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Katie’s done a couple of shifts with me, but it’s a struggle to get her out of bed, so for the last couple of weeks, she’s taken the train over to Sevenoaks and pitched up to help with the second part of the day. She doesn’t actually do very much, but it gives her an excuse to disappear into town with Bronwyn after we’ve closed up. I think Bronwyn is quite good for her, even though they’re so different. Katie’s wardrobe has certainly got more colour in it than it used to have, and Bronwyn seems to bring her out of her shell a bit. I even heard Katie exchanging some banter with one of the regular customers the other day, which she would never have done before.
On Sundays, I’ve been clearing out Fred’s flat. Nan and Grandad took pity on me when they saw it, so they have been coming over there with me, leaving home after breakfast and staying until mid-afternoon. So far, we’ve filled two skips and found very little of any interest. Grandad did get quite excited when one of the piles of booklets turned out to be a set of owners’ handbooks for various cars from the 1970s, and Katie is helping him to sell them on eBay. There’s been no sign of the box or papers for the Rolex yet, although Fred was obviously such a hoarder that I’m confident I’ll find them before long. We’re getting close to the end now, thank goodness, and Nan and I have been cleaning as we’ve gone, so the place is starting to look a bit less grotty. It is still going to need a new kitchen, bathroom, double glazing, and complete redecoration before I can think about doing anything with it, though.
Takings at the café have improved, but we’ve still got a long way to go. I’m pleased to say that the smell of stale fat is long gone; Matt was right that simply changing the oil more frequently was enough to get rid of it. It’s a lot brighter in there now too, as I stole one of Grace’s ideas and ordered a load of red gingham PVC tablecloths to cover the cracked Formica tables. Ideally, I’d like to replace the tables completely, but the cost is prohibitive at the moment. I’m already wondering whether the £50,000 I earmarked for the café and the flats is unrealistically low, but I don’t want to start dipping into the investments if at all possible. Thankfully, the chairs aren’t too bad, although they could do with being sanded down and repainted at some point. I’ve also got new aprons; they don’t have ‘Nora’s Diner’ embroidered on them because the embroidered ones were three times the price of the plain, but they look smart nonetheless. I even made sure to get a couple of extra-large ones for Rita, although Matt informs me that she stubbornly refuses to wear them. I’ve had the awful signwriting removed from the windows, and the new menus look a lot better. I’d like to extend the menu a bit, but I need to talk to Matt about it first, and I just don’t seem to have found the right time yet.
There’s still one big hurdle I have to overcome, which is Rita. I despair when I think of the amount of head space she’s taken up over the last month. She’s like a permanent malign presence in the back of my mind. I really want her gone. She’s lazy, surly, and rude, and I’m sure she’s putting off customers. I don’t even have a staffing issue if she leaves any more, as Bronwyn has told me she can cover for a while if needed. My problem is that I don’t have any excuse to fire her and she’s not showing any signs of resigning. She’s kept her head down since our spat over the card machine, and I haven’t seen her because she never works on Saturdays. I have spoken to her a few times; I’ve invented some spurious reasons to call the café, just to check that she’s answering the phone properly. I know it drives her mad, but if I don’t do it then she’ll just revert to her old ways. Even if she did, I couldn’t make answering the phone with ‘hello’ a dismissible offence. I need to up the ante, and I reckon I’ve found the perfect way to do it.
A couple of weeks ago, I ordered a coffee machine and all the other paraphernalia we need to make proper barista-style coffee. I also asked Matt to pick up a selection of different teas on his latest visit to the cash and carry. We’ll still offer the instant coffee and builder’s tea, but we’ll have a premium range as well. With any luck, the coffee machine will be enough to tip Rita over the edge. It was installed on Wednesday, and Bronwyn and Rita are supposed to have been trained on it. It’s the single most expensive thing I’ve bought for the café so far, even more expensive than the fryer, but it will be worth it if it persuades her to leave. I’d like it to improve our fortunes too, obviously, but if I never sell a single cup from it and it gets rid of Rita, I reckon it will still have been one of the best investments I’ve made.
It’s Saturday morning and I’m dog-tired as I drag myself out of bed. I was up late last night, reconciling the money that I’ve put into the café. There are tax implications about how the business pays it back, and I had to check my calculations a couple of times to make sure I’d got them right. As I try to wake myself up under the shower, I contemplate the day ahead. I’ve experimented a bit with the oven at the café since I passed my food hygiene course and, after a couple of burned sponges, I reckon I’ve got it sussed. I want to make a coffee and walnut cake today to celebrate the arrival of the coffee machine. I’m planning to offer slices this afternoon to test whether there’s a market for it. At least I’m not clearing the flat tomorrow; it’s Katie’s last weekend of the holidays before the autumn term starts, so the four of us are having a big roast lunch at home.
* * *
Both Matt and Bronwyn are already in the kitchen when I arrive. Bronwyn can’t have arrived long ago, as Matt hasn’t got round to rubbing the obligatory lipstick mark off his cheek yet.
‘I was just going to make the teas and coffees,’ Bronwyn tells me, as I place my bag of ingredients on the side. ‘Do you want a coffee? I can do you an espresso, a latte, a cappuccino, you name it!’
‘Can I have a latte with an extra shot, please? I’m struggling to get going this morning, so maybe the caffeine will help.’
Matt looks up from what he’s doing, and I’m aware of him studying me. ‘You do look tired,’ he observes. ‘Are you sure you’re not overdoing it? We can manage without you today if you would rather rest at home.’
‘No. I’m here, and I have a cake to make. I want to see if there’s any interest in them as a product line.’
I set myself up in a corner of the kitchen and try to keep out of Matt’s way while I work. Bronwyn brings in the coffee, which tastes amazing.
‘Mm, that’s really good,’ I murmur.
‘Isn’t it?’ Bronwyn agrees. ‘I’ve been watching YouTube videos on how to make those clever patterns with the milk. I haven’t quite got it sussed yet, but I will.’
‘She’s in love with that machine already,’ Matt informs me once she’s out of earshot. ‘If anyone can sell the coffee from it, it’s her.’
‘And Rita?’
‘What do you think? I think she’s doing her best to ignore it, in the hope it will go away.’
‘Fat chance! It cost me a fortune, so she’s going to have to get used to it.’
‘Mm. Good luck with that.’
Ron is the first of the regulars to arrive. I’ve asked Bronwyn to let me know when they come in so I can intercept them. My cake is in the oven and the timer says I have another twenty minutes before I need to check it, so I remove the hairnet and walk out into the front of the café.
‘Good morning, Ron. Nice to see you,’ I greet him.
‘Good morning to you, Daisy.’ He smiles as he fishes out his customary £5 note and hands it to Bronwyn. ‘The usual, please, Bronwyn.’
‘Ron, would you allow me to give you a free coffee this morning?’ I ask.
His eyes narrow. ‘What’s the catch?’
‘No catch, I’d just like you to have the opportunity to try a coffee from our new machine here. I won’t give you anything weird, just a normal coffee with milk. I’d be interested in your opinion.’
‘I’m not sure. I’m quite happy with the coffee I normally have. You’ve already changed it once, when you first arrived. Why are you changing it again?’
Bronwyn gives me an ‘I told you so’ look, but I’m determined. I need Ron, Agnes, and even Harold on board if my plan is going to work.
‘All I’m asking is that you let Bronwyn make you a coffee using the machine. If you don’t like it, we’ll replace it with your usual one and we still won’t charge you. Deal?’
‘This all smacks of up-selling to me, young Daisy. I’m a pensioner, you know. I’m not made of money.’
