The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square

by Lilly Bartlett

  Maybe I’ve lost sight of that in the past year. I know I’ll never let something so precious out of my sight again.

  ‘I am sure,’ I tell him. ‘I didn’t want it.’ And I know what I’m saying is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, Your Honour. ‘I only love you. I only want to be with you. Leo was out of line. Unprovoked.’

  I’m not sure who goes in for the kiss first. But it’s passionate and meaningful and I’ve missed it so much. I only know this is where I want to be. With Daniel by my side.

  End of, as the kids say. Hopefully it is.

  Chapter 22

  When Barb’s Convict Café leaflet turns up just after the constables’ visit, it’s the last straw. If that woman wants a fight, she’s going to get one tonight.

  Peering through the caff window, I’m pleased to see that complaining about my café hasn’t drawn in quite the same crowd that the tombola did. Maybe Barb should be offering prizes, I think bitterly, as I approach the door. There are still fifteen or so people in there, though, and I’m going to have to face them. My anger has propelled me this far, but there’s not quite enough petrol in the tank to get me over that threshold. Everyone inside wants our café closed down, and they don’t look like they’ll be shy about telling me so. Some are old, some are my age, and they probably all have different jobs, or no job, but they’re all there for the same reason.

  Barb spots me as soon as I get to the doorway. ‘Didn’t think you’d have the guts to show up,’ she says loudly so that everyone turns to look.

  ‘Is that her? It’s her,’ I hear a few people murmur.

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ I tell Barb as sweetly as I can. When she slowly reveals a yellow-toothed smile, I know she’s been hoping I’d come. She wants to do this to my face and see me squirm. Well, she’ll be disappointed because I might not look as tough as her, but I am not about to let some sour-faced bleached blonde harpy put me out of business.

  A few of the men and women sitting at the Formica tables smile when I catch their eyes. That gives me the tiniest hope that this might not be as bad as I think it’s going to be. Thinking positively (okay, grasping at straws), there might be some constructive criticism we can use to improve. What’s that thing Joseph says? Learn from mistakes or you’re doomed to repeat them. Or some such bollocks.

  Then I notice a familiar face. ‘Councillor, what are you doing here?’ It’s the councillor who drinks at Uncle Colin’s, the man who okayed us to use Carlton Square for our wedding reception and who, after a bit of convincing by the vicar, let us have the lease on the café.

  I guess I do know why he’s here. ‘You’re here in an official capacity tonight?’ I ask him.

  ‘I’m here to listen,’ he mumbles. He won’t make eye contact with me or anyone else in the caff. He’d much rather be sipping a pint at his usual spot in the Cock and Crown.

  This must be putting him in an awkward position. He’s been one of my uncle’s most consistent customers for years. Uncle Colin isn’t the vindictive type, but he won’t be happy if the councillor ruins his niece’s business.

  ‘Right, you lot.’ When Barb claps her hands, the fat under her sleeveless arms jangles madly. ‘The faster we get started, the faster you get tea and cake.’

  A moan goes up across the caff as people realise their cuppa is dependent on their performance. Barb isn’t doing any of this for free.

  I wonder what does motivate her. She’s been open here for as long as anyone remembers. If she didn’t have a loyal customer base, she wouldn’t have lasted. But if she’s desperate enough to run down her competition, then she deserves to go out of business.

  ‘As you know,’ Barb addresses everyone, ‘the Second Chance Café over on Carlton Square has been nothing but trouble since it opened.’

  Objection, supposition! I cross my arms. That’s leading the witness, at least. Or leading the jury. Is there such a thing? I need to stop watching so many courtroom dramas.

  ‘It causes congestion on the square. All those mums hanging about blocking the pavement with their pushchairs and prams.’ She points to one older lady. ‘Didn’t you say you couldn’t get by with your shopping trolley the other day?’

  I feel like I recognise her. She doesn’t look like she’s related to Barb, although her face is just as lined, especially around her lips, from a lifetime of smoking fags. Where have I seen that hair? It’s blonde like Barb’s. Maybe they are related. But no, I’ve seen those dark roots somewhere and it wasn’t in here.

  ‘It’s always chocka with fackin’ babies,’ the woman says. She’s got no problem looking right at me. ‘That lot stand around gassin’ so nobody can get by. Ought to be closed down. It’s disturbin’ the peace and quiet of the neighbourhood.’

  Suddenly I know exactly how I know her. She’s that rude woman who accused us of trying to poison her with free tea and cake when we were handing out invitations to our opening party.

  ‘It’s only a narrow walkway,’ Barb agrees, egging her on. ‘And with those window boxes, now there’s even less room.’

  ‘But you killed all the flowers!’ My little charm bracelet tinkles with the violence of my hand gesture.

  ‘You are mad,’ she says. ‘I didn’t do nothin’, and that’s not the biggest problem anyway. It’s them delinquents you’ve got in there all the time.’

  At this, everyone starts shouting out tales of how they’ve allegedly been accosted, threatened or sneezed at by someone from my café. The councillor tries a few times to make them take turns, but Barb has unleashed the rabble now and there’s nothing stopping them.

  ‘I had to go in the road with my grandson to get around everyone on the pavement, and I nearly tipped him out of his pushchair. He could have been killed if he’d fallen out and there’d been a car coming.’

  We get about five cars driving into the square all day and they rarely get out of second gear. It wasn’t a near-death experience.

  ‘Bands of them roam through the square shouting and cursing at night,’ another older lady says.

  ‘But we close at five o’clock every day and I live on the square,’ I tell her. ‘Everybody goes home when we close. Or they go somewhere. I would have heard them if they were hanging out in the square.’

  ‘Who are you to call me a liar, girl? You’re the bloody liar here!’

  ‘Now, come on,’ the councillor says to her. ‘There’s no need for name-calling.’

  Barb shoots him such a withering look that it stops the words on his tongue.

  ‘I went by on my way from the Job Centre and when I got home, my phone was gone,’ says one man who’s probably not much older than me. He’s pale and skinny and when he speaks his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. ‘It didn’t just vanish into thin air.’

  ‘Maybe you lost it,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe it got nicked by one of them when I went by,’ he says.

  ‘Maybe you want a new phone through your insurance,’ comes a belligerent voice behind me.

  Lou! I whip around to see her and Joseph standing in the doorway in front of a crowd of hooded teens. Near the back I spot Tinky Winky, the boy with the unfortunate tattoo who I interviewed. He returns my smile.

  The delinquents are here. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Well, someone needs to tell them how it is,’ Lou says. They all shuffle into the already-crowded caff, between the tables and along the windows at the front. It looks like every one of the kids from upstairs is here, and maybe even a few extra. I’m sure I don’t recognise one or two.

  ‘Room for two more?’ comes a wee voice from the back. Elsie’s got Carl by the hand. They’ve dressed up especially, Carl in a very smart tweed suit and Elsie in a pretty floral dress and little heels.

  I feel the lump rising in my throat. I purposely didn’t ask anyone to come tonight. It’s not their job to fight my battles. Even Joseph and Lou. This is above their pay grade.

  As the teens move along to make room for Carl and Elsie, Barb and the c
rowd are conspicuously silent as they gawp at us. I suppose we do make unlikely bedfellows – teens and OAPs and me and–’

  ‘We’re not late, are we?’ Melody calls from the doorway. ‘I told you we should have taken the Tube,’ she says to Samantha.

  ‘Emerald was late,’ snitches Garnet.

  ‘Only because I needed to put on my face,’ she says, ‘unlike some people.’ She raises her eyebrow at Garnet’s lack of slap.

  ‘Some people don’t need a lot of make-up,’ she snaps back. ‘Sorry if we’re late, Emma.’

  They’re all here, ready to defend our café. ‘Well, now I guess it’s time to tell you our side of the story,’ I say, looking pointedly at the councillor. He’s the one who really needs convincing. ‘I opened the café as a charity to train at-risk youth.’ I cringe a little bit as I say this. It sounds so business-speaky now that I know the kids we so casually label. ‘To train them in catering and hospitality so they can go on to better jobs and have a chance for their future. Joseph and Lou are the first people to come through the six-month training programme.’

  Barb finally finds her voice. I knew it wouldn’t be lost for long. ‘That means they’ll have another crop of losers there in a few months. Great.’

  She does know how to push my buttons. ‘They’re not losers! I wish you’d stop being so horrible about everyone. They’re kids. If you remember back to the dark ages, you might remember when you were one too.’

  I think I catch the councillor sniggering, but I can’t be sure because he covers his mouth.

  ‘What about all the others?’ Adam’s apple says. He’s got his hands clenched in his pockets. He’s probably holding on to his wallet. ‘Even if those two are okay, what about the others?’ This raises approving murmurs from some of the tables.

  ‘Are we allowed to answer?’ Tinky Winky asks me from beneath his hood.

  ‘Of course.’

  At that, all the kids pull their hoods down, unzip their sweatshirts or pull them over their heads, and stand neatly dressed in button-down shirts and ties. A few could use an iron and one or two aren’t quite tucked in, but the implication is unmistakeable before they even speak. Don’t judge us by what you see. Look at what’s inside.

  Lou has peeled off her sweatshirt too. Her pale blue hair is swept back into a high, neat ponytail and the flowery tunic she’s paired with her jeans makes her look older than seventeen.

  Then Ice Lolly speaks. You remember Ice Lolly, the enormous fifteen-year-old with the spotty face and mini Afro and chain on his wallet, aka Martin? ‘Yo, before the café we didn’t have nowhere to go,’ he says. ‘We was harassed by the po-po just for standin’ with our bluds doing nothin’. We’re not doing nothin’ wrong, just existing, but nobody sees that. Then Emma invited us to her café. She invited us. Us. Nobody ever does that. Now we have a nice place to go and we buy her drinks and cakes. She got wicked cakes, yo. And we don’t cause no trouble.’

  ‘May I say something?’ Elsie asks, peering around from behind Ice Lolly. The kids move a little to make room for her at the front. ‘We’re the kind of people who should be afraid of these boys, don’t you agree? I think I’m supposed to be the granny you mention in your leaflet.’ At this, Barb looks slightly off-kilter. She might bully me, but she’ll think twice about going up against Elsie. ‘Well, we certainly ain’t intimidated by these boys. They’re always polite and respectful to everyone in the café. Yes, they’re loud. What do you expect from teenage boys? Boys are loud and they’re high-spirited and full of bravado. But that doesn’t make them criminals.’ Again she glares at Barb. ‘That makes them boys.’

  ‘And we’re the mums with children who are supposed to be intimidated,’ Samantha adds. ‘We’ve got babies and children to protect. My son is in a wheelchair and my daughter’s only fourteen months old. Do you think they intimidate us? Look at them,’ she challenges the room. ‘I don’t mean through your biased eyes either. If they were dangerous, do you really think there’d be so many mums in the café? Use your common sense.’

  They speak up, one after another, the mums – Melody, Emerald and Garnet – saying how much they appreciate finally having a safe and welcoming place to bring their children and meet other parents. But it’s the boys who finally make my tears spill over. Sure, their language is rough, they say ‘ain’t’ and ‘nuffink’ and pepper sentences with London slang, but their message is the same. They aren’t bothering anyone, they’re sorry that people are uncomfortable with their very existence, but they’re not sorry for existing.

  I’m so focussed on the boys that I only notice Daniel when he speaks. ‘May I say something?’

  I stare at him. ‘What are you doing here?’ As usual he’s wearing his unique blend of old-man-in-the-countryside toff – yellow trousers, two-tone boat shoes, a stripy red work shirt and his navy jumper tied around his neck.

  ‘We’re on the same side, aren’t we, Em?’ He smiles. ‘Let’s do this together.’ He excuses himself through everyone to take my hand, then says, ‘Right, yah, I’m new to East London. Don’t let my local accent fool you.’ That raises a laugh. ‘When I first met Emma, I’d never really even been here before. And I admit I was intimidated by everyone. It’s not my cultural milieu, you see.’

  God, will he ever stop using that word around normal people?!

  ‘Before coming here, I wasn’t used to people in East London. You sound different, you look different from West London, where I grew up.’

  This draws snorts from Barb and a few of her customers. ‘You all scared me, to be perfectly honest. Well, you would, wouldn’t you? We’re afraid of the unfamiliar, of things that look different, so I do understand how you feel. But Emma introduced me to her world and when I met everyone, I wasn’t afraid anymore. So I guess what I’m saying is that once I let go of my prejudices I could see people for who they are. And I hope they see me that way too.’

  I stretch up to kiss my husband. My unusually dressed, plummy-speaking, kind, wonderful and best of all, open-minded husband.

  ‘All this is very moving,’ Barb says. ‘But I’m not buying these yobs-with-a-heart-of-gold stories. It’s easy to dress up for a night and pretend you’re not all a waste of space. You do it for court anyway, I’m guessing. But you’re not fooling us. You’ll be back to your normal ways as soon as you take off those ties.’

  To their credit, the boys keep silent. I guess they’re probably not surprised that even after all that, Barb and her kind won’t give them a chance.

  ‘Now, who wants tea?’ she says. ‘Not you lot. Clear off, if you don’t mind. You’ve got your own poncy café. At least for the moment.’

  She turns to look at the councillor.

  I do the same.

  He looks away from us both.

  Chapter 23

  ‘I think we convinced them,’ Daniel says as I’m lying in bed that night staring at the ceiling. I’ve thought of at least half a dozen good comebacks to Barb’s horrid words. Fat lot of good they’re doing me here under the duvet.

  I snuggle deeper into Daniel’s side and let his arms close around me. ‘I’m not sure we convinced anyone,’ I murmur. ‘It didn’t seem to matter how many arguments we came up with or how persuasive the kids were. They were great, though, weren’t they? To be honest it’s the first time I’ve heard most of them speak.’ I smile into the darkness. ‘It gives me hope that we really can make a difference.’ If I can get other people to remember that they’re just normal kids, then maybe they’ll have a chance. ‘As long as the café stays open.’

  ‘We’ll make sure it does, Emma. Just let me know what I can do to help, okay? I meant what I said. It might be your café, but we’re in this together.’

  ‘Thank you. I know that. I guess the councillor will decide what to do based on tonight. I just hope we did enough.’

  ‘He can’t just close you down, though. Proper procedure must be followed.’

  Dear, sweet Daniel. He still thinks East London works the way the rest of the cit
y does. This is the borough where the government’s community secretary had to take over the running of the council because it was so corrupt. We practically have the UN’s blue hats here during elections. I know as well as Barb does that the councillor can do whatever he wants to.

  The mums are abuzz over the meeting the next morning. You’d think they were modern-day Erin Brockoviches to hear them, fighting for the rights of the little people. Emerald and Garnet are bickering over who had the most persuasive argument, with Melody refusing to take sides as usual.

  Only one person was conspicuously absent from Barb’s last night. I doubt that’s a coincidence after the other day. ‘All right?’ I ask Leo when he comes in. There are a lot of questions in those two little words.

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ he says. ‘It sounds like you had an eventful night. Why didn’t anyone tell us about the meeting? We’d have come to support you too.’

  ‘Thanks, Lou arranged everything. I didn’t expect anyone to come. I guess she figured you’d be busy.’

  ‘So you didn’t tell her not to say anything to me about coming?’

  ‘No! Why would I?’ Now why did I say that, when I know very well why? ‘I think we’re clear about… the other night. It was a mistake. A misunderstanding, that’s all. No hard feelings, right? So it’s not awkward.’

  ‘No, not at all,’ he agrees.

  It couldn’t be more awkward.

  ‘One thing, though,’ he says. ‘Could you please not tell your husband what happened? I feel like enough of an arse. I’d rather not have him know I’ve made a move on his wife. My ego is fragile enough without having to take that beating too.’

  ‘Awkward,’ I sing.

  ‘You told him.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to keep it from him. Let me rephrase that. There was no reason to keep it from him.’

  ‘So now he thinks I’m an arsehole too.’ Leo strokes his beard.

  ‘He probably does. But I don’t. It was an honest mistake.’