Page 57 of The Little Board Game Café

They were half-way through an elaborate game about dragons and witches, the rules of which she didn’t fully understand, when the announcement came that the train was approaching Doncaster.

‘Come on, kids,’ said the father, closing his book and standing up. He pulled their coats and bags down from the luggage rack. ‘Thank you so much for entertaining them. You’re a life-saver.’

They waved goodbye as they left and Emily watched through the window as they emerged onto the platform and disappeared down a staircase into the bowels of the station. The carriage felt empty without them, but in the ensuing silence, Emily had her second eureka moment. She found the receipt she’d been writing on earlier and scribbled it down.

As the train journeyed on towards Pontefract, she jotted down more ideas. By the time the train pulled into Halifax, she had a complete plan. Admittedly, a plan written on the back of a receipt, but it was a plan nonetheless.

She was going to transform The Lancashire Hotpot from a very ordinary, back-street café into a board games paradise.

Chapter Twenty-One

Monday afternoon was quiet. Mr B and Marjory had been in for their elevenses. There’d been three tables occupied at lunchtime; Mrs Scott and Mrs Sinclair, of course – they came in at least three times a week now, their appetites for her all-day breakfasts seemingly unsatiable – but she didn’t recognise the people on the other two tables. And then no one. Emily helped herself to a bowl of chicken soup and a roll and sat down at the table by the counter. Of course, it would be sod’s law that the minute she sat down, she’d get a paying customer. But she didn’t. Even sod’s law didn’t bring anyone to The Lancashire Hotpot that afternoon.

She finished her soup and decided she might as well shut up shop for the day and begin to put her plan into action.

She was going to get rid of those used-to-be-white tablecloths – she’d left a red sock in the washing machine – and paint her tables with different game boards like the ones on the train. As well as Snakes and Ladders and chess boards, she could do Scrabble and Cluedo. She could provide the pieces for each game in Kilner jars on the tables. She’d grabbed some sandpaper from Kate’s DIY box that morning; Emily wasn’t sure why her best friend had a DIY box, as the only screwdriver she’d ever seen in Kate’s hand was of the cocktail rather than the B&Q variety. She turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’, whipped off one of the tablecloths and began to sand.

Sanding turned out to be even more arm-ache-inducing than beating choux pastry until it was glossy. It took ages to remove the stains and dark varnish from the first tabletop. Over two hours, in fact, but for a first-time attempt, she thought she’d made a reasonable job of it. The surface looked good and felt smooth enough to paint, but the entire café was now covered in dust. How could sanding one table produce so much? It was like when you knock over a mug containing just the tiniest amount of coffee and a huge pool of brown appears on the carpet. Emily knew this all too well. Messy person that she was, she had knocked over her fair share of mugs. And now she was covered with dust: in her hair; all over her clothes; and up her nostrils. She was sure she felt an itching sensation in her bra. At least she’d had the foresight to move all the food into the kitchen, but she should really have done the sanding outside.

She was wondering if this was such a good idea after all when she heard a knock. The door opened and Kate walked in. Damn. Emily had been hoping for ages that she’d come and see the café but hadn’t wanted her best friend to see the place looking like this.

‘Oh my god,’ she said. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m sanding the tables.’

‘Why?’

‘To paint them. Instead of having tablecloths. I left a red sock in the washing machine and now my white tablecloths are all pink.’

‘As are my white knickers.’

Emily grimaced. ‘Sorry about that, Kate.’

‘Seriously, Em. Buy new tablecloths. You can’t do this. Look at the mess.’

She had a point. It was a ridiculous idea; Emily hadn’t thought it through.

‘I wish you’d warned me you were coming. I’ve been dying for you to see the café, but I didn’t want you to see it looking like this.’

‘Spur of the moment thing. I finished work a bit early but Freddie thought we should have a bit of a break from each other this evening – it has been pretty full on. And I got home thinking how lovely it would be to have a catch-up with you. Haven’t seen you in days…’

‘Weeks.’

‘Okay, weeks. And then you weren’t there and I guessed you’d be here. Is all this really because of the tablecloths going pink?’

‘No, it’s part of my grand plan.’

‘Your grand plan?’

‘To turn the café into a board game café.’

‘A board game café? Why on earth…? Oh, don’t tell me. Ludek. This is your grand plan to get with Ludek by proving to him how much you love his geeky hobby.’

‘Too late for that. I’ve blown it with him.’

‘Blown it with him? How?’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s over, Kate. Over before it even got started. The board game café idea is my grand plan to attract a few more customers through the door because if I don’t, quite frankly, Kate, I can’t keep going for much longer. And then I’ll have lost everything. All my savings. My inheritance from Mum. And the dream I’ve had practically my whole life. And if I’m penniless I’ll have to live at yours for ever, and, sooner or later, I’m bound to spill something on your cream carpets and then I’ll lose your friendship too. And, by the way, board games aren’t geeky. I love them.’