Page 11 of And Then There Was You

Seven Merryn

The morning rush is so busy I barely have time to catch my breath.

Ruthie and I weave and dance around one another as we prepare and serve breakfasts to our café and takeaway customers.

The gorgeous scent of coffee and bacon fills the air, while the beep of the card reader and ring of the till are the loveliest sounds to hear.

Every year, I worry that people won’t find us at the start of the summer season, that another, newer, shinier coffee shop will lure visitors away.

We aren’t in the most central place, so many of our customers come here either because of a recommendation or because they stumble upon us while exploring the town.

We get a large proportion of locals, too, although mostly at weekends, unless they have family and friends visiting from other parts of the UK.

Judging by the line of customers to the door and the packed café tables this morning, my fears for this season seem to be unfounded.

Already, customers are admiring the piano in the courtyard. It has a DON’T TOUCH – WET PAINT sign still propped against its lid, partly to make sure that all the work Seth and I did last night doesn’t get smudged, but also because I want its first playing to be at the grand unveiling.

I decided last night that the event where I’ll officially welcome the piano to its new home will also be our first evening opening.

It will be a good test of how much interest there might be and a soft launch to iron out any niggles before I go for it officially.

I haven’t told Ruthie or Seth yet, but the knowledge of it fires my heart in the whirlwind of the breakfast rush.

‘I’m so glad you’re open again this year,’ a lady with a baby in a carry sling says, as I’m taking her order. ‘So many places we went to last summer have closed.’

‘It’s always like that here,’ I reply, ignoring the shiver of nerves that passes over me.

It’s the stock answer we all give when asked about the high turnover of businesses in town, but the truth is it’s been worse in recent years.

Everyone worries about it, even if business is good.

The pressure to make money in the holiday season, the ever-rising shop rents and the constant competition are too much for many to bear.

I’ve lost several friends and neighbours who have closed their businesses and moved away.

Every year we’re open is a blessing, one I’m determined never to take for granted.

‘All the same, we’re happy to visit you again.’ She smiles, the baby stretching one chubby arm out of the sling. ‘And with any luck, this one will be visiting for many more!’

Ruthie carries the tray over to the woman’s table for her and I turn back to the queue, my smile instantly appearing when I greet the next customer.

‘Pot of your finest tea and double toast, please,’ Lou Helmsworth booms. He’s a bit of a legend in town, a business owner and leader of pretty much every community committee going.

If you need something doing, Lou’s your best bet of making it happen, even if his constant bluster and tendency to take everything far more seriously than it needs to be makes his involvement both comical and frustrating.

‘Lovely to see you, Lou,’ I say, filling a large teapot with hot water. ‘How’s everything?’

He blows out his cheeks. ‘Busy, busy. My wife keeps callin’ me Lord Lucan because I’m always disappearin’. I hope I can count on you for the beach clean tomorrow?’

‘Of course.’

Lou slaps a hand to his heart. ‘An angel as ever, Merryn. It’s gettin’ harder to drag people out for the clean-ups. They’re all suddenly busy the moment you ask.’

‘Well, I’ll be there, and Seth from next door is coming, too.’

‘Fabulous. We’ve even scored a sponsor for it.’

‘A sponsor?’

Lou nods happily. ‘New bar openin’ up over by Harbour Beach. Chap who co-owns it used to be a cub scout when my Margie was a pack leader, way back when. Payin’ for the lot, he is – bin bags, proper gloves, litter pickers, fluorescent jackets, the whole shebang!’

‘Wow, that’s impressive. How did you swing that?’

He beams. ‘Never underestimate the power of the Scouts, Merryn. Also it means he gets some good photos for his BookyFace page.’

A snigger sounds behind him as my assistant returns to the counter. ‘What about you, Ruthie?’

‘Beach clean tomorrow morning,’ I prompt, when she looks mystified.

‘No fear! Draggin’ myself down before dawn to clean up someone else’s rubbish? I don’t think so.’

Lou’s face reddens. ‘You see? That’s what I’m up against. The attitude of youth . . .’

‘No offence, Lou, but some people have better things to do.’

‘Better than protectin’ the environmental wellbein’ of the town?’

Ruthie considers this, then nods. ‘Yeah.’

Lou stares blankly back.

‘Extra butter on your toast?’ I ask, keen to move the conversation along.

‘Reckon I’ll need it after that.’

I watch Lou drift over to a vacant table, still befuddled by Ruthie’s reply, then turn to my assistant.

‘What?’ she says, clearly unrepentant.

‘You could have just said you were busy.’

‘And miss the chance to wind up Lou Helmsworth? Not likely!’

The busy period lasts until two-thirty p.m., when there’s a lull and we finally get a chance to breathe.

Only a few tables are occupied now, the customers there relishing the opportunity to sit down.

I don’t mind if they take their time over their tea and scones – part of what I love most about my café is its relaxed, welcoming atmosphere.

I’ve worked hard to create a space people want to spend time in – and hopefully return to.

Will the evening openings create the same kind of atmosphere?

Handing Ruthie a steaming mug of tea, I decide to bite the bullet.

‘I’ve been thinking . . .’ I begin.

‘Always dangerous,’ she quips, fast as a whip.

‘Funny. No, I’ve been thinking about opening some evenings.’

My assistant’s pierced eyebrow rises. ‘Seth finally got to you, has he?’

‘He made a lot of sense.’

‘That’s a first.’ Seeing my frown, she relents. ‘It’s a good idea. We’ve been sayin’ so for ages. How many nights are you goin’ to do?’

‘Two, to start. Saturday nights and maybe Wednesday evenings?’

She considers this, tapping her nails against her mug. ‘Might be confusin’ for customers, though. How about Wednesday, Thursday and Friday? Most people round here do those nights. Saturdays are okay, but you’ll have a lot of competition from the places on Wharf Road.’

It makes sense, but it takes me a moment to recalibrate the idea I’ve spent time considering.

The fearful side of me insists three nights from the off are too many, the risk too great.

But then I think of the possibility of regular customers being drawn here – enjoying the summer under the rows of white lights in the courtyard while candles glow on tables and music from the piano warms the space. The image is impossibly lovely.

It’ll be so much work. Exhausting, too. And it could be a drain on finances if people don’t come.

‘Would you be up for working some of the evening shifts?’ I ask, crossing everything that she might be.

‘Couldn’t do Wednesdays,’ she replies. ‘Thursdays and Fridays would be okay. But you’ll need more staff to cover day shifts. I mean, I love you, Mer, but I’m not doin’ a full day and night, too.’

I kick myself for not considering this. ‘I’ll put a card in the window.’

My assistant hefts a sigh, as if I’m a burden on her soul. ‘Window cards are for amateurs. What you need is a Lou .’

I follow her nod to the beach clean poster Lou Helmsworth left for us to put up on our noticeboard.

‘Brilliant, Ruthie! I’ll ask him at the beach clean tomorrow.

’ I risk a bit of fun. ‘Of course, it would be so much easier to broach the subject with him if I had my second-in-command beside me . . .’

Ruthie’s smile immediately vanishes. ‘Don’t push it, boss.’

Oh well, it was worth a try.

But at least I have a firm way forward now: open for three consecutive nights a week to build local support, and recruit the unofficial Eyes and Ears of St Ives to assist me in finding new staff.

For the first time, the evening openings feel like a real possibility. The next brave step for the business I built from nothing. I like how positive that feels.

Onwards and upwards . . .