Page 69 of The Little Board Game Café

She opened up at five to seven to find a young couple already waiting outside. Her mouth was dry with excitement – or nerves? – as she welcomed them, directed them to Marjory who was in charge of drinks, and pressed ‘play’ on Kate’s playlist, praying her phone would connect to the Bluetooth speakers. The unmistakable tones of Abba’s ‘The Name of the Game’ filled the café. Emily laughed. Even in her absence, Kate was managing to make her presence felt. What else was on that playlist?

Ariane Grande’s ‘Monopoly’ began to play as more people arrived. An older couple, friends of Mr B, Emily guessed, seemed confused when they saw the board games shelves and asked Emily if they were in the right place for the Polish evening.

Then Peter appeared, his mother on his arm. He looked Emily’s Scrabble dress up and down. ‘You look good, Em. That dress – well, it’s such a good fit.’

Emily felt suddenly self-conscious. If only Kate hadn’t got the sizing quite so spot on; it showed off her figure perhaps a little too much.

Peter still couldn’t keep his eyes off the dress and Emily wished she hadn’t felt obliged to invite him. ‘Rather unusual fabric,’ he added.

As they moved away, she heard Florence hissing to him, ‘She always did have terrible taste in clothes.’

‘Go and fry the pierogi,’ Mr B whispered to her. ‘Marjory and I will look after everyone.’

Emily had rather envisaged herself as the host of the evening, but she could hardly expect him to do the cooking, so did as instructed, headed for the kitchen and put two large frying pans on the hob. She turned away from the stove to reach for a spatula and saw that Ludek was there in the doorway, watching her. He was wearing his beige chinos again, and a tailored navy-blue shirt. He had the faintest hint of stubble on his chin, which gave him a slightly rugged air, Emily thought with a flutter.

‘Lovely dress,’ he said. ‘Although… Scrabble? You couldn’t find an Agricola one?’

‘Kate had it made for me.’

‘Brilliant! Is she around? I haven’t seen her. I thought she’d be helping out.’

‘She couldn’t make it.’

‘In that case, can I help?’

‘Can you fry pierogi?’

‘Is the Pope Catholic? I’m Polish, aren’t I? Pierogi are practically the only thing I can cook.’

Suddenly Emily felt hot and sweaty. With all the last-minute preparations, there hadn’t been time to go home and shower. Motorhead’s ‘Ace of Spades’ was blaring – couldn’t someone turn it down? – and her beautiful new pinafore had flour on it already. And her hair! It must look awful, scraped back behind a nondescript hairband. She hadn’t even run a comb through it.

‘Why pierogi?’ asked Ludek as he placed a batch of the little dumplings in one of the pans.

‘Mr B’s idea. I didn’t like to say no.’ Emily wondered whether she should tell him that she’d learned to make Polish food in the hopes of impressing him. Perhaps not; Kate would no doubt caution against laying her cards on the table like that, and Kate was the dating expert. Instead, she said, ‘There’s going to be a slideshow of Polish wildlife too.’

‘Random.’

‘Yep. It certainly is.’

‘I’ll fry these,’ Ludek said. ‘You go and greet your guests. And perhaps turn the music down whilst you’re at it.’

Emily wiped her hands, flashed him a grateful smile and went out into the café. She was instantly showered with compliments: for the new décor, her dress and the delicious non-alcoholic raspberry and pear cocktail she’d rustled up.

When Ludek appeared with a huge plate of pierogi, he was instantly mobbed by the boardgamers who helped themselves to generous handfuls; you’d think they hadn’t eaten for days.

‘I’ll go and fry some more,’ he said, leaving the plate on a table and heading back into the kitchen.

Boy George’s mother – Emily didn’t know her name – and her husband took one each.

‘This is wonderful,’ she said to Emily, and then to her husband, ‘I might go outside and give my mother a quick ring. Check he’s behaving.’

Her husband put a hand on her arm. ‘Leave it, Julia. They’ll be fine.’

It was only then that Emily noticed. The games shelves. They were full. Agricola. Ticket to Ride. Carcassonne. Caverna. Marjory’s sister must have bought them all in Leeds, but god knows what they’d have cost – even second-hand – and how on earth was Emily going to pay her back?

Queen’s ‘Play the Game’ began as Mr B walked past her, munching on one of the pierogi.

‘Mr B, all these games,’ she said. ‘How on earth did Marjory’s sister find them all?’