Page 9 of Autumn at the Oak Leaf Café
‘Most of us grow out of it,’ Madeline said. ‘How can I help you, Pete?’
‘Angela always used to fix me up a decent brew of a morning,’ Pete said. Then, grinning, he added, ‘I don’t mind selling my stuff, but I don’t want to drink it.’
‘No worries, give me a minute to get this door open.’
‘You have to lift it slightly as you twist it,’ Pete said. ‘One of the hinges is slightly loose. Both me and Tom—the park’s caretaker—have been on at her for years to fix it, but she likes her quirks, does Angela.’
Taking his advice, Madeline pulled the door upwards slightly, and the key turned without hesitation.
‘Thanks!’
‘No worries. You look like you might be busy. Do you want me to come back later?’
‘No, it’s okay. I’ve got to get used to it.’
‘I’ll sort these tables out for you.’
‘Thanks, Pete. That’s kind of you.’
As Madeline went inside, Pete began taking the chairs down from the tabletops and putting up the umbrellas. Madeline went to turn on the lights, the realised she had no idea where the switches were. Angela had definitely told her, but she had probably also mentioned about the door.
‘Ah, Pete?’ Madeline called out through the doorway. ‘I don’t suppose you know where the light switches are?’
‘Behind the hedgehog painting, just inside the door,’ Pete called.
‘Ah, got it.’
With a click, the café’s gloomy interior filled with warm light. Madeline gave a contented sigh. Angela had known a thing or two about interior design. Intricate wire pots hung from the wall, currently filled with dried flowers. Each table was set into its own little nook, with either a window view or a view of the café’s interior, leaving no one to have to face the wall. There were a dozen tables, half of them for two people, half for four, but the way the café was laid out made it feel much smaller, like every table was the focus, every potential customer important.
The serving counter took up one wall, glass display boxes in front of a preparation worktop, with five stools along the outer side for solo customers. There was a low shelf in front of the display boxes for these customers to put their drinks on while they gazed at the cakes in the display boxes. Each position was marked with a bowl of polished stones, a tea cup filled with dried flowers, and a handwritten menu glued to dark brown card and propped up in a holder made out of a hand-length piece of tree branch sliced in half and with a groove cut into the curved top. The menu advertised a multitude of coffees and various meals, only a few of which Angela had taught Madeline how to prepare.
She found the coffee machine and switched it on. Angela had a variety of devices, depending on what was ordered. On the shelves over the machine were several expensive coffee grinders lined up like ornaments.
She made Pete a coffee as well as one for herself and took them both outside. Pete had finished setting the tables and was sitting down at one, hands behind his head, whistling to himself.
‘Thank you, dear,’ Pete said, sitting up as she set the coffee down.
‘Welcome,’ Madeline said with a smile. ‘You’re my first customer.’
‘I’m honoured. Fine day like this, you might get a few more. Rumour has it, there’s a bus load of grandmas coming down for a matinee show over at the theatre there. I hope you’ve got your pies cooked.’
‘Oh, really? I’m afraid I’m not really sure what I’m doing. I sort of threw my name into the hat, but now I’ve got the job, I’m kind of scared I’ll mess everything up. Angela probably should have picked someone more capable.’
Pete chuckled. ‘She’s a good judge of character, is Angela. If she hired you, then she knows you’ll do a good job. Sometimes it takes a bit of practice, but you’ll get there. My daughter Lily came home this time last year in a right pickle. She’d just quit her city job, and she was wandering around like a headless chicken. My brother gave her a job in his guesthouse, and fast forward a year, she’s running the place. He’s off taking his first holiday in twenty years. You know what the most important thing is?’
‘What?’
‘To do it with heart. Put your heart in there, and you can’t go wrong.’ Pete leaned forwards, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet.
Madeline put up a hand. ‘It’s all right, it’s on the house. You’ve helped me out too much already.’
Pete shook his head. ‘I appreciate the gesture. In that case, let me give you a pound for your tip jar, start you off in the right way. But I also wanted to give you this.’
He handed her a business card. Madeline looked down and read, Peter Markham, Mural Artist. On the back was his address and phone number.
‘You’re an artist?’
Pete grinned. ‘Not just a cheeky burger van owner. That patio over by the trees there, that was my design.’
