Page 6 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
His hand shoots out and holds the door. His voice, which was high-pitched and childlike, drops to a more normal tone. ‘I’m not a customer. I’m supposed to be starting work here today? I’m the Mad Hatter, in case it wasn’t obvious.’
Work here?What? He must be confused. Or the ‘mad’ bit of Mad Hatter is alarmingly appropriate. ‘I’m the owner. I think I’d know if I’d hired a Mad Hatter. You must be in the wrong place.’ Even as I say it, I wonder how manyAlice in Wonderland-themed establishments therearein the area. It’s not like he’s going to bestarting atanotherAlice-themed tearoom, is it? It sets off an uneasy feeling in my stomach because this is a bit too much of a coincidence.
‘Oh, for the good ferret’s sake, don’t tell me they didn’t tell you?’ He throws his hands up and looks skywards, annoyed at an unknown someone.
‘Tell me what?’ The uneasy feeling grows.
‘The council. They’re getting behind yourAlice in Wonderlandtheme and thought The Wonderland Teapot needed more than just Alice.’ He indicates to what little he can see of me through the gap in the door, which I’m still holding ajar because it’s quite scary to see someone sobrightat this time in the morning. And unexpected. And I’m not entirely sure this isn’t some kind of elaborate joke, or possible robbery attempt. Although what a potential burglar would expect to getbeforeopening time is debateable, and burglars tend to go for more understated costumes than this guy, who can almost definitely be seen from space, if not further. Also, knocking on the front door would be a new approach to burglary.
‘They’ve hired me to play the Hatter. I’m also a magician.’ He holds a hand up and clicks his fingers, and a playing card appears between them, ostensibly from thin air but clearly from a hidden pocket in his sleeve or something similar. ‘I’m here to entertain the diners and help to give them a real mind-boggling experience, complete with Wonderland-style bonkersness.’ He hands the card to me. ‘You can keep that.’
I look down at the card in my hand. The Queen of Hearts. How fitting.
Taking the card has meant I’ve opened the door further and I can’t help looking at him. He’s got on black cargo trousers with an array of pockets all around them, and a button-down shirt with a pattern so loud you can almosthearit screaming underneath the green faux-leather jacket. His hair is the brightest shadeof electric blue, sticking out in hairsprayed spikes, almost like you’d see on a cartoon character who’d just been electrocuted. There are silver hoops through each of his pierced earlobes, and his eyes are outlined with thick black eyeliner. I thought I’d done well with my blue short-sleeved Alice dress and white pinafore with card suits painted on it, and my hair is blonde and past my shoulders anyway, so all I had to do was add a black bow headband, but his outfit really is impressive.
‘Am I allowed to come in?’ His question makes me realise I’ve been staring at him for an abnormally long time.
‘Oh. I… er…’ Am I supposed to take his word for it? Let this stranger into my tearoom? While I’m debating internally, he must realise how uneasy this has made me because he’s pulled his phone from one of the many pockets of his trousers.
‘Ahh, I get it. Who the heckwouldlet this weird bananagram into their shop without some kind of confirmation, right?’ He’s already putting a number into the phone. ‘Just a tick, we can get this straightened out with a quick call.’
I stand in the doorway watching him, the stack of hats on his head bouncing around every time he looks down at the phone. The three top hats are in Disney’s animated Hatter colours. The biggest one that rests on top of his blue hair is dark green and the Hatter’s infamous ‘In this style, 10/6’ is written on a card and tucked into the wide yellow ribbon that runs around the brim. On top of that hat is a smaller top hat in a light green colour, and on top of that one is a smaller one again, in bright yellow this time.
‘’ello, treacle,’ Hatter says into the phone when it’s answered. ‘Yeah, it’s me. Can you patch me through?’ There’s a pause and then it sounds like he interrupts the person on the other end. ‘I don’t care if he’s in a meeting, this is important. Yes,important. No, not my usual kind of “important”.’ His brown eyes meet mine and he rollsthem at the phone and turns around to face the street, and I can hear faint hold music coming through the handset.
Eventually the music clicks off and there are the strains of an angry voice on the other end.
‘Good morning to you too,’ Hatter says into the phone with a cheery-sounding voice. ‘Yeah, I’ve just arrived at the tearoom and the poor woman who works here…’ He turns back to me. ‘It’s Cleo, isn’t it?’
I nod. How does he know my name? Is that a sign that this is legit?
‘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 wouldyoutrust 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 numberorinvited 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-assuredIam. ‘Only I didn’tknow 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, oneMadHatter 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’ doesnotsound 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 yourchosen form of address too. Now if you don’t mind, Miss Jordan, I really am too busy for this needless interruption.’
