Page 94 of The Little Board Game Café

She spoke too soon. The boy shoved the remains of the abandoned brownie – so much for his sugar-free diet – into his mouth and pushed the teapot onto the floor. He laughed as it smashed into pieces.

‘He could have been scalded,’ the mother said in an accusing tone as if it were her fault, as if making tea with boiling water was a serious health and safety breach rather than something that happened on a daily basis in homes and cafés up and down the country.

‘Scalded? He ought to be scolded.’ Emily was struggling to keep her voice calm. ‘I should charge you for that teapot.’

The boy picked up the tea cup and threw it onto the floor.

‘Accidents happen,’ said his mother. ‘Things get broken. Surely you have that all the time when you run a café.’

Deep breath, she told herself. Take a deep breath. ‘It wasn’t an accident though, was it? He broke that cup deliberately.’

The cup and teapot lay on the floor in a puddle of tea. The child’s rampage continued, onto yet another table where the menu and salt and pepper pots once again ended up on the floor. Emily started picking things up, still praying he’d keep away from the games shelves, and cursing under her breath as she discovered that one of the meeples salt pots was cracked. She put everything back on the tables, but this only added to his game and he followed her round the café, swiping them onto the floor again.

‘Please,’ said Emily. ‘Get your child under control.’

She made no attempt to sound calm this time and the mother looked furious. ‘My husband and I don’t believe in saying “no” to Charlie.’

For a second, Emily thought they were cocaine addicts, but then realised she was referring to the little boy.

‘Clearly,’ she said under her breath.

To Emily’s relief, the mother was gathering her things now, coats and bags. Finally, she grabbed the boy’s hand and said, ‘Come on, darling, we’re not staying in this dreadful little place a moment longer.’

And they left, letting the door slam behind them. Emily turned to survey the damage. The only breakages were the teapot, the cup and the cracked meeple salt pot. She cleared up as quickly as she could, not wanting any customers to come in and see the mess. In her haste, she cut her finger on one particularly sharp shard and dripped blood all over the floor. Having put on a plaster, Emily mopped the floor, then put back all the menus and salt and pepper pots. Order was resumed. You couldn’t tell anything had happened. But she was still seething that someone could allow their child to run riot then make her feel that she was to blame. She didn’t know there was worse to come.

*

Monday was quiet. The workmen still came for their sausage butties but there seemed fewer of them. Mr B never missed his Chorley cake and arrived at four minutes past eleven wearing a polka-dot purple bow-tie, but Marjory wasn’t with him.

Then, at ten to twelve, Annie appeared.

‘I wasn’t sure what to wear,’ she said. ‘Is there a uniform or anything? I don’t have chef whites, I’m afraid.’

‘Chef whites?’

‘To wear in the kitchen.’

‘I thought you’d wait tables whilst I cook.’

Hang on. Emily hadn’t even known that she was accepting the job, let alone that she’d be starting today.

‘I thought I’d bake the cakes. I’m brilliant at baking. Isn’t that why you offered me a job?’

Emily opened her mouth but said nothing. What could she say? I felt sorry for you. I only offered you a job because I was feeling guilty about having fallen out with my best friend and the man I fancy – no, make that love – and I wanted to do something nice for someone to make myself feel better.

Or, I was dog-tired last week and thought I needed help but actually it was quiet this morning so perhaps I don’t after all.

And then her mouth opened again and she said, ‘Yeah, baking would be great.’

‘I thought I could make cube-shaped sponge cakes and decorate them to look like dice, rectangular biscuits that would be dominoes and gingerbread meeples.’

Emily was so surprised by these brilliant ideas and by the fact that Annie knew what a meeple was – she hadn’t; not till she’d met Ludek – that she found herself saying, ‘Yes, that all sounds amazing.’

The next minute Annie was in the kitchen, wearing Emily’s apron and searching through her spice selection looking for ginger and Emily was standing behind the counter feeling redundant in her own café.

Only two people ventured in for lunch, ordering soups of the day. As Emily ladled out the creamy mushroom into two white bowls, and put two crusty rolls and two pats of butter on the side, she couldn’t help but notice the baking smell in the kitchen. It was heavenly.

Florence, Mrs Scott and Mrs Sinclair didn’t appear which was unusual as they always came in for lunch and Scrabble on Mondays – other days too sometimes, but always on Mondays. When the two customers had gone, Emily wandered into the kitchen to see what Annie was doing.