The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square. Michele Gorman

but the wages were still crap.

      On his way out, my latest applicant passes a boy just coming in. ‘Yo, Tinky Winky, ’sup?’ says the boy.

      ‘Fuck off, dweeb.’

      ‘That’s Professor to you,’ he says.

      I watch this brief exchange with interest. Not because the new boy, with his tall lanky frame, looks as if his brain has no idea what his arms and legs are doing, or that he doesn’t seem frightened by his tattooed rival. His close-cropped wavy black hair and mixed-race complexion don’t differentiate him from most of the other kids.

      It’s his three-piece suit and the fatly knotted blue tie round his skinny neck.

      And his briefcase, which he sets on the table between us.

      ‘I’m Joseph.’ He sticks his hand out for me to shake. His long-lashed brown eyes are the first to look directly at me all morning. ‘It’s your lucky day,’ he says. ‘You can cancel the other punters, because you’ve found your future employee.’

      ‘Well, I hope I have, but I’ll still need to ask you some questions, okay?’ Who told him to be so cocky in an interview? I glance at his file. Lives with his mum and older brother, who seems to be mixed up with one of the local gangs. ‘You’re seventeen?’

      ‘Yeah, but don’t let that fool you. I can do anything you can, and I’m really good.’

      His suggestion is unmistakable.

      That won’t do him any favours and the sooner he realises it, the better. Just to prove the point, I ask him if he can drive. No? What about buying alcohol legally? Are you registered to vote? No again? ‘Then you can’t quite do anything I can,’ I say, ‘so let’s stick to the interview, okay? Why would you like to do this training?’

      There’s a scattering of hairs on his face where he’s been trying to shave, and his suit sleeves cover his knuckles. I bet he’s borrowed it from his big brother. He might have borrowed the razor too.

      Joseph clears his throat. That doesn’t stop his voice from cracking. ‘I see the position as a stepping stone for my future as a CEO.’

      ‘A CEO… here?’ We both look around the pub. ‘That’s not really the position I’m recruiting for.’ Unless CEO stands for Chief Egg-on-toast Officer.

      ‘Well, then, what are you going to do for my career progression?’

      ‘It’s a six-month traineeship, so you’ll learn all aspects of working in a café. Working with colleagues, serving customers, making coffee and tea…’ I sort of run out of steam. It’s just a café, not Microsoft.

      He sits forward in his chair. ‘Sales and marketing?’

      I thought I might put up a few posters around the bus stops. ‘Sure.’

      ‘How ’bout customer complaint resolution?’

      ‘I expect so. Tell me, Joseph, what would you like to be a CEO of?’

      ‘A company with good benefits,’ he says right away.

      ‘Any particular kind?’

      ‘Definitely stock options. And a gold-plated pension.’

      ‘No, I mean any particular kind of company?’

      ‘I’d be happy at Apple. Or Xbox.’

      I like that he’s dreaming big. My most ambitious goal at his age was getting a real pair of Dr. Martens. ‘Well, maybe you’ll get there. It would have been easier if you’d stayed in school, you know.’ He finished secondary school but doesn’t want to go on for college.

      ‘I like to think of myself as a student of life,’ he says. ‘Steve Jobs dropped out. So did Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg, and they all became CEOs.’

      ‘Mark Zuckerberg dropped out of Harvard,’ I point out. ‘If you get into Harvard, then you can feel free to drop out.’

      ‘That’s what my mum said.’

      ‘I think I’d like your mum.’

      Who can blame Joseph for not wanting to be in school? Not everyone is a swot like I was. I only left at sixteen because I needed to help Mum and Dad with the bills. And I went back to graduate from Uni.

      If it hadn’t been for the twins’ unplanned arrival scuppering the job plans I had after university, I’d be the one on the other side of the interview table now, trying to get a charity to hire me and probably sounding as naïve as Joseph does.

      There but for the grace of god, and my in-laws…

      Joseph’s heart seems to be in the right place, underneath the cocksure attitude. He needs a lot of help with his interview technique and he’ll have to learn that people aren’t just going to hand him a job as CEO because he asks for it.

      He might not know a teabag from a tea towel, for all I know, but that’s the point, isn’t it? If he can already do the job, then he doesn’t need the training.

      ‘You’ve got the job if you want it,’ I tell him. ‘Congratulations. We’ll open in four weeks.’

      His face splits into a beaming grin. ‘Yeah, that’s well good! Are you for reals?’

      ‘I’m for reals. You’ll need to come in for training and stuff before the opening.’ I consider my very first employee. My employee! ‘Can I ask you a question before you go? Your briefcase. You didn’t open it. What’s in there?’

      Joseph takes a second to answer. ‘My lunch. Mum packed it for me.’

      And just like that, the CEO-in-the-making becomes young Joseph again.

      I’ve just finished putting away all the boxes piled near the bar when Dad turns up with Auntie Rose wheeling the babies in the pushchair. ‘I’m glad the ramp works!’ I shout to them as they come through the door. We just had it installed last week and it’s only about three inches high, but it means Dad can come through in his wheelchair without having to pop a wheelie.

      ‘I’ve actually hired someone!’ I tell them.

      ‘Wayhey!’ Dad whoops, meeting me halfway for a hug. ‘You’re on your way now, me girl. Mind the wheels. This deserves a proper stand-up job.’ Slowly he lifts himself from his wheelchair so I can throw my arms around him.

      The twins stop their babbling to stare. They’re not used to seeing my dad standing, and especially not without the crutches he uses to walk. ‘Look at them,’ I say. ‘Astounded.’

      ‘It’s a bloomin’ miracle, me angels.’

      What a difference a generation makes. When Dad first came down with the multiple sclerosis that keeps him mostly in the chair these days, I was fourteen and mortified at having a disabled family member.

      Typical teenager, thinking about myself instead of Dad, whose whole life changed in a matter of months. He’d had tingles in his arms and legs for a while but assumed it was from driving round in his cab every day. He might not have said anything if his vision hadn’t started going funny, and the disease had already taken hold by the time he got the diagnosis. He stayed out of the wheelchair for a few more years – a few more years than he should have, really, but he’s stubborn like that. Now he uses it most of the time, and it’s completely normal for Oscar and Grace.

      He sits down again. ‘Let ’em loose, Rose. Emma, love, Kelly’s right behind us with fish and chips.’

      His announcement makes my mouth start watering. It’s one of the advantages of having a fishmonger for a best friend. Kelly’s worked a deal with the local chippy who fries up her leftover fillets sometimes. She throws the owners a few free portions of fresh fish to cook her tea for her, and they throw in the chips.

      ‘Mum’s gone to work?’ I ask, reaching for my babies. I might have fantasies about child-free baths and