The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square

by Lilly Bartlett

  Just remembering how much mistrust I had for Lou when we first met makes me come up all blotchy red. She seems like a different girl now, though it’s really my view that’s changing. I still don’t know what she’ll be accused of when she goes to court next month. She always changes the subject when I bring it up. But I don’t guard Mum’s teapots around her the way I used to.

  It’s hard to believe the change from a few weeks ago when the only people in here thought they were on a tour of Victorian murder scenes. Leo now gets a steady supply of sandwiches in return for the small band of hipsters who come in every day to work. Their food and drink orders probably offset their energy usage, even when they do bring in their beard trimmers.

  ‘We need milk again,’ Lou says.

  ‘We’ve gone through it all? It was only delivered this morning.’

  ‘There was no delivery today,’ she says.

  ‘Isn’t it Tuesday? That’s weird. I’ll ring them later. Take a fiver out of the till, please, and go get some more for now. The mums look ready for another round.’

  My friends have turned into a collective noun – the mums. Samantha’s here nearly every day, sometimes in the morning between the school run and yoga and sometimes in the afternoon with her son and daughter. Garnet and Emerald try to coordinate visits with Samantha, and since Melody’s got no fixed schedule (for anything), she drifts in and out at random with her two girls.

  Luckily it’s a big café and there are free tables even with my friends here. It hasn’t taken long for them to colonise, taking over the spots next to the play area where they can quickly wave us down for more food and drinks. It’s ideal, really, since those are also the least appealing tables in my opinion – away from the windows and close to the loos. That leaves all the window-side booths free for customers like Carl and Elsie and Mrs Ishtiaque’s friends and the other customers who are starting to come in. I won’t say ‘regularly’, because I wouldn’t want to jinx things.

  I’ve bribed Oscar and Grace with colouring books and soft toys and anything else I could think of to distract them from the invasion of toddlers into their fiefdom. They’re still too young to play together, but they rub along okay alongside each other. So far Grace and Oscar have been benevolent landlords, but that’s probably because Dad and Auntie Rose are here every day to spoil them.

  I should have known they wouldn’t stand for being away from the twins. They didn’t so much ask as tell me they were going to keep an eye on them in the play area. They are such a huge help and they’d work for tea if I let them. Not that I will when Mum and Dad need the cash, so the café is a family business now. Dad and Auntie Rose staff the play area every day, looking after the customers’ children too. That probably makes Auntie Rose the oldest trainee in East London.

  ‘Leo wants a ham and cheese croissant today,’ Joseph reports back from the freelancers’ corner.

  ‘Okay, go ahead. He’s earned it. Pretty soon we’ll have to get more sockets put in.’

  ‘There’s loads of them in here now,’ Joseph says. He means the freelancers, rather than the sockets. ‘They’ve all got whack drink orders. Half-caff soya and shit.’

  ‘Good thing you’re trained for it. Pablo would be proud. I’m just glad they’re bringing their friends,’ I say. ‘Everyone’s welcome.’ That seems to be how the café is working anyway. Since we’re not on the main road like Barb, that business saboteur, we don’t get the foot traffic. Word of mouth is definitely the most important thing for us.

  ‘Could our bluds come here too?’ Joseph asks.

  I can’t hide my surprise. ‘Do you think your friends would want to come?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ he says. ‘Lou’s too, probably, if she’s got any.’

  ‘The difference is that I don’t have to pay mine,’ Lou shoots back. I didn’t realise she’d been listening.

  ‘Well, then, please ask them,’ I say to them both. ‘I’m sorry, I would have suggested it before, but I didn’t think kids would want to hang around a café.’

  ‘You’re always making assumptions,’ Lou says, but I can’t tell if she’s accusing or teasing me.

  ‘Emma, why don’t you come sit for a minute?’ Emerald calls from the table that they’ve pushed up against the play area fence. ‘You’re run off your feet.’

  Gratefully I pull up a chair. ‘You all right in there, Dad?’ I ask.

  ‘Right as rain, me love. You chat with your friends.’

  ‘Your dad is great,’ Melody says. ‘He’s a natural with children.’

  She should know. Melody is the earthiest earth mother I’ve ever met. Well, with a name like Melody, she’s never going to be a hard-arse is she? There’s not a baby, toddler or teen that she won’t pet and coo over if they let her. You should have seen Joseph the first time she stroked his sweet little teenage arm (her words). He froze like she’d put a tarantula on his shoulder. Now he makes Lou serve their table whenever they’re in.

  My fingers find the charm bracelet they gave me. It has become a kind of talisman. I even found a tiny enamelled slice of cake to add to the charms. That can’t hurt, right?

  ‘Business is good,’ Samantha says.

  ‘Is that your professional opinion or are you just being a nice friend?’

  She glances around the café. ‘It’s my professional opinion, for whatever that’s worth these days. You’ve got a solid business model. A focus on a targeted range of high-quality goods, client diversification, reputational brand-building. That’s textbook business building.’

  ‘I wish it was as well planned as you make it sound, but thank you, I’ll take your compliments. If I ever expand, I’ll hire you to be my consultant.’

  ‘From your lips to God’s ears,’ she says.

  Melody is shaking her head. ‘I do admire you both, even though I would hate to have to work. I mean like you do, not like this.’ She gestures into the play area where Eva is reading to Joy.

  She’s not saying that because her husband is loaded or anything. He does some kind of back-office job out in Slough and they live in a small house on a not-very-nice ex-council estate so they can afford to raise a family on one income. ‘You did used to work though, didn’t you?’ I ask her. Though I can’t imagine Melody in any high-pressured job. She moves like she’s underwater.

  ‘Oh, I was a secretary in the City for years, but it was just a job to pay the rent. The happiest day of my life was when I handed in my notice to go on maternity leave.’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve always known you wanted to be a mum,’ I say.

  Samantha snorts. ‘Look at her! Could there be a more natural mum on the planet? Mother Nature models herself after Melody.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Melody says. ‘Some people just know, don’t they?’

  ‘Some are born to it, others have it thrust upon them.’ Then she winks at me, adding, ‘As long as you mentioned thrusting…’

  ‘We haven’t, actually, but don’t let that stop you,’ I say. And I mean it. Listening to Samantha’s attempted seduction stories is like smoking a sneaky fag with mates in the girls’ loo: if you get the chance, you’re going to do it.

  ‘Tomorrow’s Richard’s birthday.’ She crosses both sets of fingers. ‘Here’s hoping I haven’t wasted another wax appointment.’

  ‘Just don’t wear that body stocking again,’ Melody says.

  Lou is just coming back with the milk when the screeching smoke alarm launches me from my chair. ‘Excuse me,’ I say as calmly as I can with my heart hammering in my chest. ‘I’ll find out what’s going on,’ I call to everyone. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’ We only had the thing installed a few weeks ago. The instructions to shut it up are around here somewhere.

  ‘It’s under control, boss!’ Joseph calls from the kitchen.

  I find him bracing himself in some kind of complicated martial arts stance, aiming a fire extinguisher at the toaster.

  ‘Wait, Joseph, no!’

  He lets loose a steady stream of spray, li
ke he’s one of the Ghostbusters battling a demon. ‘Stop! There’s no fire.’ But he’s not listening. I try wrestling the canister from him, but I’m no match for teenage muscles and testosterone. All I manage to do is send the spray in all directions.

  I get the alarm turned off, but Joseph’s finger keeps squeezing the trigger of the extinguisher even after the last little dribble has left the nozzle.

  He seems to emerge from a trance. We both stare at the fluffy white foam that blankets the toaster, the worktop and much of the wall and floor.

  It looks like we’ve had an Ibiza club foam party, only nobody’s had any fun.

  ‘You probably could have just flapped a tea towel at the alarm, but well done,’ I tell him. ‘Fire safety is important. That one’s not for electrical fires, though. Just so you know for next time.’

  ‘What the hell?’ Lou says from behind us. ‘What did you do, Joseph?’

  ‘I was toasting the croissant,’ he says. ‘The ham must be flammable. Or the cheese. That toaster is dangerous, boss.’

  Lou goes to the cabinet where we keep the sandwich maker. ‘Why didn’t you use this, you muppet? You’ve killed the toaster.’

  ‘It’s dead in the ground,’ he agrees. ‘But it was plugged in already. It should have worked.’

  ‘You’ve got to stop taking shortcuts,’ I tell him as gently as I can. ‘People get ahead through hard graft, not cheats. It might work sometimes, but it’s not good in the long run.’ We both stare at the foamy toaster. Not good.

  Lou touches Joseph’s arm. It’s an oddly gentle gesture considering her usual gruffness. ‘Come on, I’ll show you how to use the toastie maker so you don’t burn down the café.’ She leads him to the fridge to start over on the croissant. Despite the fact that he’s just nearly destroyed her workplace, she’s patient with him. She talks to him like a friend.

  ‘I’ll go let Leo know his lunch is on the way,’ I say. And that there’s no need for an evacuation.

  But once he knows his laptop’s not in danger, Leo’s usually happy demeanour sours. ‘We wouldn’t have been able to get out of here with all the prams in the way, you know.’ He’s had his beard trimmed to a manageable stubble, which suits him better than the facial pelt he had the first time he came in.

  ‘I’m really sorry, but it wasn’t a fire. There wasn’t any danger.’ It’s not like he couldn’t push a pram or two out of the way if he had to. ‘And technically they’re pushchairs. Prams are for babies.’

  He’s not interested in my vocabulary lesson. ‘There’s still not a lot of room with them in here.’

  ‘Then I guess we shouldn’t try running that aerobics class I had planned,’ I say. The mums have the pushchairs ringed around their table, which puts all the adjacent tables out of action too.

  ‘This is just a suggestion,’ he says, smiling his thanks as Lou brings him his perfectly toasted croissant. ‘You don’t want people to be turned off the café because there’s no space. If you can find a spot for them out of the way, your problem is solved.’

  ‘You mean the pushchairs rather than the mothers, right?’

  He laughs. ‘I’m not making a case for segregation.’

  He is right. The café needs to be comfortable for everyone. ‘Let me think about it.’

  ‘Emma?’ He grabs my arm as I turn to go. ‘I don’t mean that as a criticism. I hope you don’t take it that way. You’ve got a really nice place here. We all love it.’

  ‘Thanks, Leo, that’s nice to hear. Let me just–’

  ‘You’ve gone all red. It’s cute.’

  I’m aware of Lou watching me. ‘Let me see what we can do to make more room.’

  I follow Lou back to the bar. ‘Leo’s right,’ I tell her, willing my face to stop blushing. ‘I think we need to reconfigure things somehow to make room for the pushchairs.’

  ‘He’s right about a lot of things,’ she says. ‘You have gone red.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  She shrugs as she looks away. ‘It’s none of my business.’

  What’s that supposed to mean? ‘I’m talking about the pushchair situation. You must have some ideas.’

  ‘Dunno. Why?’ She glares at me. ‘Why aren’t you asking Joseph?’

  ‘Well, he probably has a different perspective.’

  ‘Why’s that? Because he doesn’t have ovaries and I do? Sexist, much?’

  ‘No! Because I saw…’ I lower my voice. ‘Because I saw you with your baby, remember?’ Of course she remembers. She avoids the topic whenever I try to bring it up. Which is ridiculous because I saw her and she knows I did.

  Her face is thunderous. ‘My baby?’ She crosses her arms. ‘That’s what you thought. You assumed I got knocked up and had a kid. Of course you did, because I’m just another loser in the system. I tick all the boxes, don’t I? Foster family, school leaver, arrest record. Why not teenage mother too?’

  ‘Well, I saw you.’

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t always make snap judgements based on what you see. Not that it’s any of your business, but that was my foster sister.’

  ‘Then you’re not a single mother?’ Her look answers me. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

  ‘Thanks for thinking so much of me. I hate to disappoint you, but I haven’t quite fucked up my life that much yet.’

  ‘No, Lou, that’s not what I meant.’ It is, though. It’s exactly what I meant, isn’t it? I’m supposed to be helping these kids, not buying into all the stereotypes that everyone else does. I’m as bad as the social workers and the teachers and the strangers who cross the road to avoid Lou because she’s wearing a hoodie and a prickly attitude.

  I ring Kell after the twins are in bed. She’s always been the one person I can show my ugly side to and know she’ll never tell anyone. Not that she doesn’t judge me. She’s no saintly Mother Teresa, or even a foul-mouthed one. She just never holds those judgements against me.

  ‘It’s natural, though, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘You see a girl who you know has been in trouble, you see her with a baby, you make assumptions.’

  ‘That’s the whole point, though. I’m not supposed to be making assumptions. I’m supposed to be helping them.’

  ‘You can’t help what conclusions your brain jumps to, Emma. You can only help how you react to it, how you handle it. So you learned something today. Accusing a young girl of being a single mother isn’t very clever. Move on.’

  See what I mean? Critical of the action, not the person.

  ‘Actually, I’m glad you rang,’ she says.

  ‘Because my drama makes you feel better about yourself?’

  ‘Ha, no. Because I’ve got something to tell you. Me and Calvin are going to try Spain.’

  She leaves the statement hanging in the air like a bad smell that needs clearing. ‘Wow, big change.’

  ‘Scary change,’ she agrees. ‘But if you could do it, marrying a posho – totally different world – then I can live somewhere gorgeous for a year or two. What do you think?’

  There are not enough free minutes on my mobile to tell her everything I’m thinking. It all boils down to the same thing anyway. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do without you.’

  ‘You’re not without me, you divvy. I’ll only be a few hours away and we talk more on the phone than we see each other now anyway. You’ll hardly know I’m gone.’

  We both know that’s a lie, but it’s one we need to believe. ‘What about your dad and the business?’

  She laughs. ‘It turns out that he doesn’t need me as much as he’s said he did all these years. He’s taking on Faisal’s brother.’ Faisal’s dad has the other fish stall at the market. ‘Faisal’s got dibs on their dad’s business so Dad’s agreed to train up his brother to take ours over eventually. It’s like an arranged marriage with mackerel.’

  ‘But what if you need to come back?’ I say.

  ‘Dooming my relationship already?’

  ‘No, I… It’s just wishful thinking. It’
s a shame it’s not staying in the family, that’s all.’

  Though it is staying in East London, and I guess that is sort of family. If only Kelly were staying too.

  Chapter 14

  Daniel’s already gone to work when Dad rings our doorbell. ‘You’re running late,’ he says. ‘Can we help?’

  ‘Thanks. Could you change Grace, please? I’ve got to pack their snacks and clothes. Auntie Rose, could you keep Oscar occupied for a few minutes?’ I glance at the breakfast dishes on the table. And the dishes from tea in the kitchen. They’ll have to wait till after work.

  Dad and Auntie Rose have been absolute lifesavers. They’re star employees, turning up at the café earlier every day. It’s great that they’re so keen, but soon Auntie Rose will be getting me out of bed.

  I guess I didn’t appreciate how they must have felt being at home all these years. It’s one thing to have your weekends off from work to sit around the house in your jimjams. And who doesn’t love the occasional duvet day or the Christmas period when there’s nothing to do but watch telly and plough through boxes of Celebrations? But when you have every day off it must seem less like a holiday and more like a punishment. Getting up each morning only to have to find ways of filling another long day at home, which was exactly like yesterday’s long day at home, must get so boring. Not to mention demoralising. No wonder Dad was so eager to look after the twins when I first started dropping them off. Even wiping babies’ bums beats watching daytime telly.

  Neither Dad nor Auntie Rose have ever liked sitting around anyway. Dad, as you know, was a cabbie, and my aunt spent her working life cutting and colouring hair and generally being the keeper of all the neighbourhood gossip. Though she wasn’t as good at keeping secrets as she was at telling them. She was the one who finally broke the news about Doreen’s husband to her, which was more of a public service and duty of a friend. There’d been whispers about him for some time, but nothing concrete, so naturally people didn’t want to say anything. Auntie Rose knew that forewarned was forearmed and, anyway, if it came to nothing, then it would quell suspicion once and for all.