‘Only because they’re still offering a ridiculous fifty per cent off people’s first visit. How the hell can they hope to make a profit like that? No, mark my words, all the excitement will die down when people start having to pay full price for a bowl of lettuce and turnip soup.’
‘I’m desperate to know what really is on their menu.’ I give a loud groan of frustration and droop over the table, burying my face in the soft wool of my sleeves.
Paloma grins. ‘Well, be desperate no longer. Because I have a plan …’
*****
I can’t believe we’re doing this.
We’re in Paloma’s car, parked in a side street a few doors along from Lucy & Olivia’s Clean Food Café, and I’m admiring my startling reflection in the sun visor mirror. Paloma, who’s sporting a long red wig, sunglasses and an enormous straw sunhat that flops over her face, is doing the same on the driver’s side.
‘Not bad,’ she murmurs, adjusting the brim of the hat, turning this way and that in the mirror, and pouting ridiculously. She looks across at me and snorts with laughter.
Having closed the café for an hour to go on this mission, I’ve wound a big, poppy-splashed scarf around my head and tied the ends together at the side in a big floppy bow. My sunglasses are huge, covering most of my face. If I walked into a café like this, even I wouldn’t recognise me …
‘You look like a pirate,’ says Paloma.
‘No I don’t. I look … glamorous. Like one of those movie stars from the nineteen-fifties. They wore turbans.’
‘Which movie stars?’
‘Marlene Dietrich? She made them famous.’
‘Who?’ Paloma looks mystified.
‘Audrey Hepburn!’ I shout out. ‘She wore them.’
‘Yes, but I’m sure the elegant Audrey never resembled Long John Silver in drag.’
‘Rude!’
She grins. ‘Arrrr! Land ho, me hearties! Shiver me timbers and rattle me cannonballs.’
I start to laugh, although it borders slightly on the hysterical. ‘Come on, then. Let’s do this.’
‘Really?’ Paloma looks unsure, which is not like her at all.
‘Well, it was your idea,’ I remind her. ‘Going undercover to stake out the competition.’
‘I know, but looking like this, we stand out like bird poop on a black welly. What’s the betting Lucy will take one look and rumble us instantly?’
I shake my head firmly. ‘We can carry it off. Come on.’ I’m already opening the door, extreme curiosity – at seeing the inside of the Clean Food Café for myself – propelling me out of the car. Lucy and Olivia are obviously pulling in the crowds and I need to know what they’re doing right. Because if I don’t want to end up with a total turkey on my hands, I need to somehow start drawing in the customers myself.
‘You know, what you said about having a USP was absolutely spot on,’ I say thoughtfully, as we brave the high street in our disguises.
Paloma nods. ‘Lucy’s Unique Selling Point is the “clean eating” angle. I hate to admit it, but it does make her café stand out from the rest.’
I almost chicken out as we near the entrance, my heart is racing so fast, but Paloma pulls me inside, on the coat-tails of a couple just going in. I shuffle along behind the man, who’s very tall, taking quick peeks over my sunglasses to locate Lucy and Olivia. I spot them, standing behind the counter.
Paloma pulls her hat brim down so far, she walks right into the antique umbrella stand. It rocks alarmingly and looks like it might go crashing to the floor, but she grabs it and steadies it in time.
Lucy’s hawk-eyed gaze swings over in Paloma’s direction and my heart plummets. But a customer distracts her. I watch – through the ghostly gloom of my gigantic shades – as Lucy points over to the cutlery, plastering on a fake smile, which vanishes the instant the woman leaves the counter.
‘Careful,’ I hiss, nudging Paloma.
The place is heaving, so we sit down on the only two seats remaining – a couple of high stools at a long shelf-like table in the window, facing out onto the high street.
‘This is good,’ Paloma mutters, wriggling on the stool to get comfortable. ‘It means we’ve got our backs to Lucy and Olivia. Less chance of them spotting it’s us.’
‘But it also means I can’t get a proper look at everything.’ I peer round in what I hope is a discreet manner, noting the fresh, airy feel of the décor, the French café posters on the walls and the simple but stylish pale wood tables and chairs.
‘What do you think?’ Paloma is also giving the place a subtle once-over, shading her face with her hat brim.
‘They’ve done a good job.’ I stare at her gloomily. ‘I hate to admit it, but I actually like it.’
Paloma nods reluctantly. Then she grins. ‘Shame the patrons are utter cows, though.’
‘The customers don’t know that.’
‘True. But they’ll no doubt show their true colours eventually – especially Miss Lucifer Slater – and then where will their business be?’
We glance at each other, uninspired. We both know Paloma is just talking bollocks to try and cheer me up.
‘I suppose the testing time for them will be when the period of special introductory offers is over.’ I pick up the cute white ceramic salt shaker and turn it around ruminatively in my hands. ‘Will the customers pay full price for …’ I swivel to look at the day’s specials on the blackboard menu ‘… tofu burgers with roast Mediterranean vegetables or Grilled Halloumi cheese with a herby omelette, sweet potato fries and salad garnish.’
‘Actually, it sounds quite nice,’ says Paloma. Then she grimaces. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, it does.’ I shrug. ‘I’m depressed as hell. There, I’ve admitted it.’
‘And how are you two ladies today?’ Olivia’s school-ma’am voice at our shoulders makes me freeze
