Page 14 of Second Chances at the Board Game Café

Harry went over to their table, but didn’t sit down. ‘Have you seen Martin, Ludek?’

‘Yeah, I did earlier. In the surgery. He asked me to tell you that he’s not well, but hopes to be back next week. Why don’t you join us? This is Eric. He’s a member of the local birders group, and he’s come along this evening to try a game of Wingspan,’ Ludek continued.

‘Good evening, Eric,’ said Harry, wondering whether he could make some excuse and leave. He could watch another couple of episodes of Michael Portillo on catch-up, or perhaps do some essential maintenance on his model railway. He was trying to think of an excuse when Emily appeared.

‘There you go, Harry,’ she said, placing a latte and a slice of Bakewell on the table. ‘And yes, before you ask, it’s decaf.’

‘Thanks, Emily.’ He obviously couldn’t leave now.

He perched himself awkwardly on the chair beside Eric, and looked at the game. Ludek had laid out an array of cards, each bearing the image of a brightly coloured bird. A strange cardboard bird box sat in the middle of the table with a tray that appeared to be full of Cadbury’s Mini Eggs. He picked one up; sadly, they turned out not to be Mini Eggs, but inedible game pieces. Even more disappointingly, there wasn’t a train in sight.

Ludek explained the rules. It wasn’t too difficult. You had a hand of cards, each displaying a different bird, which were worth points at the end of the game. To place a bird on your board, you needed the right type of food token. Most of the birds could lay eggs, and eggs were worth more points. There were no maps, no engines and no pieces of railway track.

‘Righty-ho,’ he said, as Ludek finished his explanation. ‘Let’s get cracking.’

‘Cracking,’ said Ludek. ‘Good one, Harry.’

Eric, Harry noticed, didn’t crack a smile.

Harry had a special card that gave him bonus points for birds that ate fish, so decided that his best strategy was to focus on that. He also had an extremely colourful collection of bird cards. His wood duck had an iridescent chestnut breast, with green head and tail, and a blue upper body. His American robin, like its European counterpart, had a bold red breast, whilst his hooded warbler was predominantly bright yellow with light green wings and tail; the black markings on its head made it look like it was wearing a balaclava. His mountain bluebird was, of course, blue, and a very vivid shade of blue at that. The only problem was that not one of them ate fish.

Harry played his wood duck into the water area of his board, paying the required three food tokens and scoring himself four points.

‘Interesting bird that,’ said Eric. ‘Nests in cavities in trees and has sharp claws so it can perch on branches.’

‘Really?’ said Harry. Well, what else could you say?

On his next turn he played his American robin.

‘An interesting fact,’ remarked Eric, ‘is that the American robin is not related to their European counterpart, but is actually a member of the thrush family.’

Such a geek, thought Harry, deciding that he rather liked the man. Trains. Birds. It was good to have hobbies that you were passionate about.

Next he played his mountain bluebird with its vivid plumage.

‘Another thrush,’ said Eric.

‘And another four points,’ said Harry. ‘Even more if she lays some eggs in that nest.’

‘Well, actually, that’s the male,’ said Eric.

‘Oh?’ said Harry. ‘How can you tell?’

‘The vivid blue plumage. The female has much duller blue wings and tail, and the rest of her is grey. In fact, most of the pictures in this game show male birds, rather than females. In many species, the females are somewhat dull, whilst the males are brightly coloured. It helps the males attract a mate.’

Harry didn’t win the game, but that didn’t matter. He’d enjoyed himself. Perhaps it was good to do something different, he reflected later as he left the café. His gran used to say that a change was as good as a rest, and maybe she’d been right. He was set in his ways – he knew that.

He hadn’t always been like this. It had started when Fay had left him.

He’d enjoyed his brief relationship with her, though much of it had been spent decorating Fay’s house. Harry hadn’t complained; he’d always loved helping people. As a child, he didn’t fit in easily, but soon discovered that being helpful endeared him to others, whether it was doing someone’s maths homework or sharing the contents of his lunchbox. And he’d enjoyed helping Fay. In fact, he’d begun to wonder if he was falling in love.

Harry paused now by the Oxfam shop, peering in the window to see if there were any railway books on display. There weren’t. He recalled how seven months into his relationship with Fay, he’d found himself staring into the jeweller’s window in Halifax, wondering if it was too soon to buy a ring. He’d imagined their wedding – her side of the church heaving with friends and family, his side less so. Would they live in her house or his? Hers probably. It was almost finished now and looked splendid. Would there be children? He hoped so. He could picture himself on the platform at Hebbleswick station, watching the Northern Belle trundling by, with his son or daughter at his side.

He didn’t buy a ring that day. Luckily as it turned out, because a few days later, he’d walked into the pub one day and heard her ridiculing him to her friends. ‘He has a model railway, and notebooks where he writes down train numbers,’ she’d said. ‘Such a geek!’

She’d broken up with him shortly afterwards. In his lonelier moments, he still thought of the cruel words she’d used. ‘Our relationship has come off the rails,’ she’d said. ‘We’ve hit the buffers. Reached the end of the line. I want to get off at this station. I want to decouple.’

‘There’s no need to take the piss,’ he’d said. He never used coarse language, but the occasion had seemed to merit it. Didn’t she care at all about his feelings? Deep down, he’d known it wasn’t working but he’d still cared about her.