The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square

by Lilly Bartlett

  ‘Nothing. I mean, everything. You’ve thought of everything, thank you.’ I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him. Daniel used to do all the cooking when we were first together. That was because we always had dinner at his house – it was more romantic than trying to crowd around the kitchen table at Mum and Dad’s. But he’s also much better at it than me. I can follow a recipe, but Daniel actually makes up dishes from leftovers, like my very own home edition of the MasterChef invention test. My mouth starts to water.

  ‘The wine’s in the fridge,’ he adds. ‘I’ll have a glass too if you’re pouring.’

  If we barricade the children into the dining room with the safety gates, we can keep an eye on them from the kitchen. That’s not to say they can’t still get into mischief, just that we’ve got a chance to catch them before they do too much damage.

  I pour two ice-cold glasses of wine. Those glasses were a gift from Cressida for our wedding. She was Daniel’s friend originally, but we used to hang around together a lot. She was even one of my bridesmaids, so I really should have kept in touch more than I have. I think I last talked to her just before Daniel’s birthday party, and that was late last summer. That long. How did that happen? ‘I haven’t talked to Cressida in ages,’ I tell Daniel as he checks whatever’s in the oven. I watch him as he potters around the kitchen, my heart quickening like it always used to. He’s adorable.

  How nice it is to have those familiar feelings! Just because the man makes my tea. I’m such a cheap date, but still, I’m absolutely going to savour this moment while it lasts.

  ‘She’s doing well,’ he says. ‘I saw her for drinks a few weeks ago.’ Then he looks guilty because he knows he didn’t tell me this before. ‘We just had one drink quickly after work. It wasn’t worth mentioning.’

  My annoyance wrestles with all the lovely feelings I had seconds before. It must be nice to be so casual about having a social life while I’m rationing my time like it’s the last of the chocolate on Christmas Eve just after all the shops have closed.

  ‘She asked about you,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you give her a ring?’

  ‘Tea’s in a few minutes,’ I say, my voice tight.

  ‘It can wait, darling. Ring her. You’ll feel better.’

  I feel just bloody fine, thank you very much. ‘Any other social events I should know about?’

  His hesitation speaks volumes. ‘Actually, yah, now that you mention it.’

  I cross my arms. He wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t asked.

  ‘There’s a charity do in two weeks that we’ve been organising, and I’d love to take you. It’s a dinner and dancing thing. You can dress up…’ He sees my face. ‘… or not. You’re beautiful in whatever you wear. I thought it would be a nice night out for us.’

  Dinner, wine, romantic propositions. Leave it to him to be kind and thoughtful just when I’m trying to be angry that he sneaked off, again, for a rendezvous with his old life.

  I suppose I could ring Cressida, but I feel as if I’ve lost that privilege after missing the call-back window. You know the one, after a friend leaves a message, or two or three, when it’s still okay to say you’ve been busy/out of town/ill. Once the window closes, though, it’s a lot harder to sound like you really did mean to ring back. And you can’t very well string together excuses – I was just going to ring when my phone died and it took a week to get a new battery and then it was Mum’s birthday, which is where I must have picked up the stomach bug that knocked me out so we had to reschedule the holiday till I felt better, but then coming back into work after so long off was crazy. Phew, sorry it’s been six months.

  Everyone’s window is different, depending on the temperament of the friend involved. Some people are fine not hearing from you for a month. Others get sniffy if a week goes by. Cressida isn’t the sniffy type, but there’s also the relationship to consider. She’s more Daniel’s friend than mine. It doesn’t make sense to ring out of the blue after six months to whinge about him. That would only be awkward for us both.

  So I call Emerald instead. ‘Give me ten minutes to convince Anthony to mind the baby,’ she says when I suggest a drink.

  ‘No, no, Emerald, I don’t mean for you to drop everything right now. It was only an idea if you weren’t busy. Daniel is making tea now so I couldn’t meet till after.’

  ‘After, then,’ she says.

  ‘I’m going to meet Emerald after we eat,’ I tell Daniel back in the kitchen. ‘I can get the children ready for bed if you’ll put them down and read to them. I won’t be out long.’

  He hesitates before answering. ‘Of course, darling. We’ll have a nice time together. You go out and meet your friend.’

  I wish I didn’t feel guilty when he says this. I’m not exactly abandoning my family, am I? ‘I won’t be gone long.’

  ‘Go as long as you want. Enjoy yourself. Really, Emma. You need to get out and have fun sometimes.’

  He’s probably trying to be nice, but that just feels like a judgement.

  I turn up to the pub that Emerald suggests to find Garnet, Samantha and Melody already clutching wine glasses. ‘Wow, did I sound that desperate?’ I ask, taking up the fifth chair at the table.

  ‘Solidarity,’ Samantha says, and they all raise their glasses as they hand me mine. ‘We know what it can be like.’

  I feel silly now. I was just a bit fed up with Daniel, that’s all. Nothing catastrophic or life-threatening. Married people go through these ups and downs all the time. It probably just means we’re out of the honeymoon phase. Perfectly normal, in other words.

  But my friends aren’t letting me brush the whole thing off. ‘You can talk to us,’ Melody says. ‘Trust me – whatever it is, we’ve all been there.’

  ‘I don’t think anything unusual is happening with us,’ I tell them. ‘I guess it’s just taking a while to adjust to the children. These things take time, right?’

  ‘Of course they do,’ Garnet says. ‘It’s the biggest adjustment you’ll make in your marriage because it involves every part of your life.’

  Emerald finishes her sister’s thought. ‘Your relationship and the way you relate to each other, not to mention your home life and your interactions with the children. Our counsellor explained that. We went to her to learn the coping tools.’

  Garnet reaches over to hug her sister, who pats and squeezes her hand in return. ‘We’ve been to counselling too,’ Garnet tells me.

  Emerald’s hand squeezes Garnet’s again, a little tighter because Garnet flinches. ‘I suggested it to you after we started going, didn’t I?’ Emerald says. ‘It’s so important to take care of these things before they become big problems. I’ve always said that.’

  ‘Mmm hmm,’ Garnet agrees. ‘There’s a plaque in our kitchen. “Tend your relationship as though it were a garden.”’

  ‘That’s right. I got it for you for Christmas that year.’

  I’m not sure who won that round. I don’t know if they know either.

  ‘Is your sex life okay?’ Melody wants to know.

  ‘Shouldn’t we have a bit more to drink first?’

  Samantha tops me up. ‘So?’

  ‘It’s… there. Sometimes.’ I glare at the women. ‘You aren’t about to tell me that I should be looking after my man, are you?’

  ‘God, no!’ Samantha says. ‘This isn’t the nineteen fifties. Think of sex like a barometer for the relationship. It can tell you whether it’s stormy or fine.’

  ‘Or changeable,’ Emerald says hopefully.

  I put my chin in my hand. ‘We’re in a drought at the moment. With very occasional scattered showers.’

  ‘Do you want to try some of my love potion?’ Samantha offers.

  ‘Does it actually work?!’ Garnet wants to know.

  ‘It works. It made him randy, but he got tired halfway through. I need one with added caffeine.’

  Melody shakes her head. ‘Count yourself lucky,’ she tells me. ‘Who’s got the energy for those marathon sessions anymore?�
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  ‘We do!’ the sisters say at once. Then, just as Garnet is about to speak, Emerald adds, ‘We probably do it three times a week.’

  ‘Us too,’ Garnet says. ‘At least that often, but it’s the quality that counts.’

  Emerald nods. ‘And also the quantity.’

  Samantha just rolls her eyes at me. ‘At this point I’d take either.’

  We’re two bottles into the evening when Melody stands up. ‘Well, I’ve got to get home to make more biscuits for Poppy.’

  ‘Melody, your brain is going soft from all that macrobiotic shit you eat,’ Samantha scolds. ‘Your girls are called Eva and Joy.’

  ‘And your brain is getting squeezed from all the yoga because you know very well that Poppy is our schnauzer. See you tomorrow!’

  Our little group breaks up not long after Melody leaves to bake for her dog.

  ‘Ring me if you need anything,’ Garnet says, hugging me.

  ‘Or me. Any time at all,’ adds Emerald.

  ‘Day or night, I’m here,’ Garnet says.

  We’ve only been together an hour, yet I do feel better having talked to them. It proves that I’m not the only one who’s struggling to hold on to whatever tiny bit of me that I can, as meagre as it might be right now.

  Watching our clientele build up over the weeks that follow our opening does help me keep some perspective on everything else. If I’m managing to make the café work, then maybe things in the rest of my life are working better than I think.

  My friends haven’t invited any other mums to the café, but there are a lot more in here now. Just seeing them inside seems to be enough to attract others, like ants to a picnic. As soon as they realise there’s a play area, they can’t wheel their Bugaboos in here fast enough. The whole ground floor is nearly full of them.

  When Dad and Auntie Rose first started in the play area they were really just there to get out of the house, but now they’re surrounded by under-fives. Auntie Rose does a reading corner and you should see the children’s faces when she acts out the scenes and does all the voices. Not to be outdone, Dad’s concocted a whole parallel universe where the kids brew tea and coffee in the mini kitchen and serve cake to waiting customers at the tiny tables dotted around the play mats.

  Mrs Ishtiaque loops her arm through mine as I watch my children playing with the toy kitchen. ‘They are loving it here, Emma. We are all loving it. You should be very proud.’

  ‘I am. All the hard work is worth it when I see everyone enjoying the café.’ I watch Carl sitting with Doreen and Auntie Rose. Elsie did come in after her last bout of illness, but she’s in bed again today, and Carl looks worried.

  If the café wasn’t here, then where would he go for a friendly chat on days like today when Elsie isn’t well? And what about the others? Auntie Rose would be stuck in the house all day long with Dad, doing her crossword puzzles and binging on daytime telly. Where else would the mums snatch cups of tea in between tantrums and nappy duty?

  ‘People really do seem to love it, don’t they?’ I say, almost to myself.

  ‘We are loving it because it is full of love,’ Mrs Ishtiaque says. ‘You are making a community.’

  ‘Thanks, I guess I am. We are, all of us together.’

  Having said that, the mums do grumble about Joseph’s friends who come in being loud and lairy and generally teenagers. The freelancers aren’t always crazy about the mums blocking the aisles, and the teens don’t want anyone near them.

  So I shouldn’t be surprised when a tiny row starts over one of the freelancers spilling a bit of his coffee as he tries to manoeuvre around a pushchair. Unfortunately, the splash goes close to one of the new mums, who happens to be breastfeeding. ‘You nearly burned my baby!’ she cries.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t get past this bloody chair.’

  ‘I’ll thank you to watch your language too,’ her friend says. ‘There are children here.’

  ‘As if I hadn’t noticed,’ he mumbles. ‘And I didn’t spill any coffee on your baby, so just relax.’

  ‘You relax! You should be more careful. You people are always shoving things around and trailing cables all over the place. You could hurt someone.’

  One of the other freelancers speaks up at that. ‘If you didn’t always hog all the space, then we wouldn’t need to rearrange the furniture to get by!’

  Before I know it, it’s all kicked off. The mums are shouting at the freelancers. The freelancers are shouting at the mums. And the teenagers are mocking everyone and cheering whenever someone scores a really snarky point.

  ‘Oi, will you shut it!’ Lou eventually shouts. Her voice booms across the din, shocking everyone into silence. ‘Look, we can’t have everyone rowing in here or there isn’t going to be a café. Then where do you think you’re going to go, have you thought of that? To Starbucks in the City with their four quid coffees? You really think they’re going to let you bring your power strips and your beard trimmers in there to charge? And you mums, you can go to Barb’s, where you’ll be about as welcome as piles.’ The teens air snap and hoot at the mums. ‘What are you lot so happy about? You’ll be back hanging out with the junkies in front of the Tube station if we close, so we’d better figure out how to get along or we’re all out on the street.’

  She’s right, although we need more than a peace treaty. Even if the freelancers did manage to get along with the mums, they’d still have to wear earphones to block out all the children’s noise. It’s not really a good long-term solution if they want to keep working here.

  ‘Look, you might want to have a café that’s entirely devoted to mums and babies, and that’s okay,’ Leo tells me quietly after everyone’s calmed down. ‘Lord knows there’s probably a huge demand for more space where they can feel comfortable. Mothers and babies, I mean.’

  As usual, he’s said exactly what I’ve been thinking. I did once try taking the twins to one of those play centres. They loved it, but I was left standing just outside the play gate for two hours, barred from entering but ready to alert one of the staff if they got into difficulty. Far from the pleasant all-round entertainment I imagined, I spilled tepid takeaway tea down my front and came home feeling more stressed than before I went.

  The thing the mums like about the café is that they can sit like normal people and have a hot drink or a sandwich and still watch their children.

  But I don’t want the entire café to be about mums, any more than I’d want it to exclude them the way the Other Half Caff does. Otherwise I’m no better than Barb.

  ‘I know that a café full of children isn’t the best work environment,’ I tell Leo. ‘Maybe there’s another option. I really don’t want to sound like I’m banishing you, but I’ve been thinking about using the upstairs. We could clean it up and make it nice. I’d ask the mums but the stairs are a problem with the buggies.’

  It’s not ideal from a service point of view – I’m not crazy about traipsing up and down those stairs all day – but we need to do something.

  Leo strokes his beard as he thinks. He’s let it go bushy again, but it’s not as off-putting as it was before I knew him. ‘You mean setting it up as an actual work space, like a proper office café? There used to be one of those nearby, you know, but it closed down. I’m sure if you did something similar it would be just as popular.’

  ‘So popular it closed down?’

  He laughs. ‘Nothing gets by you. They took the whole block down to build flats. It wasn’t the café’s fault. I could tell you everything I liked about the old place and you can use the good ideas to set yourself up. Just off the top of my head, you’d want to arrange the tables so everyone’s got the right space and maybe have some music. And pitchers of water. I did mean to mention that to you anyway. Maybe with some cucumber in. It’s very refreshing.’

  ‘It won’t be a private space, though,’ I warn. I can tell Leo is already decorating ‘his’ office. ‘The whole café is open to everyone. We just want to make all our cu
stomers as comfortable as possible. I imagine people who don’t want to be around babies will join you upstairs… the teenagers will probably like it up there too.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I understand. It’s still a great idea.’ He gazes at me. ‘You’re very good at all this, you know. I hope everyone is giving you the credit you deserve.’

  The other freelancers have been ignoring our conversation. Insulated in giant puffy earphones, they’re oblivious to everything but the tracks they’re listening to. Leo waves his hands in front of their screens to get their attention. ‘Emma has an idea for us,’ he says.

  They listen politely as I start talking about all the features they might want – speakers and a docking station for music and an old-timey Upstairs-Downstairs bell system so that we know when someone on the first floor needs another drink. Before I can stop myself, I’m offering extra electric sockets and a printer. If I don’t calm down, next I’ll be promising them a gym and sauna and free Massage Fridays.

  ‘Or walkie-talkies instead of a bell?’ Leo wonders. ‘Then we could give you our orders and save you trips upstairs to take them. Just a thought.’

  The freelancers are nodding along with all our ideas.

  ‘Let’s take a temperature,’ Leo says. ‘Emma is proposing to open the upstairs so that we have a quieter place to work, though it won’t be solely for our use. Anyone is welcome, whether they’re working or not.’

  All their hands shoot up in the air and their fingers start to wriggle.

  ‘Leo, what’s happening here?’

  ‘Twinkles, great,’ he says.

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘Everyone’s in agreement.’

  ‘Then why don’t you just say so?’

  ‘We did. We’d like to use your office café, thank you.’ He turns again to the freelancers. ‘Should we help Emma put it together?’

  Their hands twinkle again.

  Shyly I do the jazz hands back. That’s one problem down, only several dozen to go.

  Chapter 17

  Zane arrives at the café like a vanilla-scented guardian angel, trailing flour wherever he goes. His dreadlocks are tied up neatly on top of his head and everything, from his walk to the way he greets me, radiates a confidence he never had when we worked together at the Vespa dealership.