Page 28 of Second Chances at the Board Game Café

Taylor had taken a sip of her latte and now she almost choked on it. ‘A fashion show?’

‘Yeah, if you’re launching a new venture, you need to make a splash. When Em opened this place, she had a party on the opening night.’

‘A fashion show?’ Taylor repeated. ‘I don’t have time to make enough garments for my own shop window, let alone a whole fashion show.’

‘Ah, but here’s my plan,’ said Kate. ‘Genius, even if I do say so myself. You don’t make all the clothes yourself. We rope in some volunteers.’

Kate bought another latte for Taylor and a second mug of green tea for herself – she admitted she thought it tasted vile, but said it was supposed to be good for you. And then she explained her vision of how it would all work.

Taylor would make half the clothes for the show – well, as many as she could manage, at any rate – and Kate’s band of volunteers would make the rest, under Taylor’s expert guidance. Once a week, they’d gather upstairs in the board game café where, according to Kate, there was a massive empty room begging to be put to good use.

‘I’ll persuade Em,’ she said.

People would be encouraged to bring along sewing machines, unwanted garments and fabrics, buttons, ribbons, remnants of lace – basically anything they could lay their hands on – and then they would hold a fashion show to display all their fantastic creations.

‘Where will we find the space for a fashion show?’

‘Easy. Hebbleswick Primary has a hall and I happen to be bosom buddies with Jo, the school manager.’

Of course you are, Taylor thought. Kate struck her as the sort of person who knew everyone. ‘What will happen to the garments?’

‘You sell yours in your shop or Etsy. You could call your brand Taylored Designs. You know, with a “y” instead of an “i”. Or simply Taylored. Something like that, anyway. We can decide later. And everyone else can either keep what they’ve made, give it away or donate it to the Oxfam shop. I was thinking we could charge for tickets, and give the money to charity too.’

‘You’ve got it all sewn up already.’ Taylor laughed at her own pun, but Kate was in full flow and didn’t seem to notice. She spoke so quickly that Taylor could barely keep up.

‘On your socials, you’ll talk about your business and the advantages of upcycling – good for the planet and good for your purse, that kind of thing. It’ll be your USP. And every business needs a USP. Look at this place. Em’s first café was a total failure until she had the brainwave of having the board games.’

In theory, it was a good idea. A brilliant idea. The thought of a fashion show with her creations. A USP for her business. A talking point on social media. And she’d be sure to learn a lot from Kate about marketing.

In practice, she struggled to find enough hours in the day as it was. And what about Max?

‘I’d have to find a babysitter for Max,’ Taylor said. ‘And he’s not the easiest of children. I’m not sure, Kate. I love the idea but…’

Kate frowned. Max was the one thing she clearly hadn’t thought of.

Taylor was struck by a sudden conviction that if she didn’t say yes to this, she would regret it. That in the weeks and months to come, when life was ticking by with every day the same as the last one, she’d think why didn’t I at least try to find a babysitter? Why didn’t I work even later for a few evenings? Why did I pass on my big chance to fulfil that childhood dream and see my creations on a catwalk?

Well, a stage in a school hall. And okay, Hebbleswick Primary was hardly London Fashion Week, but it was something.

Kate’s plans made sense. Reinventing her Etsy shop to sell upcycled garments and utilising her enormous lounge window as a proper shopfront. A fashion show to create a buzz around her new venture. Using social media not only to talk about her business, but about something she passionately believed in – sustainable fashion and the merits of upcycling.

‘If I can find someone to look after Max, I’ll do it,’ she said.

15

Taylor was on the phone to Tarquin yet again, demanding to know when the landlord would sort out the washing machine and all the other bits and bobs that seemed to be going wrong with this house, when an elderly woman pulling a shopping trolley walked in.

This was happening more and more. When she’d first moved here, customers would knock at the door, but the more she made her front window look like a shop, the more people entered without knocking. Taylor couldn’t decide if she liked that. On the one hand, it showed that people were aware of her business. On the other, it was a little intrusive. Hebbleswick was the kind of place where people didn’t lock their doors; she only ever locked it after she brought Max home from school.

She hung up the phone call. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m Sylvia. I live a couple of doors down. I wanted to say hello. And welcome.’

‘Oh, I see. Thank you.’

She really didn’t have time for a visitor, but she supposed she’d have to ask the woman in. ‘Would you like to come in?’

‘That would be lovely.’