‘Don’t,’ said Austin suddenly and fiercely as he opened the door for her. He was shocked to find, suddenly, how much he wanted to … no, he mustn’t think that way. Really, he just so wanted Issy to succeed. That was it. She was a nice person with a nice café, and he really wanted things to start going right for her. And the wash of inexplicable tenderness that had come over him, looking at that lone tear roll down her pink cheek – that was just simple fellow feeling. Of course it was.

For her part, Issy looked up into his handsome, kind face and found herself slightly wishing that they could stay in the world’s grottiest, smelliest pub for a little longer.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t be too nice, Issy. Not in business. Just assume everyone around you is as much of an arse as that woman was – whose name, you may be interested to know, is Rainbow Honeychurch, although her birth certificate says Joan Millson—’

‘I am quite interested to know that,’ added Issy.

‘—and you know, if you are going to survive, if this is going to work, Issy, you’ll just have to toughen up.’

Issy thought of the tired, discontented faces of the shopkeepers along the street and wondered if that was what they’d had to do: toughen up. Tough it out. Take the shit on board.

And Austin, even as he was saying the words, wondered if he meant them. Obviously Issy should toughen up – toughen up and fight for this business. But he wondered if she wasn’t a better, sweeter person the way she was.

‘I will,’ said Issy, with a worried look on her face.

‘Good,’ said Austin, shaking her small hand gravely. She smiled, and squeezed his hand back. Suddenly, neither of them wanted to be the first to take their hand away.

Fortunately Issy’s phone rang – it was the shop number; Pearl wanting to know where she was, no doubt – so she could, slightly flustered, move away first.

‘Um,’ she said. ‘But is it OK if I go the other way back to the café? Just this once? I don’t want them to start throwing things at me.’

‘You don’t,’ said Austin. ‘Their flapjacks are rock solid.’

Chapter Twelve

Brandy and Horlicks Get Well Cake

A good strong healing cake will make you feel better, like the time you were coming home from a terrible day at school and it was getting dark and you were cold in your blazer and you came round the end of your road and you saw the light on in your house and Marian was still there and she gave you a cuddle and something to eat and everything was much better. This cake tastes like that. It should not be too heavy, so it works well for invalids. Please send me a batch, Issy dear, so I can get out of this place.

8 oz butter, softened

4 oz caster sugar

5 eggs

½ tin sweetened condensed milk

8 oz Horlicks

8 oz plain flour

½ tsp vanilla extract

2 tbsp cognac

Grease the small square tin and line the base and sides with baking paper. Allow the baking paper to extend over the top by about an inch if using the shorter tin.

Beat the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy. Beat in the eggs, one by one, until well combined. Beat in the sweetened condensed milk until well mixed. Stir in Horlicks. Fold in flour. Finally stir in vanilla and cognac.

Pour the batter into the prepared tin (the batter will fill the tin to almost 90 per cent, but the cake will not rise up too much, so don’t worry, darling). Cover the top loosely with a piece of aluminium foil.

Steam over high heat for 30 minutes. Fill up with more hot water if the steamer is low on water after 30 minutes. Turn heat down to medium and steam for another 60 minutes, or until cooked (may steam for up to 4 hours in total if desired – this, according to wisdom, allows the cake to be kept for up to a month). Remember to replenish steamer with hot water whenever it is drying up.

Mrs Prescott the accountant was having strong words with Issy that week on cash flow. It was mid-April, and the weak evening sun was filtering through the basement blinds. Issy was dead tired, and couldn’t even remember where they kept the steamer. Her feet hurt from standing up all day serving a total of sixteen customers, and she’d let Pearl go early when she got a phone call from the nursery saying Louis was upset.

‘It’s those horrible kids,’ she’d said, cursing. ‘They just stare at him. Then they play stupid games he doesn’t know like Ring a Ring o’ bloody Roses so he can’t join in.’

Issy had wondered at this.

‘Stupid snobs,’ said Pearl.

‘Can’t he learn Ring a Ring o’ Roses?’ Issy said. ‘I’ll teach him if you like.’

‘That’s not the point,’ said Pearl. Her voice went quiet. ‘They’re calling him names.’

Issy was shocked. She had noticed that Louis was lingering longer and longer over his morning muffin, sitting on the counter singing sad little songs to himself. He didn’t fuss or throw tantrums, but his normal ebullience seemed to seep away the closer it got to nursery time.

Sometimes Issy picked him up, and he would cling to her like a little huddling cub, and then Issy didn’t want him to go to nursery either.

‘What kind of names?’ Issy asked, surprised by how furious she was.

Pearl’s voice started to choke. ‘Fatty bum-bum.’

Issy bit her lip. ‘Oh.’

‘What?’ said Pearl defensively. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him! He’s perfect! He’s a gorgeous, plump baby.’

‘He’ll be fine,’ said Issy. ‘He’s just settling in. Nursery’s a new world.’

But she’d let Pearl take the afternoon off anyway. It didn’t matter that they didn’t have many customers, or that many of their tables and chairs hardly got used; every day Pearl scrubbed out the toilets, made the tables shine and washed down the arms and legs of the chairs. The place gleamed like a new pin. Maybe that was the problem, Issy thought in an idle moment. Maybe people were scared to mess it up.

‘The thing is,’ said Mrs Prescott, ‘you have to watch your stock levels. Look what’s going out in ingredients. I know it’s not really my place to comment on how you run your business, but you’re making too much stock and as far as I can tell just throwing it away. Or giving it away.’

Issy looked down at her hands and mumbled, ‘I know. The thing is, my grandfather … my grandfather says if you do, kind of, good turns, and send things out in the world, then it will come back to you.’