Page 76 of The Little Board Game Café

‘She’s fine, Emily. I think a kind of delayed shock about what happened – or nearly happened – has set in and she needs a rest.’

‘I blame myself. She could have died. And your slideshow was ruined.’

‘It was an accident, Em. Not your fault at all. And I’m not sure there was much interest in my slides. I’m told one person even fell asleep.’

Emily studied his face; she couldn’t tell if he knew that person had been her. ‘Perhaps I should go over and see her?’

‘I think I’d leave her for a day or two, Emily. Let her rest. Maybe send her some flowers?’

*

When Mr B had left, she baked some rich, nut-free brownies. Once they’d cooled, she boxed them up, along with a pot of double cream and some fresh raspberries, took a blank sheet of paper from her notebook and wrote, I’m so sorry for what happened. I can understand if you never want to eat my baking again, but these brownies are nut-free, I promise. Emily xx.

She tucked the paper inside the box, popped a sign in the window saying ‘Back in ten minutes’ and closed the café. Then she headed to the local florist.

On the way, she passed Ridley’s. She prayed that no one she knew would emerge from the double doors and see her. She didn’t want that conversation. The one that went, ‘What are you doing now?’ Especially not today of all days. But she was in luck. The doors remained firmly closed as she hurried by, keeping her head down.

She closed the florist’s door behind her with relief and chose the biggest, most expensive bouquet that they had. Which wasn’t actually that expensive given that this was the florist in Essendale and not the posh one in Hebbleswick that Peter always used.

‘Can you deliver it here, please? And drop off these at the same time?’ She handed over the box of brownies and the slip of paper with Marjory’s address.

‘Delivery is another three pounds,’ said the florist. ‘Why don’t you do it? It’s only round the corner.’

‘She’d feel obliged to invite me in. And I’ve been told she needs her rest today. Besides, I need to get back to my café.’

‘Are you from The Little Board Game Café?’ she said. ‘We wanted to come to your launch event, but we couldn’t get a babysitter. But I heard great things.’

‘You’ve heard great things? I thought it was a disaster.’

‘Everyone enjoyed it.’

‘Good to know. Please spread the word. I need all the help I can get. I don’t get many customers, to be honest.’

‘And you must be worried about Costa.’

‘Costa?’

‘Yeah, opening soon. Where the Chinese restaurant used to be. The signs have just gone up this morning.’

*

Emily practically sprinted from the shop, across the road and over to where The Golden Wok used to be. A sign in the window announced that the florist had been right: Costa Coffee would be opening here in three weeks’ time.

Had Nico known, perhaps? Was that why he’d sold up? Could she have found this out somehow before she’d bought that café? She thought she’d looked into everything. Had there been planning notices up that she’d missed? She never read those notices; maybe she should start. Although did you even need planning permission to open a coffee shop in a former restaurant? Probably not.

Costa. That was all she needed. It was bad enough having Sweet Delights as her competitor – they were better positioned in the centre of town, even if the service did leave a lot to be desired – but being up against a brand-new Costa as well? It felt like The Little Board Game Café was doomed to failure from the start.

*

There was a small queue outside the café when Emily returned. Only five people, but Emily felt a small frisson of excitement. Her first queue. Maybe things would get better after all.

Or maybe not. She couldn’t compete with Costa.

The five people wanted lunch – two soups of the day, two all-day breakfasts and a baked potato with beans and cheese – and then Florence arrived with Mrs Scott and Mrs Sinclair and they ordered afternoon tea for three with cakes and sandwiches and everything, and began a game of Scrabble.

When she’d served them all, she should probably have gone back into the kitchen and started clearing up because in her haste to serve up five lunches and three afternoon teas, she’d managed to make the place look like a bombsite. Some butter had melted on the worktop and dripped onto the floor, there were breadcrumbs everywhere and she’d managed to spill some soup when she dished it up.

But she didn’t feel inclined to clean up the mess yet. She stood behind the counter, staring at the awesome sight of eight paying customers sitting in her café and trying to resist the urge to go over to them every two minutes and say, ‘Is everything okay? Can I get you anything else?’