Nina must clock I’m struggling. ‘Are you OK?’
If only she knew Jamie’s half-read paperback still sits on his bedside table. I know, after eighteen months, I should give it to a charity shop or even chuck it in the bin. I’ve rehomed his clothes, but that book, it’s the one last piece I have of him. I glance at the door. I could leave. Fake a stomach ache. Go home now. Sink into bed. But what would Jamie think, watching me wish my life away?
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I say with a smile. ‘So how does your café work then?’
‘Well, Scottie and his prep chefs gather here in the next half hour or so. The pudding team comes around ten. I have a pair on hot food and pudding service, a team of washer-uppers, table setters, clearer-uppers, someone who welcomes people at the door, takes their coats, introduces them to friends if they’re new. I started off with four volunteers, now I have sixteen.’
‘Sixteen, wow.’
‘The food arrives at about nine. It comes from a local charity that delivers straight to the door which makes life a lot simpler. Then it’s a mad rush to unpack before we get cooking.’
‘How many do you cook for?’
‘We usually have around fifty. One time ninety people turned up.’
‘Ninety?’ I repeat, impressed but daunted.
‘I know. Makes me think about running this café on a Sunday too, but my husband wouldn’t be too pleased. He says I’m married to this place.’ She shrugs. ‘Maybe someday I’ll expand.’
‘You’re open once a week, right?’
‘Yep, for now.’
‘How do people know about you?’
‘Word of mouth. Most people who come here are homeless, or they used to be. Abuse, drugs, shocking childhoods, bad life choices, I’ve seen and heard it all. Sometimes I hear the most harrowing stories, but you know what, it could have happened to me. What’s that saying?’
‘We’re only one pay cheque away from being homeless.’
‘Exactly.’
‘It could happen to any one of us.’
‘Too right. Then you get some who come here for the company. They live on their own, don’t see a soul day in, day out. There’s one chap, Nigel, well into his eighties, regular churchgoer, who doesn’t see anyone during the week, but loves coming here every Saturday. He’s part of the furniture. He told me he’d die of loneliness if it weren’t for us.’
I feel moved by Nigel and instantly like him. ‘What if someone like me came in? Or foodies from Chiswick?’ I’m thinking of my boss, Harriet. She’d be delighted to pay a quid for a bowl of delicious soup. She’d have second helpings too.
‘To be honest, if people can afford it, they always give a generous donation. Angus is good at spotting spongers too. There’s nothing in the world I hate more than meanness.’
Jamie used to say that.
‘The rules aren’t rigid, prices aren’t fixed, but somehow, it works.’
‘And what do you cook?’
‘We don’t know until the day.’
That familiar panic rises in my chest.
‘It all depends on what comes in,’ Nina explains. ‘On Valentine’s Day last year our delivery included mackerel and black pudding. Scottie went from grumpy old sod to genius in thirty seconds and made these beautiful heart-shaped mackerel and black pudding fish cakes. We need people with imagination.’
Ninety. No recipe? Heart-shaped mackerel and black pudding fish cakes?Fuck!What am I letting myself in for? I remind myself I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet.
‘You don’t have to cook anything too fancy, Holly, not for pudding anyway. A syrup sponge with custard puts smiles on faces. Scottie’s a pro, he can always help out with ideas and sometimes we cheat and buy a few extra things. Don’t ever ask this man to go to the shops for you,’ she says, nodding towards Angus who approaches our table, hair damp, yet looking a whole lot better in a pale blue checked shirt with jeans. I imagine there must be a shower or bathroom somewhere in the building. ‘He forgets what you asked for,’ Nina warns me, ‘and ends up in the pub instead.’
‘Guilty,’ Angus replies. ‘Easily side-tracked.’
‘So, when could you start? Now?’ Nina stands up.
