And also, although at first she’d seemed aggressive, almost snarling, once they’d started to talk she’d seemed nice – and she looked so sweet, in her pretty flowered frock – and he wanted her to be very clear about what she would be getting herself into. He was fond of the area she was talking about; he’d grown up near Pear Tree Court, and had often hidden there, under the tree, reading a book when that shop was derelict. It was a lovely spot, even though he hadn’t imagined anyone else knew about it apart from him.
A little café – being able to sit out with a cup of coffee and a slice of something delicious – didn’t seem that bad an idea to him. But in the end it would come down to her.
‘So,’ he said, finishing with a flourish. ‘What do you think? If the bank was to support you, would you be up to it?’
Normally at this point people said ‘Sure!’ or behaved like they were on The X Factor and offered to give it 110 per cent. Issy sat back with a thoughtful look in her eye.
This, she knew, was it. A full commitment – if she got the backing from the bank – for life, if everything went well. It would all be on her shoulders. She would never be able to come home from work, forget all about it. She remembered Gramps, eating, sleeping, thinking of nothing but the bakeries. That had been his life. Would it be hers?
But then, if it was a success … maybe she could find other people to help her run it … open another one. All of that was possible too, she knew. She could end up with more freedom. A way to live her life by her own rules, to her own schedule, taking no one’s minutes.
A tiny, tiny voice deep down inside her said, ‘But what about when I want a baby?’ She couldn’t listen to that voice, she thought angrily. She still didn’t have a job at the moment. She didn’t have a boyfriend. She could worry about that later.
‘Miss Randall?’ Austin was pleased she was thinking about it. It meant she’d been listening to him. Too often he had wise guys in here who thought they had all the answers, who didn’t listen and tried to talk over the top of him. They rarely lasted.
Issy looked right at him.
‘Thanks for giving it to me straight,’ she said.
‘Have I scared the life out of you?’ said Austin, apologetically.
‘No. No, you haven’t. And if the bank will help me out … well, I’d like to bank with you.’
Austin raised his eyebrows.
‘OK. Well, OK. Good. Obviously I need to talk to a few people …’
He ferreted in his briefcase for the forms she needed to fill out and instead came up with an apple and a catapult.
‘You look like Dennis the Menace,’ said Issy, giggling. She made a mental note to knock him off Helena’s list – he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring but he clearly had kids.
‘Ah yes, we use this on defaulters,’ he said. He glanced regretfully at the apple as it went back in his bag.
‘You look hungry,’ said Issy.
‘I am,’ said Austin, who had missed breakfast trying to get Darny to eat his.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cake? I won’t tell anyone.’
‘But I would know,’ said Austin, mock-sternly. He buzzed the intercom on his desk. ‘Janet, would you mind bringing in a set of business account application forms?’
‘But I already—’
Austin took his finger off the intercom.
‘I’ll let Janet help you with the forms. Then just leave them with reception. I think my eleven o’clock is here.’
‘Your eleven o’clock has been here for half an hour,’ said Janet, appearing at the door with a sheaf of forms. She looked at Austin as if he were a naughty schoolboy. ‘I’ll tell him you’re just ready.’ She swept out.
Issy stood up. ‘Thanks.’
‘Good luck,’ said Austin, standing up too, taking off his glasses and holding out his hand. Issy shook it. ‘If you need anything else, here’s my card. And here, would you like a bank pen?’
‘You keep it,’ said Issy. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone to think you were trying to bribe me.’
Although the weather was still cold and grey, at least it wasn’t raining. While Issy knew she had plenty of things to get started on, she also had an awful lot to think about as she crossed the busy Dalston Road – clustered with shoppers unperturbed by the cold, eating sausage rolls from the baker’s, or pushing through to the market, or examining laundry baskets outside the bric-a-brac shop. Stoke Newington High Street was a little quieter, with mummies wheeling their buggies to baby yoga and the library; to the vegetarian falafel café, or the churchyard. A toy shop jostled with a posh wallpaper showroom and a thriving independent bookshop.
Then Issy turned again, into Albion Road. The large grey houses stared back at her impassively. Here there were hardly any pedestrians at all, just the long, bendy 73 cutting corners and rendering the road impassable. And there, almost hidden from sight, was the tiny turn-off just on the corner … As she came into Pear Tree Court and saw the sign up in the window – Rented – her heart leapt. She sat down, in the cold, on the little bench under the tree. Even in the chill weather, she felt a great sense of peace steal over her. The sun was only just showing its face. It touched a tiny piece of spring on to her winter-pallid face and she closed her eyes in bliss. Winter would come to an end; it would. And here, she would have a little haven in the very epi-centre of one of the world’s busiest cities. Could she make it her own?
When Des arrived to hand over the keys, he found Issy like that, sitting on the bench, looking dreamy and far away. Uh-oh, he thought, worriedly. That wasn’t really a good look for the putative owner of a business. That was more the look of someone who had a head full of castles in the air.
‘Hey, hello,’ he said, standing directly in her tiny shaft of sunshine. ‘Sorry I’m late. My wife was supposed to … Uh, well, never mind.’
Issy squinted up at him. ‘Hi! Sorry, it’s just such a relaxing spot. I had a bit of a late night …’ She let her voice tail off, remembering. Then she jumped up, trying to recover her professional demeanour. ‘So let’s see what we’re dealing with, shall we?’
In her years of working with professionally shown buildings, Issy had gained a shrewd eye as to what needed doing in places, and the ability to put a positive spin on it. But as Des ceremoniously handed over the huge set of keys, and she slowly turned them in the three locks on the door to open it, creaking her way tentatively inside, she realized that suggesting to clients what they ought to be doing was very different from planning on doing it yourself. Thick dust lay on an old countertop; the window was smeared with grime. The last inhabitants might have had spiritual yogic peace, but their housekeeping left a little to be desired. Shelves had been left which would be completely useless to the new enterprise, while more useful things – a sink upstairs, plenty of plug points – were completely missing.