I cautiously enter the café and have a quick glance around. The table in the corner will do me fine. A young girl at the counter looks up and seems to be waiting for me to speak first.
“Morning. Could I have a coffee, please? A black one.”
“You mean an Americano?”
“I think so. No milk though,” I say.
“Okay, that’s an Americano. Large or small?”
“Oh, a small one please. One sugar, thanks.”
“It’s behind you.” She nods in the direction of an overloaded shelf.
I feel that I am being tolerated, but only just.
“Takeaway or inside?”
The thought of taking the coffee outside had never occurred to me. Why would anyone want to do that? It’s chucking it down.
I check that the table is still free and inform her that I definitely will be drinking it in here.
“Something to eat?”
I shake my head.
“Cash or card?”
Gosh, all these questions. I never set my pupils so many during their examination week!
“I’ll bring it over to you, love,” the girl informs. She gives me a smile: Just what I need.
When I’ve sat myself down, I check who else is there. A smartly dressed lady, who might be slightly older than me, is seated near the window. She catches me looking at her and gives me a pleasant nod. Three men in fluorescent vests are laughing together; probably happy to be out of the rain. The only other person in the room is a man who looks well-prepared for the bad weather. He’s not even bothered to take his wet coat off. Maybe he feels the cold. I watch him bend down and realise that he’s got a small brown dog. It’s also wearing a raincoat: It must feel the cold too. The man is tearing small chunks from a delicious looking cake and feeds them to his dog. What a waste; I wish I’d ordered one now.
So, I am one of three single people sitting alone in a coastal café, sheltering from the downpour. Perhaps the other two are regulars. And maybe, I will become one too. I must admit, despite the cool welcome from the young girl, I do actually like it in here. It’s warm, cosy and there are people around.
My cup of coffee is delivered accompanied by a single word; “Enjoy.”
I’m not sure whether this is a suggestion or a demand.
The cup is full to the brim. A saucer would have been very useful.
As I slowly turn the cup around, moving the handle into position, I notice a crack running down the side. I rub my thumb over it to check whether it is just a stain; no, it’s definitely damaged.
This makes me feel a little stressed. Should I say something and ask for a replacement? Yet I don’t want to cause a fuss on my first visit. This is the only café near my new apartment and, if I become a regular, I don’t want to upset anybody. I decide to say nothing and trust that the boiling water has killed off any deadly diseases that could be lurking deep inside the crevice. Having made that decision, I relax.
I run my thumb over the crack again.
How many people will have used this cup? One hundred? Five hundred? I’ve really got no idea. But I guess it has been used by many. Adults and teenagers. The rich, who live in those mansions at the top of the cliffs, and the poor, who may have spent nights in doorways. It has probably been held by members of different religions and nationalities who might never meet and drink coffee together. And, I am sure that the cracked cup has been hugged by people sitting in groups and by someone like myself, who is alone.
I lift up the cup and gently blow across the rim. I take a sip and realise that I nearly said it: I almost admitted that I’m feeling a little lonely.
I carefully put the cup down, sit back in my chair and give myself a good talking to.
“Julia,” I say, “it was your decision to dedicate your life to your job. That was a good decision. You loved every day of it. You helped many children over the years. And Julia, it was your choice to retire early, while you were still enjoying work. You were right to leave when you were on top. And it was definitely the right thing to sell your three-bedroom semi-detached and buy the new apartment across the road from this café. ‘Downsizing’ was the word you told your friends. Of course that was a tough call; moving away from Bradford and starting your new life on the East Coast. But you always dreamt of living by the sea. Julia, you have achieved your dream.”
I pick up the cracked cup and have a long drink from it. I feel so much better now I have listened to myself. My friends back in Yorkshire will stay in touch. I have a lovey place to live in and, importantly, I can see the sea everyday; hopefully a lot more clearly than today’s weather is allowing.
My thoughts are suddenly broken when the man with the dog says, “It looks like it might have stopped.”
It takes me a couple of seconds to work out what he’s talking about. He’s standing very close to my table and his dog is eagerly sniffing my damp shoes.
I look over to the window, but can’t really make out whether it has stopped raining or not.
“Well, let’s hope so. I didn’t move to this part of the world to hide from the rain.”
“Ah, so you’re new here. Welcome! You’d better get yourself some decent rain gear. For sure you’ll need it.” He laughs, then tugs at the lead and pulls his dog from under the table.
“I might see you tomorrow then,” he says and adds, “if you’re still hiding from the rain.”
I watch as he makes his way over to the door, wondering if he’ll turn round and wave.
He does wave, but not at me. He raises his hand and shouts, “bye Helena” to the young girl behind the counter. She lifts her head up from her phone and responds, “see you tomorrow Ralph.”
As he opens the door he calls to the lady by the window, “bye Carol. See you.”
Carol raises her cup higher than her lips and mouths the word “cheers.”
I used to say to my pupils ‘you learn something new everyday’. Well, I have just learnt three names and I’m delighted with that.
Helena walks over to Ralph’s table, picks up the cup and plate, gives the top a quick swipe with a grim looking cloth and heads my way.
“Another Americano?”
“I wasn’t intending to, but I think I will. Can I just have a very small one?”
“Okay, an Espresso coming up.”
“Thanks,” I say, not quite sure how my drink has suddenly changed its name.
“Anything to go with it?”
I look at the empty plate in her hand and surprise myself by saying “I’ll have whatever Ralph just had. It looked lovely.”
“You won’t regret it,” she replies and returns to her counter. Almost a conversation.
With a lot of noise, the three workers get up from their table. One of them gives me a brief smile and off they go, back to work. When they open the door, I see that it is still raining. A second coffee was another good decision, regardless of what it is now called.
Helena delivers the cake and coffee. The cake covers so much of the plate there’s hardly room for the fork; the coffee struggles to be seen at the bottom of the cup.
“Thanks.”
“I’ve not seen you here before. Visiting?”
“No. Just moved into one of those new places across the road. I always wanted to live near the sea.”
“Perfect then. I love the sea too, but I’m going to uni in a few days. Birmingham. Not many beaches there.”
We both laugh.
“So this isn’t your full-time job then?”
“No way. Only do a couple of hours on a Wednesday and Friday to earn a few quid. Helping my uncle out; it’s his place.”
“Is it always this quiet?” I ask.
“It’s never really empty. There’s always the regulars.” She nods in the direction of the seat near the window. “And Ralph and Bobby, of course.”
“Bobby?”
“Ralph’s dog!” Again, we both laugh. “You get to know a lot of people here. And their pets.”
As she walks away I’m instructed or invited to “enjoy.”
The cake is as wonderful as it looks, but far too big. I feel a bit embarrassed leaving so much. Maybe I should get myself a ‘Bobby’.
“I still need to pay, Helena,” I say at the counter.
“Wow, you know my name? You’re not with the police are you? It wasn’t me officer.” She throws her arms in the air and a beautiful smile lights up her face.
“That’s four-eighty, please.” She lowers her arms and picks up the card reader. “Nice to meet you…”
Helena pauses, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“Julia,” I say.
“Bye then Julia. Might see you on Friday.”
Carol is still sitting by the window, holding her cup with both hands. It must be cold by now. I wonder if her’s has a crack in it too. Behind Carol’s chair is a small notice board with a few randomly placed adverts and postcards pinned to it.
“Excuse me, I’m just having a nosey at the board,” I say as I edge past her.
“No worries, love.”
I pull out my phone and take a picture of the board so I can have a look at it in my own time: A trick I learnt from the younger generation.
Carol turns round and says, “I thought you were taking a photo of me and sending it to the agency to start my modelling career.” She bursts into laughter.
“Anything there that interests you?” she asks when she’s calmed down.
“I’m going to have a look later,” and I hold up the picture.
She puts her cup down. It’s empty.
“Why not sit here and have a look now,” she says, pointing to the seat opposite her.
“Thanks, I will.”
I enlarge the photograph and see that a reading group meets here in the café, once a month; something I could join. On a Friday afternoon the local walking club gets together, every fortnight. Perfect. And then one other notice catches my eye. I enlarge it and reread it.
Then I read it again.
“More coffee ladies?” Helena interrupts my thoughts.
“I couldn’t,” I say. “But would you like one Carol?”
“That would be lovely. And how on earth do you know my name?” Carol asks.
“She knows everything. Be careful Carol, she must be an undercover cop.” All three of us are laughing now.
“Sorry Helena, I don’t know everything, but maybe you can help me learn something new. The card on the notice board, advertising for your replacement. I think it’s something I might be really interested in. I would love to work here a few hours a week. And I already know what an Americano is. What do you think?”
Helena responds, “I’d love to be your barista teacher.”
“Espresso?” I say jokingly to Carol.
“I’ll make this one Julia,” says Helena, “but you can have a go at the next one.”
“We’d better talk to your uncle before I have my first lesson.”
Helena looks over at the clock and says, “he’ll be here in 20 minutes. Stay where you are Julia, I think you’re going to make his day.”
“And mine,” Julia quickly added.
Published: People’s Friend
