Page 31 of The Little Board Game Café

In the early days, he’d barely left the house at all. He’d attended the funeral, of course, and had reluctantly gone back to work, when his boss said that he couldn’t afford to give him any more compassionate leave. But back then, he never answered the phone or the door, and he’d let Emily do all the shopping.

Grief, her form teacher said when Emily told her she was worried, took people in different ways. Some people retreated from the world whilst others wanted to keep as busy as possible. The only thing she could do was to give him time.

So Emily gave him time. One month, then two. He didn’t show up for parents’ evening and said he had a headache on the evening of the end of year school musical. It was Bugsy Malone that year. Emily played one of the showgirls; it wasn’t the biggest role, but she’d have liked him to be there nonetheless.

Emily felt bad leaving him to go to university. She felt even worse three years later when she didn’t move back home, but the atmosphere in the house was so depressing. Kate was already living in Essendale by then, and Emily had liked the idea of being close to her best friend so she’d taken the job at Thorpe’s.

The bond between the two friends was stronger than ever. Kate knew what it was like to lose a mother: her own mum had left when she was sixteen, without even leaving a note. The circumstances were different but the suddenness, the shock, was the same. And when many young women would have been turning to their mothers for advice on men and periods, Emily and Kate relied on each other.

‘Perhaps he’s agoraphobic,’ Kate had suggested when Emily told her how worried she was about her father.

‘I think he’s depressed. I never, ever want to be like that over anyone. Ever.’

‘Personally, I think it’s rather lovely,’ Kate said.

‘How the hell is it lovely?’

‘To be so in love with someone that your world falls apart when they die.’

If that was Kate’s idea of romantic, thought Emily, she could keep it.

Chapter Twelve

Books by Emily’s Kate’s spare bedside: The Café Owner’s Handbook; The Daily Grind – How to Run a Successful Coffee Shop; and Profit and Profiteroles, which Emily thought was another how-to book when she ordered it from Essendale Library, but which turned out to be a romance. Of the three, she enjoyed it the most.

The estate agent seemed very surprised to find Emily on his doorstep on Monday morning. She was wearing her best pinafore dress – a smart navy-blue number – with a white t-shirt underneath. She’d actually ironed the t-shirt too – Emily normally avoiding ironing; life was too short – and she’d completed the outfit with a necklace of red glass beads. She’d felt overdressed on the bus to Huddersfield, but this felt like a special occasion. Besides, dressing up gave her more confidence somehow, and she badly needed a dose of that.

‘I’m here to sign on the dotted line,’ she said, acutely aware of the shake in her voice. ‘I want to buy Nico’s.’

Her hands were shaking too, but luckily there was no dotted line to sign on – not yet, anyway – as Emily wasn’t sure she could have gripped a pen.

She should get the lease checked over by a commercial solicitor, the estate agent explained. The whole thing would take at least a couple of weeks, possibly longer.

It seemed a shame when Nico’s was just sitting there empty, but Emily knew she could use that time wisely. She could think about the menu she’d offer, practise a few new dishes and upload some photos to Instagram to generate publicity.

*

Three weeks later, her big day finally dawned; the estate agent would meet her outside Nico’s to hand over the keys. She’d officially become a café owner. She was so nervous that she could barely drink the coffee Kate had made for her, let alone contemplate any breakfast.

‘Here’s to your new venture, Em.’ Kate clinked her mug against Emily’s.

‘Thanks, I’ll tell you all about my first day later.’

‘I won’t be in this evening. I have a date with a guy called Freddie. And I’ve a feeling about him. He could be The One.’

Emily sighed. She so wanted this to be true, but had heard it many times before, only to watch Kate fall apart a few days / weeks / months and, on one occasion, years later. ‘I hope he is, but be a bit careful. Don’t fall too fast. I don’t want to see you getting hurt again.’

‘Don’t be a killjoy. Good luck today with the café.’

‘And good luck tonight with the date.’

*

Emily couldn’t believe the state Mr Panagi had left the café in. She’d noticed how gloomy it was on her viewings, but not how dirty it was. She’d already decided to give herself a week to give the place a make-over, but she saw now that she’d be spending most of that time cleaning. It’d be touch and go if she would be ready to open next Monday as she’d planned. The grease on the cooker was baked on, the sink looked like it hadn’t seen Fairy Liquid for years and the floor was so sticky that wherever she trod, she felt like an insect landing on a piece of flypaper. The dishwasher was full of dirty plates. He could have at least turned it on before he left. And she didn’t dare look in the fridge.

One week to get the place spotless, paint the walls a lighter shade and fathom out how the coffee machine worked. Or even, if the coffee machine worked. She put the dishwasher on and emptied the kitchen of everything, piling every dish, pot and saucepan on the tables in the café so that the shelves and cupboards were clear. Then she set to work scrubbing.

She’d only shifted the grease from about three square inches of cooker when she heard a voice.