Page 6 of The Little Board Game Café

‘I asked how your afternoon was.’

‘How my afternoon was? Well, my boss fired me so it wasn’t that great.’

Peter frowned. ‘I meant, after that. What did you do? Apart from forget the milk.’

He smiled. He was trying to lighten the mood. He’d known all along that she wouldn’t remember the milk – she could be a bit scatty sometimes – and had arrived home bearing a two-litre bottle of organic semi-skimmed.

‘I browsed in…’

She’d been about to say Oxfam, but changed her mind. ‘…Alessandra’s.’

He nodded approvingly. ‘Mother loves that shop. Did you find anything?’

‘A new coat. And then I went for a walk by the canal, and saw…’

The words ‘a café for sale’ were on the tip of her tongue but instead she said, ‘…a narrowboat going through the lock.’

The sommelier was back at their table now, holding the wine bottle out so Peter could scrutinise the label.

‘Lovely,’ said Peter. Emily wasn’t sure if he was referring to the narrowboat or the Châteauneuf.

‘I feel a bit awkward about coming into the office tomorrow,’ she said when their glasses had been filled and the sommelier had departed. ‘Everyone will be talking about it.’

Peter beckoned to a passing waiter, who was instantly at their side. He looked at her expectantly.

‘The king scallops, please.’

The waiter nodded. It was the sort of place where they remembered your order rather than having to write it down. ‘Very good, madam, and for sir?’

‘Steak, medium rare. No sauce. And a mixed salad.’

His usual then.

That was the trouble with Peter. His predictability had once made her feel secure, but now she longed for him to do something different. Something unexpected. Something to inject the pizzazz back into their relationship. Or was it unrealistic to have hoped that the initial excitement would last?

As the waiter disappeared towards the kitchen, Peter reached across the table and took her hand.

‘I wanted to say, well, that…’

He wasn’t usually lost for words. If they hadn’t already been engaged, Emily would have thought a proposal was imminent. Perhaps, she thought suddenly, he was about to say that she was surplus to requirements in his personal life as well as in the office. But you didn’t bring someone all the way to Leeds to dump them. He could have done that at home. Or down the local pub. And you didn’t take their hand to do it.

‘I love you, Emily,’ he said. ‘I know it mightn’t seem like it after this week, having to let you go at work and everything. But we needed to streamline operations a bit, cut down the wages bill. And Mother felt that once we’re married – not long to go now – that it wouldn’t be seemly for my wife to be my typist.’

She might have known his mother was behind this.

‘Typist! Admin assistant. No one says typist anymore, Peter. And what happened to me being part of the business? I mean, you sent me on that business course.’

‘I know. Things have changed since then, Em. Margins are getting tighter. And it seemed a sensible option to make you one of the five.’

‘You laid off five people?’

Peter let go of her hand. He picked up his knife, angled it this way and that then polished it with his napkin before replacing it on the table. ‘I did,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t been a good day for me either.’

Or for them, she thought.

‘Peter, don’t you think it might have been better to give me a little warning? Perhaps tipped me off at home first?’

‘With hindsight, yes. But I wanted to be fair to the others.’