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‘How much is a new fryer?’ I ask.
‘I’m not sure, a couple of thousand, something like that.’
‘Okay. We’ll order one today. There’s no way the whole place is burning to the ground on my watch. Are there any other dangerous appliances in here that I should know about?’
‘I don’t think so. It’s all pretty old, but Nora bought high-quality stuff, so it’s built to last.’
I check the thermometer, which is reading 120 degrees, so I risk diverting my attention for a moment to look around the kitchen. It’s exactly like Matt’s flat; I can see that the appliances are old, but everything is spotless. I run my finger over one of the worktops and there’s not a hint of stickiness. Something doesn’t make sense.
‘How come it’s so much cleaner in here than it is out there?’ I ask.
‘Ah, yes. Small confession. I’ve been buying my own cleaning products for the kitchen. The stuff Fred made us use was hopeless. Also, I’m not sure that Rita is the most enthusiastic cleaner, if you know what I mean. Bronwyn does her best, but it’s a bit of a losing battle out there. Hopefully, the stuff we bought yesterday will help to turn things around.’
So, Rita doesn’t like cleaning either. Does she do anything at all besides annoy customers, I wonder?
I return my attention to the fryer just as Bronwyn clomps through the door. She’s wearing a scarf on her head and a red dress with white polka dots. If it wasn’t for her multicoloured hair poking out under the scarf, the huge hoop earrings, and the black Doc Martens, she’d look like a fifties housewife. It’s an odd ensemble, but she carries it off with aplomb.
‘Morning, Matty!’ she says brightly, planting a huge smacker of a kiss on his cheek and leaving a bright red lipstick mark, before she notices me. ‘Oh, hello! I didn’t know you were coming in.’
‘Daisy’s come in to get a feel of the place and meet a few of the regulars,’ Matt tells her. ‘You’ll show her the ropes and introduce her to some people, won’t you?’
Bronwyn beams. ‘Of course! It’ll be fun to have someone to keep me company. Anyone for tea or coffee?’
‘I’ll have a tea,’ says Matt. ‘There’s a new box of PG Tips out there and a tub of Kenco granules. I’ve chucked the old stuff.’
‘About bloody time, sorry, Daisy,’ Bronwyn replies. ‘That SuperValu stuff was disgusting. Even Harold didn’t like it, and I’m not sure he has any working taste buds left!’
I can’t help smiling. Bronwyn is just as unfiltered as Rita but, where Rita is sour-faced and miserable, Bronwyn exudes life and enthusiasm.
‘What about you, Daisy? Tea or coffee?’
‘I’ll try the new coffee, please,’ I reply. The thermometer has reached 170 degrees, so I focus my attention back on the fryer as Bronwyn carries on into the café, switching on the lights as she goes.
As the fryer temperature inches the last few degrees towards 180, I wonder about the relationship between Bronwyn and Matt. They don’t seem a very likely couple, but he didn’t seem surprised by her kiss, although I notice he’s now rubbing the lipstick off with a piece of kitchen towel.
‘Don’t read anything into that,’ he tells me, as he throws the piece of kitchen towel in the bin. ‘She’s not my type, and I’m definitely not hers. She just does it because she knows it winds me up.’
I try to imagine what Bronwyn’s ‘type’ might be. He’s right; she’d probably go for an undernourished, artistic guy, possibly with round wire-framed glasses and a goatee beard.
‘Okay. Your fryer is all set, Matty,’ I snigger, as I turn it off.
‘Don’t you bloody start! She does that to wind me up as well. Matt is fine, thank you.’
Bronwyn reappears with three steaming mugs. I notice she’s put an apron on over her dress. It’s worn and fraying at the seams, but it is clean at least. It has ‘Nora’s Diner’ embroidered on it and a deep pocket at the front, which I imagine would be useful for carrying an order pad and pen. I don’t remember Rita wearing one when we came in before.
The coffee is a huge improvement, but still not quite right.
‘Bronwyn, can I ask how much coffee you put in the mug?’
‘Half a teaspoon. That’s what we’ve always been told to do.’
‘Go mad, will you, and put another half in, please?’
When she brings it back and I have another sip, the difference is palpable. For the first time ever, I’m drinking something that tastes like coffee in this place.
‘So, new rule,’ I announce. ‘From now on, we put a full teaspoon of coffee in the mug, okay?’
We’re interrupted by the ding of the bell over the door, indicating the first customer of the day. Bronwyn disappears into the café and soon reappears with an order for two full English breakfasts. Matt sets about the cooking, leaving me feeling a little like a spare part.
