Page 42 of The Little Board Game Café

‘Yeah, it wasn’t her cup of tea but I liked it. No, more than that. I loved it.’

He beamed. ‘And would you come again? Next week, perhaps?’

‘Definitely. I’ll drag myself here no matter how exhausted I am. I knew running a café would be tiring, but I hadn’t expected it to be this tiring. And that’s without any customers.’

‘There were no customers?’

‘Not many. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made one giant mistake.’

Chapter Fifteen

Things slowly began to pick up. Mr B appeared at eleven every morning for his cappuccino and his Chorley cake which he ate whilst filling in the crossword in his Polish newspaper. The trolley ladies ventured in again. Several times, in fact. The second time they splashed out on two chocolate eclairs with their pot of tea. The third time they opted for all-day breakfasts. Emily was beside herself; the first customers to order her all-day breakfast. The fourth time they pushed the boat out ordering all-day breakfasts and slices of chocolate fudge cake. It was a wonder they could move after all that, but they disappeared off, their trolleys bumping along the pavement.

One morning, Marjory arrived. Emily had been longing for her to visit, but knew it was a little further from her flat than she normally liked to walk. She’d just sat down and was extolling the virtues of the lemon drizzle, when Mr B arrived for his morning coffee. He was looking especially dapper with a bright-red bow-tie and a matching handkerchief poking out of his jacket pocket. Marjory took one look at him, then looked at Emily, winking and nodding her head at him at the same time which made her look rather odd.

‘Have you something in your eye, Marjory?’ Emily said.

She shook her head.

‘Oh, I see. Mr B, this is Marjory. We used to be neighbours.’

‘Delighted to meet you, Marjory. May I?’ Mr B gestured at the empty chair at her table and she nodded.

‘Usual order, Mr B?’ Emily called.

‘Yes, please.’

‘More tea, Marjory?’

‘Wonderful, dear,’ she said.

*

After Mr B and Marjory had left, promising that they’d meet again the following day, same time, same place, Emily took advantage of the empty café to have a bowl of soup herself. Just in case she got the longed-for rush of customers wanting lunch. She’d barely lifted her spoon when the door opened.

She looked up to see Peter.

Emily didn’t bear him any ill feeling; it was her fault their relationship had ended. Okay, so he had fired her made her redundant, but now she was a business owner herself, she could see that it had been a business decision. However, she didn’t particularly want him in her café, especially when it was empty.

‘Oh, Emily,’ he said looking round. ‘I’m so sorry. I was hoping Mother was wrong when she said you had no customers.’

‘I do have customers. It’s midway between the morning coffee rush and the lunch rush. That’s why I was having lunch myself. Anyway, how would your mother know?’

‘Her friends have been in.’

‘Her friends?’

‘Mrs Scott and Mrs Sinclair.’

‘The ones with the shopping trolleys?’ Emily couldn’t think who else they could have been.

‘That’s them.’

Emily didn’t think Florence would be friends with the kind of women who had shopping trolleys. She was more of an Ocado delivery kind of person.

‘So do you want something? Or are you here to gloat?’ she said.

‘Don’t be like that. I came along because…well, I thought you might need cheering up. I had an hour spare – a meeting got cancelled – so thought I might have an early lunch. Perhaps I could join you? That soup smells delicious. What is it?’