Michele Gorman - The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square

Well, what’s the point of the café if I don’t give kids the chance when they need it? ‘I’m sure you will.’

I extend my hand over the table. Warily she shakes it.

‘You’ve got the traineeship. Congratulations, Louise.’

‘Call me Lou,’ she says, standing to go. ‘I hate Louise.’

Daniel meets me at our front door. There’s a giant bouquet of pink roses hiding his face.

‘What’s this for?’

‘It’s for you, because you deserve flowers and I love you,’ he says, helping to wheel the pushchair inside. ‘Doesn’t she deserve flowers?’ he asks Grace and Oscar, who seem to agree. ‘Just because you’re amahzing.’

I smile. ‘You must still be feeling guilty about not answering your phone the other night. Do you want to put those in water?’

‘I would have, but I could only find the washing up bowl under the sink. I can get the twins out for you, though. Do they need feeding?’

‘No, Mum fed them before I picked them up.’

‘Good. Then we can relax.’

It’s like he’s never been in this house before. ‘Yeah, right.’

Oscar wants a cuddle while he recites every word he’s ever heard in his very own language, and Grace starts pulling all the toys out of the box in the lounge to show us.

‘Glass of wine, Mummy?’ Daniel says above the increasing din as I sink into the sofa with Oscar on my lap.

As soon as Daniel sits next to me, Oscar decides he’d rather straddle both parents than choose just one.

‘I found my other trainee today,’ I tell him, keeping my wine glass well clear of the twin tornados. ‘She’s going to be tough, but I think she’ll work hard. Yes, darling, that’s a lovely bunny. She’s not going to take any crap from anyone, though.’

‘She’ll have to take crap from you,’ he says, nodding along to Oscar’s monologue. ‘You’re the boss.’

I wonder how that’s going to work. I’m not really the authoritative type. I’d rather have everyone like me.

He shifts to face me. ‘I’m so proud of what you’re doing, darling. This is rahly something special and you’re going to make such a difference in people’s lives. You do know you’re remarkable, right? I’m very lucky to be married to you.’

‘You too,’ I say. I love when he says things like this. Daniel can make me feel like the most important person in the world.

I do get a little embarrassed sometimes, though. He’s so eloquent with his feelings, and while my family’s never been one of those stiff-upper-lip, sweep-things-under-the-carpet type of families, we’re not overly emotional sharers either. I’m still getting used to hearing Daniel talk like this.

His hands cradle my face. ‘I’m rahly proud.’ His kisses veer from appreciative to deep and urgent. ‘Rahly, so proud.’

I kiss him back. How long has it been, actually, since we’ve had sex? Too long, if I can’t remember.

‘Sir, calm yourself in front of the children,’ I tease. ‘There are impressionable minds in the room.’

‘We’re good role models for them,’ he says. ‘Mummy and Daddy love each other. Let’s put them to bed so I can show you how much.’

Grace releases a noise that makes us both turn to our daughter. She’s squatting, sumo-style. It’s her favourite position when she really wants to cut loose.

Oscar points at his sister, as if we don’t notice her filling her nappy.

‘Do you want to flip a coin for it?’ I ask.

‘I did get flowers. And wine,’ he says.

Patting his knee, gently I shift Oscar to his lap. ‘I’ll do it.’

As I lift Grace into my arms, Daniel says, ‘I shouldn’t be jealous of my own children, should I? That’s not nice to admit.’

‘It’s just that they need me.’

‘I need you too.’

That’s pretty obvious from the way he’s shifting around uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Yes, but they need me to wipe their arses. It’s a bit more urgent, don’t you think?’

Does he think I like being at the beck and call of these mini tyrants? ‘This isn’t my first choice for entertainment either. We may as well get them into the bath,’ I say, and the first spark of romance we’ve had in months goes out with a soapy wet fizzle.

‘Romance? You are joking,’ Melody says the next afternoon at Samantha’s. ‘With Eva and Joy sleeping with us?’

We’re sitting on Samantha’s pristine leather sofas in her minimalist white cube of a house. I’ve often wondered what these old warehouses looked like inside, but Samantha’s isn’t a good example since they wanted all the space but none of the original features.

‘Just be glad he’s trying,’ Samantha says, reaching for another chocolate croissant as I pull Oscar onto my lap. ‘What I wouldn’t give for those days again.’

This is the only time we ever see Samantha vulnerable, though she tries to turn it all into a joke – how she once wore a net body stocking under her dress to dinner and ended up looking like she’d been sleeping on a bed of tennis rackets. Her husband had teased her so much about the all-over red diamond pattern that the moment totally vanished. None of us can understand what’s wrong with him, especially since Samantha will try anything to get him to sleep with her. What’s great for our weekly conversations isn’t so great for our poor friend’s self-esteem.

‘Couldn’t you have taken care of the children and then gone back downstairs to Daniel?’ Emerald asks. ‘I mean, as long as the oven was already pre-heated, so to speak.’

‘That’s what I would have done,’ says Garnet. ‘Though I don’t have to worry too much about missed chances with Michael.’ Her smile is filthy, just in case we don’t get her meaning.

‘I know what you mean,’ Emerald counters. ‘Sometimes I wish Anthony wasn’t so romantic.’ Always a gold standard humble-bragger, she is. ‘But we’ve got to remember that this isn’t about us, Garnet, it’s about Emma. We know we’re okay. Are you okay, Emma?’

‘Yeah, sure, I’m fine,’ I tell them. ‘It was just disappointing, that’s all.’

‘Ha, welcome to my world,’ Samantha says, reaching for another croissant that, along with her frustration, she’ll work off later at yoga.

What do you get when you cross a vain Italian with someone who’s probably drunk coffee from his baby bottle? Hopefully someone who can teach us how to use an espresso machine. The gleaming Gaggia has been hogging up bar space ever since the catering company delivered it last week. So far I’m hiring a machine to mock me in my own café.

I sneak another glance at Pablo, but he’s too busy gazing at his reflection in the advertising mirror beside the bar to notice. Flick, flick, his hand tweaks another lock of expertly gelled dark hair till he gets the exact quiff he’s going for.

Before Pablo turned up this morning, I’d never seen a man who plucked his eyebrows. Or one with such flawless skin. He looks like he’s been airbrushed.

I really don’t mind that he’s so much prettier than me, as long as he’s as good at coffee as he is at grooming.

‘About those coffee supplies we’ll need,’ I say. ‘You will have everything delivered in time? Because we open in–’

‘Do not worry,’ he says, smoothing the front of his perfectly ironed shirt.

Wrong answer, Pablo. I do not worry if I’m sunning myself on holiday in the Med. I do worry when I need coffee to serve to my customers in less than three weeks.

‘Okay, I won’t worry… But you will have everything delivered?’

‘ Carina mia , you should listen to the great Ravi Shankar. “Worry is the enemy of love.”’

Yeah, well Ravi wasn’t about to open his café without any coffee. ‘I don’t need to love coffee, Pablo, I just want to make sure it’s delivered in time.’