothing indecent about that.’

  Both men shake their heads. ‘No, no, we’re not interested in breastfeeding mums,’ says Constable Wojciechowski. Then he blushes furiously. ‘No offence. I’m sure you’re all very attractive.’

  Now the women probably think he’s imagining them topless. Constable Peters grabs his colleague by the arm to stop him digging any deeper. ‘Do you mind if we have a look upstairs? Just so we can close out the complaint. Sorry to have bothered you.’

  But before they can take two steps there’s a commotion at the top of the stairs. There’s shouting, harsh and aggressive, loud and panicky. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Even though I know it’s just the same teenagers who drink their tea and coffee from delicately handled china cups and often save half the cake or sandwich they’ve ordered for a brother or sister to have as a treat later. The constables hurry up the stairs.

  The teens are on their feet as soon a
s they see them. They move fast, like a really badly coordinated flash mob. They pull their hoods down as low over their faces as they’ll go, jam their hands deep into their pockets and, without a word, make their way to the stairs, jostling empty chairs out of the way as they go.

  But they can’t get past the constables without pushing them over. ‘What’s the rush, ladies and gentlemen?’ Constable Peters asks. He and Constable Wojciechowski are both twitching. Of course they want to stop them – they’re kids and their faces are covered – they must have done something wrong.

  ‘Emma, are you okay?’ Leo asks from his table. The freelancers have all closed their laptops in case it all kicks off.

  ‘Everything is fine. I would like to know, though, why the constables are keeping my customers from leaving my café.’ I can hear my voice shaking. ‘Is there some legal reason for that?’

  ‘Come here a lot, do they?’ asks Constable Peters.

  ‘Yes, every day in fact. They’re some of my… most loyal customers.’ I almost said my best customers, but they do like to buy one cup of tea and then sit up here for hours. ‘Now, if there’s no problem, would you like a hot drink before you go?’

  I can’t believe I’m being so ballsy! But really, what right have the constables got to bother my customers just because they don’t like the look of them? Everyone is welcome here, whether they happen to wear a hoodie or not.

  ‘If you don’t mind, we might stop by again,’ Constable Peters says loudly. ‘Just to keep an eye on things. All right lads?’

  Nobody answers him.

  ‘That was whack,’ Joseph says after they’ve left. The kids have gone too. Nobody wants to hang around in case the constables come back today. Thanks for that, Barb.

  Now she’s getting the police involved in her twisted schemes. ‘It was whack,’ I agree. ‘But as long as we’re not doing anything wrong, there won’t be a problem. So just make sure we’re not doing anything wrong.’

  ‘We can use the walkie-talkies!’ Joseph says. ‘I’ll radio up to warn my bluds if the po-po come back.’

  Lou puts her hand on his shoulder. ‘Nice work, Captain Loudhailer, and while you’re keeping lookout I can show you how the ordering process works. If you want to be CEO one day, you’d better learn how to do admin.’

  ‘Yo, I’ll have people for that.’

  ‘Joseph, you are people for that,’ she says. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Lou? Can I just talk to you quickly before you show Joseph?’

  We go out the back amongst the pushchairs. With the brick walls painted white, it doesn’t look as dim, and Lou was right. The mums love the bunting and the VIP (Very Important Pram) Parking signs we had made up.

  ‘Relax, it’s nothing bad,’ I tell her. ‘I wanted to talk about the business and your employment. The thing is, we’re doing well and I’ve run the figures and I can afford to take on someone full-time.’

  ‘I’m full-time now,’ she says.

  ‘Sorry, I mean permanently, not just for six months. I know the training hasn’t been very… formal, shall we say, and I’d like to work on that. But with managing everything day-to-day, I need another full-time person. I wondered if you’d like to be that person?’

  ‘You want me? Even with what’s happened and court and all that?’

  ‘Yes, Lou, I want you. You’ve done a really good job here and I’d be happy to have you working with me permanently.’

  But she shakes her head. ‘It’s not fair to take the training spot from someone else. Thanks, but I’m benefitting from this job and someone else should get to when I finish.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I’ll still hire two new trainees in a few months. It’s just that I’m run off my feet and I could use a partner. You’ve got a job here as long as you want it, though I suspect you’ll go on to better things quickly.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ she says.

  I remember being told the same thing a few years ago. I didn’t believe anyone when they said it either. ‘You should. One day, when you’re ready.’

  ‘You’re seriously offering me a job? Seriously, really?’ She looks as surprised by her excitement as I am. She recovers quickly. ‘I’ll take it. We’ll have to talk more money, though.’

  When I stick out my hand, I remember the first time I did that.

  She’s not wary this time when she takes it.

  Leo is unusually quiet as he walks me back across the square after we close. It’s getting lighter now in the evenings, so he doesn’t really need to anymore. If Barb jumped out from behind a bush, I’d see her coming. ‘Are you okay?’ I finally ask. ‘You know, I only noticed now because you haven’t asked about me. Talk about a selfish friend, the way I’m always prattling on at you.’

  He hip-checks me as we walk along the stone path through the middle of the square where Daniel and I had our wedding marquee.

  ‘You’re far from selfish, Emma. I’ve got something on my mind, that’s all. Nothing to worry about. I hope.’

  ‘That sounds ominous.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s the Welsh in me. We are a dramatic people. I’m fine, really. You’re the one who had to outrun the law today. I should be asking about you.’

  ‘Call me Ronnie Cray,’ I say. The silence envelops us again.

  As we approach my front door, Leo’s walk slows until I have to turn around to say, ‘Really, is everything all right?’

  He strides up to me so fast that I’ve got no time to register that his lips are closing in on mine. One second I’m being walked to my house and the next I’m getting kissed.

  There’s just a split second when I don’t do anything. Later, when I replay the scene over and over, I’ll put this down to shock. Otherwise it’s… something else. ‘What are you doing? Leo, I’m married.’ I shove him away but his mouth is still uncomfortably close to mine.

  ‘Happily?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, happily!’ Why didn’t I include that description in the first place? And why aren’t I backing away from him?

  ‘Then I’ve really misinterpreted the situation,’ he says, finally putting some distance between us. ‘Sorry. Just checking, though. You’re definitely happily married?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I say, with more confidence. ‘Good night, Leo.’ With my arms crossed in front of me, I am the very picture of disapproval.

  He smiles his usual smile, as if those lips had never touched mine. ‘Sure, see you tomorrow, Emma. Have a good night.’

  I go into the house, close the door and bolt it. The snort that escapes my lips (my recently kissed lips – stop it!) startles the twins. What was that? What the hell was that?! The last time I was surprise-kissed I was about sixteen years old. I don’t claim to be an expert in relationships, but I do know the difference between a friend and a potential lover, and Leo and I have absolutely definitely only been the first. I’ve had lots of bloke friends in my life and not once has one wanted to kiss me. Which means I know how to do platonic.

  Leo actually had to lean over the pushchair to kiss me – over the heads of my children! Thank god they’re too young to talk. Their first words had better not be ‘Leo kissed Mama’.

  Not that it’s a secret. I will tell Daniel. Of course I will, I’ve got nothing to hide. Leo is the one who should be embarrassed. He’s the one who misinterpreted the situation. I’m just the innocent kissee.

  Yet he didn’t seem overly mortified by my rebuff, and I’m the one who’s got butterflies in my tummy as I wait for Daniel to come home. My mind plays over the last few months with Leo – every conversation, the books he loaned me, walkie-talkie jokes and each time he was the last one in the café at the end of the day. I can say all I like that I didn’t do anything to make him think I wanted more than a friendship, but if that’s true, then he’s either incredibly dim or incredibly bold… or I’m wrong and I did encourage him.

  ‘You’ll never guess what just happened,’ I tell Daniel as soon as he walks in the door. Because I’m not guilty. Guilty people keep secrets.
‘Leo just tried to kiss me.’

  He throws his courier bag on the sofa under the window. ‘Leo, the bloke who always wears tweed and plugs in his beard trimmer?’ His words are light but his expression is frozen. It’s the face he uses when he’s working out a problem. I’m the problem.

  ‘I know, can you believe it?’ I blunder on, because I’ve started it now. ‘I told him where to go, obviously.’ Before I can stop myself, I pucker up for Daniel to kiss me hello.

  We both know he hesitates. ‘Why would he kiss you, Em?’ he asks.

  ‘I have no idea! What cheek, eh? I’ve only ever been friendly to him like I am with all the customers.’

  ‘That is cheeky, rahly. The thing is, I’ve been friends with lots of women over the years and I’ve never thought it was okay to kiss one. Even before you and I were together, even when I was single. So it does make one wonder…’

  He leaves the question hanging between us. I can feel the slight relaxation I was just starting to feel slipping away. This would be one of those times when it would be nice to be very English so we could avoid a confrontation. But in that way we are alike. ‘It makes one wonder what?’ I challenge.

  ‘Did you want him to kiss you?’

  ‘Daniel, do you really think that of me? No, I did not want him to kiss me.’

  ‘And you’re sure? Because I know things haven’t been easy lately. Between us, I mean, rahly. Maybe I haven’t realised the full extent. You have been happy with me, haven’t you? I mean, aside from the usual. I know I drive you mad at times, but I don’t mean to. I try to be as good a partner for you as I can. I’m sorry, I’m still learning.’

  Oh god, this is worse than if he’d angrily accused me of flirting with Leo. Which I’m pretty sure I haven’t done. He can’t think Leo’s kissing me is somehow his fault.

  I’ve loved Daniel nearly since our first date, in that way that’s as sure as my love for our children. As sure as my breath. He’s the answer when people ask how one knows when one is in love and the response is ‘You just know’. There’s something unassailable about the feeling, despite anything outside of us, even a stranger’s kiss, or daily pressures or frustrations.