‘Beauty’s gone to the toilet and Cynthia is two hours late – she didn’t even message this time. I suspect it’s another afternoon at Coffee & Cream with no coffee,’ said Di, her eyes angry. Staff issues and shift schedules were the bane of her existence, since she had taken on the task of that admin. ‘You need to practise some more, learn to work the machine properly.’ Her staffing frustrations were directed at me.
‘Or we could fire Cynthia’s ass and hire another barista?’ I said, deflecting. I hated the coffee-making thing. ‘You not here this afternoon?’
‘Good luck – part-time baristas who are also prepared to help in the shop are not that easy to come by. And I told you at the beginning of the week that I’d be out yesterday and today. Remember? Alan and Anna are away for two nights of mid-week Valentine’s so we swopped our days. Because you were late, I’m going to be late.’ Di zipped her lips into a thin line.
‘I’m sorry, Di. I should’ve remembered,’ I said. I felt bad. Between scheduling kids and staff, her whole life was planned on a spreadsheet of where she was supposed to be and whom she was supposed to spend time with. I don’t know how she does it. I can’t imagine being single with kids and living under the eyes of your ex and his new wife on the other side of the garden. Especially an ex and his wife still in the honeymoon phase. Kill me quick. ‘I didn’t mean to have my head so far up my own ass. I got carried away looking in the shops and didn’t realise the time. I’m sorry – you go already.’
Di nodded, but it didn’t look like my apology fixed anything. I’d let her down. That’s all bases covered today.
MomFail.
WifeFail.
FriendFail.
The trifecta of MeFail.
5
The afternoon dragged on, just me and Beauty in the shop.
‘You okay, Shelley? You are very quiet today,’ Beauty asked me more than once. Often, we talked randomness about our lives to make the time pass. She was forty-five, lived in Dunoon with her mother, and had a twenty-four-year-old daughter, just graduated from UCT with a finance degree.
‘Ja, I’m okay. Was thinking we need to plan some sales or something, get more people into the shop.’ I daren’t admit my worries about the shop to her. It seems so petty when I compare it with what she has achieved. The worries she must have had as a single mother and sole income earner, and she’d put her child through university with student loans, bursaries and sheer grit. I was pathetic with my privileged worries. I couldn’t admit it to Jerry or Di, but on the days when there’s no shopping for stock, decorating the store, or lots of customers to talk to, I want to cry. When it’s admin and general being at the shop, it is boring as hell, and Coffee & Cream is a rosy-gold cage of my own design. It’s killing me. I feel trapped. I thought this shop was going to change my life, give me that energy I’d had when I had the interiors business. Fill in that something that felt missing … But all the shop has done is make me feel the passing of the hours even more.
When Beauty arrived for work every day with a big smile and a bounce in her step, it made me feel worse. How dare I complain, even to myself?
On paper, it was all perfect. The Table Bay Mall was the ideal spot for Coffee & Cream. It opened in September last year and I love the look of it. It’s the best on the West Coast, all about fantastic natural light and wooden accents with a massive Woolworths. Our shop is in one of the best sections for foot traffic (a perk of getting in so early) but it is all new; there simply aren’t that many people at the mall every day. And most people around here don’t have pots of money to shop with – they want to squeeze value out of every ‘ront’ they spend. It’s hard to be a high-end gift store when there is a MRP Home and a Typo down the passage. It’s not like being at the Waterfront, where it seems everyone has money to blow. I know the story that it can take five years for a new mall to establish itself, and with all the new builds and schools sprouting in Sunningdale, I’m sure it will happen. Look at Canal Walk Shopping Centre. ‘It was also quiet,’ is the official version I give to people when they ask about low mall traffic at Table Bay. They don’t know that, many days, it’s so quiet that one afternoon at Coffee & Cream can feel like a year. Everywhere else I’ve worked, I remember the time disappearing because we were so busy and there were a bunch of us grafting and jostling for tips. Here, it’s more like Beauty and I have to race to get the lone customer without scaring her to death with our desperation. This afternoon was particularly bad since we had customers but they all wanted a coffee, and I had to turn them away because I couldn’t make it. Coffee is the key, we’ve seen. It makes shoppers sit down and they end up staring at the gifts and eventually they buy something. I’m trying with the bloody Astoria, but it’s not an easy thing to do, no matter what Di says. In my waitressing days, coffee was stewed in a coffee pot; everyone thought it was fancy if it came through a filter. It wasn’t like it is now. Now everyone and George Clooney are coffee experts.
I especially can’t admit to Di or Jerry (he knows he is the bailout if it all fails) how much I worry about the money because they already worry themselves into the ground. We have a three-month rolling lease that started in November with an option to renew, and even Jerry was impressed with me negotiating that. The proper money worries came with the shop fittings (that counter!) and buying stock and the everyday running costs that just add up and eat whatever sales we make. Beauty and Cynthia worked shifts as shop assistants, but we knew that if we wanted Coffee & Cream to be a success, either I or Di, an owner, needed to be right there talking to the customers at all times. That’s when the second-biggest nightmare started. We both wanted to be free at the same times for our families and there was no down time or holidays since the mall is open seven days a week, nine to seven and nine to six on weekends. Four months in and our lives outside the shop had shut down.
Something needed to change.
Until then, I was like every other bored shop assistant everywhere. I spent a lot of time standing in the doorway or sitting behind the counter, staring at my phone, watching for messages, talking to Beauty. Waiting for the time to pass. This afternoon, Theresa sent me photos of Harley and Stacey having a picnic in the garden, with voice notes from Harley lisping for me to come home, ‘Please, Mommy.’ Cutie. I put some Lindt balls in my bag for him – he’d love that; chocolate is his favourite thing. I’d have to get something for Stacey or she’d flip; maybe I’d make a five-minute dash for a picture book from Exclusives next door. Jerry sent me a photo of our empty fridge. Looney, why doesn’t he go to the shops if it bothers him that much.
Then came Wayde. Smiling at me in his profile pic, topless on the beach.
Him: Hey schweet Shelley. The wind is going to be up tomorrow afternoon, won’t be that much fun for the kids. Howzit for Saturday morning?
Me: Okay, that’s cool.
Theresa is off, but it’s Di’s turn at the shop on Saturday morning, so I could take the kids to the beach. Jerry played golf on Saturday mornings at the Atlantic Beach Estate down the road in Melkbos. Theresa would be there in the afternoon to help when I was at the shop.
Him: Awesome! How’s your day? Busy?
Me: Sucks. I can’t work the coffee machine so have to turn people away.
Him: I can work a coffee machine? I can help for a bit, I’m in any case on my way to hang out with James.
I looked around. The shop was empty. Beauty was standing near the door trying not to sleep with her eyes open. Maybe the smell of fresh coffee would lure some customers, wake both of us up.
Me: Serious? Yeah, that would be great. Smiley face.
Him: Be there in fifteen. Coffee-cup emoji.
Forty-five minutes later he strolled into the shop.
‘Sorry, took me longer to get here than I thought,’ said Wayde, lazy smile on his face as he walked in. It was