Big Dreams for the West End Girls

by Elaine Roberts

  They both began tapping the tops of their boiled eggs, each momentarily lost in their own thoughts.

  *

  Joyce moved the three hot individual pies she had made along to the end of the café’s kitchen table. After picking up the bowl and cutlery she had used earlier, she moved towards the sink to turn on the tap. The water gushed out, spraying everything within its reach, including Joyce. She jumped back and quickly turned the tap to slow the water down as it filled up the bowl to be washed up. As she put the kettle on the range to boil, the bell above the door chimed, startling her. She put down the kettle and walked towards the kitchen door. ‘Simon, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Something smells nice.’ Simon pushed open the door and was suddenly standing in front of Joyce. ‘I know I’m late this morning but I didn’t think I was that far behind! Or are you particularly early?’

  They both glanced up at the wall clock in the kitchen and spoke as one.

  ‘You’re late.’

  ‘You’re early.’

  They both laughed.

  Simon glanced at the pies before moving towards two sponge tins sitting on the kitchen side.

  Joyce followed his gaze. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I made another cake this morning. The Victoria sponge sold out quite quick and it’s easier for me to make it here rather than at home.’

  Simon smiled. ‘Of course not. I’m not surprised – it was delicious.’ His eyes followed her every move. ‘You’ll have to teach me how to make them, when we get time.’

  ‘When?’ Joyce turned and went back to the sink. ‘I’m just putting the kettle on. Do you want a cuppa?’

  Simon began unbuttoning his coat and unwrapped the scarf from around his neck. ‘Yes, please, it’s freezing out there and I didn’t have time to have one at home.’

  ‘My, you must have been running late.’ Simon’s woody scent invaded her senses. Joyce fought the urge to wrap her arms around him, and lose herself in his embrace.

  Their eyes locked for a moment. Did they want the same thing?

  There were several knocks on the café door.

  Simon jumped at the sudden noise, frowning. He looked down at his wristwatch. He hung his coat on a peg and collected his white kitchen coat to put on. His voice was strained when he finally spoke. ‘I’m not opening up yet. Customers get earlier and earlier. I know my father wanted a meeting place for the community but I need a bit of breathing space before the mayhem begins.’ He fastened the large buttons that ran down the front of his overall before running his fingers through his hair. ‘I spent too long painting and chatting. It’s my own fault but I’m gasping for a cuppa.’ He sniffed the air. ‘Is that those pies I can smell?’

  Joyce blushed, trying to ignore the ache for him that filled her very being. ‘Probably, I hope you don’t mind but I made these small pies at home for you to try. I used to make large family pies with my mother so I thought I’d try making small ones for here. If you like them we could perhaps think about adding them for the customers.’ Joyce’s words tumbled over each other.

  Simon smiled as he watched her. ‘Slow down.’

  Joyce took the step towards the serving hatch to see if someone was waiting outside but there was no one. She turned round to face Simon. ‘Sorry, am I getting ahead of myself?’

  Simon frowned. ‘Not at all, I meant talk slower so I can understand what you’re saying.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘Sorry, please don’t think I’m trying to take over.’

  Simon stepped forward, shaking his head. ‘Why would I think that? We’re a team, and a good one at that.’ He paused as he studied her. ‘Your mother clearly gave you a love of cooking before she passed away.’ Simon grinned. ‘Now, where’s the fork for me to try them? They look and smell wonderful.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘It’s a lasting memory of my childhood. We had such fun cooking together.’ Her eyes began to well up; she quickly grabbed a knife and fork to pass to Simon. ‘There’s a vegetable, a mince and gravy one, and a meat and vegetable pie.’ She watched as Simon cut into the first one and dark brown gravy trickled out onto the small plate.

  Simon took a forkful of pastry and meat.

  Joyce studied him, looking for clues, as he slowly chewed and swallowed.

  Simon shook his head.

  Joyce bowed her head as her heart and hope sunk.

  ‘That was fabulous.’ Simon took another cut of the pie. ‘How have I not known before that you can cook as well as bake?’

  Joyce’s face lit up.

  ‘I know I’ve only tried one at the moment, but if that’s anything to go by then they can all definitely be added to the tariff. The customers are going to love them. They are a feast for the eyes. They smell and taste delicious.’

  Joyce’s grin spread from ear to ear. ‘Really?’

  Simon chuckled. ‘Really, I can’t believe you’ve kept your cooking hidden for so long. Oh, in all the excitement I nearly forgot, Barbara’s coming in today to learn the ropes.’

  ‘Barbara?’

  ‘My sister.’

  ‘Of course. Having heard so much about her it’ll be lovely to meet her.’

  Simon gave a wry smile. ‘She’s quite excited but I expect that will soon wear off.’ He watched Joyce collecting the crockery together. ‘Give her any work you think will help to make life easier for you. Then we’ve only got to find someone to help with the washing up.’ He frowned. ‘We can’t keep going home so exhausted.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘I must admit it’s been tough going lately so any help is going to be gratefully received; maybe Uncle Arthur will stop feeling like he has to step in every time he comes in for a cuppa.’ She spooned the loose tea leaves and boiling water into the teapot. After a few minutes Joyce poured the brewed tea through the tea strainer before passing the cup to Simon. ‘Get this down you.’ She glanced up at the clock again. ‘We’ll have to open up in a minute.’

  Simon wrapped his fingers around the cup, letting the warmth seep through before sipping the strong dark liquid. ‘I’m lucky to have you here, Joyce; in fact I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  Joyce fidgeted from one foot to the other as colour rushed into her cheeks. ‘You’re embarrassing me. You pay me to work hard and do my job properly, which is what I try to do.’

  Simon frowned. ‘Is that why you come in early and stay late?’

  Joyce could feel her skin burning. Her heart was pounding and her stomach somersaulted under his gaze. ‘I like to be helpful, besides I don’t have much to rush home for, and bread and cakes don’t bake themselves.’ She spun round and lightly tapped the cooling sponges in their tins. ‘I think these are ready to come out now.’

  Simon took a step forward and opened his mouth to speak but a loud knock on the café door stopped him in his tracks. ‘It sounds like someone wants to come in.’ Glancing up at the clock, he groaned softly to himself. ‘I’ll go and open the door for business.’ He shook his head. The moment was gone. Had he imagined the passion of that look just now? Maybe she just didn’t love him like he did her. He had spent a long time waiting for this moment; maybe he had left it too long. He walked into the café and tried to ignore the pain that was suddenly coursing through his veins. Simon unlocked the door, turned the closed sign around and pulled open the door. The bell chimed.

  Cars chugged past, spluttering their fumes into the grey foggy day. People sped silently along the pavement, shielding themselves against the cold damp air. A couple of dogs were barking somewhere nearby.

  ‘You’re late opening this morning, Simon. I didn’t know whether to knock or not.’ The old man took in Simon’s grey pallor. ‘I was here earlier. Is everything all right?’

  Simon forced himself to smile. ‘Of course, Cyril, come in. I was just having a quick cuppa.’

  ‘I’ll be glad when this winter is over with; it’s horrible out there. Isn’t young Joyce here? Are you on your own?’

  ‘No, I’m here, Cyril.’ Joyce smiled at the man stooped over his
walking stick.

  Cyril removed his trilby hat and smiled, showing his brown crooked teeth. ‘That’s my girl. Your smile brightens my day and makes an old man very happy.’

  Simon opened his mouth to speak but changed his mind. No one needed to know she did the same for him, especially if she didn’t feel the same about him. Instead he nodded to them both and escaped into the kitchen. The decision of what to do over the questions and the looks that had tormented him for months suddenly seemed very easy. Joyce’s voice followed him.

  ‘Take a seat and I’ll bring you over a pot of tea while Simon makes your usual breakfast, unless you want something else today.’

  Cyril chuckled. ‘I’ll stick with the usual, thank you.’

  ‘How are you this morning, Cyril?’

  The café door opened and closed several more times and Simon was thankful the kitchen door made it harder to hear Cyril’s reply along with the bell over the door. He stretched out his arms and leant against the sink for a moment. He lowered his head before shaking it. Standing up straight, he rubbed his hand over his face and took a deep breath.

  ‘The breakfast rush has started.’ Joyce paused as she pushed open the kitchen door. ‘Simon, is everything all right?’

  Simon jumped. ‘Of course.’

  Joyce eyed him for a moment. ‘Cyril will have his usual breakfast.’

  ‘What?’

  Joyce studied his wide-eyed expression and wondered what was going on. ‘I said, Cyril will have his usual breakfast.’

  ‘Yes, yes of course.’

  Joyce frowned. ‘You seem preoccupied. Do you want to talk about it?’

  Simon gave a humourless laugh. ‘Oh to have the time to talk. What’s Cyril’s usual breakfast?’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘It’s the same you make for him every day: two slices of toast, well done but not burnt.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Simon reached out for the loaf of bread.

  Joyce watched him for a moment, wondering what was going on. Sighing, she turned away, picked up a knife and began liberally spreading jam on the sponge. After topping it with the other half of the cake, she placed it on a cake stand. The bell above the café door rang out several times.

  Mr Harris called out. ‘Shop.’ Sighing, he waited at the counter, his fingers playing with the loose change in his trouser pocket. ‘I haven’t got all day.’

  Joyce sighed. Simon was right: who had time to talk? She picked up the cake stand and turned round to head back into the café. ‘Hello, Mr Harris, what can I do for you, a cup of tea maybe?’ She forced a smile to her lips.

  Chatter filled the café as the door opened and closed again. Joyce glanced around at the tables, which were filling up fast.

  ‘It’s rent day.’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘My goodness, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’

  Mr Harris eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve just come to let you know the rent’s going up to nine shillings from this week.’

  ‘What?’

  Mr Harris smiled. ‘Your café’s in a good location here and I have to earn a living too, you know.’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘That’s one hell of an increase from the six shillings I normally pay you.’

  ‘It’s the same increase that everyone’s putting up rents by.’

  ‘Forgive me if I don’t take your word for that.’

  Mr Harris smirked. ‘Feel free to ask around. You can always move out of here. This is a valuable space that I could rent out for a lot more.’

  Joyce glared at him.

  A man’s voice came from behind Mr Harris. ‘I’m sure yer could but not while there’s a war on. Yer need to be looking into keeping the tenants yer have.’

  Mr Harris turned and glared at the young man. ‘I don’t see what it has to do with you. This is business.’

  Joyce hadn’t noticed him come in. She half smiled as she recognised Frank. His lit cigarette was lightly held between his fingers in his left hand, while his trilby hat was sat back on his head at a jaunty angle, showing his black slicked-back hair.

  ‘I will not stand by while you, or anyone else, torment this young lady.’

  Joyce’s smile wavered. Her brows pulled together as she raised her voice slightly. ‘Mr Harris, as you can see we’re rather busy in here so I’m afraid there’s no time for discussion. I shall give you six shillings and you can discuss the other three bob with Simon, as will I.’ Joyce counted three silver coins into her hand and handed them over to Mr Harris. ‘Now if you can forgive me I have customers waiting for their tea.’ She turned and spooned tea leaves into several teapots.

  Simon pushed a plate on to the ledge of the serving hatch. ‘Toast for Cyril.’

  Mr Harris shouted to Simon. ‘We need to talk about your rent.’

  Simon frowned. ‘Then you’ll need to come back later.’

  Frank stepped around the counter and picked up the plate laden with toast. ‘I’ll take these while yer make the tea.’

  Mr Harris scowled. ‘I shall be back at five o’clock so make sure you’re able to talk to me then; otherwise, trust me, you’ll be out by yer ear.’ He turned and walked over to the door. The bell rang out as he opened it, telling Joyce it was safe to breathe again.

  Frank walked back to the customer side of the counter. ‘Now, who’s Cyril?’

  Joyce giggled.

  *

  With an expertise that comes with practice, Joyce’s cold fingers grabbed the frayed string through the letterbox. The key knocked against the inside of the front door as she tugged it through to unlock the front door. Her feet were killing her and she ached all over as tiredness took hold. The lock grated as she turned the key and pushed on the door, thankful when it swung open. She stepped inside out of the dark wintry evening. Joyce leant against the back of the door as it clicked shut and she closed her eyes.

  ‘Everything all right, Joyce?’

  Joyce’s eyes flew open. ‘Yes, I just feel exhausted today.’

  Arthur shook his head and stepped towards her. ‘That’s not surprising. You were rushed off your feet when I was in the café earlier, though the new girl seemed to be doing all right.’

  ‘That’s Simon’s sister, Barbara. I’m not sure about her but she worked hard and was friendly enough with the customers so I suppose that’s all that matters.’

  ‘Well, best to grab all the help you can get.’ Arthur studied her pale features. ‘Come in and sit down I’ll go and make you a cup of tea.’

  Joyce raised her eyebrows and gave half a smile.

  ‘What? That’s a look your father would have given me. Sometimes you remind me so much of him. You’ve got his eyes.’ Arthur paused. ‘Anyway, I’ll have you know I’ve had a lot of practice recently.’ He smiled. ‘Come on, take off your hat and coat and let me look after you for a change.’

  Joyce was too tired to argue and began unbuttoning the four buttons on her coat.

  Arthur reached out and took her coat and threw it across his arm before lifting the hat off her head. He guided Joyce into the dining room and to the black wingback chair next to the crackling fire.

  Joyce flopped down and immediately rested her head against the back of the chair. Her gaze was drawn to the flames swaying and flickering in and out between the wood and the coal. Grey smoke swirled up the chimney, disappearing into the night. Pieces of ash sat on the fire’s hearth where the flames had spat it out. She should sweep it up, but instead she closed her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy doing nothing for a moment. The fire wrapped her in its warmth while the crackling of the wood gave her comfort.

  Cups and saucers chinked together as Arthur’s heavy footsteps announced his return.

  Joyce opened her heavy eyelids.

  ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’

  Joyce smiled. ‘No, I was just resting my eyes and enjoying the warmth of the fire.’ She watched him take the lid off the teapot and stir the hot brown liquid. The spoon clinked against the inside of the pot. He stopped and replaced the l
id before sitting the silver tea strainer on top of one of the cups ready to start pouring the tea. Joyce wanted to tell him how proud she was of him. He had overcome so much and was a different man to the one she had lived with for several years, but it wasn’t her place and she didn’t want to spoil things. She pulled herself upright and took the cup and saucer he was holding out to her. ‘Thank you.’

  Arthur smiled. ‘It’s my pleasure.’ He picked up his own cup and saucer and took the couple of steps to the matching chair on the other side of the fireplace. ‘I never realised how hard you work in the café. Is it always that busy?’

  Joyce sipped the strong tea; the liquid scorched her top lip. ‘We’re busier than we used to be but I don’t think Simon is making much money and now the rent is going up. I’m not sure he’ll be able to keep it open for much longer.’

  Arthur shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. You had people waiting for tables when I was in there.’

  Joyce yawned. ‘I think people are coming in to get out of all this rain and sleet we’re having.’ She tightened her lips. ‘Simon tries to keep the prices down and he’s trying to keep it to his father’s dream of having somewhere the community can just pop in and meet each other for a chat, which is why we mainly sell things like tea and toast along with breakfasts. The trouble is if the rent keeps going up the idea behind the café is moving further away every day.’

  Arthur took a gulp of his tea, not deterred by the heat of it. ‘It sounds like the landlord is trying to get Simon out. That café is in a prime location.’

  Joyce looked dismayed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that before, but the landlord has said as much.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘Either way I think he needs to find a way of making more money so he can afford to pay it.’

  Arthur nodded. ‘It’s obviously popular, which is always a good starting point. Oh, I nearly forgot a letter arrived for you today.’

  ‘For me? I never get letters.’

  Arthur put his cup and saucer down on the small side table next to his chair before pushing himself up out of his seat. ‘I left it on the table in the hall.’ He promptly walked out of the room and returned a minute later clutching a square envelope. ‘Here it is.’ He stretched out his hand to pass it to her.