Even though I’m surprised when he unfolds the Three of Diamonds and points out the CJ I signed in the corner, I try to keep a neutral look on my face. Okay, so he’s got duplicate cards in that deck or something. I’m going to need a closer look at those initials. It’s probably one he prepared earlier. The point is that I’m still holding my card. ‘Yes, it is.’
He does a mocking gasp of surprise. ‘Well, if this is your card, what card are you holding?’
I unfold it and have a look because he’s not fooling me that easi— ‘Oh, come on! That’s not… I mean, that wasn’t… How did you…’
He grins at me with that audacious beam, because the card I’m holding is a folded-up Jack of Hearts.
‘I haven’t let go of that card once! How could you possibly have switched it?’
‘Magic.’
‘It wasn’t magic.’ I want to be disparaging, but I’m absolutely flummoxed by how he did that. My thumb and index finger have been on that card the whole time. I can’t explain how it’s suddenly turned into a different card, and like most things I can’t explain, it leaves me feeling an exhilarating mix of nerves, awkwardness, and disbelief, and I have no idea how to deal with it, so I start laughing. ‘How?’
He laughs too. ‘Magic circle. A magician can’t reveal his secrets.’
‘You can’t do that and then not tell me what wizard-y sorcery this is!’ I know it was a trick of some sort, some kind of sleight of hand thing where he switched out the card while I was looking at something else, but I can’t deny he’s bloody good.
‘Worked, didn’t it?’
‘Hmm?’ Without realising it, I’m watching him gather up the cards from the counter and tap them back into a neat pile, hypnotised by how fast his fingers move and it takes me a moment to understand what he’s getting at. ‘Oh, you haven’t made me believe in magic. You’ve distracted me with trying to work out how you did that.’
‘Near enough.’ He’s still grinning and now he shrugs too. ‘That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since I came in, so it was worth it.’
‘I don’t like tricks – they’re intended to make a fool out of others,’ I snap at him, and then feel ridiculously guilty. He did make me smile, and lately, there haven’t been many people in my life who want to make me smile, and I like that he tried so hard. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that. That was very clever. You’re…’
I make the mistake of looking up into his brown eyes and my mouth goes dry and my brain sputters to a halt. I wet my lips to prise them apart with my tongue. Words are rushing in my head, racing with each other for attention. That is a sentence with too many possible endings. He might be a bit bright and lively, but he doesn’t deserve another insult. His eyes are glinting, challenging me to say something flattering.
‘…magnetic,’ I finish eventually, and of all the words I was thinking of, that wasn’t one of them. Where did that come from? Why did it come out of my mouth?
He grins and drops eye contact. ‘Well, stick me on a fridge and call me Trevor. I thought I heard a compliment from you yesterday but now I’ve definitely heard one. Thanks!’
I glare at his sarcasm and hold out the Jack of Hearts card, and his fingertips brush against mine as he takes it and tucks it into the teapot display next to the Queen of Hearts card he gave me yesterday.
I have a feeling they’re the first of many.
That afternoon brings our first Unbirthday party. It’s a mum bringing in her two daughters, and she explains that it’s the older of the two girls’ first school day after a long illness, and she promised to bring them both in for a little celebration as a reward for overcoming her first-day-back nerves. This is what I’ve always wanted to do. My first thoughts of an Alice-themed tearoom were about throwing Unbirthday parties, and I don’t know who’s more excited – the girls or me.
While the family choose their cakes and order sandwiches from the menu, Bram sets up a table in the corner. I’ve made a selection of props for occasions like this. There are placemats made of artificial grass, vases of paper roses, and brightly coloured broken teacups glued together in stacks and decorated with ribbons and faux flowers, and teapots everywhere, their spouts pointing in all different directions. It’s chaotic and fun and the most Mad Hatter-style tea party I could create with a box of broken china from Mickey in The Mermaid’s Treasure Trove shop and my beloved hot glue gun.
I put together ham and mustard sandwiches for the mum, and jam sandwiches for the two girls and cut them out with cookie cutters, so each sandwich is crustless and flower shaped, and garnished with a fresh mint leaf. I do a teapot of tea for the mum, and another teapot of orange squash for the two girls, because no one should miss out on the teapot experience, even if they’re not drinking tea. I tie ‘Drink Me’ tags around the handles of their teacups, and carry over the first tray, and Bram goes over to pick up the drinks tray and bring it over.
My idea for Unbirthday parties was always that ‘Alice’ could join them if they wanted company, so I look around to check there aren’t many other customers, and apart from one woman typing on a laptop who looks thoroughly unimpressed with all things Wonderland, and Mrs Moreno, an elderly lady who also came in yesterday for a toasted teacake, there aren’t any. ‘What a coincidence, it’s my Unbirthday too. Can I join you?’
The girls nod enthusiastically, and I take a seat at their table, and then glance up at Bram. ‘How about you, Hatter? It’s your Unbirthday as well, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’ He looks confused for a moment, like he wasn’t expecting me to get involved, and then he covers it with his familiar grin. ‘And no Mad Hatter ever says no to a tea party!’
I’m keeping an eye on the shop too, but it’s fun to introduce myself as Alice and tell them I fell down a rabbit hole and ended up here. I ask them about school and what they like to read and watch, and Bram starts doing magic tricks – ones more aimed at children, like making things disappear, and that thing where the magician pours water into a teacup but it disappears, and then he turns the cup into a handful of paper shapes. Makes it look like it turns into paper shapes, I tell myself as he throws the paper in the air and scraps of it float down and settle on the table, and the girls pick up pieces of it in awe. They genuinely believe he’s got magic powers and, although I’m a bit old for believing in magic powers, I can’t help being impressed as I fiddle with a bit of paper too, unable to comprehend how he did that.
After a while, I declare that everyone must move one place on, like the Mad Hatter and March Hare do in the book, and all five of us stand up and shuffle around the table to take each other’s seats. It’s a bit barmy, but it makes the girls laugh, and Unbirthday parties were invented for a bit of barmy-ness. After that, we try to find the Dormouse in a teapot, which results in much giggling and clinking of china lids.
I have to jump up a couple of times and rush over to serve customers, while the party finish their sandwiches and cakes, and Bram’s next trick is to take his hat off and produce two balloons from underneath it. He blows them up and gives one to each of the girls and invites them for a game of flamingo croquet. They run across the tearoom and start trying to swing the hedgehog balls through the playing card arches. I couldn’t get round balls and had to go with hedgehog stress balls that aren’t quite spherical, which makes it a bit harder, but at least they don’t get up and walk off like they do in the book.
When the game is over and their mum starts gathering their things to leave, Bram bounces over to me, takes hold of my wrist and drags me out from behind the counter. ‘It wouldn’t be an Unbirthday party without “The Unbirthday Song”. Come on, Alice.’
At first I go to protest that I’m not singing, but there’s something about Bram, the way he’s so carefree and authentically himself, that makes me remember why I wanted to do this in the first place and reminds me that you can’t open a Wonderland-themed tearoom without throwing caution to the wind once in a while.
He takes my hand and starts dancing around the girls, dragging me with him, and launches into a version of the Mad Hatter and March Hare’s song from the 1951 Disney movie. The girls clap and cheer and join in the song too, and the look on Bram’s face is so infectious that there’s no way I’m not joining in as well.
‘Best day ever!’ the oldest daughter declares when we’ve finished singing. If you could call it singing. Yowling might be more appropriate.
‘Can we come again tomorrow?’ the younger one asks.
‘Can’t get higher praise than that,’ the mum says to me as she comes over to pay and I hurry back to the safety of the counter. ‘We’ll be back! You two are brilliant.’
In one final trick, Bram produces a handful of glittery confetti from thin air and huffs it all over both the girls and they squeal in delight. They’re still giggling as Bram waves them off with a cheery goodbye and comes back to the counter. He drags a stool over and sits on it, leaning his upper body over the counter like he really is exhausted, and his stack of hats falls off. ‘That was brilliant. I’m knackered.’
I’m knackered too. I haven’t had much contact with people recently and that was the most social thing I’ve done in a long time, and I… surprisingly enjoyed it, and Bram is a whirlwind of colour and fun, and impossible to take your eyes off, even if you want to. Anything would be enjoyable in his company.
I’ve started clearing the table, and there’s still tea left in the teapot. He reaches over for it, adds a splash of milk, and drinks from the spout, and I watch him in horror because I’ve never seen a teapot violated in such a way before. Teapots are generally civilised things, and I’m fairly sure I could evict him for such a crime again kitchenware. ‘You really are as mad as a hatter, aren’t you?’
He grins when he realises it doesn’t sound like an insult. ‘Exatically.’
It’s another quote from Alice in Wonderland and his smile gets even wider when he realises I recognise it too. ‘That’s my life goal. To be so mad that it makes other people happy. Hat makers used to use mercury to stiffen felt for hats and the prolonged exposure would give them mercury poisoning. That’s where the saying comes from. Luckily also achievable without deadly mind-altering drugs.’
‘And what am I supposed to do about the confetti?’ I try to sound stern, but he’s utterly impossible to stay mad at. ‘How are we going to get that cleared up before it gets trodden into the floor tiles for all eternity? Glitter gets everywhere. Customers will be complaining about eating the stuff.’
