Second Chances at the Little Love Café
Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
‘A lice, I think I might be falling in love with Denise.’ Ronald Jenkins, owner of The Starfish Tea Shop in Blue Cove Bay and my new boss, has called to give me what he feels is an important update.
Ronald is different to the other bosses I’ve had over the years. He never calls to ask whether business is booming in his tea shop. I don’t know why but he sees me as an agony aunt rather than an employee.
At seventy-six, eligible bachelor, Ronald boasts of possessing his own teeth, a full head of hair, the energy levels of a twenty-five-year-old, two seaside rental properties, a five-bedroomed detached house, a hot tub and a successful (his word not mine!) tea shop. He often tells me he can’t remember the last evening he spent at home alone and he believes he’s singlehandedly responsible for an alleged boom in senior dating sites.
My response is a little sharp. ‘Rubbish. You’ve only been on two dates with Denise.’ Cradling my phone between my ear and shoulder, I bring out a customer’s cup of tea and a custard tart. ‘You’re getting carried away.’
‘But Denise makes me feel like a teenager again,’ explains Ronald as I reach my customer, Betty, and her yellow plastic table. She’s fresh from the hair salon and is sporting an impressive head full of tight silver curls. Betty is my first and last customer of the afternoon.
It has been another quiet day here in The Starfish Tea Shop. Ronald should be more concerned about his lack of business than his strong feelings for Denise. What I desperately want to say – and it is becoming a struggle not to blurt it out – is that nothing good comes from falling in love. That four-letter word should come with a health warning.
Ronald has begun to describe his lunch date with Denise. Half-listening and adding a random ‘nice’, I’m also scanning the almost empty tea shop for Lucas, my six-year-old son who earlier made a rather bold claim. ‘Mummy, I am now a good boy.’
After saying that, he disappeared. He hasn’t got out of the tea shop because there’s a jangly bell on the door so I’m sensing he’s ditched the ‘good boy status’ and is being naughty under one of the tables.
I can’t listen to Ronald talk anymore about the seductive way Denise used her spoon to eat her pudding. ‘Is there anything else, Ronald?’ It’s not a good career move to cut off your boss mid-flow, but if he carries on, I’m going to say something I’ll regret. This job has been a life saver and I can’t afford to lose it. Also, the thought of sitting down with Betty at her table and having a natter is appealing after the day I’ve had.
Where the hell is Lucas? My eyes conduct a search of the other yellow circular tables and wooden chairs for a small boy. Nothing. Standing on my tiptoes, I survey the back of the tea shop behind the blue shell encrusted counter where the old coffee machine and toaster preside. Nothing.
‘Denise wants to see me again tomorrow, Alice.’
For goodness’ sake, can’t Ronald sense that I need him to get off the phone?
‘Do you have any dating advice for my third date with her? Do you think it is time for me to suggest taking a dip in my hot tub?’
Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of Lucas’s curly head from behind the counter and hear the scrape of the plastic crate. With a mischievous grin my son stands on the crate and appears, holding aloft my black purse with one hand and picking his nose with the other. My son is intrigued by my purse and all that is up his nose. Forgetting about Ronald, I glare at my son. ‘Don’t be a naughty boy.’
Ronald erupts into a coughing fit before croaking, ‘Yes, thank you, Alice, for that.’
‘Oh God, Ronald,’ I gasp. ‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t meant…’ I stop myself from revealing that I’ve brought Lucas to work with me. Dad would have covered Lucas’s school training day, but his shifts were swapped at the supermarket. In view of the lack of customers, I brought Lucas to work with me. This is something I won’t be doing again in a hurry as it’s been hell. You’d think with only three customers over the course of the entire day, I’d be able to cope with running a tea shop and entertaining my bored six-year-old son. Lucas has stuck his grubby fingers into every teacake while I wasn’t looking. He’s fiddled with sugar cubes, climbed over the little tables, and keeps taking my purse out of my handbag. As he’s so naughty, I have not been able to have a little cry by myself in the toilets.
To my relief, Ronald hangs up before I have time to figure out what to say next. Betty chuckles at Lucas still standing on the crate behind the counter. ‘Lucas, your mummy has been telling me about how you’re such a good boy . I think good boys put purses back.’ Arching her silvery eyebrows at Lucas, Betty peers over the top of her gold-rimmed glasses.
Scratching his mass of springy black curls, Lucas grins. For a second or two, Betty and I are lulled into thinking he’s going to be a good boy and put my purse back in my handbag behind the counter. As I turn towards Betty, Lucas tips the contents of my purse all over the counter. Coins, plastic cards, and receipts are sent flying. To my horror most of it falls off the counter and skitters across the floor.
‘LUCAS.’ My booming voice makes eighty-six-year-old Betty clutch her chest. She leans back in her chair, banging her head against the wall and blinks rapidly. Gasping, I race around to Betty and rub her hand. Oh God, all the colour has drained from her face. ‘Please be okay, Betty.’
To my relief, Betty coughs and gives me a weak smile. ‘My goodness, Alice, the foundations of Ronald’s shop moved when you shouted.’
With a nervous laugh, I push the cup of tea and custard tart nearer to her. ‘Eat some sugar quick, Betty.’ She nods, picks up her fork and attacks the custard tart. The words, ‘Ronald’s custard tarts are a bit chewy, ’ are jostling around on the tip of my tongue. Betty normally has a teacake, which have their own taste issues, but today she announced she wanted to shake things up with her order. I did try to persuade her to stick to a teacake, but she was adamant she wanted to try a custard tart.
To avoid watching her bite into the custard tart, I crouch down on the floor to retrieve my bank cards, a ten-pound note, a few receipts and an old photo which has somehow managed to survive countless purse changes. Lucas comes to stand next to me. I glance up at his bright blue eyes, widening with excitement at the chaos he’s caused. He’s still got my empty purse which I try to grab but he runs off with it around the perimeter of the tea shop.
‘He loves your purse,’ Betty observes as I groan at Lucas. Some children like toys, cars, or books. Lucas, on the other hand, is obsessed with purses, wallets, phones, and expensive watches. It used to be embarrassing when I met up with the posh mums from his old nursery. All his little friends would play nicely with educational wooden toys while Lucas would be sat in the corner emptying someone’s purse or wallet. Frankie, my best mate, jokes his godson is destined for the pickpocket trade.
‘How are you doing, Alice?’ Betty has known my family for years. She used to manage the hair salon in Blue Cove Bay. Dad’s mum, my nana, always swore Betty’s perms were legendary.
Rising to my feet, I slide into the chair opposite Betty. My brain is searching for a suitable answer which won’t involve the tear tap inside my eyes being turned on. Everyone knows Lucas and I are back in Blue Cove Bay living with Dad. Talking about why I’ve come home is still difficult. Dad has assured me only a handful people know what happened.
Betty gives me a warm smile before leaning across and squeezing my hand. I let out a heavy sigh. That gesture of hers tells me my secret is now common knowledge here in Blue Cove Bay. If Blue Cove Bay’s town gossip Betty squeezes your hand, she knows your business and you can be sure everyone in the town also knows.