‘Cleo wasn’t expecting me,’ he continues into the phone. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have forgotten to tell her, would you?’
I’m assuming the person on the other end says something along the lines of ‘you tell her’, because the Hatter says, ‘I have told her, but would you trust a random guy turning up on your doorstep at half eight in the morning dressed as the Mad Hatter?’ There’s a pause while the other person speaks again, and then the Hatter holds the phone out to me.
I take it gingerly and hold it up to my ear, wondering who the heck is going to be on the other end.
‘Miss Jordan.’
I yelp in surprise. I’d recognise that smug voice and tone dripping with sarcasm anywhere. It’s Mr Hastings from the interview. This guy has got his direct number? This guy can seemingly interrupt meetings and be put directly through to scary Mr Hastings? No one ever gave me his number or invited contact if needed.
‘I see you’re already having issues and you’re not even open yet. Not quite off to a flying start, are we?’
‘Er, not issues as such, Mr Hastings,’ I stutter out. There’s something about this man that turns me into a wibbling wreck. Someone so confident and self-assured only serves to highlight how unconfident and un-self-assured I am. ‘Only I didn’t know there was supposed to be a Mad Hatter working here. I thought…’ I swallow hard and force myself into a modicum of assertiveness. ‘I thought it was the sort of thing that would be up to me, or at the very least, that someone might discuss with me first.’
‘We’re all busy, Miss Jordan,’ Mr Hastings huffs into the phone. ‘You bear no responsibility for hiring employees during the trial period. The council decided to take your theme and run with it. I spoke to my daughter – you remember I told you about her – and we decided that the Mad Hatter is the most recognisable character after Alice herself and no Wonderland would be complete without him.’
‘Well, yes, but…’ I try to summon the courage to tell him that I would’ve liked a say in who works in the tearoom that I’m supposed to be running. This is my idea, my project, and I certainly wasn’t expecting someone else to be part of it.
Mr Hastings carries on as if I haven’t spoken. ‘And we realised we had the perfect candidate already working for us, and all it took is a quick reshuffling of staff, and Bob’s yer uncle, one Mad Hatter who does some kind of nonsense with card tricks. Kiddies will love it.’
The emphasis he puts on ‘mad’ makes me feel slightly alarmed and I look over at the guy who is scuffing his bright yellow boots against each other as he stands outside.
‘Afternoon tea with a touch of magic will add a whole new dimension to your quirky theme. I can only apologise for the oversight in failing to mention it to you.’ It sounds like he begrudges even having to use the word ‘apologise’, God forbid he actually had to say sorry for anything. ‘Good luck with… it.’
That ‘it’ does not sound like he’s talking about the tearoom in a general sense. ‘Him?’ I ask, wondering if it’s a good idea to question the boss.
He laughs. ‘Oh, I suspect by the end of the day, “it” will be your chosen form of address too. Now if you don’t mind, Miss Jordan, I really am too busy for this needless interruption.’
‘I didn’t—’ The dial tone sounds in my ear before I can protest that I didn’t interrupt anything.
‘He’s hung up.’ I pass the phone back to the Mad Hatter.
‘He does that.’
The awkwardness is tangible. I didn’t expect him and he didn’t expect to be so unexpected, and now he’s standing with his hands in his pockets, waiting for me to invite him in.
My instinct is to tell him where to go. I don’t want or need any additional employees, particularly ones that I didn’t know about until five minutes ago, but I don’t think I can argue with Mr Hastings. And all right, a Mad Hatter in Wonderland is actually a very good idea, I’m just annoyed that no one thought to even consult me about it.
In my mind, I frantically scan across the food preparation area. I can’t be caught serving supermarket-bought goods, not by anyone. Have I left any packaging strewn around? Any hint that those goodies filling the display case were not baked by me?
‘Sorry about all this. Clapping eyes on me first thing in the morning must be a shock for anyone. Can we start over? I’m Bram.’ He holds a hand out for me to shake.
I transfer the playing card into my other hand and reach out to shake his. He’s got warm hands with long nimble fingers, if the speed at which he produced the playing card earlier is anything to go by. ‘Bram? I’ve never heard that name before. Short for… Bramble? Bramley Apple?’
He laughs. ‘Abraham. But no one’s called me that since the day I was born, other than my father. And I’m sure you’re heard of Bram Stoker, the nineteenth century writer of Dracula, which was also short for Abraham.’
‘Well, aren’t you brimming with fun facts?’ I say, despite the fact it had never before occurred to me that Bram Stoker was short for anything and that’s actually quite interesting. I’m still trying to remember if I’ve left any incriminating evidence lying around. It’s bad enough that I’ll be bluffing my way through Unbirthday parties and afternoon teas, the absolute last thing I needed was to have to cover it up in front of another staff member as well, particularly one who has clearly got contacts at the council. It’s even more of a liability that he will discover my sordid supermarket secret and report back to them about my underhanded misrepresentations.
Speaking of underhanded misrepresentations, it’s now quarter to nine and I really need to get back to mine. ‘It’s getting late, you’d better come in.’
‘You know what they say – gotta make fudge while the sun shines!’
‘Hay. Make hay while the sun shines.’
‘Who’d want to make hay unless they’re a horse?’ His face screws up in confusion and then he peers at me and narrows his eyes. ‘Are you a horse?’
‘Do I look like a— You know what, don’t answer that.’ I pull the door open and he stops to tip his hat to me. The stack of three hats on his head must be sewn together because when he lifts the bottom one, the other two stay attached, and it’s the most bizarre sight that makes me smile despite my misgivings about this arrangement.
I can’t help watching him in amused confusion as he stops in the middle of the room and looks around in wonder. ‘Oh, my fur and whiskers, look at this!’
It’s another Wonderland-ism that the White Rabbit says in the book, and if nothing else, I can appreciate someone who knows my favourite book as well as I do.
He spins around in a circle like he doesn’t know where to look first. He reaches up to touch one of the teapots I’ve got hanging from the ceiling with colourful ribbons pouring out of their spouts. They’re above head height, but apparently not too far up that they can’t be fiddled with.
‘Can you not—’
Before I’ve had a chance to ask him not to touch the decorations, he’s bent down and picked up a wooden mushroom. They’re cheap garden ornaments, but I painted their caps red and added glow-in-the-dark white spots. He turns it around between his hands, and— ‘Flamingo croquet!’
He drops the mushroom and races across to the strip of artificial grass and picks up a flamingo club. They’re not adult size and he has to bend over to hold it and putt the hedgehog ball through the playing card arch. He misses and it rolls across the room.
I huff and go over to get it, intending to confiscate it before he tries again, but he’s already put the club down and is now taking a selfie with one of the giant paper flowers.
‘Holy frogs and donkeys, this place is amazing.’ He’s still looking around in awe, and his eyelinered brown eyes fall on me. ‘Did you do all this yourself? Because I’ve seen the council restoration budgets and they’re not that generous.’
‘Yeah, mostly. I love crafting and I love Alice in Wonderland, so…’
‘It was a match made in heaven. This is gorgeous.’
‘Thank you.’ I can’t help blushing because he sounds genuinely bowled over and it gives me a little thrill of hope that customers will feel the same way. Apart from Marnie and Darcy and a couple of the other shopkeepers who have brought things over, no one’s really seen inside yet. He’s the first stranger with no biased reason for being kind.
