Authors: R J Gould
The Reunion (27 page)
The previous group of shoppers who had steered clear of
the scene had been replaced by a predominantly younger clientele of onlookers
who formed a circle to watch as Andy threw Bill over his shoulder and back to
the floor. There was a loud cheer. This action was repeated twice more and
Rachel found herself joining in the applause. Bill was game for more
humiliation, but Ben intervened. He grabbed hold of his staggering, cursing friend
and led him away.
Several people came up to Andy and patted him on the back
with a ‘well done, mate’ before continuing on their quest for consumer
gratification.
“Under-16 county judo champion,” Bridget announced as
they continued down ‘The Queen’.
It is fair to say that Rachel’s opinion of Andy was
elevated, at the very least to Nerd Plus status. She was a little more tolerant
than she might have been as they explored Queen’s, Magdalen and Christ Church, at
each college entering through small uninviting gateways and stepping into a
world of imposing ancient buildings with immaculately landscaped gardens.
Chapter 35
Over the following week discussion about the café intensified
via a flurry of phone calls and emails. David took his ever growing list of
decisions needed round to Bridget after work on Friday. It was a miserable late
March evening – a cruel dark grey sky was hurling down rain, hail and sleet.
“This is useful,” Bridget stated having given the
document no more than a cursory glance. “But there’s no point doing anything
else until we have an idea how much it’s going to cost and where we can get the
money from.”
David agreed, he needed to wear his accountant’s hat for
this venture and hats are worn on heads not hearts. The discussion about costs
had been delayed long enough and it was vital for the business plan to be presented
to the bank.
There was an added sense of urgency because Bridget had
found what she considered to be ideal premises close to where she lived in
Muswell Hill. It was a restaurant that had recently closed, a short walk from
the bustling Broadway. They examined it online. The size was perfect, big
enough for eighty seated customers. An over-large kitchen could be subdivided
with a section converted into an open bar area. The shop front was attractive
and in good condition; it required little change beyond new signage. The annual
rent was £80,000 for a four-year lease, plus business rates of £18,000.
Having established that these premises were reasonably
priced compared to others advertised online, they turned their attention to the
money needed to set up. They calculated £70,000 would establish a good quality
facility. It was possible to do it for less but wanting an upmarket venue
necessitated high standards of decoration, furniture and crockery. Another up-front
cost would be training for the baristas to allow them to use a leased espresso
machine.
Next they turned their attention to what to sell.
“I never realised how much mark-up there is on a cup of
coffee,” David said as he gathered his collection of print outs and handed
Bridget one of the spreadsheets. “Look at this. Coffee costs eight pence, the
milk about six, but we can have a selling price of £2.20 to match the
competition. Even with VAT to pay that still leaves £1.69 gross profit.”
“Yeah, but don’t we need to consider things like staff
costs and leasing the machine?”
“I’ve started with gross profit.” David began to explain
how accountants distinguished between gross and net amounts, but Bridget soon
lost interest if not the will to live.
She changed the subject. “What about food?”
David handed over another spreadsheet. “I’ve compared
buying and making sandwiches and think we should make them. For a start buying
in is more expensive, about £1.60 a sandwich. We’d have to place a standing
order so there’s no flexibility according to sales and there could be loads of
waste. Plus the fact that we wouldn’t be providing anything that stands out
from other cafes if we bought in.”
“How much will making them ourselves cost?”
“It works out at around 80p, depending on ingredients,
though that excludes labour. We’ll need a smooth operation to make sure
customers don’t have to wait too long. Mind you, I’m not convinced we’re after
the mad rush of the lunchtime trade. We don’t want our customers to be in a
hurry to leave. Which reminds me, we should set up free wi-fi.”
“Maybe, though we don’t want people in for hours on the
internet without buying much.”
“There’ll be cakes to tempt them. They’re a different
proposition to sandwiches, I think we should buy them in and I‘d like us to
have a reputation as the place to get the best cakes going, like a Viennese
coffee house.”
David was discovering that when it came to figures Bridget
had a short concentration span. She yawned when he handed her the cakes spreadsheet
and changed the subject. “You were going to investigate selling alcohol. Have
you done that yet?”
David outlined the need for a premises licence,
compulsory training, and the naming of a Designated Premises Supervisor.
“That’ll have to be me,” Bridget joked. “I’m the expert
on alcohol.”
“Yes I’ve noticed.” David lifted up the half full bottle
of Rioja Gran Reserva and topped up their glasses. “Alcohol is going to be important
for us, there’s a huge mark up on it.” He handed over another spreadsheet.
“I can’t handle another one. But see this.” Bridget lifted
up a floor plan of the building they hoped to rent. “I’ve been looking at the
layout and if we cut the kitchen size down I think we’ve got room for a small
stage as well as the bar. It’s best to have a dedicated space if we’re going to
have performances.”
“I’ve got no idea how much that would cost,” David said.
“I’ve spoken to the builder and he thinks £15,000 would
do it.”
“Let’s go for that then. God, there’s so much to think
about. One thing we haven’t even started to consider is marketing. We need to work
out how people will find out about the place and recommend it to their friends.
If we go for the one you’ve found it’s not right in the centre of the shopping
area; there aren’t going to be loads of passing-by customers.”
And so it went on, the quality of what they wanted to
provide getting better and better and the cost spiralling to match their idea
of perfection.
David came up with the sum of £250,000 set up and first
year expenditure, excluding the cost of food and drink. In future years at
least £100,000 would be needed to keep the place open.
Bridget’s excitement and enthusiasm came crashing down. “That’s
massive. How are we ever going to afford it?”
“Well, first year costs can be carried forward and are
tax deductible in future years.”
“Assuming there’s going to be a second year. How many
customers would we need to break even, let alone make a profit? And have you
made allowances for our time, what we could be earning if we weren’t doing
this?”
“No.”
“Bloody hell, it’s not going to work. All our effort
already and we could have done a back of an envelope calculation to see how
impossible it is.”
“I’m not as negative as you, Bridget. We’re talking about
well under a hundred customers a day to break even and remember we’re thinking
of three very different shifts, lunch sandwiches, morning and afternoon cakes, and
then evening entertainments.”
Bridget didn’t look convinced.
David continued. “I’ve set up a meeting with that friend
Ross who I’ve told you about. He’ll let us know if it’s mad or not. And I’ve also
booked in with my bank.”
“My head is utterly mangled. I feel sorry for you having
to work with figures every day.”
“This is different, it’s for us.”
“Another glass of wine before bed?”
“As long as you’re the Designated Premises Supervisor.”
“This supervisor is going to dispense with glasses and
drink straight from the bottle. Come on.”
Two walls in Bridget’s bedroom were purple and the others
were dove grey. There was a line of five candles on the fireplace creating a
rich shadowy hue. An incense stick was burning. She must have popped upstairs
to produce this calming atmosphere while David was ploughing through figures. He
gave her a kiss of appreciation then watched as she removed her clothes. He would
never tire of seeing her naked.
She stood near him and drank from the bottle, an act of
either accidental or deliberate erotic provocation. She handed it to him and he
took a swig.
“Are you going to get undressed or do you need some
help?”
“My hands are full,” he said, clutching the bottle with
both hands, “I definitely need assistance. Maybe start with this. And here next
please.”
Soon they were naked and exploring each other’s bodies –
all thoughts of the café withered away. However they resurfaced with a
vengeance during David’s restless night as he fretted about all that needed to
be done and how they could possibly finance it.
“God, I was out like a light,” Bridget said the following
morning. “Did you sleep OK?”
“Yeah, great.”
Chapter 36
A critical twenty-four hours had arrived. They were seeing
his entrepreneur friend Ross that evening, followed by the bank the next
morning. David had arranged a meeting with Mary later that day to hand in his
notice. Friday 1
st
– fittingly April Fools’ Day.
They met Ross in a heaving Hampstead pub close to where
he lived. The woman with him was even younger than Hazel, the girlfriend David
had seen at their previous meeting. As Ross got older his women got younger and
if looks were anything to go by, this new girlfriend was close to the border of
legality. You’d definitely want to see ID if she was purchasing alcohol. Fortunately
this challenge wasn’t imminent because it was Ross who set off to the bar to
get the first round.
“Come with me, mate,” he suggested. David got up and walked
alongside Ross. “What do you reckon? She’s a beauty don’t you think?”
Candy certainly was pretty and David admitted this. There
was no point questioning why Ross was dating a girl thirty years his junior, a
previous interrogation on this subject concerning Hazel had created an
uncomfortable atmosphere.
“I’ll tell you what,” Ross continued, “I think Birgit is
a massive improvement on Jane. Well done mate.”
“Actually it’s Bridget.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
Back at the table Bridget and Candy were chatting away,
comfortable in each other’s company. Bridget took her white wine and Candy was
given a lavender alcopop. To her credit she listened intently as the
conversation moved on to a discussion about the café and she asked valid
questions about their proposal. Although Ross had forgotten to bring the copy
of the draft business plan that David had emailed, his comments indicated he
had at least read it. His conclusion was that the venture might be feasible,
but why would anyone select a café for a business since there was no potential
for high profit.
“We’d be pleased if it was a small scale success,”
Bridget asserted in defence of their idea.
“I’d come along and tell all my friends,” Candy butted in
with kindness. “Especially if you get to show those old films you mentioned. I
love the black and whites.”
“What sort of things would you want to see?” Bridget
asked.
“The film noirs. Casablanca, Brief Encounter, anything Hitchcock.
And any Dmytryk, he’s my all-time favourite.”
Candy’s conversation wasn’t matching David’s bigoted
perception of what could be expected from someone wearing snakeskin leggings
and polka dot tee shirt, together with tattoos, piercings and studs. She talked
about life as a first year undergraduate on a film studies course. David was
relieved – at least his friend was dating a girl beyond the legal threshold.
Ross stressed one thing that David was acutely aware of. The
bank would expect water-tight collateral in advance of providing funding. He
made it clear that if the purpose of this meeting had been to get him to
finance it, he wasn’t prepared to do so. “I’m afraid there’s no Dragon’s Den
from me, mate.”
That marked the end of the discussion and they headed
out. Candy was a passionate girl. With Ross and Bridget looking on in the car
park, she gave David a sustained affectionate farewell embrace.
“Did you enjoy that?” Bridget asked in the car on their
way back to his place and David wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the
meeting or the kiss.
He hedged his bets. “Definitely worth it.”
The following morning they got up early to prepare for
the meeting at the bank. The first task was to consider amendments to their
business plan based on what Ross had suggested. They came to the conclusion
that his advice provided little added value, but something Candy had said was a
different matter. In the section entitled
Market Research
they stated
that they had interviewed a substantial number of young potential customers who’d
expressed a strong interest in coming along on the nights when old movies were
to be shown. “It’s not 100% true,” Bridget admitted as David was word-processing,
“but she did say she’d bring friends so it’s fair to assume they like the idea
of old movies, too.”
David had readily agreed to put the exaggeration into the
document. The financial data was all valid; a little leeway in the account of
how they reached their conclusions was permissible.
They got dressed for their visit to the bank. David wore
his standard work clothes of suit, shirt and tie. He’d never seen Bridget dressed
conservatively – a chocolate brown two-piece suit, beige blouse with a frilly
collar and shiny black patent shoes with glittery gold bows at the instep.
“What do you reckon?” she asked.
“Fabulous. It’s like having a new woman.”