Page 8 of Autumn at the Oak Leaf Café
‘Right, this list here, these are the suppliers. Oak Leaf Café is vegetarian, but we’re not vegan—there’s a big difference. Martin Donbury, he supplies all our dairy products. Then there’s Reg—aren’t all greengrocers called Reg, ha?—who supplies the vegetables. Kaitin Compre—she’s French, I believe—she’s our coffee supplier. And down the list we go. These are all people I’ve worked with for years, so keep them sweet. Some deliver weekly, others every other day. Some once a month. It’s all there in the ledger. And if you need to adjust anything, just give them a call.’
‘Got it.’
‘Right, the boring stuff. This book is our accounts. Gross sales minus expenses equals our profit. That number needs to stay above that number. That’s pretty much it.’
‘Seems self-explanatory.’
‘It is. And the last thing, when you go home, lights off, alarm on. That’s about it. We’re not likely to be broken into. The glorious council budgeted for us to have a night warden from this year. His name’s Daniel. He’s very nice. You’ll meet him in the early mornings as he often comes in for coffee before going home. Give him a free piece of cake if you have any left over. Can’t be a terribly rewarding job looking after an empty park at night.’
‘I will.’
‘Right.’ Angela looked up, rubbing her hands together. ‘So, I think we’re all set. Any questions, you can’t ask, because I’ll likely be off the grid, rejecting civilisation and all that. I’ll be home in the new year unless I get assimilated into some remote hill tribe, so the café’s all yours until then. I don’t like to discuss money, because it’s so boring, but as the tyrannical landlord you can save me twenty-percent. All the rest—minus utilities and supplier costs, of course—is yours. Happy caféing.’
Madeline couldn’t help but smile. ‘I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity. When do you want me to start?’
Angela grinned. ‘Tomorrow morning will be fine. My dear beau Greg—he of the tight wallet—booked us a nice redeye. We take off at midnight.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yep. A taxi’s coming in half an hour.’ Angela spread her arms. ‘Woah, I’d better get packing! Was there anything else?’
Madeline’s heart was fluttering with nerves. ‘Uh, I don’t think so….’
‘Great!’ Angela patted her on the arm. ‘Good luck!’
6
Under New Management
It wasa fine September morning when Madeline set out for her first day as the acting manager of Sycamore Park’s Oak Leaf Café. Jonas gave her a big send off by cooking her an enormous English breakfast, doubling up both the sausages and the bacon, in order to ‘counteract all that lettuce you’ve got to eat at work’, although it amused him when she reminded him that both coffee and sugar—two of the main staples of any good café—were both plants.
Sycamore Park looked delightful with the sun gleaming through leaves that were yet to start changing colour, although Madeline found herself darkly pleased that the tree beneath which she and Rory had shared their first kiss had been cut down, reduced to a flat stump with a couple of small saplings growing nearby. A group of ducks quacked amicably at each other as they poked in the reeds around the fishpond. A pair of old people power-walking with silver weights gripped tightly in their hands and unnecessary luminous headbands keeping the sweat out of their eyes gave her a stoic ‘good morning’, while a young woman walking a little dog smiled as she passed.
Set among a stand of trees to the side of the town library, the Oak Leaf Café lingered like a waiting lover, embroiled with endless possibilities. Originally a simple two-storey redbrick, the nearby trees and an abundance of potted plants and trellised roses gave it a secretive, fairytale look. The tables standing outside, currently with umbrellas closed and chairs upturned, offered endless adventures and stories yet to be told. Madeline was practically bouncing as she reached it, fumbling in her pocket for the key.
A few minutes later, she was still trying to get the old key to fit into a lock that on closer inspection really needed an oiling, when a cheery voice called out, ‘Hey there! Top of the morning, to you. Are you open for a fine cup of coffee yet?’
She turned to see a middle-aged, balding man in an apron standing nearby. He duffed an imaginary hat and gave a half-bow.
‘Um, hello.’
‘Over-applied the moisturiser this morning, have you, Angela? Or did you dig up a time machine in your garden yesterday?’
‘Ah, I’m not Angela,’ Madeline said, stating what she hoped was obvious. ‘My name is Madeline Fellow. I’m going to be running this place for a while in Angela’s absence.’
The man’s eyes widened. ‘Of course, that’s right. I remember her saying. Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Pete Markham, your competition. On that shabby burger van down yonder. Don’t worry, my filthy old dregs aren’t a patch on your smorgasbord of caffeine-infused delights, but there’s always that demographic which likes their coffee like their clothes: cheap, and short-lived.’
Madeline stared. ‘Pete? Pete Markham? Wow, you probably don’t remember me. Last time I saw you, you had … ah, hair.’
Pete grinned. ‘Still a few strands left, gamely holding on.’
‘My friends and I used to come down here for burgers after a night out back in the day.’
‘Back when I did the late shift? Long passed that, I’m afraid. Need my beauty sleep. More and more of it as the years pass. Aren’t you that girl who threw up over my sign that one time?’
Madeline smiled. ‘Oh, god, I remember that. But no, it wasn’t me. That was Emily, one of my school friends. Wow, I wonder what happened to her?’
‘Hopefully she’s passed the puking-on-burger-vans stage by now.’
