Far from hordes of Gryphons and Mock Turtles waiting outside at opening time, customers have been trickling in over the course of the morning. It started off with a couple of old ladies wanting hot buttered toast and being quite alarmed at the changes since the last time they were here, then came harried parents having dropped kids off at school, and curious people who had seen my Cheshire Cat advertising signs or heard about The Wonderland Teapot in other ways. I didn’t expect to be fending off armies of customers clamouring for tea, and for a first morning, the shop hasn’t been empty once, although it hasn’t been full either.
A couple come in with a young boy, probably around the age of four. He’s got eyes that are red from crying and a frowny face that looks like he might be mid-tantrum, but from the moment they open the door, he can’t take his eyes off Bram. The parents order sandwiches, and the young lad jabs angrily at a cupcake in the display unit, and Bram notices the extra attention. They sit down as I make their cheese and ham sandwiches, and he goes over to introduce himself. The boy stares at him in awe, and Bram kneels on the floor to be at the same height, shaking the boy’s hand, keeping up a constant conversation, flitting between talking to the kid and the adults with ease. When I’ve put their sandwiches on a tray and added the pot of tea they ordered, he scrambles up and comes to get it with a conspiratorial wink.
He carries the tray over and unloads the teapot, cups, and sandwiches onto the table, but when he gets to the little boy’s cake, his hands move so fast that I barely see them move at all, but the plate he puts down is empty. The boy stares at it open-mouthed and then at Bram, who matches his open-mouthed shock.
‘You’ve eaten it already!’ It’s his squeakyish Hatter voice again, the one that sounds childlike and unthreatening.
‘You!’ The boy points at Bram, clearly knowing he’s done something with the cake.
‘It was right there!’ Bram consults the parents. ‘You saw it, right?’
The parents play along and Bram scratches his head. Well, his hat. ‘Now, where could it have gone?’ He looks around the tearoom like someone might’ve taken it. ‘If you haven’t eaten it, maybe the White Rabbit took it? Did anyone see a Mad March Hare running off with it?’
He kneels down again. ‘Oh no, wait, I can see exactly where it’s gone.’ He reaches behind the boy’s head and extracts the cake, seemingly from behind his ear. A trick as old as time, but usually completed with a fifty-pence piece rather than baked goods. ‘Now why did you put it behind there?’
The boy clutches his fingers for it, and Bram goes to hand it to him and then pulls it away again. ‘Maybe the cake doesn’t want to be eaten! Maybe it’s going to disappear again!’ He waves a hand between the cake and the boy, and sure enough, the cake disappears. I mean, it doesn’t really disappear, but I can’t work out where he’s stashed it.
The boy gasps in surprise, laughing with glee, his tantrum long forgotten. ‘Again!’
This time Bram does another hand movement and the cake reappears on his palm, and the boy is rigid with sheer delight, and squeals joyfully when Bram waves his hand and makes the cake disappear yet again. I have never seen anyone move their hands so fast.
Bram stands up and looks around, like he’s looking for the missing cake, and then he spots it again, and kneels to extract it from behind the boy’s ear again. ‘Now it’s behind the other ear! You’ve got to stop hiding food round there, you know. You’ll have columns of ants following you everywhere you go. Look, here comes one now!’
He points to an invisible something on the floor and when the boy looks, he removes the cake again, twirls around behind him, and replaces it from the other side. Once the cake is safely on the plate in front of him, Bram bows and tips his hats to the family, but the lad is far more interested in Bram himself. The parents invite him to sit, which he does, and makes easy conversation for a few minutes. He takes the stack of hats off and messes his hair up, making it even crazier than it was anyway, and dipping his head to let the curious boy touch his blue hair.
The dad takes a photo of them together, and when they leave, the boy runs back and hugs Bram, and as they walk away, he’s waving all the way down the street until they get out of sight, and Bram waves back from the doorway.
My elbows hurting makes me I realise I’ve been leaning on the counter, mesmerised by the scene in front of me. I can feel my heart melting. I couldn’t have done that. My Alice costume didn’t even register on the young lad’s radar, but Bram captured his imagination from the first moment. He gave him his full undivided attention and did exactly what was needed to turn his frown upside down.
And Bram kind of… came to life. For someone so colourful, when he was entertaining that little lad, he lit up brighter than a planet in the night sky.
He comes back inside and starts clearing the table without being asked.
‘You’re very good at that.’ It feels like the first nice thing I’ve said to him all morning.
‘Clearing tables?’
‘No.’ I glance at the empty cups and plates he’s loading onto a tray. ‘Well, that too, but I’m not sure that’s much of an acquired skill. What you just did. Doing magic. Entertaining kids.’ He’s done a couple of card tricks for other customers so far this morning, but nothing like that. ‘You knew exactly what that lad needed.’
‘Was that a compliment?’ he asks without looking up.
Usually, when faced with a question like that, my natural instinct is to say something sarcastic and turn it into a joke, but I decide to stand by it. ‘Yes, it was. That little boy loved you.’
‘Just trying to make someone’s day a bit brighter. If you can make someone smile when they otherwise wouldn’t have smiled then that’s a day well spent. Doesn’t matter if they’re four or eighty-four – everyone needs a smile sometimes.’ It’s his normal voice again. In a few short hours, I’ve noticed the difference between how he speaks when he’s in character and how he speaks when he isn’t.
I didn’t know what to expect with the lunchtime rush, but it starts picking up as we get closer to midday, and there are orders for sandwiches and tea from the menu, and the display case is looking decidedly decimated by the time Marnie stops by in the early afternoon.
‘This place looks amazing,’ she says, even though she’s helped me with decorating and has seen it many times before. ‘I couldn’t help noticing the steady stream of customers coming in all morning too. How’s it—’ She catches sight of Bram when he stands up from where he was crouching to tidy the flamingo croquet area and she gives him a wave. He tips his hat stack to her and she smiles fondly.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d got Bram working here?’ She leans over the counter and whispers to avoid being overheard.
‘I didn’t know I’d got Bram working here,’ I mutter, trying to cobble together a sandwich for my own lunch but I think I’ve got the ratio of cream cheese to cucumber wrong. Never mind my baking skills, even my sandwich-making skills are threatening to desert me now. ‘Who is he, anyway? Do you know him?’
‘Cleo! He’s the eyelinered magician who operates the carousel!’
‘Oh! That’s what Mr Hastings meant by someone who already works for them.’ It’s such a Homer Simpson moment that I should have shouted ‘D’oh!’ out loud.
‘Did the eyeliner and magician bit not give it away?’
I glance over at him. ‘I think I was blinded by the blue hair and green jacket.’
‘I can’t believe you two are working together. He was born to play the Mad Hatter. You’ll love him. He’s a spectacular nut.’
I can’t help laughing at the description. Despite having only met him this morning, it seems accurate.
‘Anyway, I can’t stop. Darcy’s running his “gardening for mental wellbeing” class at the castle and I’ve left Mrs Potts on her own, and honestly, cats are terrible bookshop assistants. She’d sell books in exchange for Dreamies.’ She points to a salted caramel cupcake in the display unit. ‘I can’t leave without trying one of those though.’
I use the tongs to get one out and she grabs it before I’ve had a chance to put it on one of the spiral patterned napkins that are stacked under the counter.
‘Oh my God,’ she says with a mouthful. ‘That’s gorgeous. How did you go from that chocolate thing you forced me into tasting the other night to being able to bake things like this?’
‘That was bad luck,’ I mumble. My cheeks have flared red. Even to Marnie, I haven’t admitted that I’m stocking the tearoom with definitely not home-baked goods, and there’s no way Bram hasn’t overheard this conversation.
‘I knew that stove was on the blink.’ She raises the cake in a toast. ‘Here, give me two more, will you, I’ll have another and take one back for Darcy.’
We’ve got pop-up cardboard boxes for takeaways and I grab one and load two cakes into it, and refuse the ten-pound note Marnie gets out of her pocket. ‘Opening day special for best friends who happen to work on Ever After Street.’
‘Awww.’ Marnie admonishes me but takes the box appreciatively and rushes back over the road to A Tale As Old As Time.
I continue making my sandwich, aware of Bram’s presence. ‘Don’t tell me off for giving my friend a couple of cakes on the house. I wouldn’t be working here if it wasn’t for Marnie. She’s helped me out so much. The least she deserves is a couple of cakes.’
‘Marnie’s great. She runs a bookshop – it’s humanly impossible to dislike someone who runs a bookshop.’ He looks up and tries to catch my eyes. ‘I’m not here to judge anyone for anything. I don’t know why you think I am.’
‘I don’t.’ I didn’t intend to look into his eyes, especially when I’m telling a lie, but they’re deep and brown and impossible to look away from. That whole direct line to the head of the local council thing has made me think he’s going to report back to them. If I do something I shouldn’t, he’s going to mention it, isn’t he? And if he finds out I’m serving supermarket-bought cakes, it would be the end of this dream for good.
The shop is empty for the first time today, and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to eat something resembling lunch, and I press the upper slice of bread onto my sandwich, cut it in half, and turn around to throw the knife into the sink, and in the seconds that my back is turned, a hand sneaks out and steals half of it.
‘Bram!’
He shoves it into his mouth and grins around it. ‘Cheers!’
‘You cheeky beggar,’ I mutter, pretending to be angrier than I am. He hasn’t had lunch yet either, and his mischievous grin makes it impossible to scold him without laughing.
He sits on one of the stools and leans his elbows on the counter and takes a more civilised bite, and I back up to lean against the unit behind the counter opposite him.
‘Marnie made me realise who you are,’ I say casually. ‘The magician who operates the carousel and entertains bored children while their parents are busy shopping, which explains how you were so good with that lad this morning.’
‘My father would tell you I’m good with kids because I have a similar mental age. To be fair, that four-year-old was probably a lot more mature than I am.’
The underlying bitterness in his tone intrigues me. It sounds like he’s trying to make a joke out of something he doesn’t find funny.
I’ve seen him from a distance. I’ve always really wanted to go on the carousel, but every time I’ve thought about it, it’s been full of screaming children and I’ve felt too old. ‘Your hair is usually dark, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’ He twists a finger of his free hand around one of his blue spikes. ‘But if you can’t have blue hair when playing the Mad Hatter, when can you?’
I don’t know why it makes me laugh, but it does. ‘Fair point.’
‘A few vats of colour stripper and bleach later, here we are. My hair is blue and no one told me how much blue dye bleeds, so now everything else in my house is also blue. My bathroom looks like Eiffel 65 live there. You know, “Blue (Da Ba Dee)”?’ He sings the earworm song from the Nineties, which will now undoubtedly be stuck in my head for the rest of the week.
I know he goes to the Ever After Street staff meetings because Marnie’s mentioned him, but my involvement with the street until now has only ever been casual, helping out if the bookshop is busy, so I’ve never been to one of the meetings where everyone who works here gathers outside and there’s tea and cake. ‘Why have you left the carousel?’
He thinks before answering. ‘My plans changed. I was going to do something else but it fell through at the last minute and they’d already hired my replacement, so I couldn’t go back either. The council were looking for a Mad Hatter, and I’m the obvious choice, you know, being totally mad and all that.’ He winks at me, although I’m not sure that being first choice for a character who’s known for being off their rocker is the greatest compliment.
‘Will you miss the carousel?’
‘Yes and no. I love the old-fashioned magic of the ride, the way something so simple creates such wonder, no matter your age. But the hours are long and unpredictable. I don’t close until long after the shops do, and I’ve got to be “always on”, you know? I’m there to entertain anyone who wants to be entertained, whenever they want to be entertained. Some days can leave you feeling like a commodity being pawed at from all sides. I’ve been doing it for a couple of years now and I was ready for a change. Something a bit more serious.’ He flashes both dark eyebrows at me. ‘Something to keep me out of trouble.’
It makes me feel like a headteacher dealing with a naughty schoolboy who’s been sent to my office for the umpteenth time. ‘Do you get in trouble a lot?’
His grin is as bright as his lime green jacket, and when he answers, it’s the nasally Hatter voice again. ‘Depends on who’s asking and whether they want me to.’
He’s got crinkles and smile lines around his eyes, making him look like he smiles and laughs a lot, and I can’t help smiling at his cheekiness. ‘I think we’ll have enough trouble around here without you causing more.’
‘I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise.’ It’s said with that overly cheerful pitch again that does absolutely nothing to reassure me.
Somehow, I think we might have very different definitions of ‘best behaviour’.