‘And now for my next trick.’ He holds up a ‘stay there’ finger, slides off the stool and goes out the back. There’s the sound of a door opening, and then he reappears from the cupboard under the stairs holding a floor sweeper. ‘Ta da!’
It probably shouldn’t make me laugh as much as it does, but it’s like the final straw of all the hilarious things he’s done in the last half an hour, and I can’t help watching as he sweeps up the confetti, treating the sweeper like a dance partner, spinning it and twirling it, moving tables aside to get every last bit, unaware that the customers are watching him too.
I carry on clearing props off the Unbirthday table and returning them to the back room, and he goes to empty the sweeper and then stashes it back in the cupboard it came from and sits back on the stool in front of the counter.
‘I did not expect you to get involved in that. You seem too…’ He falters, like he’s realised too late that this sentence can only be ended with an insult. ‘…uptight,’ he finishes after a moment, like it’s taken him a while to choose the least offensive option. ‘It was nice to see your fun side. I didn’t know you had one.’
‘I don’t. Didn’t. I mean, I used to, once, but…’
‘What happened?’ He pulls the stack of hats over and starts fiddling with them on the counter.
Instinctively, I want to tell him to mind his own business, but he sounds genuinely interested, and I like his straightforwardness in simply asking. I meet his eyes and, for once, it feels like I’m talking to the real Bram, like all the layers of bright clothing and eyeliner are stripped away and this is a rare glimpse into the person behind the costume, and I decide to be straightforward too.
‘Life,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Or, more specifically, death. My nan who raised me died. Then my mum died and I hadn’t seen her for years. Then an ex let me down at the last minute, and I… shut myself away in my flat. I haven’t really been part of the world for the past couple of years, and this tearoom is my way of forcing myself headfirst back into life and clawing back the control I lost…’
‘And then I turned up without your say-so or agreement. Not a good start for taking back control.’ He grimaces in a sympathetic way, like he realises how undermined I felt by Mr Hastings’ lack of upfrontness.
‘Well, maybe it wasn’t the worst idea he’s ever had…’
‘It’s a good thing I’m already sitting down because I’m almost positive this might be leading to another compliment.’ He looks up and the seriousness in his eyes melts into a twinkle and a soft smile makes his lips quirk up.
I could snap something sarcastic and cutting, but he seems quiet and open, different without his stack of hats on, more like the real Bram than the character he plays, and it’s almost like he needs to hear something nice. ‘You were brilliant today. Those two girls adored you. You knew exactly how to make their Unbirthday special,’ I say, because I’ve noticed that about him – he’s excellent at reading people. He seems to instinctively know which kind of trick will impress people the most and his approach is individual to every person who comes in.
‘And yet, I would never have thought of joining them if you hadn’t invited me. There might be a slim chance yet that Hatter and Alice actually work well together in a Wonderland setting.’
I smile without knowing why I’m smiling. The last thing I wanted was anyone else involved in this, not least because of what he might find out about the definitely-not-homemade goodies I’m serving, but tonight, it feels like no Wonderland would be complete without a Mad Hatter, and that is more important than my hang-ups from years ago that have nothing to do with Bram. ‘How about you? How does a carousel operator become first in line to play a character who’s barking mad?’
‘Ahh, it’s a long and complicated process of becoming the black sheep of the family.’ He scrunches a hand in his hair and then holds a blue spike out and looks at it. ‘Well, maybe the blue sheep of the family. I haven’t followed the path that my father set out for me, and now my family wishes I was someone I’m not – may as well play the part of someone else entirely.’
I knew his sunny smile was hiding more beneath the surface, and I get the feeling he’s simplifying something that goes a lot deeper.
‘This wasn’t my initial plan, but I believe in making the best of things and embracing what life throws at you, so maybe we can help each other here. No better place than Wonderland to find the joy in life again?’
I find myself smiling as I look at him. I want to believe that, but in recent years, it’s felt like getting my spark for life back is… ‘An insurmountable challenge that only a fool would take on.’
‘One fool at your service.’ He replaces the stack of hats on his head solely so he can tip them in my direction.
It’s impossible not to laugh. He makes the world seem brighter than it has for a while now, and I don’t think it’s just the electric-blue hair and lime green jacket.
6
‘Don’t you ever eat your own creations?’ Bram asks the following morning when he comes in from the back room, carrying two cups of tea and places one on the counter in front of me.
Today’s selections are Millionaire’s shortbreads, sticky toffee pudding tarts, and lemon cakes that I’m currently adding lemon butter icing to, and Bram opens the display case and takes his usual pick for breakfast. I’m still decorating the last of the cakes and he pulls the stool up to the counter again and sits opposite me, using a spiral patterned serviette as a makeshift plate.
He’s wearing a shirt with colourful clocks printed all over it, and I can’t help noticing that he hasn’t shaved today, and the added stubble makes him look sexier than usual.
‘Yes,’ I lie. The truth is that I’ve been avoiding it, both scared of running out of stock and not wanting to break the illusion that they taste as good as they look. What if I try one and they really are dried-up pre-packaged supermarket stock that someone’s gone to town with butter icing on?
‘Go on, have cake for breakfast, live large,’ he says. ‘There’s a slim possibility that you might enjoy it. If cake for breakfast can’t improve even the darkest of days, there really is no hope.’
He looks so earnest as he sits there, and apart from a few finger swipes of the icing I’m putting on, I haven’t eaten anything else yet today. And I have been given a cup of tea, and it does feel a bit wrong to obstinately refuse the cake when it’s right next to me. ‘Fine.’
‘Never has anyone had to be persuaded to eat cake before. You are a strange and unusual phenomenon to mankind, Cleo Jordan.’
‘You can talk,’ I mutter as I take one of the lemon cakes I’m icing and take a bite. ‘Happy now?’
‘Ecstatic. So overjoyed that my hardened little soul may burst with delight.’ On the word ‘burst’, he pulls a hand out from nowhere and—
‘Don’t you dare!’
It’s too late. He throws a handful of glitter over both of us.
I make a noise of frustration. ‘What is wrong with you?’
‘A question that has puzzled many renowned scientists for decades, but no one has ever come up with an answer. They’ve eventually had to agree that I really am just a bit of a weirdo.’
‘You can say that again,’ I grumble.
‘Oh, thank you.’ He clears his throat. ‘I really am just a bit of a weirdo.’
He’s doing it deliberately now. He knows it’s winding me up. After what I said about glitter yesterday, he knew the one thing that would drive me mad was more glitter.
‘And you can relax, by the way.’ He swipes a finger through the glitter covering the counter and sucks it clean. ‘It’s edible glitter. So no one can complain about eating it.’
I make that noise of frustration again. Spending time with Bram seems to lead to nothing but noises of frustration. ‘That doesn’t mean I want it in my hair,’ I mutter, trying to shake my blonde locks out over the floor. ‘Or my tea! Bram!’
He peers into my cup and then his own. ‘You should serve that. Who wouldn’t want to drink sparkly tea? It screams Wonderland.’
