‘You know I need all the business I can get. My regulars are already abandoning me. If my friends are too for that place on the green, I’ve got no chance.’
Greg’s features relax. ‘This? No. It was rolling around one of your picnic tables. I grabbed it to put in the bin.’
He launches the empty cup towards the bin. It bounces off the rim and rolls around on the floor, coming to settle at my feet. I kick it back for him to pick up, but he ignores it and Jill bends to grab it.
‘What’s up?’ he asks, dipping his head to catch my gaze.
‘Sorry for snapping. We’re empty, it’s stressing me out.’
‘I’d never go anywhere else for coffee, you know that.’ He puts a quiet hand on my arm and squeezes. ‘We can sort this, don’t panic.’
‘How?’ I say, shaking his touch from my arm. Tears are flooding around my eyes again. ‘Tourists visiting the village will see that new café long before they get here.’
‘That’s our first plan of attack then,’ he says, his expression serious, but soft as he looks straight at me. ‘Make here adestination. Take a breath, make me a coffee and we’ll have a brainstorm.’ He perches on a stool on the other side of the counter next to Jill and pulls his navy tie loose, giving him room to undo his top button. ‘Not much point in knowing a strategy consultant if you don’t make use of them.’ He winks at me. ‘We’ll find a solution.’
Lil has finished her tea and puzzle and says goodbye, leaving the three of us sitting around the counter with mugs of steaming coffee in front of us.
‘How’s your social media going?’ says Greg. ‘That should be your first port of call.’
Jill winces, and I know why. I haven’t looked at those accounts in weeks. It takes me all my time to get out of bed and get showered before work. Staring at perfect people living perfect lives was the last thing I wanted to face.
‘I haven’t really bothered with it lately,’ I mumble, staring at the floor.
‘Easily fixed. We can schedule a week’s worth of posts in one go. They don’t need to take up all your time.’ Greg reaches across and picks up a flyer from the local surf school and the biro lying next to it. He turns it over to the blank back and begins writing out a list.
The pen scratches across the shiny leaflet and I want to grab it out of his hand and shout, ‘I can do this myself. I don’t need help.’ Except I can’t do it myself, as my empty café demonstrates.
‘We could do a competition. I often see them put up,’ says Jill. ‘Where people have to like and share. Get the word out.’
‘We’d need a prize or incentive,’ Greg says, chewing on the end of my pen.
‘What about a free drink? People love our coffee and it won’t cost the business anything,’ says Jill.
Greg nods and then looks around the café walls. They’recovered in blown-up photos I’ve taken of the sea and the beach. I’ve always loved taking photos in my spare time and I’m proud of the ones on the wall.
‘A photo competition?’ he says.
Jill’s face lights up. ‘Most unusual place to photograph a Beach House coffee cup.’
I feel like I’m in a bubble on the outside watching the two of them discuss my life, but unable to participate. I know I should be grateful for their friendship and help, but it amplifies how useless I feel, and that hopeless feeling is sitting at the bottom of my stomach like a huge lump of concrete.
Greg and Jill carry on oblivious.
‘That could work.’ Greg scribbles something on the flyer.
‘The winning photo could be blown up and displayed in the café,’ says Jill.
‘What do you think?’ asks Greg, and two pairs of eyes swivel to stare straight at me.
‘Err. Yes. Sounds good,’ I stutter, shrinking under the scrutiny.
‘Great. More exposure, regular social media. I bet Reeni would help too. That’s her field, isn’t it? PR and marketing?’ says Greg.
I nod, surprised he’s paid enough attention to know about my best friend.
‘Customers often comment on your photos too. I bet they’d love to have one up on the wall,’ says Jill.
A hopeful spark ignites inside me. The two people in front of me are so earnest about believing that I’m worth helping that it’s hard not to be a tiny bit inspired.
