Michele Gorman - The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square - A gorgeous summer romance and one of the top holiday reads for women!

‘Actually, now that you’re up,’ says Daniel with a mad look in his eye, ‘could you take over for a minute? I need to, erm, badly…’

‘Ah, you’ve discovered that your bowels are not your own when you’ve got to look after children. Go ahead, I’ll finish them up.’

I get a fleeting kiss before he disappears into the loo. ‘Daddy needs a poo,’ I tell our children.

But they’re not interested in anything I’ve got to say. Oscar twists around to see where Daniel’s gone, and Grace starts to whimper. ‘What’s the matter, babies? I’m here. It’s okay.’ But the more I cuddle them the more they squirm, till Daniel emerges from the bog. They crow at him with excitement.

‘Aw, they’re so sweet,’ he says, kissing the twins’ downy heads as they clamour for his attention. ‘We’ve rahly had so much fun together.’

Sure, he’s the main attraction at the circus for one night and suddenly I’m demoted to the one in the dungarees following behind the elephants with a shovel.

I’m feeling completely sorry for myself by the time I drop off the twins at Mum and Dad’s house. It’s the way they escape their pushchair to launch themselves on Dad, like they can’t get away from me fast enough.

Mum notices, so I have to blame my grump on PMT. Then she points out that of course the twins are excited to climb into a wheelchair. It’s the chair, not the person. Which just makes Dad feel bad too, so now we’re both feeling like we don’t measure up to the expectations of toddlers.

I guess Dad clocks my mood too, because just as I’m leaving he decides that he needs more Weetabix from the shop. ‘Can you hang on to the children, love?’ he asks Mum. ‘I’ll go up with Emma.’

Neither of us says anything as we leave the house.

‘Give me a push, will you, love? My arms aren’t awake yet.’

Now I know he wants to talk. He wouldn’t let me push him otherwise.

We round the corner out of the estate on to the main road. It’s noisy with morning traffic and people rushing to work.

‘What time do you need to be at the café?’ Dad asks. ‘Let’s go along the canal for a bit. The sun feels nice.’

I stare at the back of his head. Dad’s not usually a nature-lover. And he’s not a man for spontaneous chit-chat. Which means he has something important to say.

I just hope he’s not sick again. It’s been almost two years since his last MS relapse. I’ve been daring to think that the medicine is keeping it under control. I hope that hasn’t tempted fate.

‘Everything okay, Dad?’ I finally ask when we’ve gone down the ramp to the canal towpath. Colourful narrowboats are moored along the path and the tang of woodsmoke fills the air. It’s a pleasant smell, though. Dad’s right, this is nicer than swallowing bus fumes on the main road. A lot quieter too.

‘I’ll ask you the same thing,’ he says, twisting in his chair as I push him along. ‘What’s up, Emma? You can talk to me as much as your mum, you know.’

I let out the breath that I’ve been holding. It’s not a relapse. ‘I know.’ He’s got enough to worry about without having to take on my problems too. Though I can’t tell him that. He hates being treated any differently because of his health. ‘I’m finding it harder than I thought with the children. It’s better with you and Mum and Auntie Rose helping, but it’s still a lot to deal with.’

‘You know it’s okay to ask for more help,’ he says gently.

‘Thanks, Dad, but you’re already doing so much. It’ll settle down once the café is open and we get into a routine.’

He reaches over his shoulder to grasp my hand on the wheelchair handle. ‘Stop for a sec. I don’t mean from us, love. I mean from Daniel. Is that the trouble?’

How does he know that? I’m sure Mum hasn’t said anything. She doesn’t like to burden him any more than I do. ‘It’s not been easy,’ I finally say.

‘Do you want me to ’ave a word with him?’

‘Oh god, no!’

‘Then maybe you should do it.’

‘I know, Dad.’ It’s on my to-do list. ‘I never seem to say the right thing, though.’

He laughs. ‘That’s a family trait you got from me. You’d better ask your mum for advice there.’

‘You usually do okay.’

‘Only because your mum’s trained me. I’d be hopeless without her.’ He starts pushing his wheelchair along the path. I guess his arms have woken up. ‘We’d better go to the shop or your mum will start wondering what’s happened to me.’

There’s a girl waiting in front of the pub when I get there to open up. She’s hunched into her black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, her hands tucked deeply into the pockets.

‘Louise?’ I ask, even though I know it must be her. There’ve been mostly boys on my interview list. The only other two girls came yesterday. One popped her gum at me for five minutes straight and the other one grumbled about how much she disliked espresso machines. Not espresso itself, just the machines. Something about the steam being bad for her nail extensions.

Louise nods but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t offer to shake my hand, but she does sit opposite me in the booth and look me in the eye. That automatically puts her above Tinky Winky and Ice Lolly from the other day.

‘Don’t you want to take your coat off? The heat in here’s pretty intense with those old radiators.’

‘Nah, I’m all right.’ But she does pull her hood down.

Her hair’s blue. Smooth, shiny, pale silvery blue. It doesn’t quite go with her girl-next-door, slightly freckled face, though the stud in her nose toughens up the look.

Not as much as her body language does, though. It’s so obvious that she doesn’t want to be here. From her frown to the way her shoulders are squared up to me, she’s ready for a fight.

I glance through her file to jog my memory. That’s right. She’s the girl in foster care. ‘So why do you want to do this traineeship?’

She doesn’t return my smile. ‘I need the money,’ she says, ‘and I’m used to looking after people.’

‘Have you worked in a café before? Or retail maybe?’

‘No, I mean at home,’ she snaps. ‘It’s me that does their meals and that.’ Her eyes slide away towards the window. ‘It’s nothing official. I just do.’ She crosses her arms.

‘That’s all right, real-life experience is great.’ Somehow, I can’t picture Louise serving customers. Shouting at them, maybe. Giving them the cold shoulder, for sure.

I look again at her file, although I don’t need the notes. I know what I’ve got to ask. ‘Erm, about the referral. It says you’ve had some trouble lately? That you were arrested? Do you want to expand on that at all?’

Her eyes challenge mine. ‘Do I have to?’

‘Oh, well, no, of course not. It’s just in case you wanted to explain the… the theft? The alleged theft?’

Did you do it?! I’m dying to ask. What did you steal? Where on the morality scale is the crime? Was it a lipstick from Boots or the life savings of a pensioner? Should I be watching my handbag?

‘Next question?’ she says.

I can’t force her to tell me. Social Services was very clear about that. She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl I could force to do anything. ‘You’re seventeen? But you’re not in school?’

‘No, I’m finished with all that. Last year. But I’ve got to be in work or training. I thought I’d try something that uses my great people skills.’

Her eyes widen just a tiny bit and I see the shadow of a smirk.

‘They do seem impressive,’ I say with a slight shrug. ‘You’d put anyone at ease.’

She finally allows herself to smile. ‘Look, I need to work. I need the money and the government says I have to. I’ll do a good job if you’ll let me. I just need the chance.’