‘That toaster has got to go. Why can’t we have a normal one?’ she sighed.
‘It must have overheated,’ said Dad. ‘It’s easily fixed.’
Sam shook his head. ‘Well it’s a good job Oscar was paying attention,’ he said.
‘Oscar?’ said Dad.
‘Yes, I could hear him barking from upstairs,’ said Sam. ‘He was obviously trying to warn you!’
Dad blinked. ‘He was barking, come to think of it,’ he said. ‘I told him to shut up.’
Mum bent down to pat Oscar on the head.
‘Clever boy, Oscar, well done!’ she said.
Oscar swallowed the last piece of sausage, which was hanging out of his mouth.
Oscar was clever, of course, though Sam knew his parents had no idea how clever. Ever since Oscar had arrived a few months ago on the number 9 bus, Sam had the feeling that the dog had adopted them. It was Oscar who had helped Mr Shilling sell his new invention, the Poopomatic, to the Town Council. These days a small fleet of Poopomatics patrolled the streets of Little Bunting keeping them clean and free from dog mess. This was the first time Mr Shilling had ever actually sold one of his inventions and Sam had been wondering what he planned to do with all the money. He poured himself a bowl of Puffo Pops since Oscar had wolfed all the sausages.
‘What was I saying before the toaster exploded?’ asked Dad. ‘Oh yes. A decent cup of coffee, that’s what this town needs.’
‘I’d rather have an adventure playground,’ said Sam.
‘Anyway, why do you keep going on about coffee?’ asked Mum.
Mr Shilling smiled with the air of someone about to make an important announcement.
‘Because,’ he said, ‘I’ve just bought a little cafe on the seafront.’
‘WHAT?’ Mum almost fell off her seat. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘It’s perfect,’ said Dad. ‘It’s an old beach hut in a great spot down on the front. I thought it could be a summer season thing while I work on my inventions in the winter.’
Sam could hardly believe his ears.
‘We’re going to run a cafe?’ he asked.
‘It’s news to me,’ said Mum.
‘I’ll take you to see it,’ promised Dad. ‘Honestly, I think this could be the best idea I’ve ever had.’
Sam smiled. His dad had said exactly the same thing about the Grandem – a four-saddle bike for all the family, which had failed to sell a single model. A cafe was different though, thought Sam, you wouldn’t fall off it while going round corners. Cafes served pizza, ice cream and chocolate brownies – which luckily were all things that he loved!
‘Are you telling me you’ve spent all of our savings on some old beach hut?’ demanded Mum.
‘Of course not all,’ said Dad. ‘I had to keep some back because the place needs a bit of work.’
‘And who’s going to run this cafe and cook all the meals?’ demanded Mum.
‘Well me, obviously,’ replied Dad.
‘Crumble!’ muttered Oscar to himself.
Dad looked round at Sam. ‘What did you say?’
‘Er . . . good idea,’ answered Sam, shooting Oscar a warning look. He was right about one thing though: no one could claim that Dad was famous for his cooking. His speciality was beans on toast – and even then the toast was usually burnt.
Sam stood outside the house waiting for Dad with Oscar. Dad was eager to take them to see the new cafe for themselves. Mum said she had too much to do this morning and would go another time.
‘So what do you think?’ Sam asked.
Oscar took his time, scratching himself. ‘I’ve never seen the point of cafes,’ he said.
You might have expected Sam to gasp or fall over backwards in amazement but by now he was used to the fact that Oscar could talk. It was a secret between the two of them. Oscar said that things would only get complicated if Sam’s parents ever knew and it would cause an almighty fuss. Sam hadn’t even told his best friend Louie, although keeping the secret wasn’t always easy. Oscar said it was best to pretend that he was just an ordinary dog who happened to be very clever.
‘A cafe’s somewhere people go to eat and drink,’ explained Sam.
‘You can do that at home,’ Oscar pointed out.
‘Yes, I know, but people like eating out sometimes,’ said Sam. ‘It’s kind of a treat.’
‘Like biscuits you mean?’ asked Oscar.
‘Sort of. I expect you’ll see when we get there,’ said Sam.
It was hard to explain cafes to a dog and besides Dad was coming out of the house, so they had to stop talking.
They walked along the seafront for about a quarter of a mile, until Dad stopped and pointed. ‘There it is,’ he said, proudly.
Sam stared. He’d expected something with large windows, comfy booths and warm lighting – a cafe in other words – but this place resembled a rundown Scout hut. The outside needed painting, the windows were broken and the roof sagged as if an elephant had recently sat on it.
‘You bought that ?’ said Sam.
Dad nodded. ‘Of course, it needs a little work but you have to use a bit of imagination.’
Sam thought you’d need a whole lot of imagination.
Inside the hut there was a small puddle on the floor where the rain had got in. The floorboards were pebble-dashed with seagull droppings.
Oscar padded around, sniffing in all the corners. The hut had two rooms and in the back one they found a tall cupboard, a rusty cooker and a sink, which all looked like they had been there since Roman times.
Sam wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s a bit stinky,’ he complained.
‘I know, but we can clean it up. With the counter over here, a lick of paint and better lighting it’ll be the best cafe on the seafront,’ argued Dad.
‘The only cafe on the seafront,’ said Sam.
‘Exactly, which is why it can’t possibly fail,’ said Dad. ‘It’s just what this town needs. I don’t know why I’ve never thought of it before.’
‘I thought you wanted to make things – inventions,’ said Sam.
‘I’ll do that too, but this is kind of a reinvention,’ explained Dad. ‘I’m turning a neglected beach hut into a successful cafe.’
‘Right, so what are you going to call it?’ asked Sam.
‘I haven’t really thought. The Old Beach Cafe, I guess,’ replied Dad.
Sam wrinkled his nose. ‘Sounds a bit boring.’