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‘Is this okay?’ he shouts, trying to make himself heard over the din. ‘It will do seventy, just about, but the noise gets much worse and I don’t like to stress the engine.’
‘Fine!’ I shout back, and I realise that I mean it. I don’t feel safe, exactly, but his driving style inspires confidence, and I’m no longer terrified in the way that I was back at the café. I’m still hyper-aware of every noise and every other road user around us, but my heart rate is slowing and I’m breathing more easily. I decide to try to strike up a conversation as an extra distraction.
‘So, Matt,’ I yell. ‘What’s your story? How long have you worked at Nora’s Diner?’
‘Twelve years,’ he shouts back. ‘I was doing a delivery to the photo studio next door when I saw the advert in Nora’s window for a chef. I didn’t have any qualifications, but I knew a bit about cooking from looking after my mum and working in a pub, so I applied and she took me on. Of course, she realised pretty quickly that I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I was keen to learn, and she was incredibly kind, you know? She offered to train me, and quite often we’d be in the kitchen well into the evening, after the café had closed, so she could teach me new recipes and techniques.’
‘She sounds like an amazing woman,’ I reply.
‘She was. In the end, she was more of a mum to me than my own mother has ever been.’
I wait to see if he’s going to elaborate and, after a deep breath, he continues.
‘I didn’t exactly have a privileged upbringing, and I didn’t have a lot of prospects when I left school. My mum was an alcoholic, so I had to fend for myself from an early age. The estate in Peterborough where we lived was completely ruled by two gangs and, if you were a boy, you were expected to join one of them as soon as you were old enough. Depending on which gang you belonged to, you were either in the drugs business or the prostitution business. There was a certain amount of trade between the gangs, drugs to keep the girls docile, payment in kind, that kind of thing. It was mad. A couple of the guys from my school were pimping out their own sisters, and one even had his mum on the game. Anyway, I refused to join either of the gangs, which meant they both had it in for me. I’m sure you’ve noticed the scar on my cheek. That was given to me by a boy who was my best friend in primary school. It soon became pretty obvious that I couldn’t stay at home if I wanted to live, so I ran away to London.
‘I didn’t have any money, so I was sleeping rough to begin with, but then someone told me about a hostel for homeless people that might take me in. It was pretty basic, but at least I had somewhere I could shower and wash my clothes. I managed to get a job washing up in a pub and, as soon as I had enough money, I bought a van. When I wasn’t working, I’d cruise around the streets, looking for skips. You’d be amazed what people throw away. Anyway, I soon had a pretty good bedroom in there. I also started to do a bit of courier work, which is how I found myself in Sevenoaks, reading the ad at Nora’s. I didn’t tell her that I was living in my van but, a month or so after I started, I forgot to pay for the parking one day and it got towed away. The only way I could get it back was to pay the fine, but all my money was inside the van, so I was in a catch-22 situation. Nora couldn’t understand why I was so distraught and, in the end, I had to tell her the truth.’
‘What happened next?’ I’m so completely wrapped up in his tragic story that I’m no longer focused on my own peril at all.
‘She was horrified. She took me to the pound and lent me the money to get the van back, and then demanded that I show her inside. She gave me the keys to the flat the very next day. The deal was that I would pay a tiny rent, but my pay would also be adjusted down to reflect the fact that I was getting very cheap accommodation. That’s how it’s been ever since. I did think Fred might try to turf me out of the flat when she died. He could have let it to someone else for far more money, but she must have done a number on him, because he never said a word. Ah, here’s our turning.’
As he pulls onto the slip road, the noise starts to lessen and I don’t have to shout any more. The whole setup with the rent for the flat and his pay is as I thought, and I file that piece of information away.
‘I understand your loyalty to the café now, I think. You can’t walk away, because you feel indebted to Nora.’
‘That’s definitely part of it, yes. There are also the customers, and the fact that, despite Fred’s penny-pinching, I enjoy my work.’
‘One thing still doesn’t make sense, though,’ I continue. ‘I’ve been completely up front with you from the beginning that I’m probably going to sell Nora’s Diner. I’d like to turn it around first if I can, because I think it’ll be easier to sell if it’s at least making a small profit, but my instinct is very much to offload it. Given that you’ll probably lose both your home and your job if I do, why on earth are you being so nice to me?’
14
‘Look, I’d obviously prefer it if you didn’t sell the café,’ Matt tells me, as we cross the car park towards the cash and carry. ‘But I know as well as anyone that Fred’s cuts have sucked the life out of the place. I still think it can be saved, but it needs someone with Nora’s passion, who’s willing to take a gamble on it. As you rightly said yesterday, it also needs a lot of money to be spent on it. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I were in your position. It’s a risky prospect, I can see that. So, even though it’s not what I want, I can’t blame you for wanting to sell it.’
‘I’d love to wave a magic wand and turn it around, but you’re right,’ I reply. ‘It’s just too big a risk for me. Sorry.’
‘I get it,’ he continues, as he grabs a low trolley that looks like it’s escaped from a garden centre. ‘All I would say is this. I watched you yesterday when Rita was going for you, and again today when she was arguing about the parking space. You weren’t cowed at all by her attempts to bully you. You showed real grit, and that’s got to be a key skill for running a business, hasn’t it?’ He smiles crookedly.
‘That woman seems hell-bent on winding me up. Whatever happens with the café, I don’t think she and I are ever going to become friends.’
‘Mm. Possibly not.’
Our trip round the cash and carry is a real eye-opener, partly because I’ve never been anywhere quite like this before, and partly because Matt is showing me the things he normally buys. Everything is from the budget range, irritatingly branded ‘SuperValu’. It’s not even that much cheaper than the branded stuff. We replace the tea and coffee with branded products straightaway, and I load a couple of trays of bottles of Heinz ketchup and HP sauce onto the trolley as well. We take our time selecting better-quality ingredients to improve the food. Not the most expensive stuff, we both agree the café can’t afford that, but a couple of rungs up from the ‘SuperValu’ crap. I also splash out a bit on cleaning products, as I’m determined to get rid of the horrible sticky feel of the tables, and I suspect the ‘SuperValu’ products simply aren’t up to the job.
‘I think we should get some of those air fresheners too,’ I say to Matt, ‘to make the place smell a bit nicer.’
‘I’m not sure that would work,’ he replies. ‘It might be better to attack the problem at the source.’
‘Go on.’
‘The reason the smell is there is because Fred never let me change the oil in the fryer as often as I should. Cooking oil breaks down over time, and that’s when it starts to smell. If I could change it more often, I reckon the smell would go away. Also, it would definitely improve the flavour of the food.’
‘Okay, let’s do that then,’ I tell him, and he walks away to get more oil. I slip a tray of air fresheners onto the pile anyway, just in case.
The trolley is groaning with stuff as we drag it back to the van. I help Matt load up, and then climb in. Having survived the drive here, I’m feeling a bit calmer about the return journey. In fact, I’d say I’m doing pretty well until Matt has to brake sharply to avoid hitting someone who pulls out in front of him without looking. Instantly, I’m back on full alert and grabbing for anything I can find to hold on to. I’m so rigid that my legs soon begin to shake from the tension.
‘Are you okay?’ Matt asks. I grit my teeth and nod, and we spend the rest of the journey in silence. Matt is lost in thought, and I’m just trying to keep myself calm, while offering up all sorts of bargaining prayers about how I promise to be a better person if I can just get back to the café alive. When we arrive, I scramble out as fast as I can, but my legs are still a bit shaky, so I have to stand and lean against the van for a few moments. Matt unlocks the back door and starts carrying our haul inside.
‘I think you could do with something sweet,’ he announces, once we’ve carried everything in and he’s locked up. ‘Why don’t you come up to the flat and I’ll make you a hot chocolate before you head off?’
