The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square

by Lilly Bartlett

  I can’t admit I might have had the tiniest hand in his actions. If I didn’t encourage him, then I didn’t discourage him either. That’s just as bad and I’ll have to live with that. ‘And don’t worry. Daniel isn’t the kind of person to hold a grudge.’

  ‘That’s probably one of the reasons you love him.’

  I nod. ‘One of many.’

  His expression is resigned as he makes his way upstairs to start work. I get the feeling our philosophy lessons are over, and I won’t be surprised if Leo finds another café to work in. Somewhere with good cake where he hasn’t kissed the owner.

  I’ve got to own up to my part in this, because I’m not innocent. I didn’t do much to discourage him when he got friendly. I got friendly too, and the attention felt good. I can make all the excuses I want. That was wrong. And it could have been catastrophic if Daniel wasn’t so forthright and, ultimately, understanding. It’s just one more reason to be so grateful for him.

  I know as soon as I see the envelope from the council a few days later that we haven’t heard the last of Barb and her complaints. I’d actually started to convince myself that everything would be okay. Stupid optimism.

  I don’t have to say anything when I bring it to Lou and Joseph, who are cleaning the Gaggia. In some ways I guess we’ve all been expecting it.

  ‘You haven’t opened it yet?’ Lou says.

  ‘I thought we should do it together. It affects all of us.’

  ‘It might be good news,’ says Joseph. ‘Maybe there’s no case against us. I mean, we know there isn’t a case. She’s just stirring up trouble. After everything we said, the council has to see that.’

  I’m not as sure as Joseph seems to be.

  There’s a lot of legalese in the short letter – on the twelfth day of this and pursuant to that – but it boils down to the fact that the Carlton Square Residents Group has made a complaint against us for failing to curb the intimidation and violence that our customers are inflicting on residents. It’s news to me that Carlton Square even has a residents group. If they do, Daniel and I haven’t been invited.

  The complaint will, the council goes on to say, mean that our business licence is under review.

  ‘That’s not good, boss. If they pull our licence, then we’re…’

  ‘Out of business,’ Lou finishes for him.

  I look around our café. Auntie Rose is doing her morning reading group with the children, something with bears judging by the way she’s holding up imaginary claws and baring her teeth. Emerald and Garnet are comparing the perfection of their manicures while Melody feeds her little one. And Carl is sitting alone in his booth looking sad that Elsie’s not here.

  What an intimidating bunch we make.

  ‘Let’s not say anything to anyone yet, okay? This is only a review. It might still come out okay.’ Besides, I may know a way to make this whole issue go away. It’s a long shot, but Barb isn’t the only one around here who can mobilise support.

  Nobody suspects what I’m planning when I invite everyone to the pub. Mum and Dad and Auntie Rose know about Barb’s meeting, of course, but not about the council’s letter or the licence review. They probably assume I just want some cheering up. Only Daniel knows everything. I rang him at work right after I opened the letter. ‘Right,’ he’d said, ‘I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to find out what the appeals process is, just in case it comes to that. I don’t think it will, darling, rahly, but let’s be prepared just in case. I’ll tell you what I find out tonight, all right? I’ll pick up something for supper on the way home. I can get takeaway from The Enterprise. Now, Emma, I know you, and I don’t want you to worry about this. I’m looking into the next steps so you don’t have to. You will let me do that for you, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I’ll let you. Thank you, Daniel.’

  ‘It’s nothing, Emma. We’re a team.’

  It hasn’t been easy pretending everything is normal when at this very moment people I don’t know might be deciding whether we get to keep our café or not. I have to hope that they’ll weigh up Barb and the residents group’s charges against everything we said. But only the councillor was there to hear them. I’m not convinced that he’ll put our side forward convincingly.

  If he knows why we’re in the Cock now, he’s not letting on. Hunched over his pint as usual at the bar, his eyes barely flicker to us when we arrive. I knew he’d be here despite any discomfort he might have felt seeing me the other night at Barb’s. He’s a career councillor. If he avoided everyone who’d ever lodged a complaint against the council, he’d never leave his house. He’s used to being a beer-soaked punching bag.

  Daniel reaches for my hand. ‘Is it okay to let them loose?’ he calls to Uncle Colin behind the bar.

  ‘Hang on, let me lock up the cat.’ My uncle’s pub cat is the orneriest animal you’ll ever meet. Worst of all, he pretends he’s not, just so he can lure unsuspecting people to stroke him, preferably on his tummy where he can employ his four deadly weapons at once. The old-timers might not like the recent influx of new residents into the neighbourhood, but the cat loves gentrification for the fresh supply of scratching posts.

  Grace starts on her rounds of the tables as soon as she’s free from the pushchair. She’s sure to stop long enough at each one to catch everyone’s eye and collect a smile before she moves on. Oscar, on the other hand, crawls straight into Mum’s lap.

  The vicar is at his favourite spot in the pub – the piano. There are two empty pint glasses and a whisky glass lined up along its top, just as I’d hoped. Not that I need him to be pissed for my plan to work, but it helps. The vicar is most persuasive when he’s loosened up.

  ‘How’s business?’ Uncle Colin asks, giving me the perfect opening to save Daniel having to prompt me like we practised. His look of relief is comic and would definitely raise eyebrows if my family weren’t all looking at the twins.

  ‘Interesting, actually, Uncle Colin. We’ve had some trouble with one of the local caff owners. She’s made a formal complaint to the council.’

  Now Mum and Dad and Auntie Rose and everyone is looking at me. ‘What kind of complaint could they make against you?’ Dad wants to know. He might normally be mild-mannered, but you don’t want to mess with his family. I pull the letter from my pocket to show them all.

  ‘What intimidation and violence?’ Auntie Rose demands. ‘It’s a load of bollocks. Ignore it, me girl. They’re just jealous.’

  I suppress a giggle at that. It was exactly what she used to tell me every time I snivelled into her shoulder when the girls at school were being mean. I didn’t believe her then either. ‘I can’t ignore it, Auntie Rose. The council is investigating. Our licence is under review.’

  The vicar, who’d been tinkling quietly on the piano, stops playing. My whole family turns to look at the councillor, whose shoulders are shrunk even more into his suit jacket. Trying to make a smaller target, maybe.

  ‘Councillor? Do you know anything about this?’ my dad asks. But the councillor has survived the last five governments by only talking to his constituency if he absolutely has to. He’s playing dead.

  ‘Councillor.’ The piano bench scrapes back as the vicar rises to his feet. ‘I believe I heard Jack asking you a question. Jack, would you like to repeat it?’

  Now Dad is wheeling toward the councillor too. ‘I asked whether the councillor knows anything about this complaint against my daughter’s café.’

  ‘I’m sure he doesn’t,’ the vicar says. ‘Because if he had even an inkling, he’d be the first person to want to sort it out. Our democracy functions on the rule of law, truth and justice, don’t it, Councillor?’

  Finally, the councillor turns around. ‘I don’t want any trouble. I’m only doing my job.’

  ‘As you should,’ the vicar says. ‘As you absolutely should. We’re just trying to help you evaluate your evidence. If there is any evidence against Emma’s café, then it must be inaccurate, wouldn’t you agree? Because otherwise yo
u’re saying that this fine young woman is running a business that’s… what did the complaint allege? Intimidating and violent? That doesn’t sound like our Emma at all, does it? Now, who’s made this complaint?’

  ‘The Carlton Square Residents Group,’ I say, ‘but it was started by the owner of The Other Half Caff.’

  Uncle Colin stops stacking his glasses. ‘You mean the caff up on the main road? Isn’t that your wife, Councillor?’

  We all stare between Uncle Colin and the councillor. I can’t have heard him right. Who in their right mind would marry Barb?

  ‘Is that true?’ Dad asks him.

  Uncle Colin answers instead of the councillor. ‘I’ve run this pub for twenty years, Jack. If I don’t know it, it ain’t worth knowing.’ He goes back to his glasses.

  The vicar clamps a meaty hand on the councillor’s shoulder. ‘You’re married to her? Up at the caff, the blonde one? Christ, mate, I’m sorry to hear that.’

  The councillor accepts this sympathy with a resigned sigh.

  ‘No wonder ’e’s in here all the time,’ Auntie Rose says.

  ‘It’s not really cricket, then, is it, being an interested party to the complainant,’ the vicar continues. ‘I don’t see how you can be unbiased in such a situation as this. A declared interest, I believe it’s called. If you have declared it, that is.’ He looks to the councillor for confirmation.

  Instead of answering, the councillor takes a long last sip of his pint, wipes his mouth on his hand and stands up. ‘Right, that’s me off.’

  ‘Why the rush, Councillor?’ I can’t see whether the vicar’s hand tightens on the man’s shoulder, but he sits down again. ‘I believe we’ve still got a situation to resolve.’

  The councillor holds up his hands and addresses us for the first time. ‘Look, try to understand. I’m a simple man. I don’t bother anyone and I don’t want anyone to bother me. I work all day and then I come in here for a few pints so I can face going home to ’er indoors. You think it’s hard dealing with ’er at the caff? Try living with the woman. All I want is an easy life. If you want something different, then you try standing up to ’er.’

  Finally, I find my voice. ‘So you are going to close us down? This review is just a formality. You’ve already decided to do what your wife says.’

  He looks at me with the watery blue stare of a PTSD victim. ‘You have no idea. What do you think she did when I gave you the lease?’

  ‘What did she do?’ I whisper. Not that I want to give him flashbacks.

  ‘Well, actually she stopped speaking to me, so it wasn’t too bad. But that’s not what she’s doing this time. Emma, please try to understand. I just want an easy home life. You can find another place for your café. I’m stuck with my wife till one of us dies. ’Er mum lived to ninety-nine.’ He sighs. ‘Actually, Colin, I will have another pint.’

  ‘Well, Councillor,’ says the vicar. ‘I guess you need to ask yourself this: do you want an unhappy home life for a while or an unhappy life outside forever? I know what a smart man would choose.’ His tone is friendly, but his meaning is crystal clear.

  Chapter 24

  The weather has turned decidedly summerlike and the café is buzzing. Ever since the teens took their stand at Barb’s caff they’ve been more sociable. Carl and Elsie now know how to do fist bumps (better than I do) and a few of the boys even sit downstairs now when they’ve got girls with them. I’m not naïve enough to think they spend all their time sipping tea. They still have to walk a fine line between pissing off the local gangs and getting mixed up with them, and a few will be putting on their shirts and ties again to go to the same court as Lou did last month. But everyone rubs along pretty well in here.

  After our talk with the councillor in the Cock, my parents think he’ll drop the case against the café, but I’m not so sure. So when Lou hands me the council’s letter with the morning’s post, my heart leaps into my throat. Our future is literally in my hands.

  Now that Lou is officially my business associate – dubbed Head of Training and Recruitment by Joseph – she’s as tied up in its future as I am. We both know she doesn’t really have enough work experience to get another job like she’s got here now. It’s only because I know she has so much more going for her in real life than she does on paper.

  I don’t worry so much about Joseph anymore. He’s got the kind of belief in himself that’s made millionaires out of barrow boys for centuries. That and the ability to work the Gaggia would get him another job.

  ‘Open it,’ Lou says. ‘Whatever it says, we’ll deal with it.’

  ‘Together.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘“Dear Mrs Billings,”’ I read. ‘“Pursuant to the complaint made by the Carlton Square Residents Group on blah blah blah…” Let’s see – here’s their answer. “The council has reviewed the evidence presented and is satisfied that the Second Chance Café and its owners and employees have no case to answer in terms of the original complaint that its customers were inflicting intimidation and violence on residents. Case number blah blah blah is therefore closed to the satisfaction of the council and no further action will be taken.” We’re cleared. We don’t have to close.’

  I’m not sure who is more surprised when Lou launches herself at me and we end up jumping up and down in each other’s arms shouting ‘We’re cleared!’ in the middle of the café.

  Our excited shouting pulls everyone into our orbit, starting with Joseph, but before long Samantha, Emerald, Garnet and Melody close in for the group hug. The teens raise a smile but keep their distance. They might drink tea from dainty china cups and occasionally stick out a pinky finger, but they still have their reputations to think of.

  ‘Thanks to you all,’ I say. ‘You too, boys. We’ve saved the café together!’

  ‘Well done, us!’ Elsie says from their booth. ‘Power to the people.’ She raises her hand in a Black Panther salute that sets the teens off into fits of laughter.

  ‘Yo, Elsie, you’re whack,’ says one.

  ‘Thank you, young man, I think you’re whack too. Is that right?’

  ‘Close enough,’ I tell her. ‘Can I get you anything else? Slice of cake? Zane’s made a Victoria sponge.’

  Carl hoots. ‘Ha, the last thing my girl needs is cake!’

  Instead of decking him, like I’d have done to Daniel if he ever tried telling me what I should or shouldn’t be eating, Elsie pats Carl’s arm. Here she is, an intelligent woman, career diplomat and speaker of multiple languages, and she’s letting him talk to her like that? ‘Carl, Elsie can eat–’ I start to say, but he starts talking over me. Sometimes his hearing’s not too good.

  ‘She might love it, but it don’t love her. Not that there’s anything wrong with the cake, mind you. It’s wonderful.’

  Elsie fiddles with the brooch at the neck of her frilly blouse. ‘I’m afraid my digestion isn’t what it used to be, though my sweet tooth is. I can’t help myself, but I always pay for it later.’

  ‘And then I’m without me girl.’ Carl loops his arm over Elsie’s shoulder.

  ‘You mean you weren’t in bed because of the cancer?’ My voice dials down in volume as I slide towards the “C” word.

  ‘Goodness, no, is that what you thought? No, I ’aven’t got any of those symptoms at all. They’ve got me going in for blood tests every few months, but my GP thinks it’s moving slowly because of my age. No, it’s nothing as dramatic as that. I was indisposed through too much cake.’

  ‘She gets the sugar shits,’ Carl shouts, jerking his thumb at Elsie. I did mention that his hearing isn’t very good, right?

  ‘Carl, language, please,’ she says. ‘Maybe I’ll just have a tiny sliver with my tea.’

  There’s one person who won’t be celebrating the council’s decision. Well, two if you include the councillor, who’ll probably have to live at the Cock now that he’s ruled against his wife. I’ll stop by tonight to thank him personally, but first I’ve got someone else to see.

&nb
sp; ‘Want me to come too?’ Lou asks when she hears where I’m going.

  ‘Thank you, no, I’d like to do this myself. If I’m not back in half an hour, though, ring the police, okay?’

  ‘Ha ha, you joke but I’m keeping an eye on the time,’ she says. ‘Good luck.’

  As usual, Barb spots me as soon as I get through the caff door. Her face remains absolutely impassive as she watches me approach the counter.

  ‘Hello, Barb. I just got the letter. I assume you did too.’ Though she’ll have had more warning, what with being married to the judge in this case.

  She holds up her identical letter. ‘The fackin’ coward wouldn’t tell me to my face.’

  Wow, he is afraid of her.

  ‘You can save your gloating,’ she adds. ‘This ain’t over.’

  ‘I’m not here to gloat, Barb. But I do want to know why. Why do you hate us so much? Have I ever done anything to you?’

  When she scoffs, the lines between her eyebrows get deeper. ‘I don’t hate you. Is that what you think, that this is personal? You’re such a typical whinger, bringing it all round to you.’ She shrugs. ‘I want the lease on the building. Simple as. I’d have ’ad it too if your friends hadn’t threatened my husband.’

  ‘Only slightly more than you did,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I’ve seen your customers during busy times, Barb, and I can tell you that my café is too big for you. I doubt you’d really want to run up and down those stairs all the time.’

  ‘You daft cow. I don’t want your poncy café. I said I want the lease. Me husband could have given it to me for nothing.’

  ‘But if you don’t want to move your caff there, I don’t see…’

  ‘Move me caff? Why the fack would I do that? My customers ’ave been coming ’ere for over thirty years and are very happy, thank you very much.’

  I look around at the dirty yellow walls and faded menu specials that are probably anything but special. There’s a layer of grime and hopelessness covering everything, but she’s right. Her customers, mostly tradesmen and local business owners, do seem happy enough. ‘You just want my café gone?’